#she didn't seem to love him all that much

[rexhya]

Your anul writings are sooo good like i got hooked

Like imagine anuls dad saying he found a wife for him and reader starts distancing herself because the potential wife heard about how obsessed he was with reader and threatened reader that if she listened or obeyed him she would have her father kill them

yandere!prince who is livid at his father, who wants to kill the woman who's supposedly going to be his wife. ( as if )

Anul doesn't even bother trying to pretend to like her, he continues as usual. What he doesn't know is how this wretched woman has been treating you.

You're sewing together fabrics of Anuls clothing, ever since he'd learned you know how to tailor clothes he's been insistent that no one else but you touch them, a button on one of his shirts had broken.

You of course noticed the woman approaching you, her luxurious gown could be seen swaying from miles away.

"You, maid girl." the woman sneered.

You turned upwards to where she was standing, her chest puffed out proudly. "Yes?" you gulped, she was obviously a noble, though one you didn't recognize.

"Stay away from The Prince , and I mean it. I know you think he loves you, but's he just using you. He'll understand you're nothing but a bug on the wall once he meets me." she flipped her hair waiting for answer.

"Okay." you mumbled looking down, this wasn't worth your trouble.

But the woman wasn't done, "Dont get cocky, do you know who my father is?"

You pricked your fingers while sewing, "I'm not—"

"That's right, you're not anything, stay away from him or i'll tell my father what you've done, and trust me you won't like that." she didnt wait for an andwer as she stalked away, leaving you and your bloody pointer alone.

It wasnt long after this interaction that you began avoiding Anul, excuse after excuse eventually led hardly any interaction at all, and it wasn't like you didn't enjoy seeing the prince from time to time, its was simply for your own safety.

The woman had been watching you like a hawk, ready to catch you near him so she could punish you, or even worse, kill you. You didnt take any chances and went to great efforts to stay away from him, seeing as he was constantly looking for you on a daily basis this turned out to be quite dificult however you'd made things work.

Untill they weren't of course.

Anul was deeply upset, you were so slippery these days, everytime he wanted to see you there seemed to be something of great importance interupting his much needed quality time. You hadn't slept in his chambers in over a week! This needed to stop, and it needed to stop now.

A week and 3 days, and 4 hours since you'd been avoiding him Anul decides he's had enough. He knows everything about your routine, he decides to set a trap. A maid girl leaves a letter in your locker to head up to the head of the maids office, your terrible nervous of course, because of Anul you hadnt been exactly the most present untill this past week, you hoped you wernet being fired.

That wasn't the case at all, "[Name], so you really are alive!" you don't have time to answer before Anul swoops you off your feet and into the air, twirling you around in a way that delightfully makes you squeeze onto him.

He sets you down gracefully and you peer up at him, " My prince, what are you doing here?" you try to pull away but he has his arms locked on your waist an deliriously lovesick expression on his face.

"I missed you my love," he sighs burrying his nose into your neck, breathing in your scent.

You warm, it was weird feeling the sheer power of Anuls body after being away for so long.

"But what are you doing here! I thought i was in trouble, Ms. Jalei, she—"

Anul suddenly pulled away, a cold and angry look on his face, "We'll that's because you are, you''ve been avoiding and ignoring me [Name], you should tell me why." despite the coldness in his voice he sounded awfully hurt. Had being away from you really hurt that bad?

"I havent been—" you tried.

"Dont, I'm not in the mood." he stared, and you began to crumble, his gaze felt like starting into a void of pitch black smoke.

"I–" you voice clogged, when you thought about the woman. "Well, it's just that there was this noble. I don't know her name—"

"She threatened you?" he narrowed his eyes.

You nodded, it was an obvious conclusion to come to. Anul knew of his admirers, he simply didn't care for them. Then Anul did something unexpected, he sighed in relief. "Oh thank god, I thought you didn't like me anymore. You would never abandon me, how silly of me."

You didn't say anything to this, letting Anul rub his nose into your neck, he hadnt said it aloud but he'd been misreable without you, running on 4 hours of sleep because he couldn't fall asleep right away, accidentally cutting of this knight boy he'd sparred with, and not to mention the drinking, god, it got so bad his father almost gave in and demanded you back to him. His moaning and wailing kept the entire palace up.

"Well, that solves everything then," he smile was as wide as you'd ever seen if before. "Don't ever do something like that again, okay? Tonight you sleep with me."

You nodded again, you should've expected this, Anul wasn't one to give up to easily. He finally pulled back and away to peer at your face, a hand coming up to stroke your cheek. "You're so quiet, she didn't already touch you did she?"

You shook your head no again. Anul frowned. "Use your words."

"No"

He grins, "Good girl. My precious darling, It's been so long since we've last seen each other, I feel obligated to a kiss."

You blink rapidly, struggling to keep eye contact with the violet haired man, he loved it when you were flustered like this, "Well?" he whispered and softly your your lips open with a thumb, open-mouthed sucking on your tounge, you shivered, trying to ignore the prodding feeling between Anul's legs. He was just as flustered as you when he was done, crimson red coating his face.

"God, I can't believe I went a week without that, you're to never be away from me again you hear me? And don't worry about that woman, she'll be disposed of if it's the last thing I do."

[midniqhtt]

robert (bob) reynolds

masterlist • marvel • 05/14/25

˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · ୨ৎ recs

𑣲 xerox pt2 pt3 I @ichorai

you had one last job before you were free. no more splitting, no more deaths. unfortunately, that job seemed to rope in four other assassins and a... a man in hospital-wear?

𑣲 the fling I @sacredsorceress

bob finds out that you had a one night stand with bucky a few years earlier and feelings bubble to the surface.

𑣲 therapy I @/sacredsorceress

𑣲 mocha I @/sacredsorceress

yelena decides to make it her mission to set up bob with her close friend.

𑣲 let go I @sunskisser

bob avoided you, and you had no idea why — till the night you help him out of a frenzy.

𑣲 the woes of bowties and missing puzzle pieces I @websterss

One day Bob having a rough day and void jumps out, creating quite a chaos. She tries to talk him through it but void being void thinking she’s a liability for them, he “consumed” her. Few moments after that he turns back into Bob & other people came back from void but not her.

𑣲 i see you I @cocastyle

𑣲 sneaking around I @callsign-swan

Bob doesn't mean to be sneaking around. But he can't help it. He's got a secret, and he wants to keep it that way. Too bad he's best friends with Yelena Belova.

𑣲 alone together I @/callsign-swan

For the last few years, Tony's daughter has been living out in the tower basement. She doesn't realise when Valentina buys the tower, not until she's being choked out by Sentry (turns out Sentry is a really sweet guy called Bob, who knew?)

𑣲 picnic day I @roanofarcc

when rain threatens a thunderbolts team bonding outing, per the request of Alexei, they turn to their resident weather-controlling team member to save their plans. 

𑣲 a bunch of teenagers I @mallory524

Bob has really started to like you, but he assumes you don’t feel the same way about him. You do though, and everyone seems to know that except Bob… and apparently also Walker, who really thought he had a chance

𑣲 in my arms I @woantohae

The Thunderbolts are constantly on missions, busy trying to do good and save whoever they can. One of them was Bob Reynolds, the defenseless yet powerful man who is part of this team and family. However, he doesn't participate in these missions so he can continue practicing controlling his powers. Despite telling them he's capable, the team prefers to give him more time to get used to them, until one mission, when a member of the team is injured. And all Bob can think about is the fury he feels when he hears Y/N being hurt. And how much he wants revenge on whoever did it.

𑣲 shadow I @/woantohae

Y/N loved the darkness because she could see the stars better. Void does everything in his power to make sure she can gaze at the starry sky, even if it means turning everything into darkness.

𑣲 like real people do I @froggibus

Bob seeks you out following a bad dream

𑣲 misunderstanding I @strkly

you and bob were inseparable. until he begins to ignore you and you have no clue why. when you’re injured after a mission gone wrong you’re finally able to find out why.

𑣲 darling I @fireinmoonshot

You always call Bob darling in private... until you accidentally slip up and use the nickname in front of the rest of the Thunderbolts.

𑣲 lethal touch I @hearts4johnwick

while training, all goes well until a move bob makes changes your concentration as you begin to relive your worst memory.

𑣲 stay with me I @scarletmika

Bob wants to feel useful, to truly be part of the team, but the others don't think he's ready. You take it upon yourself to teach him control, to guide him through. But mistakes will be made, and it might not be possible to keep the darkness from creeping back in once more.

𑣲 destiny or not I @/scarletmika

As The Darkhold foretold Wanda Maximoff's destiny, The Book of Vishanti foretold your own. You just didn't know how much of that destiny was intertwined with Bob Reynolds, until the day you met him in the vault.

𑣲 request I @lovebugism

you like taking care of bob on his bad days. he isn't quite sure why

𑣲 stitches I @skeltnwrites

Bob learns how to stitch a wound

𑣲 plainclothes man pt2 I @em1i2a3

Everyone at the compound knows Bob has a massive crush on you–except you.

𑣲 carry the zero I @/em1i2a3

You and Bob are sharing a room while the Avengers Compound is under renovations, which brings on a slew of new things to learn about one another.

𑣲 cherry waves I @/em1i2a3

You’ve been sick for a few days, so while the rest of the team goes out to do a recon mission, you’re on your own watching over Bob. One morning he comes to your room with a weird request.

𑣲 sailor song I @/em1i2a3

Bob is in love with you, but you can’t be what he wants.

𑣲 i wanna get lost with you I @/em1i2a3

After a rough night, you find yourself with a rare day off–the one that you take on the same day every year in memoriam for the fallen. So you head into the city to spend your feelings away on the only thing that makes sense to you: gifts for your favourite team of scrappy anti-heros…And Bob.

𑣲 a little bit of jam I @violetrainbow412-blog

𑣲 archives room I @owastie

you’re tasked with searching through the archives room to find some information on a new threat

𑣲 oh, scaling all your shadows I @swordgrace

plagued by nightmares, bob takes comfort in the one person who’s pulled him from the shadows time and time again — you.

𑣲 so high school I @pagesfromthevoid

𑣲 walk through darkness I @/pagesfromthevoid

𑣲 unfamiliar feeling I @ang3ltine

Bob was asleep for God knows how long, now that he has the chance at a better life. Who better to show him than you?

𑣲 admiration I @/ang3ltine

Being recruited by Valentina as part of the new Avengers (z) team was never part of your list of agendas. Yet here you were, doting on an awkward brunette.

𑣲 look what the cat dragged in I @eyelessfaces

you get bob a cat for emotional support; the cat adopts you as parents and is undeniably bound to bring the two of you closer.

𑣲 how to kiss I @worstghost

teaching bob how to kiss and accidentally slipping into a 20 minute makeout session

𑣲 the good side I @cosmictheo

bob loves you so much that he slowly begins to transform into a house-husband for you. and he loves it.

𑣲 fur-evermore I @ofstarsandvibranium

Because you're Bucky's assistant, you, and your service dog, Juniper, head to the tower to give him some files as well as meet the rest of his new team...including a very cute and slightly awkward, Bob.

𑣲 mr. oblivious I @/ofstarsandvibranium

Bob is sometimes oblivious to the fact that people find him attractive and/or like him. One of those people includes you.

𑣲 i dream of you even when awake I @deakyjoe

Your gift makes sleep difficult. Luckily, Bob is there to guide you through it.

𑣲 something special I @blank-potato

You’ve been the live-in doctor at Avengers Tower for a year, and Bob wants to get you something special to celebrate. Unbeknownst to him, that something special turns out to be a sex plant. 

𑣲 drabble I @undyingdecay

𑣲 peace in the darkness I @theonewiththefanfics

Bob knows Y/N isn't one to go back on her words. So when she doesn't show up to go through with their plans, he starts to worry. Luckily for him, Yelena knows how to break-and-enter. And doesn't mind invading her personal space.

[scarletmika]

Destiny or Not : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Reynolds/Sentry x Witch!Reader

Summary: As The Darkhold foretold Wanda Maximoff's destiny, The Book of Vishanti foretold your own. You just didn't know how much of that destiny was intertwined with Bob Reynolds, until the day you met him in the vault.

Warnings: fluff, suggestive but NOT explicit, soulmate-ish trope, TOTAL idiots in love, SPOILERS I guess for Thunderbolts*, feminine description of reader, it's Bob (implied mental illness there)

Word Count: 3,015 words

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here A/N: A request involving a "soulmate" type connection that I can easily turn into a witch reader? I'm sold. Shout-out to my friend Junie for the extra revisions on this one!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧

It had started randomly one night. Months after Tony Stark had sacrificed himself to save the world, after you and billions of others had been brought back from the blip. After your mentor had accidentally enslaved an entire town out of grief, after she’d let the power of the Darkhold consume her. When you looked Wanda Maximoff in the eyes as she held The Book of Vishanti in her hands and destroyed it. After you’d tried desperately to save her from herself that day on Mount Wundagore and failed.

Back in your apartment that night, you’d cried for the loss of your mentor, until there was a flicker of red magic across the room. Sat at your desk was The Book of Vishanti, lying there in tact, with a simple note scrawled in Wanda’s handwriting. 

I’m sorry for everything. Your destiny lies here, but sometimes knowing is worse than not. It’s in your hands, now.

You’d elected to never look, to never see your destiny, but almost every night from the moment you touched that book on, you dreamed of him. The man with soft brown hair, blue eyes that seemed to peer into your soul, and powers unlike anything you’d ever seen.

The first night you’d awoken in your dream, you were lying in bed beside the man. He peered at you, reaching out with his hand hesitantly to cup your cheek, as if afraid that you would run away.

“You’re allowed to touch me, you know?” you’d teased him, your grin only growing at the faint blush that quickly spread across his cheeks.

“You…you make me nervous,” he’d muttered back to you in embarrassment. Your hand had found its place resting against his bare chest, against the skin that you’d come to learn ran unusually hot, and you felt his heart rate quicken.

“Good, because you make me nervous too,”

You’d kissed in that dream, that dream that felt all too real at times. It felt like deja vu as you kissed the man before you, but it couldn’t be. You’d never met him before, and you’d certainly never been kissed before. Being thrust into work with the Avengers from a young age, being taken under the wing of a witch that barely understood what she was herself, it hadn’t lent itself to many romantic moments over time.

When the kiss had ended, your dream self had flipped over, the man’s unusually warm body pressing to your back as the pair of you drifted off to sleep in one another’s arms. But the sight before you, the room you could see, you knew it: it was the former Avengers tower in New York, you knew it for sure.

The dreams continued for almost two years. Sometimes you dreamed of him every night of the week, sometimes just once or twice, but no two dreams were ever the same. 

Some of them were sweet, just like the first one. You were in the former Avengers tower, which you knew for certain. But there were always people around you, like Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers' old best friend. Or a girl you’d only ever heard in stories, Yelena Belova, the younger sister of the Black Widow. There were movie nights shared between you all, there were private picnics on the terrace of the tower with just you and your mystery man with the shaggy brown hair, anything you could imagine.

Then, there were the ones ingrained in fighting. Battles waged, so many that you couldn’t keep track. In some, you didn’t seem to be any older than you currently were, while in others, you seemed to be much, much older than now. In every single one, you fought at the man’s side, the Witch and who they called the Sentry, an unstoppable duo that was feared and respected across the world and the galaxy.

The steamy ones were the ones that had you waking up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, desperate to take a cold shower and relieve yourself of the feelings you hadn’t ever felt before. There weren’t many of you and the man when you were young, but the times there were, it was like watching two inexperienced idiots fumble around the room together. He’d lifted you up onto the counter of the tower’s kitchen once, underestimating his strength and slamming your head off the cupboard behind you. You’d laughed it off as he apologized profusely, both of you flushing red as Bucky walked into the kitchen with a simple shake of his head. There was another one that stuck vividly in your mind as you’d randomly pulled him into your bedroom one day, trying so desperately to undress yourself that you’d managed to fall flat on your face on the floor.

The steamier dreams where you’re older…those were ones you tried not to think about. Those brought heat to your cheeks immediately.

The problem was, in all of these dreams, you’d never learned his name. It was like anytime someone tried to say his name, it ended up censored, so you would never know. You had nothing to go on to learn if this man was even real.

It wasn’t until, through contacts that you’d gained from your connection with the former Avengers team, that you’d gotten your lead. There were rumblings of Valentina Allegra De Fontaine working on her version of a serum that could create the ultimate superhero: The Sentry Project.

You knew you couldn’t be mistaken; that was him. The fluffy brown hair you’d spent your downtime playing with and running your fingers through, the arms you’d spent countless dreams entwined in, and those soft brown puppy-dog eyes you couldn’t forget. It was the man from your dreams. 

Under the guise of “working for Valentina,” you’d been trying your hardest to find out more about the Sentry project, but it was a secret that Valentina kept closely under wraps. You’d never gotten the training from Wanda and the Avengers that you truly needed, though, and you wore your heart on your sleeve. It didn’t take long for Valentina to learn that you were trying to learn more about her secret project, which is why she knew she had to send you into the Vault that day.

There were three guns pointed at you, and then back at each other, before back at you. You’d settled for just your hands and your magic, forgoing any weapons, as wisps of magic danced around your fingers.

“Look, I don’t want to hurt any of you,” you’d nervously laughed, looking between the three in front of you. As your fighting ceased, it slowly dawned on you that standing before you was Yelena Belova, along with two people who had been in the background of so many of your dreams over the years. It was Yelena that cocked a gun in your direction.

“We’re all here to kill each other, so that doesn’t make much sense.”

“I-I don’t want to kill anyone!” you tried to reason with her, stuttering over your words for a moment as you waved your hands around, magic dancing through the air with them. “Look, it’s so complicated, but I don’t even want to be here! I-I just want to find out about Project Sentry-”

The man with the shield turned his gun on you next with a laugh.

“Project Sentry, huh? Sounds like some classified information someone would be sneaking in here to steal,”

You’d fumbled for a minute, unsure how to go forward now that there were multiple guns trained on you, and your magic flickered for a second as you faltered. You’d all spun on your heels toward the door, though, as the sound of another person coughing sounded across the room.

The man had barely crawled across the floor, hadn’t even looked up yet, but you could feel him. Like a tug on your soul, you could almost feel everything about him. And the second he looked up, his eyes locking with yours as his fidgeting with his clothing ceased, your breath caught in your throat.

“W-whoa…” he’d stuttered out, eyes wide as he pointed a finger in your direction, the other three mercenaries in the room simply watching in silence and confusion. “It’s…it’s you! From my dreams!”

Your hands dropped almost instantly as you let out the breath you’d been holding.

“Oh my god…you’re real,”

The name you’d wondered about for two years now was so simple, yet so him: Bob. You wished your first time meeting him had gone smoothly, that the next few days would have been simple, but they were anything but. There were moments scattered throughout that you’d dreamt of before, and he had too. When you’d protected him in the hallway trying to escape from the vault and Valentina’s team, when you’d refused to fight him at the top of the former Avengers Tower, or when you’d chased him through the Void, promising to be by his side and to help save him from himself.

Now, months had passed, and for the second time in your life, you were an Avenger again, but this time with a new team and no mentor to show you the ropes. Your new team, your friends, were sick and tired of you, though, because all you and Bob did was dance around one another.

You’d confided in Yelena and Bucky your dreams, the pull on your soul, and the connection you knew you had to Bob buried deep inside you, while Bob had confessed the same to John and Ava (though his confession was more coerced out of him than freely given). But for the most part, you danced around one another.

It was infuriating to see the way you and Bob were attached at the hip, but neither of you was able to admit anything to one another. Accidental hand brushes almost every day, matching blushing cheeks, and your inability to talk to one another without stumbling over your words. Alexei was groaning almost constantly, watching the pair of you dance around your feelings, feelings he claimed were “written in the stars.”

You and Bob had conversations here and there regarding dreams you’d shared, about how weird it was to experience them and know that they would potentially happen. But your conversations always skirted around the steamy dreams, the intimate ones, the ones that showed the connection you held that went far past platonic. But it was gnawing at both of you, the pull that you felt to one another every second of the day, that one day it finally came to a head.

“D-do you want to uh, to go up to the roof with me?”

You’d looked up from your place at the kitchen sink, arms deep within the suds as you scrubbed away at the dirty dishes left over from team dinner the night before. Warmth flooded your cheeks immediately as you looked at Bob, who wasn’t even looking at you but was fidgeting with the two sandwiches on the plate before him that he was making.

“O-oh, uh uh-yeah, sure. Any uh, any reason why?”

The flush that spread across his skin was evident from where you were, as she shrugged.

“Our friends, they’re uh…they’re loud sometimes. And you haven’t eaten yet, so uh, I made you a sandwich,”

You bit into your bottom lip, trying to calm the nerves dancing around the pit of your stomach and alleviate the tension that was pulling on the cord connecting the two of you.

“Yeah. Why don’t- why don’t you head up and I’ll meet you up there when I finish up the dishes,”

The dishes could’ve waited, but you needed the extra ten minutes it afforded you to calm down. There was some distant memory in your mind of that moment, a sense of deja vu flooding you as you felt like you’d dreamt of that exact conversation at one point in time. You did everything you could to put on a faint air of confidence to yourself as you joined Bob on the roof of the Watchtower.

The last time you’d been on this roof was to celebrate Alexei’s birthday a few months ago. He had desperately wanted to celebrate while looking over the skyline of “the greatest city in the world,” but the high winds that were experienced at that height on top of a skyscraper were…less than ideal. He’d enjoyed his birthday gift from you, which was an enchantment surrounding the rooftop garden of the building, blocking out the wind and allowing him to enjoy the party the rest of the team set up for him.

Bob was sitting cross-legged on one of the couches left behind on the rooftop from the party, hands wringing together in his lap as he looked up to see you walk out onto the patio area. He smiled, nervousness radiating off of him, as you took a seat beside him.

“I should come up here more often,” you softly told him, wringing your own hands together before busying yourself with grabbing the plate he’d left for you with your sandwich. “The sunset over the city…it’s beautiful.”

“I come up here sometimes to think,” Bob told you, taking a bite of his sandwich while glancing over at you. “I’m uh, not a fan of heights…but it’s still pretty.”

You’d both gone silent to eat your sandwiches, but you could feel the weight of the conversation hanging in the air, the one you knew would come someday. The tug in your heart every time you looked at him, the feeling in your soul that urged you to simply move closer to him, despite the elevated heart rate coursing through you.

“Bob-”

“Do you think about them?” his voice had cut you off, the words rushed out as he looked up at you, hugging his arms around his knees as his leg began to shake. “The…the dreams?”

“All the time,” you told him quietly, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Since we met, though, we haven’t had any new ones.”

“What do you…think of them?”

“They’re…comforting,” was the word you settled on, tucking your hair behind your ear as you looked away from Bob for a moment, admiring the colors of the sunset in the sky. “At first, they uh, they were weird. I’ve never really been with anyone…romantically, at least. So being myself in situations like that…they were weird. But you-you-you became this weird constant in my life. I enjoyed going to sleep, knowing that uh, that I’d see you in my dreams. That’s why I tried so hard to find you.”

There was quiet between you both for a moment as you came to terms with your own words, as you accepted the feeling that you were pretty sure was buried in your heart before you even knew about it: you loved him, you loved him before you even knew who he was. Truthfully, your love for him was probably woven into the seams of who you were and who you were going to be before you were even born. And somewhere, deep down in the connection tied between you both and laid out across the dreams you knew were more than just dreams, you knew he loved you, too.

Before you could voice any of this to Bob, he beat you to it.

“I like you!” the outburst interrupted the silence as you turned back to him, frozen in place as Bob stumbled through his words to find the right way to explain it all. “Well, uh, I think I…I think I love you, more so than like. And maybe- maybe I always have? It’s confusing. But since I met you, I…I always want to be around you and- and I can’t imagine ever being with anyone but you…”

Mustering even the smallest bit of confidence you could, you took Bob’s hand in your own, flashing him what you hoped was a comforting smile even as nerves flooded your system.

“After Wanda, my mentor, died on Mount Wundagore, she’d left me something: The Book of Vishanti,” you explained to him. “Wanda’s destiny was written out in The Darkhold, and she told me mine was written out in The Book of Vishanti. I decided never to look, that it was better never to know, and I’d let it play out instead. But I know if I did look…you’d be there. You’d be written across every inch of my destiny. And destiny or not…I-I think I’d fall in love with you all the same.”

It took a moment for the smile matching your own to cross his face, before his palm turned to face yours, your fingers intertwining with one another. You sat on that roof, smiling at one another like fools in love, before Bob let out a breathy laugh.

“How-how do we do…this?”

“Beats me, I’ve never gotten this far,” you’d laughed with him, shifting closer as the space between you both gradually shrank until it was nothing. “Our dream selves…they seem pretty adept at it, though.”

“Maybe it, uh…maybe it just takes practice?”

You both teetered on the edge for a moment before Bob made the first move, surging forward and pressing his lips to yours in a chaste kiss. He’d pulled back sooner than you wanted him to, matching blushes coating your cheeks.

It was your turn, the ice already broken, as you surged toward him this time, pressing your lips back to his and refusing to pull away. That tug between you both seemed to lighten finally as 

that wall was finally broken between the two of you, laughter flowing between you both as you pressed kiss after kiss to his lips. Now that you’d finally known the feeling of his lips on yours outside of your dreams, you never wanted it to end.

Locked in your world together, neither of you were privy to the knowledge that Alexei was currently bolting away from the rooftop door and down the stairs, yelling out for Yelena and the team that “his ship was finally sailing.”

[vettelsvee]

ARGUMENTS AND UNWANTED SHARED SECRETS | Charles Leclerc

⋆ PAIRING: Dad!Charles Leclerc x Mum wife!Reader ⋆ SUMMARY: Charles is back home for summer break, and a message he receives from Lando to hang out in a club makes the two of you argue in front of your daughter because all you want is her to enjoy her dad... or maybe, is just your nervousness and hormones making you overthink a lot ⋆ WORD COUNT: 1462 ⋆ VEE'S NOTES: First ever fic i’m posting as a university graduate and officially a teacher, so I can say that apart from some exams my nightmare after 4 years is finally done! 🫡 I'd love to read your thoughts about this one, so feel free to comment and reblog, I'd appreciate it a lot! <3 ↳ TALK TO ME/MAKE YOUR REQUESTS! | FORMULA 1 MASTERLIST

The long-awaited summer break had arrived, and finally, Charles Leclerc could return to his beloved Monaco to spend three weeks with you, his wife, and your four-year-old daughter, Julia.

There was no doubt that traveling so much, and especially being separated from his little family for long periods of time, was exhausting emotionally and mentally for the Monegasque. Still, he knew he had to continue with his career if he wanted to achieve the goals his younger self had set for him: becoming a world champion. That's why videocalls with the women of his life, and the support of some of his mates, especially the newly dad on the grid, Max Verstappen, made the season more bearable.

That's why, even while having dinner in pajamas, talking about any topic that came up while enjoying a simple homemade dinner they had cooked together, Charles felt grateful.

"How's the season going so far, daddy?" your daughter asked, looking at your husband curiously as she held her glass of water.

Charles sighed, feeling a little uncomfortable. He didn't want to tellyou anything related to his disastrous season at Ferrari, especially not in front of your daughter.

"It's been tough so far," he replied as calmly as he could, "but we still have the second half ahead to fight. It’s not like we’re winning the championship, but we could still fight for some points."

The 6-year-old girl, sitting to Charles' left, looked saddened to hear her father's words.

"Why can't we go see daddy at a race?" she asked, looking at you, who tried to smile the best you could.

At that moment, the Monegasque was overwhelmed with love even your face said otherwise. It seemed like your daughter had read his mind as he was going to suggest it to you in the following days.

"Would you like us to come see you race, honey?"

"I wouldn't like it, I would honestly love it," Leclerc nodded enthusiastically. "Having you in the paddock, just like when you were pregnant with Julia, would be a dream."

The little girl was over the moon about the idea, kicking her little legs with enthusiasm.

"Does that mean we can go see daddy, mommy? I want to go see him race! And maybe I can see Lewis too!"

You savored your daughter's excitement.

"Of course, honey. We'll try to go to a few races if possible, of course."

Charles took another bite of his meal before speaking again.

"Oh, come on," your husband replied, taking another bite of dinner. "You just have to make sure that Juls wears sunscreen and drinks enough water."

Suddenly, Charles heard the ringing tone of his cellphone in the distance. With a soft apologise, he immediately got up to answer the call, thinking it might be some work-related issue requiring his attention. As he returned, you and little Julia were discussing which races you could attend to see her father.

"It was Lando," the driver commented. "He told me he’s going out tonight."

"And are you going?" you frowned, not getting any response from your husband. All he did was staying silence, as if he was hiding something from you, as if he was scared. You knew him all too well, and that’s exactly what he was doing. "Charles, I'm talking to you," you insisted. "I don’t mind you’re going, but… I don’t know, I thought having you here, with us, for the summer break, meant you were spending time with us."

Leclerc sighed.

“I just wanted to hang out with Lando and with you as well. You know, having some private time and trying to relax as much as possible without laying on the couch the whole day when I’m not at the gym.”

Julia sat quietly in her seat, sensing the tension between her parents filling the room even at her young age.

You stood up, abruptly dropping the fork she was eating with.

"It's not just about you relaxing or us having a good time," you shouted, a bit desperate, and immediately regretted it. "You’re… I don’t know, Charles, I feel like you’re always kinda prioritizing your career over our family. Plus, what are you going to do with your daughter tonight? Are you going to leave her alone? Or should we call your mother at nine thirty at night on a whim?"

"It's not fair for you to make me feel this way, you know?" Charles retorted, getting defensive. "I work hard to provide everything you need. Besides, you can stay here with Juls if you can't, or don’t, want to come."

"I work too, and I handle other chores as well," you said simply, trying not to stick to his words, which were definitely hurting you. "Oh, and I also take care of your daughter and try to make her see that her father still loves her despite not being there for her when she needs him the most."

The tension building up between you in the dining room could be cut with a knife, and your daughter’s cries were what snapped you out of your anger.

"Daddy, I don't want you to fight! I want us to be together and happy!"

"Juls," Charles approached his daughter slowly, "it's okay, mommy and I are just exchanging opinions..."

"What's going on, mommy?" the girl interrupted her father, still with tears in her eyes. "Why are you and daddy fighting? Are you going to divorce like Lily’s parents?"

Charles and you realized what you were doing. You weren't used to fighting this hard, especially not in front of your daughter. Immediately, they both sat on the couch, putting Julia between you both.

"We're sorry for yelling, sweetheart," you apologized to the little girl. "Dad and I are just having a disagreement because, sometimes, adults have different points of view on a particular issue."

Charles nodded, agreeing with you and, at the same time, trying to calm the situation:

"That's right, Julia. Sometimes people don't agree, but that doesn't mean mom and I don't love each other anymore!"

Julia nodded slowly, still confused and saddened by the argument she had witnessed.

"Are you going to be okay then? Are you not going to separate? Can we go see daddy at a race, mommy?"

You and Charles exchanged a quick glance, increasingly realizing that the argument had really hurt their daughter.

"Of course, princess," the driver replied, planting a kiss on her forehead while getting up from his seat. "Hey, why don't you go to our room and pick a movie?"

Julia smiled shyly and left the living room without saying anything, a sign that she had calmed down a bit.

"Hey. Come here, please."

Charles took your hand, seeing in your eyes a feeling he promised never to cause again every time you had an argument. 

Pain. Disappointment. The feeling of not being good enough. 

Overthinking it all.

"You're right, love," he said, wiping away the tears starting to fall from your face. "I'm so sorry for acting like a jerk, I just wanted us to have a good time and for you to be able to socialize with the guys like before Juls came into our lives."

"Don't worry, Charles," you tried to give him a niec smile, but it wasn’t really worth the try. "I got a bit intense too. I guess it's the hormones, they're changing every now and then and..."

You realized you messed up at that moment. Quickly, like a reflex movement, you put you right hand on your mouth, but it was already too late. 

Once again, you fucked up even it was supposed to be a surprise...

"What do you mean, hormones?"

"I'm pregnant," you whispered. "I know we weren't planning it, but..."

The Monegasque was speechless, and a broad smile began to spread across his face.

"That's incredible!" he exclaimed, hugging you affectionately. "We're going to be parents again. I mean, it’s not like I was expecting this news but honestly, I can't believe it..."

"Mommy! Daddy! When are you coming?"

Julia appeared again. Now, she was wearing her father's Ferrari cap which, despite being too big for her little head, she loved. Her face immediately covered with a smile as soon as she saw her parents hugging, quickly forgetting you two were talking more loudly than you should moments before.

"Great! We're all together and happy now!" she shouted down the hallway until she reached the bedroom Charles and you shared.

Once the growing family lay down on the bed and started watching Cars for the umpteenth time —because to Julia, Lightning McQueen reminded her of her father—, Charles couldn't help but think how lucky he was to have his family by his side, even he was far from stupid sometimes.

© VETTELSVEE (2025). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

[minaharkerdailymirror]

Mina knew those questions would be coming, "No, Danny, you didn't change...but it's different with me. When you changed, you were still young. You'd barely gotten the chance to live yet. but there's decades in me of anger and trauma. I've lived through wars, I've seen the worst of humanity and monsters alike. There's a darkness that you choose not to look at because you love me so much."

She was quiet, and took his hand and traced them on her scars, "My scars would be gone, my map of stories....these scars you kiss. They would go if I turned. I couldn't taste my favorite alcohol again except through blood. Giddy Drunk Mina that bursts into giggles at things that aren't even that wouldn't happen unless it was at the cost of someone else."

She looked at him, "I'd lose a lot of the freedom I have to come and go as I please. I'd be bound inside until the sun went down and then I could be free....and even then it's only a limited time before I take shelter."

Maybe that's where it all lied, her whole life she did as she pleased and when she pleased to. Most things were done on her terms. TO be a vampire....those freedoms she loved would be cut off

And then more serious, "If we are all turned, there is no one to protect us when we go down to sleep."

Yes, they had security, but none of them were as aware as MIna was of the danger outside forces could do

She toyed with his fingers, "I would not hate you if you gave them the go ahead to do what you thought was best....but if it can be avoided Danny....I want to avoid it as long as possible."

Because she would never fully forgive Lestat for turning her when he finally did it. And that was something they all seemed to understand and why it had to be someone like him over Daniel

“So, you want to interview vampires, so you?”

[hueningholic]

PARK JONGSEONG who simply needs to take you right in the fitting room of your favorite store.

ꔫ MDNI. cw. est relationship, rich!husband jay x needy f!reader, public sex, unprotected sex (wrap it), creampie, praise, petnames (baby, pretty, angel, beautiful, sexy, good girl), hints at being caught, reader is a bit insecure about her dress choice, loving pjs

every few months jay's workplace would host a fancy dinner for everyone who worked hard under their name. people who were loyal to the company, usually more discreet. each one, he would invite you with him to celebrate his good work. but also, simply to show off his gorgeous wife.

you'd spent several days complaining about not having any more nice dresses to flaunt to the events, your husband listening to every word of frustration that felt from your lips. "let's go shopping, then. that dress store you love. my treat."

so here you two were, jay leaning against the wall outside of the fitting room area waiting for you to showcase every one that you'd picked. he adored your taste almost as much as he adored you-- the way every inch of fabric hugged your waist, and how the silk fell perfectly between your cleavage. not only did he love to spoil you, but it was almost like a gift for himself, as well.

"what about this one? i don't know.." you questioned as you stepped out of the room, turning in a 360 to let him judge. a soft hum sounded from jay, eyes scanning left and right to see if anyone was around before stepping closer to you. you wore (your favorite color) so well, he couldn't resist how the dress cut out in the back and just barely managed to keep your breasts from spilling out of the sides.

"i know, though." he moved you into the fitting room, taking another moment to glance behind him to make sure no one saw him go in with you. all clear. his hands ran up to clasp around your shoulders as he stood behind you, giving you both the perfect view of seeing yourself in the mirror. "see that beautiful woman? she looks so fucking sexy in this dress, she drives her husband insane." his voice was low and husky against your nape, causing shivers down your spine.

"jay-- what if someone hears?" you slightly panicked as his lips connected to your neck, leaving soft trails of kisses in their wake. "well, i guess we'll have to find you a new store to fawn over." all he did was tease, hands dropping from your shoulders to slip right into the sides of the fabric. your bare tits rested beneath his palms, groping you so perfectly that you couldn't help but close your eyes in renewed pleasure.

"fuck, look at me, y/n." he slipped a hand out to grip your chin, your eyes opening to see your reflections once more. "you make me so messy, i just can't hold back.." jay whispered into your ear, nibbling quickly on your earlobe before sloppily fumbling his bottoms down. his cock sprang out, entirely hard as the veins seemed to already pulse. the lighting of the fitting room giving it so much more attention than the dim ones in your shared bedroom do. you couldn't help but stare in awe, causing jay to chuckle softly.

abruptly, he pushed you against the mirror. hands pressed up against the reflective glass as he slid up the dress with the tag still hanging from it. he didn't bother pushing your soaked panties down, just to the side as he lined himself up at your entrance. "jay, please.. please take me.." you whimpered, pleading as your pussy leaked over his tip.

"have to keep quiet if you want to cum, baby. can you do that for me, yeah? such a good girl.." his voice was barely audible, but you understood everything. he sunk into you with one thrust, your head darting backwards from the stretch. his fingers traced up your revealed spine, his breath catching in his throat from just how turned on he could become by your figure alone.

he moved at a fast pace, hard enough that your barely covered breasts slapped against the mirror with each thrust. when he found your sensitive spot, you couldn't take it anymore-- ripping out a sound so pornographic, that the new coming voices surrounding the room outside had fallen flat.

his eyebrows furrowed, hand roughly slapping over your mouth as your eyes rolled back. "what did i say, angel? you're going to be left unsatisfied if you can't shut that pretty mouth." he whispered huskily, hips starting to stutter as he neared his high. you, were about to come undone, too.

strands of his slicked back hair now laid against his forehead, beads of sweat forming down his face as he gripped your hip with his available hand. you looked at the mirror, and the sight enough had you clenching his cock, wanting to milk him for whatever it was worth.

your scream muffled into his hand, creaming around his length as he pumped his own seed deep into you, tossing his head back with a strained groan. he stirred his cock inside of you a few more times before pulling out, watching how his pearlescent release trickled down your soft leg. "fuck, y/n. you're just perfect." jay rambled, leaning down to kiss your shoulder blade.

as you two finally resituated yourselves, you knew you'd found the dress. he would buy it for you with zero hesitation of your choice. "thank you, jjong." you reached for his hand and planted a gentle kiss on the top of it, causing him to smile warmly down at you.

"whatever you need, baby. anytime. i love you, and buying you things makes me feel all the more fulfilled." you two exited the fitting room in the clothes you arrived in, almost as if all care left your systems as the mortified faces of fellow shoppers around you noticed. the only thing left to verify their suspicions being the handprints you'd left behind on that fitting room mirror. "i love you too. kisses when we get home, right?"

"just said, whatever you need."

[lady-of-the-spirit]

annoying as fuck to see people acting like Madam Jin made excuses for Jin Zixuan and tried to pressure Jiang Yanli into marriage with him as if 99% of her scenes aren't her going "I'm sorry about my stupid loser son's behaviour Yanli dearest I'll make him apologize if it's the last fucking thing I do don't worry about a thing"

[paradoxius]

There once was a man who had nothing in the world but his son and his house in the woods. When he died, the son was left with nothing but the house. Presently, an aged traveler was passing through the woods and stopped at the house.

"Let me stay the night in this house," he shouted at the boy. There was not much space in the house, but even so and without another word the boy opened the door and let the traveler in.

"Let me have some food to eat," shouted the traveler. The boy had only a small piece of bread and cup's worth of wine in his cupboard, but even so and without another word he gave them to the man.

"Wash these clothes in the river and have them dry by morning," shouted the traveler. There was not enough sunlight left for the clothes to dry on the line, but even so and without another word the boy washed the clothes and set about drying them over the fire.

"Stoke this fire hotter," shouted the traveler. The boy did as he said until he had burned up all his firewood, but even so and without another word the boy took boards from his house to make heat to his guest's liking.

"Let me sleep in your best bed," shouted the traveler. There was only one bed in the small house and the boy was already planning to say up to tend the fire so the clothes would finish drying in time, so he told the traveler that was already a given.

"Slaughter your most prized animal for my supper," shouted the traveler. The boy had but one animal: a goose. But rather than slaughter it without another word, the boy begged the traveler, "let me not kill this goose, for I love nothing else so much in the world."

The traveler scoffed at this strange request, but abided it and made another offer. "If you will not kill the goose," said the traveler, "then butcher yourself for me to eat." Again the boy questioned his guest's demand saying, "if I were to die for your supper, who would finish drying your clothes, or stoke the fire as you slept, or make you breakfast in the morning as you must certainly want?"

The traveler was taken aback by the boy's selflessness. You see, his greedy demands were tests in truth, and he would have set a magical punishment upon the boy had any of them been selfishly refused. The boy's strange demand to spare the goose and his seeming willingness to sacrifice himself but for his responsibilities as a host now set the traveler's plan in doubt.

The boy, in truth, was a prince, and his house was a magnificent castle in a rich kingdom. All had been transformed into their poor state along with his father, who was a king, as the result of a curse incurred during similar visit some time in the past.

The boy was actually just passing the time until a virtuous girl happened by, at which point the boy would test her by making his own unreasonable demands so that she could prove her virtue and be rewarded by the restoration of his kingdom.

Also the boy's father wasn't actually dead. Instead, he had been miraculously transformed into a goose after someone tried to murder him and throw him in the river as part of an inheritance thing. Totally unrelated inheritance thing, actually. Nothing to do with the cursed kingdom. The boy didn't know about it, though, so it's not relevant to this particular story.

But the goose-ghost dad thing is.

Like I said, the traveler was confused by the boy's seemingly strange priorities, but he made an ultimatum. "Either kill your goose or yourself. If you must live to stoke my fire and dry my clothes and make my breakfast, then the goose must die to make supper."

"Then it shall," said the boy, and at that very moment the traveler and the boy's father changed places, the goose becoming again a man, and the man becoming a goose. The goose—no longer a guest, since geese can't be guests—was instantly slaughtered by the boy, and he and his father had a rich supper in the humble house they shared.

Baba Yaga was also there.

Wizard disguised as a harmless beggar showing up at a castle and doing everything in their power to make themselves an obnoxious guest so that when the master of the house finally snaps they can declare them a poor host and put a curse on them, but nothing is working, and they're starting to wonder who's really fucking with whom.

[moon-ttokki-x]

hiii lovee

can you do a fic with chan with an overworked!trainee!reader, where he finds her asleep at a cafe near the JYP building, after his day of work and it’s just very fluffy and sweet

-🪻

i haven't got anything to say tbh so . . .

star in the making - (chan x overworked trainee!reader)

pairing: bang chan x overworked trainee!reader

summary: chan finds you asleep in the cafe near JYPE after a long day.

genre: idol & trainee!au, mentions of eating and drinking, chan needs to put a fucking screen filter on his laptop, reader is tired asf, mentions of injuries, self-doubt, chan is the softest mashed potato :[

a/n: i had to drag this out of my brain . . . div by @roseraris

skz masterlist

Chan left the JYP building with his head hung low.

In the dusty purple hue glowing from the late-evening sky, everything felt soft and pillowy, but he couldn't help but drag his feet in exhaustion. The scraping of his shoes against the pavement slowed to a stop as he lifted his head, inhaling a deep, cold breath of lilac air.

He groaned and stretched his back a little, feeling the satisfying vibration ring through his bones. He couldn't remember if he'd actually taken a break from working since the morning, and his eyes stung and watered as he blinked them shut.

"Ow," he huffed, scrubbing at his face. His knuckles came away wet and his vision momentarily blurred, strained from the constant focus on his screens in the studio.

Making a mental note to set his screen brightness lower next time, he looked up just as his eyes focused on the cafe across the street.

Small, golden, and cosy, it stayed open late enough for desperate trainees and exhausted artists to rest, a tiny slice of evening light in the otherwise-deserted streets of Seoul.

Chan checked his watch. He should really be heading back to the dorms; Jeongin would be expecting him. He wasn't sure he'd make it back without some sort of energy boost, though, so he looked across the streets both ways, and then crossed, pulling the wooden-framed door of the little cafe open.

The warm, golden glow of the overhead lights hit him with a soft ray of warmth, making his cheeks turn pink from the effects of the thawing cold in his blood. He sighed, pulling the door shut behind himself, and nodded once to the barista.

She smiled tiredly, wiping down the counter with a cloth, and moved away to attend to one of the coffee machines, too familiar with his face to cause much of a fuss.

Chan ordered a hot drink and paid, before stuffing his receipt in his pocket and looking around for somewhere to sit.

His gaze caught onto a small, hunched-over figure nestled in a tiny booth at the back, a cup of barely-touched tea next to them.

Chan smiled softly, the familiar flop of your hair and the usually-ruffled clothes drowning your frame pulling him like a magnet.

Sitting down next to you and shedding his coat, he draped it over your back before poking you lightly in the side.

"Mmhmff..."

"Wake up, Y/n."

Lifting your head, you groaned before rubbing your eyes with a fist. "Wha- Chan?"

He grinned, the skin around his eyes crinkling. He didn't seem to mind the lack of honorifics, simply choosing to stroke a strand of hair out of your face in an affectionate, brotherly gesture. "Hi."

You sighed sleepily before resting your head on the cushioned backseat of the booth. "What time is it?"

"Late enough." He pushed the cooling cup of tea towards you.

Taking a small sip with a momentous amount of effort, you pushed the cup away before blinking away the remnants of sleepiness. "What are you doing here?"

Chan nodded at the barista in thanks as she set down his drink in front of him, and pulled the steaming mug towards himself. "Needed a boost before heading home. Didn't feel like getting a ride home; I've been sat on my ass all day in the studio."

You snicker, fighting another yawn. "As per usual."

"Shut it, trainee."

A tiny laugh escaped your mouth; you pulled Chan's coat around yourself a little tighter, feeling the post-sleep shiver set in, a disturbance to your previous state. "I've been sleeping since four, I think. It was packed when I came in."

"It's bad for your back to sleep like that, you know."

You fired back without hesitation. "And it's bad to be shut up in a studio all day, staring at a screen."

Chan's chuckle warmed the air between you, a musky, welcoming sound. His voice cleared a little as he took a sip of his drink, the warm liquid soothing his throat. "Fair enough. Still, you shouldn't sleep here. Go home. Rest."

You shook your head, resting it on your folded forearms as you leaned over the table. "Too tired. I had dance practice all day."

He stared thoughtfully into the distance, gaze unfocused. "It can't have been that bad."

"I can't feel my legs. I think I pulled a muscle..."

"Which one?"

"All of them."

Chan choked on his drink, hiccupping as he thumped himself in the chest. You chuckled as he exhaled, wiping the last dregs of his drink from his lips. "Average trainee experience, huh?"

You sighed and nestled further into your forearms, Chan's heavy coat like a hug on your back. "Yeah. I don't seem to be getting any better, though. Lots of my friends have dropped out already."

Chan was silent for a moment. He pressed his fingertips to the warm porcelain of the mug in his hands, relishing its warmth. His voice was soft in the golden light. "Lots of trainees do. It's not just about talent, Y/n; you have to be able to keep pushing and persevering. You need heart."

"I do?"

"Yes," Chan sat back against the cushioned seat. "And you've got plenty of it, little one."

You couldn't fight the warmth rising in your cheeks.

"Okay," you whispered.

Chan's gaze was steady, measured; he ran a finger around the rim of the mug in his hands. "Keep your chin up, hmm? It gets easier around evaluation time. Just push as hard as you can for now and it'll pay off. I promise."

You gazed at him thoughtfully; the smooth, cold-flushed planes of his face, his dark, windswept hair. His eyes, perhaps a little baggy and strained, but as full of loveliness and affection as they had been the day you'd first met.

Your voice was quiet and thoughtful, wary as if you were afraid you'd be overstepping a boundary. "Was it worth it? The struggle?"

His gaze met yours, and he pushed the mug away. "I felt like it wasn't really worth it while I was training. But now, I'm the leader of a successful group, I've learnt so much and met so many new people, I get to spend my days doing what I love-"

"And you have seven kids."

He tweaked your nose, smiling at your cheeky interruption. "Eight. Including you."

You grinned, sleep still faintly dulling your senses in a pleasant, dreamy haze. "Me?"

Chan chuckled quietly. "Yes, you. Our little star-in-the-making."

He picked up your teacup and placed it next to his in the middle of the table. He reached into the pocket of his coat, still draped over you, and retrieved his phone.

"Come on. I'll take you home."

a/n: yayy new fic (do people even read these notes? comment if you do pls)

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[blueberrypancakesworld]

Could you write an x reader where Bob Reynolds interacts with a female thunderbolt with gravitational powers who has a calm demeanor. She doesn’t talk much but will when Bob is around.

Gravity attraction to eachother

Bob Reynolds x fem!reader

warning : mutual feelings, fluff, kiss, hurt/comfort, cuddling

Summary : Bob loved his friends and his new home, but above all he liked the quiet one of the group. 'Gravitas', the talented member of the group who seemed to be bursting with energy, found her voice and finally started talking, especially when she was with Bob. Maybe there was more between them than just a love of milkshakes and doing the dishes.

info: Thanks for the request, dear anon. I like the power the reader has and hope you enjoy reading it ;)

masterlist

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

It seemed like pure coincidence that they had all found each other, that they had all ended up in the same room of the facility at the same time.

That they had all been looking for each other and that they had met Bob, who, at the end of this confusing mission and somehow reunion, meant so much more to them.

Who could have guessed that Val wanted them all dead, that Bob would become more than just a few comments, and that at the end of the day they would live as a real team in the former Avengers tower?

None of them could have known this, not Bucky, who was getting more and more at odds with Sam, not Yelena, who was trying her best with Bucky, Ava, who was providing moral support, John, who still didn't have a new shield, and Bob, whose bright eyes were always curiously fixed on one person.

The moment he saw how she had practically stuck Ghost to the floor with her power back then, the dark-haired man was fascinated and amused at the same time.

Whenever she used her power, he watched in fascination “You're like an astronaut with superpowers,” he smiled as he watched his friend and teammate attaching several mats to the floor and wall during training, Bob's comment, although meant kindly, made her heart beat faster.

Gravitas after an experiment in a pressure chamber got out of control and they wanted to use her for testing purposes, her gravitational control emerged.

What had started with pain and fear, causing her to withdraw and work in secret, was now something different.

Something that made her realize for the first time that there was good in the world, that made her smile back when Bob or Ava gave her a cheerful look in the morning.

She helped John and Bucky with their endurance training with her strength or simply washed up with Bob in the kitchen while he told her about his day. She liked her friends, and she especially liked Bob.

She wasn't the most talkative, but when she was alone with him, it seemed as if he was her gravitational field, as if he was pulling her toward him and she was letting him pull her.

“Thanks, Bob,” she had replied briefly back then, raising her hand slightly in farewell as he let her continue training alone with a goodbye smile.

The warm feeling in her chest, that he liked her strength, that he liked her and wasn't afraid of her, meant more to her than anything else.

Something she couldn't help, however, were her glances, perhaps too conspicuous or too inconspicuous. When she looked at Bob, he always seemed to look away.

She didn't dare to talk to him, and when she did, she never really knew what to say, what topic to bring up, or whether he even wanted to talk to her.

One glance from Yelena told her that the blonde had noticed everything, that she and Ava knew something was going on. “I'm sure he likes you,” she whispered to her friend and teammate after dinner when the girl of the same age looked at Bob again.

The dark-haired man was stacking plates when one of the top ones suddenly started to slide. Without a word, she moved her hand and the plate floated toward her.

She smiled at Bob “Thanks, that was incredible!” he called from the table, his broad smile making her cheeks flush.

He seemed to have no idea how he affected her, how grateful she was that he didn't ignore her despite her awkward manner.

How could she say no when there was a knock at her door that evening? The others had all retired after a movie night, and she had wanted to go to bed too.

She went to the door in her blue pajamas and opened it silently, looking away into a pair of friendly eyes. “Hi, Astronaut, I thought you might want to look at the stars with me?” he asked.

Bob, using the nickname he had given her and pointed to a small package of star-shaped cookies before pointing to the window behind him, where the city was lit up at night and the bright white stars shone above it.

Her first reflex was to close the door again and say nothing, but with Bob, he always seemed to understand her. “Thanks, Bob...you're very kind,” she said, grabbing a coat before they both went out onto the large balcony of the tower.

Wrapped in a blanket, Bob kept holding out the packet of cookies to her. They ate them quietly and calmly, looking up at the sky.

She heard him smile, his joy when he saw a new star, and how he leaned carefully against her. “You're so quiet sometimes. Is everything okay?” he asked after another moment of silence, and she looked up from the stars at him in surprise.

The team had taken her in and they were all friends, more than that, but no one had ever asked her about it directly, pulling the blanket a little tighter around herself.

“I'm not the one who talks a lot, I observe, think my own thoughts, smile...but with you it's different Bob” she slowly revealed herself and looked cautiously at him and saw him give her a proud look.

As if all of this were a plan, as if he were trying to help her, when she felt his hand reach for hers and he looked back up at the sky, she felt the warmth.

Her own gaze followed his, full of relaxation and joy, as he held her hand and she rested it on his shoulder after a moment. “Everything for the sweet astronaut,” she heard him say as he took another cookie and happily munched on it, giving her the support and care she needed.

Under the starry sky, as they sat there next to each other and cuddled, his heart beat just as fast with joy and affection as hers. Gravity also attracts love.

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

@vanguardlady , @fadingbatmuffindonkey , @lihims , @alpinesmommy , @yourloverslost , @eurydicesxshadow

[augustwinesworld]

in love with “I look in peoples windows”

if you’re willing to share do you have any headcanons about Noah 🥹 since he’s also kinda unconscious, what kind of kid is he? What type of relationship does he have with his mom? What is he obsessed with/are his interests ?

i just want to know more about these characters you’ve created!!!

𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞'𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬—𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

What if your eyes looked up and met mine one more time?

series description: 

pairing: dr. michael robinavitch x  female ob/gyn attending! reader

genre: hidden pregnancy…maybe?

notes: Hiiiii, omg I am so sorry it took so long to answer this! I had a lot of shit going on last week, so I didn't write anything (and wasn't planning to tbh). Between exams, a three day opening event at the gallery, my birthday, and some other things I was very much overwhelmed. But finally, this headcannon is complete and I hope you like it<3<3

NEWS FLASH! : NEW CHAPTER WILL BE COMING OUT THIS SUNDAY, 18/05

word count: 2.1 k.

extra: moodboard | playlist | ☆:**:. 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐞 .:**:.☆ 

Feel free to #𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 (◕‿◕✿) *:･ﾟ✧ if you have any scenarios in mind! I might not write everything but I’ll respond to everyone.

series masterlist: 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞'𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬

Noah used to be obsessed with Dinosaur King:

The cards, the DVDs, the battered Nintendo DS game with the cracked hinge. His room is still a shrine to it: plushies arranged like sentries on the bookshelf, the limited-edition holo cards in a binder under his bed. Legend has it the only thing that soothed him as a colicky baby was the sound of Jurassic Park playing in the background—Mom swears by it, even if he now covers his eyes during the T. rex scene (but peeks through his fingers).

But that was, you know, a year ago. Back when he was a kid. Now he rolls his eyes and says things like “I outgrew it,” but the second someone gets a dinosaur fact wrong—like claiming Velociraptors were the size of humans—he’ll practically combust. He’ll start with a scoff, then a “That’s not even close,” and launch into a very serious correction, complete with citations. Then he’ll go back to pretending he doesn’t care, cheeks a little pink.

He plays junior hockey, has from a very young age, but only started playing in a team three years ago. The ice is the one place where all the noise in his head seems to hush. He wears his Pittsburgh Penguins every game day, knows the team’s stats better than his times tables, and can name every position on the ice. 

Noah plays center, because of course he does—he’s the kind of kid who needs to know where everyone is, what’s coming next, and how to quietly keep things from falling apart. Center demands focus, balance, foresight; it gives his overactive brain a job and his anxious heart a place to breathe. He’s not the fastest on the ice, but he sees things—reads the play like a puzzle, always thinking three moves ahead. It’s the one place he doesn’t feel too much--it’s just enough.

The rink smells like cold rubber and somebody’s gross old socks. It’s loud, too—like whistles and stomping and parents yelling even though no one can really hear them over the buzz of the ice machines. 

Noah squints under the bright lights as he adjusts his helmet. It’s too tight. Again. “You’re gonna squish my brain,” he told Mom this morning, wrinkling his nose while she buckled the strap. She just kissed his forehead and said, “Squished brains make better decisions.” Dumb. A bit lame. But still kinda funny. He laughed.

Logan skates up and shoves him, grinning. “Race you to the bench after,” he says.

“Last time you tripped.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

They bump shoulders. No one's mad. Logan makes a gagging noise.

“Ugh, dude, you smell like syrup.”

Noah shrugs. “Had pancakes.”

“Yeah, I can tell. You’re like, sticky through your gear.”

“You’re just mad 'cause your mom made oatmeal again.”

Logan scowls. “That was private.”

They both start giggling, helmets clacking as they lean into each other, the kind of laugh that gets stuck in their throats.

Coach then shouts something about spacing and lines from the other side of the ice, but it’s kind of whatever. Noah just nods. He knows the basics: chase the puck, don’t fall, pass to Milo if he’s waving his arms around like crazy. He wipes his glove across his mouthguard and spits onto the rubber mat. Feels cool doing it. Like a real player.

The ref drops the puck.

He goes.

The ice makes that squeaky sound under his blades. His lungs burn, in a good way. He doesn’t see Mom, but he knows she’s watching. She always is. She claps louder than everyone, even yells his name sometimes—Noah hates that part—but today, when he glanced up at warm-ups, she was smiling with her hand over her mouth, talking to Logan’s dad. Mr. Harper. He’d laughed at something she said and leaned in a little. He’s standing kinda close. Like...close.. Noah doesn't know why he noticed. Or why it made his stomach feel weird. He just skates harder.

He wants her to watch. Just her.

LOOOOOVES boardgames. Especially the ones with many rules that his mom can’t understand so he has to explain with the utmost patience.

His routines. He likes knowing that every Friday night means takeout and a movie, or that Mom will play with his hair, leaving one or two braids hidden behind his hair after a bath if he’s tired. These things soothe the low hum of anxiety he doesn’t always have words for. Also, pancakes for dinner every Sunday. Chocolate chips for him and blueberries for mom. 

He shuts down emotionally under pressure. Especially if he’s scared or feels like he’s disappointed someone. So he might say, “I’m fine,” and then refuse to make eye contact for the rest of the night.

He gets jealous. Especially when it comes to his mom. If someone takes up her time—whether work, or even a friend—he might act out in subtle ways. Maybe he interrupts more. Maybe he pretends to “need” something he really doesn’t.

Milo’s sitting at the kitchen island, feet swinging, watching Noah’s mom slice apples like she’s doing magic.

“That smells so good,” he says, wide-eyed as she pulls cookies from the oven. “You should open a bakery or something.”

Noah stiffens. “She’s just making snacks,” he mutters.

His mom laughs, brushing flour from her cheek. “Milo, you’re sweet. But trust me, no one would buy cookies shaped like blobs.”

“She’s so nice,” Milo whispers to Logan, who’s already elbow-deep in the cookie plate.

Noah hears it. Hears all of it. And suddenly he’s on the verge of dying. “Mom,” he says loudly, climbing onto the stool beside her, “my throat kind of hurts.”

She turns to him, brow knitting. “Oh? Do you feel sick?”

“No,” he says, too fast. “But maybe you could make tea? Like the one with the honey and the—” He pauses, glancing at Milo.“—the kind you only make for me.”

There’s a beat. His mom looks at him for a second too long. Then she nods, brushing his bangs from his forehead. 

“Alright. Tea for the patient.”

Milo tries to ask her another question—something about the cookies—but she’s already moved to the kettle.

Noah shoots him a look. Not mean. Just... his. 

Like: mine.

Logan, clueless, stuffs another cookie into his mouth. “You’re so weird, dude.”

Noah shrugs, smug now. His mom's back was to Milo, and that’s what mattered.

He can be bossy with other kids. Especially younger ones. He thinks he’s just being “helpful,” but really he hates chaos and wants everyone to do what makes sense to him. This is when his dad’s rigidity shows up.

He’s prone to catastrophizing. He once got a B on a math quiz and whispered, “I’ll never get into a good school”—and he was only nine. A stomach ache? “What if it’s cancer.” Therapy’s been helping him name the spirals when they start, but they’re still real: fast, quiet, and hard to steer once his brain starts running.

A mildly anxious, overthinker. He overthinks, he spirals sometimes, but he's learning. He doesn’t always say it out loud, but it shows in the way he chews his sleeve or double-checks things that don’t need checking. And when he does speak up, he might say, “You should’ve called,” instead of “I missed you,” but the meaning still lands.

The house is quiet when you open the door—but not quiet enough. The TV is still on, humming low in the living room, and the lamp beside the couch casts a low glow. Your mother is passed out under a blanket, one slipper dangling off her foot.

You step further in, careful not to wake anyone. Then you hear it: the soft shuffle of bare feet on tile.

“Noah?”

He appears in the hallway, pajama pants wrinkled, hair flattened on one side. He’s holding his stuffed raptor by the neck, thumb pressed to the seam where the stitching came loose last week. His eyes are wide, but not upset. Just…watchful.

“You were gone a long time,” he says. Not accusing—just stating the facts. His voice is quiet. Even.

“I know, baby,” you say, setting your bag down by the door. “There was a delivery. Complications. I got stuck longer than I thought.”

He nods, like he’s tucking that away somewhere—filing it, the way he always does. You can see the questions lining up behind his eyes—how bad were the complications? did the baby make it? what if it happens again?—but he doesn’t ask.

He glances at the clock. “It’s really late.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I wasn’t scared,” he says, chewing the edge of his sleeve. “I just thought maybe something happened.”

You cross to him and crouch down, brushing his hair gently back. He leans into your hand, just a little, like something in him finally lets go.

“I’m okay,” you say softly. “You can always call me. Even if Grandma’s here.”

He nods again. A pause.

“I checked the front door twice,” he says. No smile, just the truth of it. A quiet ritual. A way to feel safe.

You kiss his forehead. “I’m proud of you.”

And he holds your hand all the way down the hall.

He picks up on things quickly—tones, looks, when something’s off. He’s the kind of kid who’ll go quiet when a room turns tense, or who’ll suddenly say, “Are you mad at each other?” when no one’s said a word. It’s not precocious, just… tuned-in. Like someone who’s had to watch carefully, who’s learned to read the air before stepping into it.

Kind but grounded. He has his mom’s warmth and sense of care—the kind of kid who offers his snack to someone who forgot theirs, or comforts a crying classmate—but he also knows when to draw a quiet boundary. He might say, “I think we need space right now,” the same way his mom would calmly de-escalate a tense room.

Funny in a dry, observational way. Robby’s sarcasm filtered through a 9-year-old’s lens. Not mean-spirited, just blunt. He might deadpan when someone tries to fix something with duct tape, then go help anyway.

The pizza place smelled like garlic and the floor was sticky in some spots, but Noah didn’t mind. He liked this kind of busy—clinking plates, soda fountains hissing, Logan talking with his mouth full across the table. He liked it even more when his mom was here, sitting next to him, her jacket still zipped halfway up from the cold outside.

She was smiling politely. Again.

Logan’s dad had been talking for what felt like forever—mostly about the game, a little about his job (something boring, Noah couldn’t remember), and now about how impressive it was that she managed to come straight from work to the rink, and still had energy to take the boys out to eat.

“I’m just saying,” he added, leaning back in the booth like he’d landed a punchline. “If there were a Hockey Mom Hall of Fame, you’d be in it. With a statue and everything.”

Noah stared at him. Then turned slowly to his mom. She looked like she was trying not to laugh—or maybe trying not to roll her eyes. Hard to tell.

“She’s not even a hockey mom,” Noah said, voice flat. “She doesn’t even know the rules.”

His mom choked on her water. Logan giggled into his Sprite.

Logan’s dad blinked. “Well—I mean, she shows up. That’s the important part, right?”

Noah didn’t answer. He just took a bite of pizza, deadpan. Chewed. Swallowed.

Then: “Statues are weird.”

There was a pause. The kind adults make when they’re trying to figure out if a kid just insulted them. His mom reached under the table and squeezed his knee gently.

“You okay?” she murmured.

Noah shrugged. “Mhm.” He took another bite.

He wasn’t mad. Not exactly. He just didn’t like the way Logan’s dad kept looking at her, like she was extra impressive for being tired and kind and good at things. Like that was rare. Noah already knew that. He didn’t need someone else pointing it out like it was a surprise.

Across the table, Logan slurped from his straw way too loudly before adding, “Dad, are you trying to be embarrassing, or does it just happen naturally?”

His dad raised his hands in mock offense. “Hey, I’m charming. This is peak dad charisma.”

Logan snorted. “You sound like the car guy on TV. The one who yells and wears too much tanning lotion.”

Noah, still chewing, finally cracked a smile.

Logan’s dad looked over at Noah’s mom like see what I deal with? but she was just sipping her water, amused and entirely unsurprised.

Noah leaned into her side a little, just enough to feel her shoulder against his. Statues were weird. But this? This was fine.

Protective, especially of his mom. He doesn’t always understand what’s going on between her and Robby, but he feels it. If he thinks someone—especially his dad—is upsetting her, he doesn’t lash out; he just gets quiet and watchful. He notices everything, even when he doesn’t say it.

taglist: @snowflames-world, @nosebeers, @midnghtprentiss, @delicatetrashtree, @thestrals-and-firewiskey, @rosiepoise88, @miss-me-jack, @jojodojo02, @whimsicalfungiforager, @whos6claire, @melsunshine, @foolishseven, @misshoneypaper, @iceb1ink1uck, @kmc1989, @vlightning95, @girl-who-loves-books, @qardasngan, @madprincessinabox, @equallyshaw, @memoriesat30, @justobsessedwithyou,

© AUGUSTWINESWORLD : no translation, plagiarism, or cross posting.

[contract-crawdad]

Hello! I'm trying to understand Leigh. I thinked about how she loves to inflict pain, and possibly loves to just leaving disturbing words or bump into others real hard or anything that cause discomfort to her roommates. But then I felt a little confused, about why she didn't take it further.

If I'm a murderous monster who now live with the people defeated me, I will very likely eat said person alive when he's asleep or just unguarded, however Leigh never did such things. We can literally have her carrying unconscious Sam around, and heal him. It seems she really considered herself a friend to us, and will avoid attacking us when conscious.

That's very perplexing to me. Can you share some of your thoughts?

This is a thought I’ve had as well! Leigh is weird. Love her to pieces.

She’s introduced as a monster that tries to kill Sam and his companions and only joins them after Sam proves he can fight her off. Constantly talks about how much she likes KILLING and VIOLENCE and HURTING PEOPLE.

And yet!

She only ever threatens violence, backs down from a fight with Hellen, clearly has a soft spot for any of the three recruitable children, and challenges Sam to a rematch via arm wrestling of all things.

A big part of this boils down to the fact, through the dinner conversations, we can learn that Leigh had (what she considers to be) a prophetic dream revealing that she and Sam are destined to kill the other in mortal combat. Come to think of it, this is probably WHY she attacks Sam in the first place, aside from loving to fight: she saw her chance to beat the guy she’s destined to kill or be killed by and she took it.

But it still leaves it a little unclear why she continues to help!

She does continue to threaten that she’s gonna GET Sam eventually and that she’s building up her strength… but she’s a lotta talk. I think her rationale is that she and Sam aren’t enemies right now, so she’s willing to work together instead of fighting. Yes, they will be fighting in the future as she foresaw in her dream. But that’s later, and she’ll be stronger than him by then, she figures. She even says as much!

…But wait a second, she was actually preeetty easy to beat. Yeah she’s slightly challenging by early game standards, but a few forks in the face and she’s backing off. It really feels like bopping a shark on the nose.

Ultimately? I think she just really loves the thrill of the game. She disappears forever if you run from her, and it’s hard not to interpret that as her getting bored. She’s a competitive spirit who has been suppressed up to this point in her life and been allowed to let loose during the apocalypse. But… all of her interactions in the apartment are either people just assuming she’s going to hurt them, or Leigh not actually putting her money where her (very large) mouth is.

She’s not as tough or as feral as she’d prefer people think she is.

[omgfangirlland]

I'VE GOT ANOTHER IDEAAAAA! (I swear this ideas only appears when I'm about to sleep/stressed or when it is 3am) listen.. A neglected fem reader x batfam ooooor we can change it up to a neglected reader x superfam. Imagine, the reader was born as a Kent but has no superpowers. (Add how ben ten got his watch) or we can go to the same way.. The batfam x neglected reader.. Reader is a normal civilian just going about their days until she got that watch. (I'mma sleep.. I can't take it anymore.. ///orz///)

-🔱

FINALLY THE ASK I WANTED TO ANSWER SINCE I SAW IT-

🫀 anon, I saw your ask, I'll respond asap, I'm just trying to go from oldest to newest. Also- 🔱 anon, If I don't come up with an actual well-written one-shot about the aware!Marvel Characters soon, I'll just answer in this drabble/rant/spew stuff and see what sticks style.

I think the Superfam with a NoPowers!Ben10!Reader would be hilarious, actually- Perhaps even Anti-hero!Reader? Doing the right thing for the wrong reason.

Unlike the Batfam, I think the neglect wouldn't be as severe. Like, Jon seems like a very friendly and clingy kid, he'd love his big/lil sister with his whole being- especially if she didn't have powers, he'd feel like it's his duty to protect her.

And Kon may just get attached based purely on you accepting him before Clark does.( I'm a strong believer in robot and clone rights- unless they're the pure evil kind- looking at Clone!Shephard from Mass Effect. We could have reigned the universe together 😭) Like you being the one to stand up for him in the face of Clark would make him want to show you the same loyalty. You didn't see him as a weapon, as a cheap copy, as a means to an end, you saw him as human, as someone who deserves a chance.

If you want to make this unintentional neglect, the boys could be so scared about you hurting yourself or them hurting you that they deliberately ask you to set out of things. Playing rugby, football, or roughhousing? Sorry, you're just too fragile, they may break you. Helping them or trying to be their own personal Oracle? Yeah, no, what if a badie finds out about you?

Now- The worse in the neglect, I think, would be Clark- but let's first start with Grandmama and Grandpapa. They love all their grandkids, but they're farmers, awake as soon as it hits four a.m., they're busy and not really in their prime to be able to keep up with the kiddies and the farm.

So, while Kon and Jon can do so much of the heavy lifting, you're really left with washing dishes, cleaning, feeding the chickens, and watching from a distance as the boys are giggling. They are pushing you away without even realizing that.

Lois I don't think she's a bad parent, no mother who is working is a bad parent. But I do think she'd brush off stuff like you scrapping your knee or stubbing your toe in a way she didn't mean to come off as rude as it did. Small things that Jon, Kon, and Clark didn't experience, and small things she, as a grown woman, learned to not even blink at. Really, she just forgets that human children are very fragile, that they need to be coddled more.

And now Clark. He's Superman. You'll be talking his ear off, holding something in your hands, and the next second he's gone with a sorry, off to save the world. By the time he comes back, you've already gone to do something else.

He still remembers your birthday, but instead of spending time with you like he does with the boys, taking them flying and whatever else they do, he just buys you the same doll you've started hating years ago and pats your shoulder as he wishes you a happy birthday.

He promises to come to your parent's day school event, to the field day stuff, to everything you ask him. But he doesn't show up, and after the few times he forgot to pick you up, you just started accepting rides from your friend's parents and stopped asking him anything. You stopped talking to him entirely, and him not even noticing, hurt more than the broken promises.

And while all of these things aren't the worst things possible, they build up, insecurities taking hold and burying deep. You stop asking to play with the boys, you stop asking to go to your grandparents, you stop going to your parents for help, you stop considering yourself as someone who can help. You start to think of yourself as a liability. You learn that you're just different, and not in the way that'll make you integrate, not in the way Clark- in the way Superman needs.

You learned to be quiet a long time ago, living with supers who can hear your heartbeat took away from the privacy you should have had, so you did your best to keep the little things you could to yourself.

Started typing your thoughts, learned to cry without making a sound, and learned to keep your footsteps as light as possible. Granted, you didn't think they'd care to listen in to whatever you were doing, you weren't even sure if they knew that half of your free time was spent locked in your room, while the other half was spent outside, catching a bus and walking the rest of the way outside the city just to see what the boys always can if they just fly high enough, the stars.

Almost being killed by a shooting star wasn't the way you thought you'd go out- alas, you survived and got yourself a nice watch- well... it got you. Accidentally becoming an alien- more alien than you were- because of it wasn't on your to-do list, however.

After the mini scare of possibly being stuck as a flame alien, you decided to just never touch the watch again. You didn't go to show Clark, you didn't want him to start paying attention to you because of it, you wanted to be shown attention because of simply being you.

You didn't want to be a hero. But when an alien attacked your school and the building collapsed, trapping you and a few teachers and students in a room that was slowly caving in- you did what you had to do. Helping with Four Arms was a slippery slope, going from refusing to help to itching for it, especially as you got more and more cheers and love. It was selfish. But you were helping.

Sometimes it didn't give you the alien you wanted, and soon enough, you learned the thing is somewhat sentient, or had some sort of intelligence, giving you what you needed to not only understand the other aliens, but to also grow as a person, learning to be more strategic rather than a muscle tank just hitting until the problem stops.

Your parents didn't connect the dots, but Lex Luthor sure as hell did, and since you've picked up an interest in engineering, all he saw were opportunities.

Accepting his offer of a paid internship would be... bad. To put it mildly. He was your father's enemy, essentially the deadbeat parent of your oldest brother- but you've started being selfish a while ago. You've started being selfish and paranoid about your own parents. What if they decide that you're simply not worth even staying in their home anymore? What if they throw you out once you hit eighteen?

You accepted, remaining on your toes about the man. Just in case.

Now Lex expected you to be loud and hostile, not quiet and weary, but he can work with that- until he kept on listening more and more to you. He was a terrible parent to Kon. Point, blank, period. But boy, did it make him do a double-take on some things that fell out of your mouth. "What do you mean you broke your leg after a fight and went to an underground doctor instead of going to your parents, and now you sometimes limp?... What do you mean you don't think they'll care?"

"What do you mean your parents don't notice you being out late working for me?"

"What do you mean you kept an alien cat that eats humans for a week and nobody noticed?"

The more you give him, the more you're stressing him out- and, perhaps in a moment of weakness after hearing you jokingly(mockingly) refer to him as dad, he calls an old colleague asking for help.

"I have this intern who is... a meta." Is the first thing that comes out of his mouth after the man on the other side of the phone greets him. And he lies a bit... a lot. But he also strongly believes he could be a better parent if he actually tried. "And what I'm trying to say is- you have a lot of adopted kids. I need help on how to proceed so I can adopt her."

Bruce Wayne stares into the abyss for a while as he processes the word spew Lex just gave him. "...What?" Due to shock, and due to how sleep deprived he was, he doesn't really question who the parents are, or why he knows so much. He just gave him some indicators- hire a lawyer, call CPS, go the legal route- and sends a quick text to Clark about Lex possibly having ulterior motives regarding a meta teen.

The horror that settles over the family when a CPS agent, who may have received a very kind donation, comes knocking, and they can't even name one place you could be at, is enormous. Followed by complete disbelief, because what do you mean no one knows where this teen is? What do you mean she works for Lex?

Finding out that you are what the Justice League thought was a hive mind, calling themselves Omnitrix, would probably give Superman depression. You didn't trust him enough to tell him about your newfound powers, didn't trust him enough to even come to him about feeling neglected, and if for a second he thought that maybe Lex was right, he'd keep that thought to himself.

----

Batman, after finding out that it was Clark's "meta" kid: ... oops.

--

Lex, to Reader, probably: You're making me feel human things, like sympathy. How dare you?

--

Kon, awake for five days, wearing a "Kent for the win" shirt, to a reporter who didn't even ask: Are you going to believe the known criminal who pays off judges so he doesn't get any jail time, or the two reporter who keep speaking the truth and being whistle blowers on a lot of crazy shit these rich people do?

[qiu-yan]

#i think this is the interpretation were supposed to be getting imho#i read the novel having no horse in thus race#up until wwx comes back - the whole story is about wwx and jc#all i knew about mdzs were pretty pictures of wangxian and people gushing about the cute couple they are#i thought - welp svsss was fun lets try this i stayed for the political intrigue and the background characters#and this is exactly the read i had in this whole situation - a conflict engineered in an exact way to leave wwx without jc's support#because we know that he will jump into fire for wwx if the only cost is himself#we see him do it#we know he absolutely hates losing and seeing his loved ones in danger - we've seen him in these situations#the fact he could admit “there is nothing i can do for you” when before their relationship leaned towards jc cleaning up wwx's messes#and he'd grumble about it but still do it#he would stand up to his mother in protection of wwx - the person that has the most influence on him ever#the fact he admits in the burial mounds that he cant do anything - it startlingly honest and simple#and it had to cost him a lot to admit - it had to come at the end of going through every scenario available to him and coming up blank#we KNOW jc doesn't let go of the people he loves#the fact he was forced to let go now tells us what we need to know#from a literary perspective this is blindingly obvious#but reiterating - jgs may be an old lecher but he is politically astute enough to make a successful grab for power#and the moment wwx and wn murder jzx it's pretty much over for the burial mounds team#even if jc allied himself with wwx - this was a sect leader's ONLY SON#no one would stand with them#jc's feelings about the wen and wwx are moot at this point#his best friend just murdered the president's only son - there's only one way this can go#jzx was popular and respected - there was no way there wouldn't be fallout from that#mxtx doesn't get into the exact politics of her world a lot and i can respect that - it's a lot#she also seems to be balancing between making the world and characters believable - and at the same time the leads In The Moral Right#because the moment you start to think about it beyond the simple “but wen remnants didn't have weapons uwu” and apply real-world logic#it all kinda falls apart - and we are reading a romance goddamnit so it's not a moral thesis she's writing#all scenes lead to the next scenes - character decisions lead to decisions down the line#nothing exists in a vacuum

tags via @whumpbby

just to be clear, my own position on the issue of post-sunshot yunmeng jiang is as follows:

post-sunshot yunmeng jiang was politically weak. yunmeng jiang - which had suffered the near-absolute massacre of all of its personnel, fought through an entire war, was occupied by the enemy for a significant period of time, was now led by a teenager with almost no political experience, and was now the sole great sect excluded from the alliance implied by the venerated triad - was weak in terms of manpower, available resources, and political position. yunmeng jiang was not "flourishing" after the sunshot campaign; the mere 2-4 years between the fall of lotus pier and wei wuxian's defection from yunmeng jiang does not provide enough time for yunmeng jiang to recover to a stable position from near-absolute annihilation and lengthy enemy occupation. the claim that [the draw of wei wuxian's demonic cultivation singlehandedly resurrected yunmeng jiang's manpower and political power] also does not make logical sense, because wei wuxian was not actually teaching anyone demonic cultivation.

by contrast, post-sunshot lanling jin was the strongest and most stable political entity in the cultivation world, given that lanling jin was the sole great sect still led by a politically experienced member of the previous generation instead of a teenager, given lanling jin's prewar levels of wealth, given that lanling jin did not suffer a direct attack by the wen like yunmeng jiang or gusu lan, and given lanling jin's relatively low levels of participation in the sunshot campaign.

post-sunshot yunmeng jiang could not have politically afforded to officially protect wei wuxian and the wen remnants after wei wuxian liberated said remnants from the jin-run qiongqi pass labor camp. officially shielding wei wuxian would entail keeping wei wuxian as the head disciple of yunmeng jiang; therefore, officially shielding wei wuxian would mean that the head disciple of yunmeng jiang attacked and killed members of lanling jin and other affiliated sects. this in turn would then entail yunmeng jiang making an enemy out of lanling jin. furthermore, given that public opinion was already turning against wei wuxian, and given lanling jin's ties to the other three great sects through the venerated triad sworn brotherhood, this in turn makes it highly likely that yunmeng jiang would end up standing against the rest of the entire cultivation world - which is not a situation the weakened yunmeng jiang could survive. in better-case scenarios, consequences of this could include yunmeng jiang paying massive restitutions to lanling jin and/or all the other sects whose members wei wuxian harmed; in the worst-case scenario, this would entail a second fall of lotus pier.

yunmeng jiang is a political entity made up of human beings. yunmeng jiang is not some shiny bauble that exists solely for jiang cheng's personal satisfaction; rather, it is an organization made up of human beings whose lives have moral value. to say "yunmeng jiang would be put into danger" is to say "the disciples of yunmeng jiang would be put into danger;" to say "yunmeng jiang would not survive" is to say "the disciples of yunmeng jiang would die."

a leader's first and foremost duty is to his own people. by the social contract theory, the people consent to give up a portion of their freedoms to the state in return for protection of their rights by the state; the state is afforded the authority to govern the people only through the agreement that the state in turn acts in the best interests of the people and their rights. jiang cheng's mandate to rule the disciples of yunmeng jiang as sect leader jiang, therefore, is derived from the mutual understanding that he act first and foremost in their best interest - that he put their safety and their wellbeing above all else. while an individual hero is free to choose a moral framework that does not center consequences as the source of moral judgment, a leader instead is duty-bound consider the consequences for his people. if jiang cheng had yunmeng jiang side with wei wuxian despite the danger this would put yunmeng jiang into, and/or if jiang cheng left yunmeng jiang to stand alone with wei wuxian, then he would be abandoning his duty as sect leader jiang to protect his people.

both wei wuxian and jiang cheng understood all of the above. when jiang cheng goes to confront wei wuxian in the burial mounds after wei wuxians' attack on the qiongqi pass labor camp - a situation in which jiang cheng has no reason to be dishonest - jiang cheng does not call the wen remnants evil or say that they deserve to die. rather, he says that "if you insist on protecting them, then i cannot protect you" - to which wei wuxian replies that, in that case, jiang cheng should let him go. this specific word choice implies that what stops jiang cheng from siding with wei wuxian is not hatred of the wen remnants alone, but rather the knowledge that he does not have the power to successfully protect wei wuxian and yunmeng jiang if wei wuxian insists on protecting the wen remnants. jiang cheng's words are an admission of his own lack of power, not his hatred.

i believe that multiple interpretations of the text are possible, as is the case with almost all fiction. the above is my own interpretation of the text and what i believe the text most logically implies.

[anemoiadawn]

< used to this >

pairing:: mostly just bang chan. but felix is there too genre:: pure fluff, nothing weird! slight angst. word count:: 3.7k summary:: "... for the first time in his life, Chan was starved of a compliment." warnings:: none! minors can interact, but please don't follow me or look at my other posts, thank you! notes:: i wrote this for class. had to edit it a bit to be able to post here, and the version for class only had five of them (chan, felix, jisung, changbin, and jeongin)- so that's why you may not see a lot of the others. if my professor sees this no you didn't.

“How would you describe yourself in one word?”

Chan read the last card in his hands aloud, then looked up into the camera lens. He felt his heart sink in his chest, his muscles tensing under his sleek button-down shirt. He brought his knees up to his chest as he racked his brain for an answer. There wasn’t any single word that would describe him well. The other kids had already done their interviews and finished quickly– they seemed to have had little to no trouble with the questions, so surely they had breezed over this one. He’d had those hours to think of his own answer, since he’d already heard the question four times.

The interviews had been split into two parts: one member on his own, answering each question about himself– and how he thought the others would answer on his behalf. Then, on the couches in the other room: the remaining members gave their own answers.

It had taken Chan less than five seconds to answer for everyone besides himself. Now, Chan had been sitting in front of the camera for five full minutes, yet still hadn’t uttered a word. The staff behind the camera were getting impatient– they had things to do, footage to edit, places to be. Chan hated being a burden like this. He liked being on stage, all those eyes on him– but this? This was too much.

"Channie is..." he started, trailing off as he stared past the camera lens. He had to say something. Anything.

"Lost." No, that's not enough. Sure, it was true, but it wasn’t… satisfactory. More.

"Channie is… complicated." That wasn’t it. Anyone could say that about themselves. More.

"Channie has got a long way to go." Getting there. It was fine to give up on just one word, Chan thought. One word wouldn’t work. Think deeper. More.

"Channie needs to work harder." Almost. More.

"Channie doesn't even take care of himself. He only takes care of the members."

There it was.

The last interview, his own, concluded with that line. Chan headed out to the lobby with his heart heavy, walking to where the others were all sitting together. To no surprise, they were all joking amongst themselves, playfully poking fun at one another. Chan leaned against the doorframe with a chuckle and let them mess around, his heart lifting in his chest. He knew to set aside his perfectionist tendencies with them, to privately bask in that discomfort as long as they had their fun. It would sour the mood, to tell them to keep it down so the staff could work and pack up for the day. So he stayed quiet.

It was worth the anxiety to see them happy. It was worth the uneasiness to be loved by them. It was worth the stress to be a family. That was all he wanted: “I want to be loved by all the members,” he had said earlier in the interview, the first line out of his mouth as soon as he’d sat down. Everything was for them. Everything.

“You mind if I sit in?” Chan pulled a chair up behind the editor’s desk. He was met with a hum– she didn’t talk much. She never did. Chan liked it, a lot, actually. He didn’t feel pressured to fill the silence with her.

He settled in behind her, watching the muted clips as she worked. On the screen: his members, his brothers, his family. They looked so happy, so carefree. Warm smiles spread across each of their faces– laughing, pushing one another, curled up on the couch. They looked like home. Chan’s home.

“They all love you a lot,” the editor slipped her headset off one ear. Chan had been watching for over twenty minutes, letting her work in silence. “Even when they didn’t say particularly sweet things, their love for you is so obvious.”

Chan felt his ears burning. “Oh,” he whispered, chewing his bottom lip as he looked over her shoulder. She’d paused the video on a frame where two of the members were cuddling. They had never properly learned what personal space was. “Do you mind if I listen?”

“Here,” she took off her headset and placed it on the desk. “Go crazy. I’m basically done.”

Chan took her place at the desk as she went to take her break. He smiled at how they were all over each other, the way Felix was sprawled out across Jeongin’s legs. He was always happy to see Felix happy. Any of them happy, obviously– but Felix, particularly. Felix brought Chan out of that dark, dark place. Felix deserved to be happy the most.

“Chan used to be so scary,” Jisung shivered. Chan figured this was in response to the question asked about first impressions– he didn’t want to rewind and potentially mess up the editor’s progress. 

“I could rarely ever approach him,” Jisung continued. “He had this kind of shadow around him– everyone was scared of him.”

Chan hated thinking about that period of his life. Training was brutal, and the members had only seen the end of it. Seven years. Seven years he’d trained, and Jisung had been the first to join him– but that wasn’t until five years in. He hadn’t seen the worst of it.

“We couldn’t even use his name,” Changbin added. “Even though I’m so close in age to him, he only responded to honorifics.”

Chan had never been one to make people use honorifics for him. But since moving to Korea, and learning how important age dynamics were, and how he was seen as lesser than anyone who was even a day older– it had gotten to him. He had made sure everyone younger than him treated him with respect. The respect he was owed for having trained so long.

“He let me call him ‘Chris’ from day one,” Felix whispered, tugging at his earlobe. “He was always so sweet to me, ever since we met.”

“That’s because you’re from the same hometown,” Jeongin added. “I think you reminded him of home.”

“Maybe,” Felix picked at his fingernails. “He kinda was my new home, in a way. I hope I did. Remind him of home, that is.”

Chan’s heart ached. Did Felix really not know how much he meant to Chan? He tugged at the neckline of his shirt, suddenly unable to breathe in enough air.

“You definitely did,” Jisung smiled, assuring Felix. “He was so ready to debut with just us. Then you came along, and he pulled so many strings to get you in the final lineup for the show. You have no idea how long he fought the managers to let you join.”

Suddenly, Felix poked his head into the room. Chan lifted his head and smiled his way– Felix’s face lit up. “Recording tomorrow, right?” Felix shouted loud enough to be heard over the headphones; Chan took them off swiftly and smiled back.

“Yeah. Just one song. Shouldn’t be too much of a hassle.”

It was, indeed, a hassle– At least for Chan.

The recording took three full hours, despite there only being the one song to record. Usually, the others would leave after they’d finished their parts. It was a blessing for Chan most recording sessions, because that meant he could get right to polishing the track. He loved being around them more than anything, but it was nearly impossible to get any work done with seven young men bickering while he was focusing on the fine details of a song.

For some reason unbeknownst to Chan, they all stayed behind this time. Maybe out of spite– but Chan couldn’t think of a reason why they would want to upset him. Maybe he’d done something wrong, and this was his punishment. Maybe they knew how long he’d held up production the day before and were upset. Maybe the staff had said something, told them to make the recording session a living nightmare, told them to torture Chan to the best of their abilites.

Jisung claimed to have missed Chan’s company, since he was always cooped up in the studio without them– but Chan saw them every single day. Jisung’s excuse for all of them hanging around didn’t feel genuine. To cope, Chan blasted the track at a bleedingly high volume through his overpriced headphones, trying his best to drown out the chatter from the couches behind him.

To his despair, his headset had reached the max volume, and the guys behind him would not let up. They likely weren’t talking too loud, but Chan was used to absolute silence. Even a whisper outside the door would throw him off. Taking a sharp breath through his teeth, he decided to get some fresh air. He yanked off his headset and set it down on the table– just slightly harder than he intended. Chan froze, his breath catching in his chest as the room fell silent, the sound of the headphones against the table instantly dying against the soundproofed walls. He looked back to the couches and was met with four pairs of wide eyes, staring back in silence.

“Ah–” Chan panicked, lifting the headset and waving it like a white flag, surrendering. “Sorry, I… there was a part I... didn’t like. I’m okay, sorry, you guys are fine, it’s–” he rambled on, stammering out excuse after excuse, but they knew him too well. They knew they had upset him, and one after one they left the studio with hushed apologies.

“Good work today,” each of them whispered before leaving. Chan’s heart sank into his stomach. He couldn’t take a compliment to save his life, so the only way they could compliment him was to commend him for his work. Telling him that he sang well, that he performed well, that he looked good? Too far. All he could handle was a quick “good work.” Nothing more. And that’s exactly what they did.

But for the first time in his life, Chan was starved of a compliment. He had put up with so much the last three hours, and every single one of them had just taken him for granted. When Jeongin had complained about each of his lines, Chan had swiftly assigned him one of Changbin’s parts. When Jisung had felt unsatisfied with the fifty takes he’d done, Chan had stepped into the studio and physically supported him through it. When it had been two and half hours and was Changbin’s turn to record in the booth, Changbin had kept cracking jokes and messing up his lines on purpose. Usually, Chan would have just laughed along, but he hadn’t left the room in four hours and exhaustion had already set in. He had just wanted to go home by that point.

Was it too much to ask for praise every now and then? Chan squeezed his eyes shut, leaning as far back in his chair as he could. Sure, he melted every time someone gave him a compliment or praise. Sure, he’d instantly brush it off with some sort of self-deprecating joke, or flip it to the person saying it and praise them instead. He knew it was frustrating for anyone around him to try to show him love, but… alone, in his studio, after the members had all left, Chan started to feel like nobody was trying.

If Chan put in so much effort to make the others feel comfortable, to build up their confidence, to make them feel loved, was it really so much to ask for them to do the same for him? He may be the leader, the oldest, but he was still human. He still needed that support from those closest to him. But Chan would rather die than admit that himself. It would kill him to admit weakness.

Was he not worth the energy? They had all given up a long time ago when it came to praising Chan, but even so– a lot of the other members were like him, too, and that didn’t hinder Chan’s affection. If anything, he was more affectionate with the ones who shied away from it. Jeongin especially, who he lived with now, had always hated any sort of affection– but after being under the same roof as Chan for just a couple months, he’d warmed up to it. ‘Exposure therapy,’ Chan would giggle out as he had hugged Jeongin from behind at any possible chance.

It had taken so long for him to be this comfortable with them. With anyone. He’d lost so many people, lost so many friends, so many people he considered family– he hadn’t been able to trust anyone for years. Hadn’t let anyone in for years. He couldn’t get hurt again, wouldn’t let himself get hurt again.

The track glared through cheap speakers overhead and Chan held his breath. It wasn’t his best work– but Somi had slammed his door open at 2am in hysterics. Chan had just started getting into bed and hadn’t slept in 40 hours before that, but he stayed up all night making the perfect track for Somi for the monthly evaluation. It hurt his own performance the next day, running on two hours of sleep, sure– but she was more important. He couldn’t lose anyone else. Especially not someone who had also taken the same leap: moving to Korea at such a young age, following their dreams. He’d do anything to help someone the way he hadn’t been helped when he first arrived. He needed her to make it. He needed her to stay.

His heart sank when he looked over to the staff as soon as Somi brought the microphone to her lips. Their faces soured listening to her performance, and Chan prayed to gods he didn’t believe in that Somi didn’t see their expressions. She was too sensitive. She couldn’t handle that like he could. She hadn’t been training for as long. She didn’t have his tough skin yet.

Somi finished her song perfectly. Just like she always did. Chan smiled up at her as soon as she sang the last note, her eyes meeting his. He gave her a thumbs-up, nodding– ‘you did well,’ he mouthed, hoping she’d be able to read his lips. Somi smiled in response, sending back a half-heart with her hand.

Microphone feedback buzzed over the speakers and they both winced. Looking back to the front of the practice room, the head trainer started speaking. “Sit down.” His voice pained Chan’s ears. “Next.”

They let her go the next day. No explanation. She was kicked out of the program in the blink of an eye. 

He couldn’t say a word to her as she was packing her bags. Somi asked for him to help, but his hands were shaking too badly to carry any of the boxes. He tried, though– but immediately dropped one. Chan almost cried as soon as the package hit the floor, but Somi assured him: it was only plushies, she promised. It was okay, she promised.

Chan let her hug him, but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t wrap his arms around her. He couldn’t comfort her. His muscles had turned to concrete. His bones couldn’t handle the weight on his shoulders as Somi turned to leave.

It was his song that got her eliminated. It was him.

It was his fault.

He walked back to his dorm alone, collapsed onto the bottom bunk, stared up at the railing holding the top bunk in place. It was his fault.

Chan rotted for hours in his bed. He didn’t get up when his roommate, Jisung at the time, called him down for lunch. He didn’t get up when one of the managers knocked on his door to get him down for practice. He didn’t get up when Jisung threatened to sit on his chest if he didn’t get out of bed for dinner. He didn’t get up until the next day, a little after breakfast was served.

Jisung knocked on the wood of the bed frame, Chan’s eyes shooting open after he’d dozed off for a bit. Jisung frowned, wiped a stray tear from Chan’s cheek with his thumb, and spoke: “There’s a new trainee. I don’t think his Korean is too great. Can you come down to help?”

Jisung knew Chan loved to feel needed. He loved to be of use. Chan got up within seconds.

Though Chan’s head was spinning from sitting up too quickly, he made his way down to the lobby.

The head trainer was talking to someone right outside the elevators– a boy, slightly taller than Chan. Freckles adorned his cheeks, his shoulder-length hair a golden blonde. He looked like an angel. He looked as if when he spoke, a choir would sing.

Chan approached the two and smiled up at the trainer. The trainer patted Chan on the back, pushing him towards the boy– probably around 16, at the oldest. Years older than Chan was when he joined the company. He was 20, now. Seven years of training.

‘Hello,’ Chan choked out in English. His voice was shot after nearly a day of not speaking. ‘I’m Chris.’

‘Hi,’ the boy spoke, his voice octaves lower than Chan was expecting. He was Australian, just like Chan. Chan was hearing home for the first time in years. ‘I’m Felix.’

By the time the studio door opened again, Chan had moved to the couch. Sitting where the members had sat, he curled up as small as he could, keeping his head buried between his knees. He didn’t need to open his eyes or lift his head to know who had entered the room, anyway.

“Chan.” His throat closed up and it suddenly felt twenty degrees hotter in the studio. Why did it have to be him? “You usually come out by now,” Felix continued. “Are you okay?”

Chan couldn’t choke out a single word. He tried, but nothing would come out. Every inch of his skin ached the more he heard Felix speak. The more he felt at home from Felix’s voice– smelling the Sydney beaches, hearing his dog Berry, tasting the shawarma from his favorite restaurant, seeing his brother and sister every time he closed his eyes, feeling his parents hug him after years of being abroad.

He wasn’t allowed to be mad at Felix. He wasn’t allowed to be mad at any of them. They’d saved him. He wouldn’t even be around if they hadn’t come along. If Felix hadn’t come along, especially. This was silly. It was silly to be upset at them. He wasn’t allowed to–

“You’re allowed to be upset,” Felix whispered. “You know that, right?” Chan felt the couch sink next to him. He curled up tighter, trying to get smaller, if possible. His skin burned red hot. “You don’t always have to be perfect.”

Chan took a shallow breath, the air burning his lungs. The muscles under his skin tensed, tightened, strained. He gripped his left arm tightly, as if the pain would stop if he squeezed hard enough. As if he could stop the ringing in his ears, the ache in his chest.

“Chris?” Felix checked in again and Chan felt a hand on his thigh. Suddenly– one part of his skin wasn’t burning. Felix’s hand was cold, not uncomfortably so, but colder than the lava running through Chan’s veins.

Chan hugged his legs to his chest. “I do, though,” he started. “To be perfect. I need to be perfect, I can’t make mistakes, I need to do everything right.” He felt his heart race fast enough to be heard over his stuttering. “If I mess up, you all won’t rely on me anymore, or I’ll ruin everything for all of us. I need to be perfect, or I’ll lose you, I’ll lose everyone, I’ll lose everything.”

Felix sighed, leaning his head on Chan’s shoulder. Chan froze, his heart dropping into his stomach. Felix’s hair on Chan’s bare shoulder worked as a cooling agent on his burning skin. “You don’t know us at all if you really think we’d stop looking up to you if you made a mistake,” Felix softly caressed Chan’s arm, unknowingly healing his aching skin. “We gave you space after what happened earlier because you clearly couldn’t focus. We should’ve known to give you peace and quiet, like we usually do. We’re the ones who messed up, not you.”

Chan huffed, wiping a tear that had barely escaped. “No, I’m too sensitive, I shouldn’t have–”

“You’re not too sensitive,” Felix interrupted, squeezing Chan’s shoulder. “And we know you. We should have known we would get on your nerves by staying in the studio with you. That’s on us, not you. I’m sorry, Chan. We all are.” Chan sniffled, his head still between his knees, staring down at the couch beneath him.

“I just…” he started, trying to explain. “I’m so scared. I can’t…” Chan steadied his breathing, lifting his head to look Felix in the eye. “If I mess up, I’ll stop being useful. I can’t bear the thought of any of you not needing me anymore.” Felix chuckled in response.

“That’s never going to happen,” Felix turned to face Chan fully and pinched his cheek. “I’ll always need a duo for League,” Felix whispered, wrapping his arms around Chan’s neck to hold him close. “Changbin will always need a gym buddy or someone to cook for him. Jeongin will always need someone to baby the shit out of him. Jisung will always need someone to tell him his lyrics are way too crass. Don’t even get me started on everyone else. You’re always going to be our oldest brother, our leader. You’re always going to be needed. Even if you’re the one needing help sometimes.”

Chan laughed, burying his face in Felix’s shoulder. The aching of Chan’s skin had morphed into a comfortable coolness, spreading from every spot Felix touched. Chan was usually the one initiating any physical contact, so it felt… intense. Now that Felix had initiated it this time. Now that Felix had come to him first, to hold Chan in his arms, to assure him. Now that, for the first time in his life, he was the one being taken care of. It was an unfamiliar feeling: being held instead of holding, being comforted instead of comforting.

He could get used to this.

[lovelytsunoda]

Cruel Summer | Alex Albon

Summary: Despite knowing Alex is leaving at the end of the summer, YN can’t help but wonder if there’s the possibility of a future with him.

Pairing: Alex Albon x female!Townie!Reader

Warnings: Not as much dialogue as I usually have lol and a few small mentions of sex. Reader is a dreamer and a realist at the same time.

There were two types of people in Stacey's Point. Townies, who kept the town running year round, often born and raised on the sandy shores and sprawling parkland, and Tourists, who popped in for a few months over the summer, spread their well-earned cash sparingly on the town, and then vanished again once the weather got cold. Townies and Tourists alike seemed to relish in playing mind games with each other, and more than one Townie girl or guy had notches in their bedposts for all the Tourists they'd charmed.

The differences between the two sects had never felt as strong as it did than when YN parked her dated Toyota Rav4 next to Alex's Volvo SUV. A rental, obviously. No local would be able to own one, and nobody with an accent as attractive as his lived within driving distance.

They'd met on a fishing charter. YN's father owned the company running tours around the bay that surrounded to Point. Over the summers she worked there as a tour guide in the busy season, and fishing admin in the fall. In the winter she went to school, taking online courses to get a diploma in office admin. She loved her home, and didn't want to leave the Point, but if job prospects didn't start to get better, she likely wouldn't have a choice.

Some days, she dreamed about leaving with Alex. About getting into the passenger seat of his Volvo and driving until the lighthouse that made the Point oh so picturesque was merely a speck in the distance. Think of all the places she could go: Calgary, New York, Boston, Newfoundland. The possibilities were endless.

The key to the vacation rental was weighty in her hand. Alex had given her a key. She��s never had a key to a man’s house before. Usually when she hooked up with tourists, she was eager to see them leave. This time, she allowed her mind to wander.

She thought about the mornings she spent waking up in Alex’s bed before she had to go to work, or about how the best sex she’d ever had happened in between fits of joyous laughter after they had watched American Pie together.

She faintly wondered if he’d stay. Give up his life of riches and fame and wonder and settle down for a modest existence in one of the most beautiful places in the world.

A modest existence with her.

The key slid into the lock without resistance, almost the same way he fell into her every night without fail, taking her higher than she had ever felt with anybody else, and then cooking with her the following morning before she went to work, picking her up in his Volvo to go to a ritzy place she could never afford on her own for lunch.

He was cooking when she went inside, the radio playing an old Take That song. He like Robbie Williams and she liked Jon Bon Jovi, yet somehow they both knew the words to the same songs. There was a wok on the stove, and the kitchen smelled like Thai curry seasoning and chicken. It was a rich and flavourful meal, one that she knew Alex had learned just for her.

She didn’t want to disturb him, quietly placing her things on the long dining room table, stomach pooling with both content and dread as she watched him work.

This time next week, Alex Albon would be gone. Racing cars halfway across the world, surrounded by girls that were prettier than her, smarter than her, richer than her. Someone who could match his sparkling personality much better than she could.

He caught her movement out of the corner of his eye, looking up at her from the stove. His face broke out into a broad smile as he said “Hey, gorgeous.”

He crossed the kitchen, beaming as he pulled her in for a kiss. She allowed him to take her into his strong, reliable arms and inhaled his teakwood cologne, she tried to push away the inevitable ache that she would feel when he left.

“Hey, handsome.” She sighed, kissing him again, and then a third time for good measure. “Food smells good.”

“Want to give me a hand? I wanted it to be ready for when you got here, but clearly that was wishful thinking.”

“It wasn’t. I finished work early and snuck out the back door.”

”Do you know how to make rice?” Alex asked, passing her the bag of rice grains. The writing on the bag was in Thai, making it abundantly clear that he had left the Point to pick his ingredients. As much as she loved her home, she could admit that the seaside town could try a little harder when it came to diversity.

“Of course I know how to make rice. It’s about the only thing I can make.”

They cooked well together, even if Alex did most of the work. They sang the same songs, pulled all the same dance moves. It didn't matter that his hair was perfectly groomed an gelled while hers smelled like saltwater and sun, or that he smelled like cologne while she smelled like the worst parts of nature (she planned on stealing all of his Old Spice in the shower).

Right now, right here, in the kitchen of this vacation rental she would never be able to afford in a million years, they were just two regular people.

She had never been this comfortable with another person before, which is why she knew it would hurt so much when he left. She wished she could have forever with him, if not just the next six months.

But sometimes you can't have forever. Or six months. Sometimes, all you get is now and that has to be enough.