#this is enough to make a villain out of me

[strawberry-nugget]

Katsuki does his own Calvin Klein ad and the comments you see all over TikTok make you jealous!

Pairing: Bakugo x fem!reader

Tags // Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, smut, top! reader, oral (m receiving), cumflation(?), jealousy, a little fighting, LOADS of comfort, Jungkook mentioned ig? All characters are 20+

You're mad.

Extremely mad.

Ac/dc’s TNT plays on repeat from the speaker of your phone, your laptop, your TV, the Main Street screen from the building across your apartment a few stories below. And truly, every single time a replay goes on and on, each screen unsynced, your anger grows even worse inside your already too tight chest.

The reason?

Your boyfriend’s Calvin Klein ad has actually broke the internet.

It’s fucking ridiculous—The whole thing is worse than what happened with Bad Bunny a few months ago.

The comments are all over the place. Messy. Too messy. Too thirsty. Too delirious. Too fucking disrespectful.

You've scrolled through way too many edits. No scratch that. You've only scrolled through edits. With millions of likes, hundreds thousands of comments—that you've spent hours reading to their entirety. The actual video from the official Calvin Klein account has thirty, no forty million likes. Almost as many saves and shares too.

You’re naturally jealous. You knew you were bound to be even if you were the one who practically begged him to say yes to the offer and you definitely knew your boyfriend was the cause of thirst for many people worldwide.

It’s never been a problem until now. You've usually encountered the occasional ‘congratulations to whoever is bouncing on it’ edit, hell you’ve even smiled like an idiot at it, but now? After digging through comments that explicitly say ‘his girlfriend aint even deserve all that’ and ‘damn Dynamight’s gf i said LET GO’ you want to scream. Yell. Get back at him.

You can’t even bear to witness the video anymore. Only because when looking at it out of context, you feel like you can forgive him because of how hot he just looks!

It’s all over your screen; Katsuki flexing his muscles, biceps, forearms, back, thighs, torso. Letting off explosions, pulling the waistband of his boxers down just enough to tease, stomping his hero boots before he kneels completely. All while being extremely sweaty.

Seriously, fuck him and that hero work durability underwear line.

You’ve now unliked the original post out of pure spite. Then re-liked it. Then unliked it again because it felt like you were feeding the beast that's unleashing negativity and pumps jealousy throughout your whole body

You’ve closed the app, deleted it, redownloaded it, and then ended up stalking your own boyfriend like you were a crazed fan girl and not the person who literally shares a bathroom with him, only to be met with the same ten posts on TikTok—yes the one where he does push ups with you on his back and the other edit he has posted of you, even the one and only repost he has that’s of your ‘somebody point me to the best ass eater’ TikTok, where he acted like a feral beast and actually tried to bend you over. 

And then his instagram, where there are only a few yearly hero chart posts that have him as a co creator and like, three actual posts that he made himself. One from his agency, one from a school reunion and one with you smiling next to him, both bloody and bruised after a villain attack with the caption ‘you should see the other guy’.

Back to TikTok now, you take one last look at the ad before you ultimately close it, yes, for real this time, fists clenched like you’re about to march straight to Calvin Klein Japan HQ and file a formal complaint about emotional damages.

Instead, you exhale sharp through your nose and storm into the kitchen like a woman on a mission.

Fine.

If the internet wants to thirst over your man like they’ve never seen shoulders before, then so be it. You’re not threatened.

Not really. Not even a little.

You’re the one he comes home to. You’re the one who knows the exact way he likes his coffee in the morning, the brand of muscle balm he’ll pretend he doesn’t need, the scar on his side he never talks about. 

They don’t know him.

But you do.

And tonight, you’re going to prove it. Prove that you’re the most perfect girlfriend for him, that you won’t let go because someone on the internet begs you to. 

You slam the fridge door shut with the kind of force that makes the condiments rattle. Chicken breast. Garlic. Thyme. That expensive parmesan he rolls his eyes at but always eats the fastest. You’ve got all the ingredients for the dumb TikTok “marry me chicken” and honestly, yeah—maybe it’s manipulative. Maybe it’s desperate.

You don’t care. You've made it before and he adores it.

If the competition is public thirst, then your counterattack is a home-cooked seduction plan followed by a bath with that weird overpriced salt soak that smells like cedarwood, cocoa and sex. Let them drool behind screens—you’re setting the mood with candles and your favorite playlist and maybe even the nice satin robe with nothing underneath if it’s clean.

And it almost works.

It almost makes you feel better. Like maybe you’ve got the upper hand again. Like maybe you’re not going insane over a stupid fucking ad where he literally flexes his thighs and kneels and sweats on purpose. And flexes again.

Until you start chopping the garlic and realize your hands are shaking.

You stop abruptly.

You stare down at the cutting board, knife hovering mid-air, and realize your throat’s a little tight. Your chest’s a little too hollow.

Because the truth is—deep down, like deep deep deep down, where all the ugliest thoughts live—you’re not mad.

You’re scared that you’re not enough. Insecure. Like youve got any right to when you've literally grown up with him. When he’s never even bat an eye to anyone but you.

But you feel like a high school girl again. Standing in the hallway outside your class, so mad and sick of jealousy that fangirls from year one are swamping your boyfriend that you drag him by the ear into the classroom and shove your tongue down his throat. 

And damn, was that punishment from Aizawa worth it when he caught you.

No, now, it’s even worse. It’s not just the girls at school. Not just Japan. It’s the whole world.

And you're so scared that the world seeing him like that is going to remind him of what he could have. Of what else is out there. Of how easily people fall to their knees for him—not in ad campaigns, but in real life.

And what are you?

Somebody who gets overwhelmed easily. Somebody who overthinks. Somebody who can’t even watch a thirty-second ad without spiraling into a meltdown that tastes like garlic seeped deeply into fingernails and salt and the distinct flavor of not enough.

What if ‘animemencracker22’ could cook better for him or what if ‘Dynamightsleftbicep’ could massage his head better when they run him a bath? If ‘gymratgirl4life’ wanted to go out with him more and if ‘corrrrruptedlvr’ wasn’t throwing jealousy fits?

You’re not the girl in the comments. You’re not the fantasy.

You’re just you.

And even when you’re holding the knife and planning the perfect welcome-home meal and pretending like the bath you’re running later isn’t strategic—you still wonder if that’s going to be enough to keep a man like Katsuki Bakugou.

Worse, you wonder if he knows you’re trying this hard, because of your overwhelming need to feel like you deserve someone like him. 

You let the knife drop and suddenly, you’re not hungry anymore. You were never even hungry to begin with. Your fucking eyes are welling up with stupid tears that you dont want to shed. 

You’re not even a jealous person. Save for two or three times, you don’t feel like this over him. And it’s not because you’ve taken him for granted, but it’s been years that you two are together that have worked you into not thinking Katsuki could want anyone else other than you. You don’t want anyone else other than him.

But what if he’s tired. What if he feels youre the same old song stuck on repeat when he could have anyone. 30 million people in the world and you included.

The silence in the kitchen hums louder than any song on loop, only broken by the sound of your choking as you’re trying not to violently sob. The garlic’s sharp sting still clings to your fingers. The oven’s preheat light blinks like a mocking little eye. Your playlist, the one reserved for special nights, is halfway into some sultry R&B Aaliyah track that now feels like a joke.

Your arms go slack at your sides.

This was supposed to feel empowering. Sexy. A big middle finger to the comment section and the edited thirst traps and the “she doesn’t even deserve him” discourse that’s been hijacking your feed all damn day.

Instead, you feel small. Stupid. Still so embarrassingly in love.

You rub your eyes with the backs of your hands like that’ll somehow push the thoughts back in. Like that’ll make you forget the way your chest aches with that special kind of loneliness that only shows up when you’re still physically close to someone but emotionally spiraling into the trenches of your own insecurity.

You glance at the clock. Patrol should end in twenty minutes. Thirty, tops. And you push your lips together, scrunching the corners of your mouth in, pursing your lips and squint your eyes. 

You’ll push through, because even if you’re so extremely jealous, Katsuki still deserves a nice home cooked meal and a hot bath, even more often than every other day, when you stay home to handle the agency paperwork, because of your latest injury after a villain attack.

He really hasn’t done anything wrong, you tell yourself, other than being extremely hot.

So you end up cooking, with tears in your eyes and the most pouty expression and by the time you finish, setting the pan on a part of the stove that isn't hot and curl down in front of the fridge, dropping to your knees to cry your heart out—The door clicks open.

Oh. Shit.

Weighty boots make contact with the floor first. The heavy stomp of post-patrol exhaustion. Then the groan of his back hitting the door frame. You hear the soft rustle of his gloves coming off, his keys clinking in the ceramic dish by the entry.

You freeze—You can’t let him see you like this. You can’t let him be the one who finds you curled on the tile like some lovesick idiot who lost a battle to TikTok.

“Heyy I’m home” you hear and you grunt to yourself, trying not to let it be known you sniffle right after.

“…Smells fuckin’ good,” his voice calls out—gruff, like he’s trying not to yawn. “You cookin’ somethin’?”

You grunt again.

He doesn’t see you right away. But his voice gets closer. Each step across the hardwood is loud and certain and distinctly him. The kind of sound that always used to make you feel safe.

Now it just makes your stomach twist.

You force yourself to stand, too fast, too suddenly, brushing your hands on your thighs then your apron and you try to act normal when your chest is about to cave in again.

Katsuki rounds the corner, still in uniform, gauntlets off, sweat clinging to his hairline, a little dirt smudged near his jaw, where some blond scruff is starting to grow. His eyes find you instantly—and narrow.

“Babe? You okay? Say hi back”

You hate how quick he notices. How easy it is for him to read you. You’ve never been good at hiding from him, especially not when it comes to shit like this.

“Oh—uh, hey. I was,” you say, eyes glued to the counter. “Got distracted.” Still, you force a smile “im fine”

“You don’t look fine.”

You flinch. “Can we—can we not do this right now?”

The silence stretches.

Katsuki exhales through his nose, tilting his head like a puppy, eyes big with inquiry boring in yours as if he’s debating whether to let it go or push. You know which one he’ll pick. He’s never, ever been the let it go type.

“You saw the ad.”

It’s not a question. It’s not even said with guilt or amusement or defensiveness. Just certainty.

You look away. Embarrassed. “Everyone and their mama saw the ad Katsuki.”

A pause. Then a sigh. Then he rubs a tired hand over his jaw.

He walks over, slow and careful like you’re a spooked animal, and you hate it. You hate that he’s being gentle when all you want is to yell at him and fall into his arms and scream into his chest all at once.

His hand lands on your waist. Warm. Familiar. Real.

“You mad at me?” he murmurs, lips pouty in the way you just love.

You shake your head up and down. A silent yes.

“I’m mad at me too tho.”

His brows furrow. “The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“I shouldn’t care this much,” you mumble. “I shouldn’t be jealous of a bunch of people who don’t even know you. I shouldn’t be chopping garlic like it’s a last-ditch attempt to prove I deserve you, but I—I just—”

Your voice cracks.

Katsuki’s eyes soften, his lips too.

“You think I’d wanna be with anybody else?” he asks, so blunt it hits like a punch.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

He lifts your chin with two fingers, thumb softly brushing lines across your bottom lip— he makes you look him in the eye.

“I did that ad ‘cause you told me to. ‘Cause you said I should. And I ain’t think it’d piss you off—but even if it did, I’d still be comin’ home to you.”

You swallow hard.

“They can watch,” he adds. “They can comment. They can make all the stupid fuckin’ edits they want. But you think I give a shit about any of ‘em when I’ve got you runnin’ me a bath?”

You blink. “…You knew I was running you a bath?”

“You only play that playlist when you’re tryna seduce me.” He snorts.

Your face burns, but your chest still burns hotter, tighter. Tight-est. You’re not ready to let go of this just yet. A hug and no kiss yet are already making your head spin back to that awful insecure state. You hate overthinking every little thing, but you can’t help getting caught up in it.

“Chicken smells good,” he adds casually. “Wanna feed it to me naked?”

You shove his chest gently. Though when you look up at him, you realise you're still greatly mad at him. “Shut up. No”

“C’mere,” he mutters, dragging you into his arms again. You go willingly, burying your face in his neck, nuzzling your nose too deep into his skin. “I love you,” he says into your hair. “All of them can choke.”

“They’re your fans, Katsuki”

“Yeah yeah. They can choke on my dick”

Oh that—that makes you snap.

“Im sure they’d love to” you hiss, lurching back away from him, too mad at how willingly his arms let you go. 

You want to jab, hurt him just a little. Make him jealous just a tad. Make yourself look like you've got better options than plain old ‘_narutoswife’ in his IG comment section.

He doesn’t deserve it. No, not at all. He just came back home from work and you want to catch a toxic attitude instead of communicating. You just want to make him a little mad over you too.

“Fyi, if you remember, Jungkook did say in an interview that im his type! He called me a strong female hero! Choi San also follows me on instagram” you say, crossing your arms, your eyes shut closed and lips pursed.

Unfortunately, you end up making him mad at you. That was so foul. Especially when he was about to sue Jeon freaking Jungkook for what he said in that interview. When the fuck did you become his type even? And why would he say that on national TV about some other man’s girlfriend?

His eye twitches. Just barely. But it definitely twitches. Great!

“…The fuck did you just say? You wanna start somethin’ now?” Katsuki says, voice low, sharp, practically growling, mouth pushed to the side of his face, one brow raised in desbelief,

Your arms are crossed like a petty little shield but it’s not enough to protect you from the instant shift in the air—his energy changing the moment those names leave your mouth. You can see it, feel it, in the sudden tension between his brows and the twitch of his jaw, in the way he takes one step back just so he can plant his hands on his hips and fully absorb the ridiculous thing you just said.

“Well I am his type,” you mutter, fake-casual, even adding a dramatic upward move of your chin for flair. “He literally said so. On record.”

You double down when you shouldn’t. Because now you’ve committed, and if you take it back, it’ll only make you look desperate. You tilt your head, faux-casual, all sugar and venom.

Katsuki blinks once—slow. Like he’s buffering. Like you’ve just spoken a dialect of petty he never expected to hear from your mouth.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice quiet in that scary way, “are we talkin’ about Jeon fucking Jungkook right now?”

“I mean, he’s not the worst,” you say, airily. “He’s cute. Built. Has manners and a Calvin Klein ad too! Like you”

“You are not fuckin’ doin this with me—” His voice spikes as he takes a step forward, fingers flexing at his sides like he’s physically restraining himself from hurling the rice cooker across the room. “You’re mad at me for a promo gig and now you’re bringin’ up some K-pop bastard—?!”

You bite your lip to stop the smirk. It’s immature. Childish. And so, so satisfying—ah the sweet feeling of getting your lick back.

His hands fly up and immediately start doing that panicked, half-feral gesture thing he does when he’s so mad he doesn’t even know where to put his anger. “You think that’s cute? You think throwin’ other guys in my face is what’s gonna make this better? You want me to start listin’ all the bitches in my DMs right now? ‘Cause I will. I fuckin’ will—”

“Oh so now it’s bitches plural—”

“They don’t matter!” he barks. But you don’t seem like you believe him. “You’re just mad and you’re not telling me the actual reason”

Your face goes hot, tears rising again. “I’m mad because you don’t get it!”

“Then tell me! Tell me what I’m not gettin’!”

“I want you to care!” you explode. “I want you to see that this hurts! That I don’t feel good enough half the damn time, and now I’ve got people with 800k followers stitching your photos sayin’ how they’d treat you right while I’m in our kitchen  trying to figure out if I’m even the one you’d want anymore if you realise there’s someone better out th—”

“Don’t you fuckin’ finish that sentence.”

His voice goes deadly low.

You glare at him, eyes blazing. “Why not? Afraid I’m gonna be right?”

“No. Because you’re not.”

His chest is rising now, jaw clenched tight. You’ve both crossed the line, bleeding all over the tile floor with your words.

“None of them matter. Just like Jungkook doesn’t matter. I don’t care about anyone else on TikTok and I definitely don’t give a shit if he writes you a song and a marriage proposal and names his next album ‘Strong Female Hero I Wanna Wife’—you’re mine. You hear me?”

You’re stunned into silence. Half because of the outburst. Half because of the fact he just said you’re his with the kind of conviction that makes your skin burn and tingles run up your back.

“…You gonna tattoo that somewhere?” you murmur, trying to deflect your way out of being completely swept off your feet. 

He steps closer, wraps a hand around your waist, nose nearly brushing yours, eyes blazing. “Gonna put a ring on it. Don’t tempt me.”

You blink at him, wide-eyed. His palm feels hot, too quirk charged against your clothed skin “What if I’m not joking?”

He narrows his eyes. “You are.”

You shrug, then whisper just slightly. “…Maybe.”

Next thing you know, Katsuki’s scooping you up like a caveman—no warning, no prep, just two strong arms under your ass, your back colliding with his chest, and your feet dangling uselessly as he stalks toward the bathroom.

“Put me down! I haven’t even plated the chicken!”

“We’ll eat it later.”

“I— but—”

“You’re so mine, and I’m about to prove it.”

He kicks the door open like a man on a mission. Your bathwater is already perfectly hot and steamy, the playlist still humming from the speaker in the corner. You barely notice it because you’re too busy clinging to his shoulders like you’re about to be ravished.

“I can’t believe you got mad at me over a Calvin Klein ad,” he mutters against your neck, lips hot and dragging lower as he sets you down only to start untying your apron, aggressive and purposeful.

“It was a very public ad, and you were nearly naked” you argue, squirming, trying to twist out of his grasp—but he’s already unlooping the neck strap, already tossing the apron somewhere over his shoulder, not even watching where it lands on the bathroom floor “Katsuki, no—”

“Sex isn’t gonna fix everything, you know,” you say, breath hitching when his mouth finds that spot just below your jaw, the one he knows makes your knees buckle. He’s too fast to start pressing hot open mouthed kisses on your neck. 

“Then let’s talk about it” he says, calm as hell. He sinks onto the edge of the bathtub like a menace, eyes smoldering, hands still locked around your waist like you might run. “You said you don’t feel enough, why’s that? What part of us did I neglect that made you feel like this?”

You blink, thinking. Well he didn’t really do anything wrong, he just. Exists. And he’s gorgeous and amazing at everything he does.

Oh god? Do you resent him for being good at everything?

“You’re deranged.” You finally respond, pouting but refusing to look at him while you say it.

“I’m in love with you.”

Katsuki’s palms rub soothingly up and down your thighs, head tilted back to look up at you ever so slightly. He's trying to pull you in closer, get you loose, comfortable. He wants you to drop this ‘being difficult’ act you've got on right now.

You follow his lead, come in closer, until your knees scrape the edge of the bathtub and your thighs the inside of his.

“Yeah but,” you pause for a second, debating on whether this is the right thing to say. “why me”

Finally, you kneel between his legs. Your eyes are locked into his, trying to study him, his expression, trying to find a glimpse of hesitation behind his gaze, even if there’s none. 

Katsuki catches the insecurity in your head, with a simple bore of his eyes into yours. And it’s bad. How he can read you so well, like he isn't confused and insecure at times too.

“Is it cause we grew up together?”

“Well that’s why your dear to me, but no” 

“Then why?”

“Cause you’re you. Simply. You’re kind and fair. Too smart and you’re too pretty. You stand your ground and stand up for what’s right. I knew damn well who I hunched on my back and tried to set off with explosions at five years old”

He catches your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tips your face toward him until you’re locked in his orbit again.

You want to cry again. Be it the memory, or the fact that you've pushed him to say this much about why he’s in love with you. You've got no reason to get jealous over people on the internet. They don’t know Katsuki like you do. They never could. Fate chose you to be the one to grow up a few blocks away from him. All your shared memories together, no one on TikTok could live them out.

No matter any Vogue cover, any Calvin Klein ad, or late night show interview, you and Katsuki are two human beings who grew up together, beat the odds of death together. Fell in love with each other to top it. So many humans in history have had this storyline, they’ve shared their first time with each other the night before setting off to war, kissed for the first time behind the bleachers in middle school. 

“I was so scared back then” you sob. Just one violent sob after another “‘m sorry babe. I'm so sorry for how I acted right now. You're just so hot that I can’t handle it. Can you like, be that bratty little five year old again?”

Katsuki huffs a breath, mouth twitching like he wants to smirk but knows better. His hands stay firm around your waist, grounding you while leaning towards you.

“Well I can’t be five again,” he says, voice rough but fond, lips already pursing as his forehead sticks to yours “but I can give you a small brand new Bakugo”

You let out a choked, watery laugh, but he’s already shifting closer, his thighs spreading so you fit better between them. One of his hands, followed by his eyes, slides up to your chest, and with exaggerated slowness, he taps a finger just above your sternum.

Tap. Then a little higher. Tap.

Then again—until two fingers are softly “walking” their way up, up, up your chest like little boots. You blink at him.

“Katsukiiii”

Tap.

The pads of his fingers rest at the hollow of your throat for a beat before lifting to your chin, tipping your face toward him like you’re fragile glass he’s been carrying his whole life.

He’s pouting. You can see it clearly now—the petulant pull of his mouth, the faint crease between his brows, like he’s upset you made him feel things and doesn’t know how to ask for reassurance without being difficult.

“You sayin’ shit like that,” he mutters, eyes flickering down to your mouth, then back up, “makes me feel like I’m not doin’ enough. Like I ain’t sayin’ it right. And I already suck at this.”

You open your mouth to protest, say you didn’t really mean it when you said that you don’t feel enough, that it was a moment of weakness, just like when you tried to tell him you’ve got options, but he presses his thumb gently against your bottom lip, quieting you, you’ve already apologised. He hasn’t.

“Lemme show you instead,” he says.

His voice isn’t cocky. Not quite. It’s soft—almost shy. Like how it was when you asked him to walk you home a week into UA, like he knows now, sex won’t fix anything, for sure, but the humanity of it, the lack of personal space between you as you groan in each other's open mouths, will help, just a little to ease the pain of your words.

“You’re my soft spot,” he adds under his breath, kissing the corner of your mouth like he’s afraid you’ll vanish off to some hot idol that does fanservice for a living, before he finishes the sentence. “Always been. N’ I don’t want you forgettin’ it. I ain’t leaving you for no one”

His fingers trace the line of your jaw now, slow and reverent. The pout still hasn’t left. You’re not sure it ever will. But now it’s paired with heat, and a pull between your legs that starts low and deep as he finally—finally—brushes his mouth against yours.

Just a whisper of a kiss. All pout. All need. All Katsuki.

You wouldn’t really trade him for anyone, either.

You can feel how badly he wants to be touched back. He always wants to be physical and touchy after an argument. You know how grounded and real it makes him feel, how reassuring it is to him to know he is still loved enough to be touched, despite words that are meant to sting.

You make a move to peck him, only right as this was your fault, and he slowly moves his lips against your own, soft, smooth. Slipping between every hollow space until you can't pull away. Seems like the chapstick you got for him last week has done wonders to make his lips so soft and plump, when they’re usually so chapped; his mouth glides against yours with practiced ease.

“M sorry” he whispers, so faint against your lips, but you still catch it.

His voice stays in your skin long after it’s said, like steam caught between your ribs, not ready to evaporate just yet.

You don’t say anything at first—just lift your hand to cradle the back of his neck, drawing tiny circles at his nape with your thumb. His eyes flutter a little at the touch, and it’s so Katsuki the way he tries not to lean into it. Still pouting, still pretending he’s not craving softness like it’s the only thing that could save him, but you know him better.

You let your other hand wander, trailing along the hem of his work top, your fingertips skating just beneath the fabric—slow, just the way he likes it. And when your hands drift to the button of his pants, you catch that tiny hitch in his breath. Barely audible. But it’s there. His lashes drop, golden. Sun-kissed. His grip on your waist tightens, not to stop you, just to hold on.

“You said you’d show me,” you murmur, your voice dipping low, warm against the shell of his ear. “But maybe I show you first.”

He doesn’t answer. Just swallows hard. And you skip the rest of the sentence ‘how much better I am than those TikTok bitches who want you’.

The button of his work cargos clicks open beneath your fingers.

It’s intimate, the quiet that settles between you. Not awkward. Not even heated yet. Just close. Bathwater is still steaming behind him. The scent of your shared home in the air—sandalwood, white musk soap, the thick smell of chicken being cooked—him. 

His cologne, faded but still clinging to the collar of his shirt. The playlist hums something slow and familiar in the background—Hot like fire, because maybe Aaliyah wasn’t mocking you a while ago—like this moment has its own soundtrack and the world outside doesn’t exist.

Your fingers fiddle with his zipper, slow and smooth. He looks down at you—heavy-lidded, and all vermillion, lips slightly parted, like he’s already halfway gone from just being touched with intention for pleasure.

“You looked so confident in the ad” you whisper as your fingers brush just below his waistband, teasing. “But this is better. This right here. When you’re a little shy for me.”

He exhales shakily, like you cracked something open inside him. And you feel it—something primal and possessive bloom in your chest.

“No one gets to see you like this but me”

“You’re tryin’ to kill me” he mutters.

You smile up at him, biting your lower lip. “No, Katsuki. I’m just trying to blow you away with my insane head skills”

He laughs, a breathy little sound, as his hands move to take off his shirt, softly ungluing his eyes from yours for only a second. You lick your lips at the way his muscles flex, so thick and bulky and by all means yours.

Suddenly, the ad pops back into your head, every shot, every zoom in. You’re overtaken by lust driven jealousy again.

No one on fucking TikTok gets to see the way his abs flex when he cums. You do.

So you work to lower his pants in fast movements, pushing the heavy fabric down until it hits the floor in shuffling sounds. 

Your hands slide lower, palms flattening against his calves, then his hips as you stick your cheek to his thigh. He watches you like you’re a sunrise—warm and tender, grazing where his skin ends with where your skin begins, or running tender, teasing circles all over his tip through his boxers.

His fingers twitch against his thighs, unsure of where to go—if he should cup your cheek, fist your hair, or just hold on to the edge of the tub before he slides down into something desperate.

And when you look up at him from where you’re knelt, his breath catches. His hand finds the top of your head, like he needs the grounding contact, thumb brushing a gentle path through your hair, and his eyes are wide with something soft and so, so red and open.

“Yesssss” he says hoarsely, half-laughing, half-moan “im about to get the best head of my life”

You quirk your brow and pucker your lips as if it’s your turn to pout now, then, you jab “Was it bad before?”

He shakes his head, cheeks already pink. “It’s always damn perfect”

His breathing catches in his chest but by now, your lips catch onto the skin of his thigh, placing a kiss there while still looking at him. It makes him go completely red now, face ears and chest flustered.

You kiss higher on his inner thigh, barely missing where he’s straining against the fabric of his boxers. Katsuki’s knuckles press into the edge of the tub now, trying to keep himself grounded, but his hips twitch when your lips ghost just beneath the band of his boxers.

He looks like he might fall apart already. Lower lip caught between his teeth, lashes fluttering low, cheeks warm and pink in the bathroom light.

Your fingers tug at the elastic slowly—like a question. And he nods, fast, almost frantic.

You hum, and finally pull the waistband down, freeing him.

He’s already hard, tip flushed and leaking, twitching a little in the cool air. And the way he watches you—mouth parted, chest rising and falling quick—is nothing short of irrelevant. He looks at you with hunger, full blown everywhere on his face, like it burns just to feel it. His hand hovers near your cheek, and you guide it up into your hair with your own.

“Keep it here,” you murmur. “I want you to touch.”

Katsuki’s thumb brushes your scalp, tender, trembling.

His thumb twitches as it strokes your scalp.

You press your lips softly to the base of his cock. Not rushing. Just placing open mouthed kisses over his length. Letting the heat of your mouth register on every kiss before you move to the next one. Then again, higher this time. Then again—closer to the tip, where he shudders and grips your hair a little tighter. Your lips wrap tenderly around half of his tip, your tongue storming out for a circular lick before you give him a little suck.

His hips shift like he’s trying to stay still and failing. Then you kiss just beneath the tip, so close your breath makes him hiss.

“F-fuck,” he hisses, hips twitching once more. “You’re—baby, you’re—”

You wrap your hand around the base of him and drag your tongue along the underside, slow, teasing, drawing a whimper from him so small and raw that your thighs clench just hearing it.

“You gonna beg?” you ask softly, glancing up.

His head falls back against the tiled wall for a second, mouth parted, so red in the face. “Don’t make me—fuck—‘m already losin’ it.”

You take him into your mouth inch by inch, slow and careful, tongue flat underneath, eyes still locked on him. You feel his thighs shake.

He moans—a rough, broken sound—and his hand fists harder your hair. You pull back with a wet pop and stroke him slowly, thumb brushing over his leaking tip. “You’re so easy to ruin, Katsuki. One suck and you’re falling apart.”

“You—you're evil,” he pants, biting his knuckle. “You can’t say shit like that when your fuckin’ mouth is on me.”

You grin, licking your lips. “It’s on you again now.”

You take him deeper this time, hollowing your cheeks, letting your tongue drag in deliberate patterns. He groans, head tipping down again to watch, jaw slack. His voice is wrecked. Raw. Low in his throat.

“Katsuki–” you pause, you murmur, pulling off again, cupping him with both hands now. ogling your eyes into his “Tell me i'm the only one who’s ever gonna make you feel this good’

Every movement you make is intentional—little flicks of your tongue, your hand twisting at the base, your lips tight around him. You don’t let him cum yet. Every time you feel him start to twitch harder, you ease back, sucking gently on just the tip.

“Babe,’s all you—” he chokes out, voice ragged. “Never gonna be anyone else but you”

“Yeah?” you breathe. “No thirsty fangirl, no fantasy, no fuckin’ ad? Just me?”

His eyes lock on yours—glassy, wild. He nods hard. “Just you.”

You glance up again. His eyes are glassy, pupils blown. He looks desperate. Like he’s holding onto the last threads of sanity. But this moment is bathed in vulnerability, raw love that makes you want to claim again and again. Katsuki’s had his moments like this, way more than you. He lets you go through with it, he even likes how jealous you are right now, but this doesn’t mean he’s not utterly and completely ruined and under your spell right now.

You kiss his head again, so sweet, and finally wrap your mouth around him once more—this time faster, deeper, your hand working in tandem. He lets out a strangled cry, almost panicked with how hard he’s trying to hold on.

“You’re mine, Katsuki. You know that, right? Doesn’t matter how many people thirst over you online.” You press your lips around him again, drag your mouth up slow, just to the tip. “They don’t get this. They don’t get you like I do.”

He looks down at you again, eyes still glassy. So red. So wrecked.

You take him deeper, your cheeks hollowed, your tongue gliding in slow circles, teasing him at every sensitive spot. The veins on the underside of his cock, the base, as he hits the back of your throat. Katsuki moans, raw and shaky and his hips stutter forward before he forces himself still. The inside of your mouth is so slippery, so warm, he’s literally going crazy with each movement.

“Don’t even fuckin’ want anyone else.” He sounds destroyed now, ruined into a slurring mess as your hand is sliding along his thigh. 

“Let me—let me cum, shit—please, let me—”

His tip kisses the back of your throat, and you gag around him, just a little—just enough for him to choke on a moan that sounds like he’s dying.

You don’t let up. You feel the way he twitches, the way his thighs tense, the way his grip in your hair tightens. He’s close. So close. You hum against him, nodding just a little, eyes locked into his in such an intimate, tender way. You take him all the way in one last time, his tip hitting the back of your throat, eliciting just a small choking sound from you, letting him fall apart in your mouth, with every soft roll of his hips into you.

He grunts. Head lolling back again, so hard that is adam’s apple protrudes enough even for you to see. His hips stutter, and he tries to hold back—but his thighs are trembling, breath breaking. He snaps his head again, desperate to look at you and he swallows now, bites his lower lip in concentration before he clenches his legs, to buck his hips into your mouth.

His hands come to cradle your head, your cheeks, like he’s afraid to let go, like you’re the one keeping him from falling through the floor. And the way you keep eye contact with him while swallowing him down your pretty little throat–It’s a killer.

You back up, worrying his tip between your soft, plump lips and that's it–He shatters. Violently and way faster than he thought he would. Clawing at your face to make you take him in once again; he bottoms out, and you… you take him in easily, like a champ.

Katsuki falls apart in your mouth with a raw, choked moan, hips bucking just once as you hold him steady, taking every twitch, every pulse, every broken sound he makes as his cum spills in ropes down your throat. You try to swallow as much as you can, eyes tearing up at the amount of cum that’s making you choke– Katsuki’s favorite sounds when you’re giving him a blowjob. He’s only urged to spill more, but this time you back up a little, letting him fill your mouth until it spills down the sides of your lips.

“F-fuck. Baby. Fuck.” He gasps like you’ve already stolen the air from his lungs, and he spasms. His hips jerk forward once, like instinct takes over.

Your eyes well up again, tears beading on your lashes from the stretch, from the pressure, from the sheer force of him.

He groans again at the sight—his cock buried in your mouth, cum spilling out the corners of your lips, glistening. His hands cradle your cheeks like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your mouth, the feel of your skin under his thumbs.

You swallow again, letting him ride it out with one last soft suck, and he moans like he’s unraveling from the inside out. His knees almost buckle.

And still, you don’t stop touching him. Your hand strokes slow at his base as you pull back with the loudest pop, letting some of the mess trail down lower at your chin, your lips swollen and glistening as you tilt your head up.

“You came so much,” you murmur, licking a drop from your bottom lip. “Were you that needy for me, baby?”

He groans as he’s still recovering, hips twitching slightly as your breath ghosts over him. His hands finally leave your cheeks, fumbling around, still shaky, down to where his pants are.

“Where the fuck’s my phone?” he rasps, breath catching on the tail end.

You blink up at him, mock-innocent. “Why do you want it, hmm?”

His gaze drops back to you, pupils blown wide, chest heaving as he glares like you’ve just personally offended him by being too hot to handle yourself.

“First, I’m taking a fuckin’ photo of you like this,” he grits out, voice still rough and low, “with your mouth all messy, lookin’ proud of yourself like that.”

You smirk, tilting your head as cum still drips slowly down your chin, your fingers catching it just to suck them clean. “So you can jerk off to it later?”

“So I can frame it,” he mutters darkly, eyes dragging over every inch of your face. “And then you’re watchin’ the ad again. Every second of it.”

You blink slowly. “But it makes me mad”

He nods. “Yeah exactly. Youre watching it.‘Til you get so fuckin’ riled up you suck me off meaner than this.”

Your lips curl. “Meaner? Baby… I was being sweet to you.”

“Exactly,” he pants, reaching for your wrist to drag you up into his lap. “I wanna see you do it when you're pissed.”

You climb into his space, knees bracketing his thighs, grinning into his mouth as you kiss him—messy, deep, still tasting like him. “Careful what you wish for, Katsuki. I might make your dick fall off”

His voice is just a whisper now and wrecked against your lips.

“Fuck yes”

Yeah… maybe the Calvin Klein ad was a good idea.

______

The water’s somehow still warm, barely steaming, and smells like cocoa and the shea butter soap he always pretends he doesn’t use until you catch him stealing it.

You’re settled between his legs, your back against his chest, and he’s folded around you—arms over your middle, face buried in the crook of your neck, breath soft and steady against your skin. You sink into him, muscles loosening all at once.

The bathwater laps at your collarbones. His thumbs trace slow circles into your stomach. And for a while, the only sound is your breathing, synced. The occasional soft swish of water when one of you shifts. The playlist outside still hums faintly, muffled through the bathroom door. Just gentle vocals and low drums. Like the score to this quiet little world you’ve made.

“Sorry I was a dick,” he mutters. His voice remains unsure of what to say in a situation like this, yet muffled against your neck. “I just—y’know…”

“Yeah. Me too. I should not have mentioned Jungkook because people online are asking how I handle all of that” you chuckle, tenderly placing a kiss at the back of Katsuki’s hands when you lift it from the water.

He frowns, letting off a sound of annoyance “asshole, he can shove that seven song up his ass”

“Oop— you listening to him now?”

“No, it’s all over the radio though” Katsuki kisses your shoulder in response. Then again, higher this time. “But I don’t care about nobody. Just you. Always you.”

You tilt your head and press a kiss into his damp hair from the side, catching just a little bit of his ear in the process. “I know, baby. I know.”

And you do. Deep in your bones. The same way you know how his eyes soften and he whines when he’s sleepy, how his jaw ticks to the right when he’s embarrassed, how his voice drops an octave when he wants to be taken seriously. You know him. Not the whored out Calvin Klein version the world sees.

You curl your hands around his forearm and let yourself melt back into him completely, the bathwater swaying at the peak of your chest now. Safe. Soothed. Held.

He squeezes you a little tighter and rests his chin on your shoulder, finally quiet. And if you listen close, you can feel it: the rise and fall of him. The warmth of his skin. The steady thrum of his heartbeat under your back. 

“So” you murmur “wanna talk about that little mini Bakugo you mentioned earlier?”

Katsuki mumbles something under his breath, eyes closed against your skin. He’s mellowed out in the split of a second, but you’re riled up at the thought when your mind returns to it. 

“‘S no use.” He whines, finally, like he’s annoyed “Our kid’s gonna look like you”

“So you'll get a mini me all over again and I won’t get the same? Un-faiiiir! Booooooo” you groan, leaning your head back against his shoulder dramatically. The water sloshes with the motion, and he huffs a tired laugh into your neck, chest vibrating behind you.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, lips brushing your skin. “Like I wouldn’t be fuckin’ obsessed with either version.”

You smile. Small. Soft. Let your thumb glide along the scar on his wrist and then you swallow. Blink a few times. Then nod once, slowly, before you speak.

“Wouldn’t be so bad, would it? A little baby with your temper and my sweet tooth?”

He lets out a real laugh now, low and gruff and warm against your back. “Fuckin’ menace. Our apartment wouldn’t survive.”

“Your PR team wouldn’t survive.”

“Shit, you’re right.”

You both laugh, muffled and close, and when it quiets again, you let your fingers lace through his under the water. His grip tightens like a reflex.

And then, just above a whisper:

“You really think about it sometimes?”

“…Yeah.”

“Me too.”

He kisses your shoulder again. No jokes this time. Just silence and warm water and cocoa steam. The both of you holding that dream quietly, like something sacred. 

In his arms, now, today, midst June, after feeling threatened that strangers online will ever do better than you when it comes to him, you think of you and him, back in his childhood room, watching Spirited Away as Mitsuki would fetch you cookies and milk before Katsuki would try to shove her away and she’d pretend to be knocked over.

“Hey…We’re still naming the baby Chihiro like we promised back then, right?”

He goes still behind you. Like, dead quiet. Like you’d short-circuited something in his brain.

You almost think he didn’t hear you until you feel the deep inhale against your spine, his arms tightening just a little more around you like he’s trying to fuse your body to his.

“…You remember that?” His voice is hoarse now, barely more than a breath.

You smile, eyes still half-lidded, watching the water ripple at the edges of the tub. “Of course I do. You made me pinky swear on it, when Mitsuki said we’d get married and have kids too!”

“Shut up,” he mutters, but it’s soft, affectionate—almost embarrassed. His nose nudges your jaw like he’s trying to hide the warmth in his face. “Was a fuckin’ loser.”

“No,” you say gently. “You were just sweet. Always were.”

There’s a beat. He swallows. You feel it in his throat against your shoulder.

“…Chihiro, huh?” he murmurs, finally. “Still want that? Even now?”

You nod, and his hand floats up from beneath the water, trailing along your stomach, resting just under your ribs. Protective. Hopeful. Like something unspoken is blooming there.

“I always loved that promise,” you whisper, throat a little tight. He doesn’t answer. At least not with words.

Katsuki grins against your neck, and the sound of it, the way he breathes in like he’s grounding himself in the smell of your skin—it’s everything. It’s homely. Warm water. Summer steam. A shared name from a shared childhood.

Take that ‘tojissecondworm222’, not only do you handle all that, but everything the world’s fantasy driven Dynamight has to offer, is yours. 

Always has been.

Always will be.

~All rights reserved: @/strawberry-nugget, 2025. Please do not copy, over write or steal my work.

Likes, reblogs and comments are all appreciated equally

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

[lynxgriffin]

Deltarune Chapter 3 and 4 RANDOM THOUGHTS

Spoilers so it's going under the cut! This is just me gushing about the madness

Geez I have like 50 different things I want to do art for and I can't focus on any of them long enough to start, SOB

Was NOT expecting Susie to find out that Darkners are objects immediately upon starting up the chapter. I'm glad she took it as well as she did, though! Still think this may come up much much harder later.

Holy crap Tenna's designs and animations just hit like a truck LOL. It wasn't until much later that I was like "wait...this guy is not getting recruited to Castle Town, is he. There's no way those sprites will get integrated."

Disappointed we did not get a proper Susiezilla sequence, I wanted that!

All the banter of them sitting around playing Legend of Kris was adorable

Did not expect Lanino-Elnina-Rouxls Kaard DISASTER THROUPLE???

Lancer MY BOY

Geez all of the stuff where Kris was playing their solo adventure was just. SO unsettling.

"You didn't do Snowgrave in chapter 2? Well you're doing it here now lol"

"You were used up" UH OH!!!!

I managed to S-Rank both boards somehow and got to the Shadow Mantle boss but got my ass handed to me; I'll need to go back and try again later.

Totally called Toriel being in the prize capsule from the start

saxophone noise

Me at the end of the Tenna boss battle: Kris Knight is real? Well, not what I would've liked, but I'm sure it'll be--

Me five minutes later: I'M SORRY, WHOMST??????

But no for real the Knight design and demeanor is LEGIT scary, I'm so glad we got a proper really intimidating villain

But yeah absolutely got thrashed by the Knight as well SOB SOB

THAT ENDING THO??? AND THEN THE TRANSITION INTO THE NEXT CHAPTER?

Please give Susie MORE PANCAKES

Absolutely fascinated by the fact that the monster religion is also just. Like. The game legend. The implications

Cannot believe we had friggin Tom and Jerry-ass shenanigans in Noelle's house with the soul including Kris beating the crap out of us with a hockey stick

banging fists on the table SU-SELLE! SU-SELLE! SU-SELLE! SU-SELLE!

Asgore how did you get more awkward every chapter

The whole scene with Carol was just generally so, so DEEPLY UNCOMFORTABLE

Evil and intimidating deer by awesome lesbian couple indeed

Me earlier: Man Carol Holiday is going to get a pretty brutal death in Eldritchrune, I feel a little bad, it's probably going to feel unwarranted--

Me after chapter four: Hell naw this bitch gettin' what she deserves

I gotta say that I REALLY loved the music in this chapter, absolutely outstanding. I might like From Now On even more than Rude Buster

All in all in chapter four was SO cool, loved that we're taking everything seriously now, it felt like a real turning point

OKAY SO turns out THIS KINDA HAPPENED A BIT? But while my initial thought was Gerson being the Knight, I honesty like this better

IDK Gerson was just SO funny as a J.R.R. Tolkien-esque party member and I absolutely appreciated him being a mentor to Kris and especially Susie

Did NOT expect Susie making her own dark fountain before Noelle did!! But oh man all the differences in her version of the world that you can see compared to the usual one...

In any case I love Susie more and more every day if horrible things happen to her I will teleport to Toby Fox's house and push everything breakable off of his shelves

YOUR TAKING TOO LONG

Ralsei I am DEEPLY WORRIED about you my dude

He was looking so ragged this chapter and missed good chunks of Susie's dark world, too

I am extremely anxious about that critical part of the prophecy that we conveniently missed but that Susie saw, my weird kids need to be okay

Also uhhh??? Am I nuts or like? Did my half-human Susie crack theory get more evidence?? I was expecting just a solid debunking but if anything there's just more hints of it???? I'm kind of terrified???? Half-human Susie real????

Seriously I may just finally dive into the nightmare realm of making a theory video for it

HELLO NEO DARK FOUNTAIN ALREADY

HI TITAN ALREADY THAT WAS SICK AS HELL AND ALSO TERRIFYING

Seriously that Titan boss battle was crazy hard; it took me a lot of tries and it was a LONG fight every time

I have no solid thoughts on whether it's Carol Knight or Dess Knight; I'll have to ruminate on it more

It's Raining Here made real...

CANNOT BELIEVE WE ENDED THIS CHAPTER ON FRIGGIN KRIS MISERABLE IN BED WHILE SORIEL DISCO HAPPENS DOWNSTAIRS

Again: I want to draw but have no focus aaljsda

Also I got like two hours of sleep last night because my brain would not stop buzzing lol

Once again THIS GIF REMAINS MY ULTIMATE REACTION TO NEW DELTARUNE BYE:

[riddlesrizzler]

Sparkles and Eyeliner

summary: It started with a box. characters: teen dad! mattheo. toddler daughter. mentions of blaise and draco. warnings: none! just fluff word count: 610

It started with a box.

A sparkly, plastic, slightly cracked pink box she’d gotten from Theo last Christmas-filled with child-safe makeup in colors no adult would ever willingly wear. Neon blue eyeshadow. Lip gloss that smelled like watermelon gum. Blush with enough glitter to blind a man.

And it was treasure to her.

She had it spread across the floor, legs crossed, tiny fingers sorting through sparkly tubes with intense concentration. Mattheo had just sat down on the floor with her after a long day, stretching out his legs and reaching for one of her books when she looked up at him with that face.

Wide eyes. Head tilted. A hopeful little smile.

“Daddy.”

“Yeah, bug?”

“Can I do your makeup?”

Mattheo blinked.

“I dunno…” he started slowly.

“Please?” she said, dragging it out like a song. “I’ll make you so pretty.”

He smirked. “I’m already pretty.”

She giggled. “You’ll be sparkly pretty.”

Mattheo sighed dramatically, flopping back onto the rug like she’d just defeated him in battle.

“Fine. Make me beautiful.”

She squealed.

He sat patiently while she got to work, kneeling over him with her tiny brow furrowed like a professional. She pressed blush onto his cheeks with an oversized cotton ball, tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth in concentration.

“Hold still,” she muttered as she smeared shimmery eyeshadow across one of his lids.

Mattheo winced. “What color is that?”

“Blueberry sparkle.”

“Terrifying.”

“Shhh.”

She switched to lip gloss next-applying an alarming amount and somehow getting it just above his lips and all the way to his chin. Then she leaned back, hands on her hips.

Mattheo blinked at her, glittery and dazed.

“Well?”

She grinned. “You look fabulous.”

“Do I look like a fairy princess or a villain in a soap opera?”

“You look like Daddy. But like...a shiny version.”

He laughed, pulling her into his lap, careful not to smudge the masterpiece. “You did great, bug.”

She touched his cheek, serious all of a sudden. “You always let me do fun stuff.”

Mattheo’s heart tugged.

“Of course I do,” he whispered. “That’s part of the job, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” she said. “You’re the best job-daddy.”

He had no idea what that meant, but he’d never felt prouder in his life.

Later, when Blaise and Draco showed up to drop off some groceries and caught sight of Mattheo in blueberry sparkle and watermelon gloss, they stared.

Mattheo, completely unfazed, pointed to the proud little girl at his side and said, “She’s accepting clients. You want in, or are you cowards?”

Draco turned around and walked out.

Blaise sat down and said, “Only if I can have the gold glitter.”

[sonrium]

Except why the heck is NOTHING working?!?!

This kid never stubs his toes on conveniently protruding corners. Waves off all accidental spills on him Cold orchestrates or causes like

Thus, Cold's attempts at subtle inconveniences escalate.... and escalate.... and escalate.

He doesn't realize how overt and obvious his attempts have become because Danny keeps batting them off or seemingly not noticing them at all.

Replacing Danny's coffee with enough menthol syrup to stagger an elephant? (Smaller amounts didn't work)

Danny sips: Damn. Decaf.

Cold: ripping his nonexistant hair out and stamping his feet.

Danny smacks his lips: Actually... *downs cup in one go* WOOOO! Now that's a wake-up call! That was awesome, Launa. Can you make it like that again tomorrow?

Freeze rays popping out of panels and firing at him in his 8 a.m. lecture hall?

Danny: expertly dodges away from other students to prevent collateral while pulling out his phone and typing rapidly looking almost bored. In 20 seconds, the guns power down.

Students: 0o0

Teacher: -_- It's too early for this.

Cold:

Danny rubbing the back of his neck embarassed: Sorry. I forgot it was the first Tuesday of the month.

Everyone: What does that even mean???

Danny is back at the same café struggling over some college assignment.

Cold is standing over him, staring at Danny through the scope of his latest freeze ray deluxe. But the kid isn't reacting to the looming threat. The server brought out a steaming cinnamonroll with icing melting into the spiral, content to keep a weary eye on Cold

Everyone had gotten used to the sight of the pair.

"This looks absolutely amazing! Thank you Talia."

Cold was about to pull the trigger when he saw what the kid was working on. It was a particularly annoying problem on figuring out the unknown heat transfer coefficient of a composite wall in parallel.

The gun dropped. What was the point? Nothing he did got a reaction.

Enough was enough. As he turned to leave, he half-heartedly lifted his gauntlet to the pastry that upstaged an armed and dangerous super villain.

A fist crashed upward on his forearm, redirecting the shot to the sky.

"How dare you. That was your second chance. Clearly you learned nothing from a warning." Danny grabbed Cold's arm and dragged him down into the spare patio chair next to the kid.

"Here. You are going to sit there and tell me what the heck is going wrong here." The kid points emphatically to the lines of calculations scrawled in his notebook.

Cold, too stunned and tired to argue, looks over the problem and begins to explain.

Danny is sitting inside Jitters sipping his coffee and watching Flash get his ass absolutely handed to him across the street by Captain Cold. He thinks Flash is having one of Those Days cause this is honestly getting really hard to watch.

And that’s Danny ‘King-of-scrappy-I-will-throw-sand-in-your-eyes-for-an-advantage’ Nightingale saying that. Alas there is no sand here. Only concrete. 

Oh, those ice beams are getting awful close. Oh wow, okay, maybe the Flash is going to actually die right now. Is Danny about to witness murder? Huh.

Okay. Maybe he should…help. Now.

[seilnakyle]

Ok you refer to selina as the matriarch of the batfam, and that makes me curious what are her relationships with each of them? I know her an jason def have a good relationship, but besides that i know nothing

Please enlighten me

Dick - Selina has known Dick since he was 8, and at first Dick didn’t really understand her and Bruce’s relationship, or what it was about this specific woman that caused his new father figure to fall over like a Skyrim character

Batman #1 / Batman #3 / Batman #15

But Dick also got to see Selina’s good side, she saves him from the Joker in Batman #2, and saves Batman at risk to her own life in Batman #62, Dick starts to realize she’s more complicated than just “villain”

Dick goes to Selina when seeking help against Talia during the Lazarus affair. Catwoman helps him and the family during Battle for the Cowl and continues to Support Dick as Batman even when they have disagreements

Gotham City Sirens (2010) #7

Nowadays they’re still very close and Dick pretty much considers her his stepmom in all but legal writing. They’re both very protective of each other, and have a real family relationship. Here is another post of some of my fave moments -> X

Babs - I love the dynamic between Babs and Selina sooo much. I have a post on my fave moments here and here

Selina serves as a kind of role model, not just to Barbara, but to pretty much every young female vigilante. And as Selina is a complicated woman, a character you can’t fit into the box of “good” or “bad”, she challenges them world view of characters like Barbara, the daughter of a cop who certainly needs her worldview challenged occasionally.

Birds of Prey: Catwoman/Oracle

Nowadays Catwoman is someone Oracle can count on to help out when the city or family needs her. Oracle has helped out Catwoman plenty of times, and sided with her in Gotham War. Selina even gave the Honeymoon suite that would have been for the batcat wedding to Dick and Babs when it didn’t happen. I love them :)

You said you already knew abt Jason but here and here are posts about him and Selina for anybody curious, and here is one for Helena B :)

Tim - Selina meets him during the 90s and they’re an underrated duo! At first Selina is annoyed by this kid trying to get in her way, but eventually becomes protective and caring to him. She finds him adorable tbh

Robin #28

”He’s a goody two-shoes but I like the kid”

Catwoman (1993) #31

Steph & Cass - Steph and Selina first meet during War games after Bruce has fired Steph and she’s accidentally started a gang war. Selina is one of the only people to show Steph some empathy during this time.

Catwoman (2002) #34

Even though New 52 was bad, I do miss Steph being a recurring Catwoman character, and I think Selina is a great mentor character for her, and Steph is terribly underused anyway.

Steph, like Babs and most female Gotham vigilantes, undoubtedly saw a role model in Catwoman even if she wasn’t completely hero oriented. She was Batman’s equal, and confident enough to not need or care about having his approval or not, but good enough to get it anyway, of Course Steph seeks her out for training!

Batman Eternal (2015) #43

But unfortunately DC was making Selina do crime boss things instead of being Catwoman so Steph was briefly trained by Eiko who was running a training school. Selina recognized a lot of potential in Steph, and later “deputized” her by using her detective skills for a case

Catwoman (2011) #42 / #44

Later on, Eiko was planning on killing several heads of crime families, and Steph immediately tells Selina. And tearfully confesses to killing Bill Turner as well. Selina lies to make Steph feel better, not wanting her to become another lost soul

Catwoman (2011) #46

As for Cass, Selina is VERY impressed with her Immediately

Selina enjoys hanging out with her even if she’s the strong silent type <3

Batman: Gotham Secret Files and Origins (2000)

And one thing for sure, Selina will ALWAYS be there to help the girls if they need her :’)

Catwoman (2018) #45

Birds of Prey (2023) #14

Damian - Selina and Damian technically met during his time under Dick’s guardianship, but don’t really have an interaction till much later. During Bruce and Selina’s engagement, Damian asks if he’s going to have to call her “mom” Selina would never expect this of course, and assured him that he never needed to call her that, but she would always have his back as long as he has her’s. It reminds me of the way she assured Jason that he never had to replace Nocturna as a mother figure in his heart…she is just the sweetest

Batman Prelude to the Wedding #1

And of course, they bond over love of cats! Selina helped rescue Alfred the Cat in New Showcase (2018), and donated 3 million to an animal sanctuary in the East End in Damian’s name. Damian rescued Selina’s cat Otto in Legends of The Dark Knight (2013) #48

Duke - They haven’t interacted much but Selina has been part of his training!

New Talent Showcase (2017)

Batman: Wayne Family Adventures - (s2) Ep. 62 Live From New York

[meikooo200]

Teth Adam, A.K.A. Black Adam, don’t usually help the Marvels or the League.

He’s more an antihero than a hero or villain, although he constantly flies to Fawcett to fight the Marvels. He protects Kahndaq as his champion, doing what Hurut would have wanted.

He’s also a second dad to Amon, and a brother to Adrianna, both lost the alpha of his pack. So he took that place when both omegas let him get into his life.

In theory, he is still the Champion of Magic, he has his powers and a connection with the Rock of Eternity.

So, he was shocked the time he discovered Captain Marvel and his connection to the Rock, meaning that he’s also a Champion of Magic.

“I don’t know, the Wizard just gave me this power and died.” Marvel responded the first time he confronted him.

He hated Captain Marvel in that momento.

He, Teth Adam, is the Champion of Magic, a gift that Hurut gave him with his life. Not this man.

Every time he could, he went to Fawcett just to fight him, making him leave that power. Every time, he came back to Kahndaq defeated.

The strength between him and a real Champion was abysmal.

But that wasn’t the worst part.

Every time he saw Marvel, Teth found new similarities to Hurut.

Same sub-gender. Same gaze. Same pure Heart. Same needed to help people. Same age.

And that curse to attract annoying people.

Adam rarely helps the Justice League on missions.

This was one of those occasions. Some random demon was trying to get into the Rock of Eternity, and Captain Marvel needed help to combat the army of little demons while he combat the big one.

The other only available person at that moment was Booster Gold.

Booster Gold, who knew Superman is a mated omega and still tried to flirt with him.

Booster Gold, who decided that trying to steal Wonder Woman’s omega was a good idea.

Booster Gold, who even John “I eat everything” Constantine rejected.

Adam knew this wouldn’t end well.

And it didn’t.

At the end of the battle, just after Captain Marvel defeated the Random Demon King, didn’t take long for Booster to go and flirt with the most powerful (and naive) omega of the first 7.

“Hey, Captain!” He said, ignoring the fact that he had to hanscup the demons. “Great job fighting that demon.”

“Thanks, Booster! You did it great too!” Marvel responded, smiling at the blond.

“I think we need to celebrate this successfully completed mission.” Said the blonde, putting his arm on Marvel's shoulder.

“I agree!” Said Marvel. “We can get some ice cream and Capri-Sun!”

“I was thinking of something more…Hot, Captain.” Said, moving his arm to the Captain's weist.

“A hot chocolate?” He asked, in a mix between confusion and nervousness.

“Come on, Captain, I know you kn-”

“You better be three meters away in two seconds or I’ll break every single one of your bones.” Adam growled.

“What?”

“Two.”

Billy was not fast enough to stop Teth.

The civilians didn’t see Booster Gold in two months, because he was out of duty while recovering the broken bonds.

Billy did know what Booster was saying, he’s 16, but acted like if no because he knew what the Super Seven and Arthur would do to the man if he let them see his state.

He already saw what they are capable of.

Third part of my Billy Omega AU

[alive-gh0st]

❝Hearts Don’t Miss❞

Omni!Mark Grayson x Cupid!Reader➶

•♡🤍♡🤍♡🤍♡˚₊‧ ꒰ა 💗 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚♡🤍♡🤍♡🤍♡•

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

❤︎ summary: you survive in a silence that doesn’t feel neutral anymore. he’s gone. or avoiding you. maybe both. you try to stay unbothered but absence has a shape and it looks a lot like him. and when he finally shows up, he doesn’t apologize. you argue. quietly. like you always do. and for a moment, he almost stays. almost reaches. almost tells the truth. but the door still closes. and this time, you’re the one who whispers after him.

❤︎ contains: sfw. emotionally repressed war criminal x emotionally repressed divine being. omni!invincible (barely). cupid!reader (tired). slow burn agony. mutual silence as mutual yearning. isolation. exile. ANGST. dinner avoidance. return of the stupid orb. jokes to cope. watching the sky like an idiot. protective body language. quiet returns. the ribbon. proximity tension. hand brushing. voice cracking. flash of vulnerability. him not staying. not yet.

❤︎ warnings: emotional repression. abandonment themes. unresolved trauma. exile (ongoing). past violence (vague). mutual denial. hurt/comfort (but mostly hurt). soft things framed as dangerous. unresolved grief. being wanted by someone who doesn’t think they’re allowed to want. someone who leaves before they’re left. parent issues. childhood disappointment. unhealthy expectations. crushing silence. villain origin foreshadowing.

❤︎ wc: 3959

prologue, part 1, part 2, part 3

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌a/n: did it seriously take me this long to write anything—just for it to turn out to be heart-crushing angst? hell yeah. also, i’m actually sick. rotting in bed. you’d think that means i had more time to write—wrong. turns out illness doesn’t make you productive, just dramatic. anyway, if i suffer—you suffer. that’s the deal. enjoy the emotional damage 💔

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

You notice it in the quiet.

Not the peaceful kind. Not the kind people write songs about or daydream into.

No—this kind is sharp around the edges.

Suspicious.

It hums under your skin like a sound you’re no longer hearing.

There’s no faint gust of wind against your bedroom window tonight—brushing past your cheek like it belonged to someone. No shift in the air. No flicker of motion behind your shoulder.

No faint static buzz to warn you that someone with a God complex and boundary issues has landed nearby again.

You wait anyway. Still. Like muscle memory.

But nothing comes.

Not the red-and-white blur at your window. Not the too-loud sighs echoing from the hallway… neither the hovering silence above your bed that you used to pretend not to hear.

So you breathe.

Roll your eyes at yourself. And mutter something stupid like, “Guess even war machines need days off.”

You tell yourself it’s normal.

That he’s probably just busy.

Invincible things.

World-ending, time-sensitive, bigger-than-you things.

Maybe the government kidnapped him for a diplomatic mission. Maybe he got distracted by a meteor or—

Or maybe—just maybe—he’s doing this on purpose.

The thought comes uninvited.

You don’t like it, but it lands hard anyway. You try to laugh it off. Try to play it cool.

You’re Cupid, after all.

Happy, fearless, emotionally unbothered. That’s the brand, right?

So you crack a joke under your breath as you slam a cupboard shut.

Something biting and dumb, like, “Sorry if emotional vulnerability was too radioactive for you.”

Besides, it’s not like you miss the eye-rolling. The grunting. The barely-there don’t touch that whenever you got too curious around his weird anti-people gadgets.

And then pretend you’re fine again.

You last a full twenty minutes before you’re watching the sky like an idiot.

Head tilted just enough to catch movement if it comes. You lose track of how long you sit like that—waiting for a shadow to ripple through the sky.

It’s pathetic.

You hate it.

Hate how often you’ve been pacing the apartment, checking the time even though you know he doesn’t live by clocks.

How you keep catching yourself listening for wind—like you’d somehow hear him land if he didn’t want you to.

The worst part?

You miss him.

Not just the awkward hovering, or the overbearing “do not touch that” energy, or even the weird way he always acts like you’re two seconds from stealing military secrets.

You miss his presence.

The unshakable, unyielding weight of it.

Like gravity had favorites and his name was first in line.

And now—it’s just empty.

The food still appears. The lights still auto-dim when you yawn too loudly.

But the air feels different. Hollow. There’s no sound. No tension.

No one breathing down your neck like you’re one bad day away from becoming an interdimensional threat.

No him.

You almost call out his name once.

Almost.

You fall asleep curled on your side, curled into the blankets, with the soft, fluffy fabric up to your chin, barely blinking at the ceiling.

The hallway beyond the room glows soft with distant light—the one that still smells like ozone and blood and—him.

The same hallway Invincible always appears from.

Or used to.

Your throat tightens. Just a little. Just enough.

It slips out before you can stop it. So quiet you almost don’t hear it.

“…Where the hell are you?”

And this time, even the silence feels like it’s avoiding you.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Days stretch like bad dreams.

You work, sort of.

Fiddle with the medkit on the counter. Try not to break anything else in Invincible’s Very Important Anti-Everything Home.

You almost knock over some kind of vibrating green orb again.

You don’t even try to guess what it does this time.

You just offer it a stiff little bow and whisper, “Apologies, Supreme Orb of Probably Nuclear Consequences.”

Mature. Dignified.

Cupid-coded.

The food still shows up.

You don’t ask how. You stopped trying to figure it out after the third day when a perfectly toasted croissant and imported guava juice appeared on the kitchen table with no sound, no fanfare—just mocking normalcy.

You’re pretty sure it’s him.

His version of still taking care of you.

As if feeding someone counts when you’re not there to look them in the eye.

You try to leave the apartment once.

Just once.

You reach the front door.

Twist the handle. Push.

Nothing.

You’re locked in again.

Great.

You stand there for a second, staring at the door like it personally betrayed you. Debate flipping it off. Maybe slamming your fist against it.

Maybe calling him a tyrannical tin can with trust issues.

But you don’t.

Cupids don’t flip.

They flourish.

(Still. You do mutter something spicy under your breath in ancient celestial. That counts.)

You try to change the dressing on your back later that day—wings still torn, bones still not bones anymore—but it stings in a way it didn’t used to.

It’s not the pain.

It’s the absence.

His hands always knew how to avoid the worst spots.

Always a little too gentle for someone who calls you a security risk.

You stop halfway through and leave the bandages loose.

Everything feels… off.

Too quiet. Too still.

Like you’re living in a version of the world that got paused while you weren’t looking.

Even the light feels wrong. Too golden. Too soft.

You’ve been counting the ceiling tiles just to stay grounded. 142 of them. One of them’s cracked in the corner. You stared at it for six minutes today.

You sit by the window again that night.

Legs tucked up, forehead resting against the glass. You’re on your 18th sky-watch of the week.

Something moves overhead.

Your heart skips, stutters.

But it’s not him.

Just a bird. Or a plane. Or—whatever.

Not him.

You let out a breath that feels like it was holding something inside it.

And then you laugh. Bitter. Too sharp. Too tired.

“What, did I short-circuit him that bad?”

The words echo around the room. Bounce off the high ceilings. Come back quieter.

You shake your head. Stretch. Stand.

Tomorrow, maybe you’ll try to escape again.

Or maybe you’ll just learn how to break the stupid green orb and hope for the best.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

You don’t hear him land.

No sonic boom. No shift in air pressure. No warning.

You just turn—and Invincible’s there.

Standing in the middle of the living room like the past—almost 2 weeks—hadn’t unspooled you at the seams.

Same suit. Red and white, spotless. Same red cape and those black goggles hiding too much.

Same sharp, unreadable posture that always walks the line between calm and coiled.

Your heart stutters.

But your face doesn’t move.

He doesn’t say anything for a second.

Just watches you from across the room—like you’re a mission he forgot he accepted.

Then—

“Have you eaten?”

You blink.

Seriously?

You stare at him. Just… stare.

And he just stands there like a statue with an attitude problem.

Like this is normal.

Like this is how people re-enter each other’s lives after vanishing into the sky for a week with no explanation and locking them in a floating apartment.

“Have I—?” Your voice cuts off. You pinch the bridge of your nose.

“No, actually. I’ve been too busy playing twenty questions with your security system and writing apology poems to radioactive looking things.”

A beat.

He tilts his head slightly. “So… no.”

Your eye twitches.

He walks past you toward the kitchen, like nothing’s happened. Like this is any other day.

You don’t follow. You don’t move.

You just stand there.

Stuck in place.

Like your body is waiting for him to say something that sounds like the truth.

He doesn’t.

You hear the fridge open. A drawer slide. The soft clink of utensils.

Normal sounds.

Fake sounds.

You lean against the doorframe and let out a breath through your nose. “Are we gonna talk about it,” you ask, voice flat, “or just skip to pretending again?”

Invincible doesn’t look up.

Doesn’t answer, either.

Just keeps his back to you. Steady. Untouchable.

And it’s almost impressive—how someone that powerful can shrink a room with silence alone.

You cross your arms.

Wait.

The air feels too still again.

You hate it.

But you don’t leave.

Not yet.

Because maybe, just maybe, if he’s here—then this means something.

Even if he won’t say it.

Yet.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

He shouldn’t be here.

Mark knows that the second he steps into the room and hears the way your breath stutters—soft, surprised, hurt.

He doesn’t need super-hearing for that.

You’re sitting on the couch, a fuzzy blanket tangled around your legs, eyes already narrowed like you knew he’d eventually show up and were preparing to hate him for it.

You don’t say anything.

And he doesn’t either.

Because if he opens his mouth, he’s not sure what will come out.

An apology? A reason? A lie?

No.

So he asks if you’ve eaten.

It’s stupid. He knows it.

The second the words leave his mouth, he wants to claw them back. Wants to say something real instead.

Something that sounds like the weeks he spent avoiding your voice.

Your eyes.

Your touch.

But you just blink at him.

Then roll your eyes and say something about radioactive objects and apology poems.

And he almost smiles.

Almost.

Instead, Mark turns away.

Retreats into routine.

Opens the fridge. Pours juice. Makes sure the knife hits the counter at the exact right angle—controlled.

Detached.

The longer you stay quiet behind him, the harder it gets to breathe.

And he doesn’t want to look. Doesn’t want to see the way you’re watching him now.

Because you always look like you see too much.

The second night back, Mark catches himself hovering near your door.

Listening.

Hoping you’ll say something first—anything that would make it easier.

But you don’t.

Not until day two. Not until he’s walking past the living room and you stop him with four words that slam straight through his chest.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

He freezes.

Doesn’t face you. Doesn’t blink.

You keep going. Calm. Cold.

“You disappear. Then act like it never happened. Like I imagined the part where you locked me in a weaponized apartment and didn’t show up for almost two weeks.”

He exhales slowly. Still doesn’t turn around. His fingers curl slightly at his sides.

You wait.

Then—

“Say something, Invincible.”

His alias name sounds strange coming from you now. Like something old and soft being scraped clean.

Mark turns—finally.

And the look in your eyes almost makes him wish he hadn’t.

You’re not mad.

You’re disappointed.

That’s worse.

His voice is too quiet when he speaks. Too raw.

“You touched me like I was human.”

The air shifts.

He watches your expression crack—just for a second.

“Why?” he asks. “I’m not. You don’t know me.”

That’s the part that’s supposed to hurt.

That’s the push. The thing that gets you to stop trying.

But you don’t flinch.

You step closer instead. Just enough to make the space feel too real.

Too fragile.

“Then show me,” you say. “Or don’t. But stop blaming me for seeing more than you want me to.”

It’s too much.

Mark scoffs. Shakes his head.

Tries again, sharper this time.

“You think this is a storybook? I’m not some tragic hero. I’ve torn entire cities off the map. I’ve made this planet kneel.”

You don’t move.

Just blink.

“Cool,” you say. “So did half of my love targets back when I was a Cupid. Try again.”

He almost laughs.

It sounds like a broken thing in his throat.

And then, finally—his voice cracks.

Just for a second. Just enough.

And you catch it.

Of course you do.

You don’t say anything. Don’t press.

But your eyes stay on him. Steady. Soft.

Like you’re waiting for him to stop lying to himself.

Mark looks away.

And for the first time in years—he doesn’t feel invincible at all.

The silence stretches.

This time, it doesn’t feel empty.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

The night stretches long after the silence settles. The dinner has been served. But—

Mark doesn’t leave.

He thought he would. Thought he should.

But his feet never move.

You don’t say anything else. You just go still—arms crossed, back straight, watching him like the quiet might shake something loose.

He should go.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, Mark lingers.

At the edge of the room. At the edge of something else he won’t name.

The floor feels too loud under his boots.

And when he finally steps closer—it’s slow.

Careful.

Measured like a threat.

Not close enough to reach you. Not far enough to pretend he doesn’t want to.

Just enough to feel the heat of your presence again—without letting it swallow him whole.

His gaze doesn’t meet yours. It hovers somewhere near your shoulder.

Safer that way.

Less lethal.

You’re still watching him. Quiet. Waiting. Not demanding answers.

Just existing in that unbearable way you do—like you see everything and won’t say a word until he says it first.

He stops when the space between you is thin enough to feel. Not touch. Just feel.

You shift.

Your fingers move. The air does too.

And then—your hand brushes his.

It’s accidental. It has to be.

But it’s real.

Skin to skin. A second. Maybe less.

Mark tenses.

Instinct coils fast in his spine, in his jaw, in the base of his throat.

His body reacts like you hit a nerve.

He jerks—then stops.

Doesn’t move away.

You notice.

Of course you do.

But you don’t look smug. Don’t say anything clever. You just breathe out steady and say—

“You think I don’t see it. But I do.”

His jaw clenches.

His eyes flick to yours. That’s a mistake.

Because you’re looking at him like he’s not made of blood and violence. Like he’s something worth staying for. Even now.

Even still.

“You’re not what you think you are.”

The words settle between you like a secret.

And it’s not a declaration. Not a plea. It’s just truth—quiet and solid.

And that makes it worse.

Mark doesn’t answer.

Just looks at your hand like it’s a flame and he’s not sure if he deserves to burn or not.

His own hand lifts.

A little.

Halfway to yours.

Then—stops. Folds.

Drops.

And the distance stays.

But something else lingers there too.

Something unsaid.

Something unfinished.

Something he doesn’t push fully away this time.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

You don’t chase him.

Not when Invincible steps back.

Not when his hand drops like it never meant to reach for yours in the first place.

You don’t say a word.

You just breathe through it—through the ache in your chest and the way your fingertips still hum from almost touching him.

Because you felt it.

Even if he didn’t say it—you felt it.

That split second of want. Of weakness. Of maybe.

The silence after feels louder than anything he could’ve said.

It presses against your ribs, makes your pulse ring in your ears.

You’re alone again, technically.

But not really.

Because his silence is still here. Sitting beside you like a ghost with perfect posture.

You don’t look back as you leave the room.

Your feet carry you into the hall, down toward the shadows and the softer light and the quiet that doesn’t try to explain itself.

Each step feels heavier than the last. Not because he’s gone.

But because he almost stayed.

Your hand curls tight at your side.

You shouldn’t feel like this. You know better than this.

You’re a Cupid.

But still—your heart pounds.

Loud and uneven. Like it wants to remember the almost instead of the nothing.

You pause in the doorway to your couch.

The table beside it is different.

You notice it immediately.

Something small. Familiar.

A ribbon.

Not just any ribbon. Yours.

One of the ones Invincible stole.

Or borrowed. Or kept. You never figured it out.

You stare at it.

It’s been placed there deliberately—neat, centered, soft in the low light.

Like an apology that can’t speak. Like a note without ink.

Your throat catches.

You reach out, pick it up gently.

It’s light.

Lighter than the silence, at least.

But it folds over your fingers like it knows how tired you are.

You hold it like it might bleed.

And then, too quietly, like a secret just for the walls to hear, you whisper into the night.

“…Why do you always leave me with the soft parts?”

No one answers.

Not that you expected one.

You clutch the ribbon tighter. Like it means something. Like he meant to leave it. Like that matters.

And then—you turn.

Climb onto the sofa. Curl in on yourself without thinking.

The blankets wrap around you easy, familiar.

Like they know how this part goes.

You don’t cry.

You don’t scream.

You just go still again.

Like maybe if you’re still enough, he’ll come back and finish the gesture.

But Invincible doesn’t.

So you pretend it doesn’t matter.

Again.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Mark almost makes it out without waking you.

Almost.

The apartment is quiet. Dim.

Lit only by the lazy gold haze spilling through the windows. The kind of morning that pretends it’s softer than it is.

You’re still curled on the couch where you fell asleep.

Blankets half-kicked off. Cheek pressed against your arm. Breathing steady, unaware.

He stares too long.

Lets himself pretend, for a moment, that you’ll stay asleep—that you’ll never know he was standing there.

That maybe if he leaves without the goodbye… it won’t count.

Won’t hurt.

His fingers hover over the door panel.

Ready. Close.

Mark doesn’t mean to linger.

He meant to be gone before you woke up. Quiet. Clean. A clean cut never bleeds as much.

But you shift before he can actually open the door.

It’s soft—barely a sound. Just the faint rustle of blankets against fabric. But it slices through him anyway.

Your eyes flutter open. Groggy. Unarmored.

That makes it worse.

You sit up slowly, couch creaking beneath you. Hair sticking up in the back. One of your sleeves has slipped down your shoulder.

It shouldn’t make his breath catch.

But it does.

He turns before you can speak—like maybe if he just leaves now, you’ll forget he was ever here at all.

But your voice stops him.

Low. Still half-asleep. But steady.

“…You were really gonna leave without saying anything?”

Mark doesn’t answer at first.

The door in front of him hums softly.

Unlocked. Open. Waiting.

His black goggles gaze at it like it might do the leaving for him.

“I thought it’d be easier,” he says eventually.

His voice is flat—hollow. “If you didn’t see.”

You exhale. Slow. Careful.

“Easier for who?”

Silence.

It stretches again, thin and tight, wrapping around the both of you.

He closes his eyes.

“You always look at me like you’re waiting,” he mutters. “Like I’m gonna be something I’m not.”

Your feet hit the floor.

“You mean something you don’t think you are.”

That makes him turn.

Slowly.

You’re standing now, wrapped in the same blanket you fell asleep under. You don’t look angry.

You just look tired.

And soft.

And a little hurt.

Mark hates how much he wants to stay.

His fists clench by his sides. Then release.

“I’m not what you see,” he says. “And I don’t want to watch your face change when you realize that.”

You don’t argue.

You don’t have to.

Because Mark knows the truth.

You already see him.

Somehow—

You’ve always seen him.

You just won’t say the thing he’s not ready to hear.

So instead—you smile.

It’s faint. Barely there. Almost cruel in how kind it is.

But it doesn’t break.

It doesn’t beg.

Just waits.

Mark exhales once. Sharp.

Then—

He turns back to the door.

Hand reaches for the control panel.

And just before the metal peels open, he says it. Not loud. Not soft either.

“Don’t wait up.”

You don’t answer.

Not at first.

You let the door open.

Let the wind rush in, colder than before.

And just before he disappears into it, your voice finds him—light as thread, soft as knives.

“…I will.”

But he’s already gone.

And the door shuts behind him like it always does.

Too loud. Too final.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

˗ˏˋ 𝓴𝓲𝓼𝓼 𝓶𝒆 ˎˊ˗

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌A long time ago, before he knew what leaving felt like.

The living room is too quiet.

Too clean.

Not a single cushion is out of place.

The floor gleams. The air smells like whatever the Graysons use to wipe down glass—chemical and lemony, with an undertone of sterilized order.

But Mark’s standing in the middle of it like it’s a battlefield.

Barefoot on the rug. Chest puffed.

A red bedsheet draped around his shoulders—safety pinned in the front like a real cape.

He tugs it tight with both fists. Stands taller.

He even spiked up his hair a little with water so it would fall the same way his dad’s always does after a mission. Sharp. Heroic.

Omni-man.

Mark grins at his reflection in the mirror near the hallway.

It’s a little crooked because of the missing tooth—leaving a gap. It’s also a little too small, but it does the job.

He flexes once. Poses.

Then rushes back to the couch and grabs the sheet of printer paper he left there—crayon scribbles in red and white and blue.

Their family.

Mom. Dad. Him.

Except—this time, he drew himself with the cape.

Not his dad.

Just him.

He hears the door.

The front lock shifts with that signature mechanical click—the one Omni-man’s key always overrides.

Mark freezes, heartbeat picking up.

The good kind. The kind that means he’s home.

A second later, Nolan steps in.

And he’s not alone.

Blood streaks his arms. His cape is torn, ripped at the edges. His face is shadowed—tired in a way Mark doesn’t quite understand yet.

But he’s here.

Mark lights up. Practically launches across the room with the drawing in hand and cape trailing behind him.

“Dad! Dad—look!”

Nolan doesn’t say anything.

Just closes the door behind him. Slowly. Methodically. Drops his keys on the table without looking up.

Mark rushes forward anyway, breathless. Holding the paper up like it’s gold.

“I made this—I made us! But like—if I was a hero too. Like you.”

The little boy spins once, proud.

“I’ve been practicing my landing pose. You know. For when I can fly.”

Finally—finally—Nolan looks.

His eyes scan the cape. The safety pin.

Then the drawing.

He doesn’t blink.

And something changes.

Something behind his tired eyes shift—something Mark won’t understand until he’s older.

“…Where did you get that cape,” Nolan says, voice low.

Mark startles.

“It’s just a sheet,” he says quickly, adjusting it. “Not a real one. I just thought—”

“You don’t get to wear that.”

The words hit too hard.

Too sharp.

Not loud. But not soft.

Mark’s mouth stays open. Drawing still in his hand.

Nolan steps closer.

“Not yet. Not until you’ve earned it.”

Mark’s arms drop.

He doesn’t ask what earning it means.

He just looks down.

“Oh,” he whispers. “Right. Sorry.”

Nolan doesn’t respond. He doesn’t look angry—not really.

Just… detached.

He walks past Mark without another word.

His boots thud once against the hardwood. Then he disappears down the hallway.

Mark’s left standing there.

Cape slipping from his shoulders. Drawing creased in his fingers.

He looks down at both.

Then lets the paper fall.

The cape slides off. Pools on the floor.

He stares at it for a long time.

Doesn’t cry.

Doesn’t move.

Just breathes.

Then—quietly, like it’s a vow—he bends down, picks the cape up, folds it in half.

Presses it to his chest.

And whispers—

“Then I’ll earn it.”

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌ongoing TAGLIST: @f3r4lfr0gg3r @pumpkin-toffee @aloflapse @helloimamistake @brokeaesthetic @mileskisser @lonely-entity @coquette1core @w-starshine @demonsvessel @feminii @marinefreaakk @moleannan @amidrinksti @irlandajacquelinne-blog @beep-boop-baby @flowerwithnomind

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

ᯓ❤︎ requested by: @lycheee-jelly

taglist sign up: 𓊆ྀིhere𓊇ྀི

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌With Love, @alive-gh0st

[feelfreetopleasemexo]

The first time hawks rings you when he's in rut and you're working was.... interesting. He couldn't even contain his heavy breathing when you answered the call.

"hey baby, fuck, what're you wearing right now? FaceTime me, I don't even care if the villain can see me right now I just need to see you."

"baby, I'm kinda in the middle of something right now, if it's not an emergency I'll have to..."

"it is an emergency. I'm going fucking stir crazy right now baby, I've cum what...12, 13 times already and it's not enough, it's never enough without you. Fuck. Touch yourself for me, they won't care. Fucking please, I need to see you."

Your cheeks flushed as he spoke, you'd never heard him whimper so desperately for you before, but despite it causing the deep thrill of heat rising inside of you, you had to try to remain professional whilst you were still working.

"Kei, listen, I know it's hard for you right now,"

"God fucking yeah I'm hard right now, I can't even take my hand off for more than a second I swear to god"

"I'll be home in a few hours okay, I'll help you out when I get back however you need me to, but right now I need to hand over this villain to the police."

"baby bird, I physically can't wait that long. Please. I need my scent on you, I need everyone to know you're mine. Fucking mine. All mine. Fuuuuck."

You could hear him stroking himself in the background, moans of pleasure escaping his lips every time he spoke.

"what's your location? Turn it on, fucking turn it on now I'm gonna fly to you and take you. I'll be quick I promise, I just, fuuuuck. I need to have you ontop of me like yesterday. Fuck. I'll do anything, fucking anything, name it and I'll do it. Fuck where're my shoes god dammit."

You could hear him rustling around his apartment, throwing things everywhere to try find his shoes.

"don't fly here bird brain, you'll get us caught and that's the LAST thing I need right now. Being in rut isn't a good enough excuse for Exhibitionism. Look, I'll come home when the police come collect this guy and then you'll have exactly 15 minutes to do whatever you can to me and then I have to go back to patrols, got it?"

He almost cried with excitement that you were coming home early.

"I'm gonna fucking break you, fill you up with so much of my cum you won't be able to flee our love nest. Fuck. I swear to God I'm going to fuck a baby into you. What's your ETA? I'll meet you half way."

His moans became higher pitched and more desperate, it hurt you to hear him like this, almost physically unable to contain himself, but something also made your body crave him, crave his ravenous touch, his starved kisses and his thick cum filling you up. Fuck it.

"I'll be home in 5, unlock the door baby, I'll come help you. Your song birds got you." His voice cracked as he spilled overly exaggerated confessions of love for you.

"oh fuck, just the thought of you has been driving me insane, I physically can't stop drooling from the idea of you bouncing on top of me. FUCK. I'm gonna fuck you and break you and claim you and mark you, baby fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."

You gave a swift blow to the head to the villain, rendering them unconscious and dragged them to the nearest police station, all whilst hawks was moaning and making himself cum over and over again in your earpiece. The sound of him desperately whimpering for you was more than enough to get you close to cumming, so as soon as you dropped the villain at the feet of the officers, you ran as fast as you physically could back home.

He stood there, completely naked and dripping with sweat, dick in hand and panting for you. It took all over about 2 seconds of you stepping foot in the front door before he was engulfed in you, wings wrapped around you and ripping your hero uniform off. You weren't going back to patrols that day, or for the rest of the week infact. He was insatiably needy, and you finally understood the magnitude of desperation as soon as you entered your 6th round with him.

[strawbairicake]

Seraphie's evil/villain arc begins now! Hehe >:))) /j

HI, RIRI!! I'M HERE TO SEND YOU A REQUEST!! I'm supposed to request the knight Phainon or prince Phainon one... But I suddenly have this new idea I have in mind!!! Me thinks you'll love it because it's your husband!! Heheo⁠(⁠(⁠*⁠^⁠▽⁠^⁠*⁠)⁠)⁠o♥

May I request Ratio with a reader who suffers from insomnia? That they have to read some books every night(to make their imagination run wild and exhaust their mind) so that they can sleep but it takes so long for them to sleep... But the longer they suffer from insomnia, the thinner they get! (That's the current condition I'm in, sadly! :(( That's why I thought about this!<3)

your favorite insomniac- dr. ratio x reader

synopsis: your beloved husband helps you, the insomniac, fall asleep quicker.

warnings: uh, none? maybe bad characterization but i did my best, okay? mentions of reader thinning/losing a bit of weight from not eating bc of insomnia but that’s it, me thinks. 

word count: 438, not long enough for my liking, but i do like what i wrote, so slay! LOL!

author’s note: thank you for the request, Seraphie! i hope it meets all of what you wanted in the request, not sure how to write thinning so i tried my best! hope you enjoy regardless! <3

taglist: @axolotsofluv, @sqgeism, @vyyper, @your-sleeparalysisdem0n, @cmiru, @unriding, @sillyseraphie, @sheyfu, + @m1ckeyb3rry! lmk if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 

“you’re skipping meals again.” your beloved husband says as he observes you get into your shared bed. you stop mid-movement, looking at him almost quizzically. 

“how do you mean?” you ask.

“you’re slightly thinner than usual. i’m assuming it’s because you’re not eating well-enough. this could be causing your sleeping issues as well. come, let’s get you something to eat. if it would make you feel better, I’ll eat something with you.” he replies. 

he sets the book he was reading before you entered the bedroom on his nightstand and gets up and walks to the kitchen. 

you quickly follow him to the kitchen and he makes himself a bowl of fruit while you sit at the kitchen table and fidget with your hands. in your relationship, you don’t cook or prep meals unless Veritas is sick, which is rare. but if you offer to help him cook, he always declines and shoos you over to go sit at the table, in classic Veritas form. 

he starts making you a small sandwich, something like a comfort food for you. not too big, not too small, and nothing overwhelming for you, which was good. 

he sets the plated sandwich in front of you and sits across from you and starts eating his bowl of fruits. you eat your food quietly, mindful to not eat too quickly. Veritas finishes his bowl of fruits a little bit before you so he watches you eat the rest of your sandwich. when you finish, you slide your plate in front of him, jokingly telling him to pick up the plate and bowl. Veritas smiles at your action, taking the plate and bowl and putting them in the kitchen sink- he’ll get to that tomorrow morning.

he walks back to you at the table, and reaches a hand out to you. you look up at him and smile before taking it. you both walk back to your bedroom and start getting comfortable in bed. As you snuggle into Veritas’s side, you notice he picks his book up again. 

“What book is that?” 

“It’s a book about Quantum Physics. something you probably wouldn’t enjoy.”

“Will you read it to me?” you beam up at him, and Veritas feels the smile tug at his face. 

“of course, listen carefully now…”

and within the first hour your husband read to you, you were out like a light. he places a gentle kiss on your forehead before putting his book back on the nightstand. 

“good night, my love. sleep well.” and he too, would be out like a light as well, reuniting with you in the dream realm.

©2025 strawbairicake. do not repost, copy, translate, modify, or use for AI.

[whumpy-daydreams]

Writing Masterlist

Villain cursed as their knees hit the floor, almost toppling over without their arms to balance them, relying on strong hands that gripped their bound arms. Light blurred their vision as the black hood was yanked away.

"Well well, if it isn't Villain in the flesh." Supervillain was sat facing them, leaning back as they took a drawl of their cigarette, smirking.

"Let me go Supervillain. I don't work for you anymore." Villain twisted their shoulders, trying to get out of the henchmen's grips.

"Yes, I know. You're a 'good guy' now or something, right? Going after thieves and petty criminals. Don't you miss having a challenge?"

"Do I miss getting the shit beat out of my every week by hero league? Funnily enough, no."

Supervillain tutted. "Language, Villain. I taught you better than that."

Villain couldn't help but laugh. Kidnapping civilians was fine, blowing up buildings was fine, but cursing? No, that was too far for the greatest villain in the city.

A punch to the face had Villain's eyes and nose watering. Or was it blood making their upper lip damp? One of the henchmen stepped back, fists ready to make another move should they act out of line.

"Let's cut to the chase, Villain." Supervillain stood up, sucking slowly on their cigarette, almost completely burnt away by this point. "You know why you're here."

"I haven't told hero league anything-"

"Shhh..." Supervillain was right in front of them now, one hand cupping their cheek. "I know you haven't. Because you know what I'd do to you if you did. No, no, no. The question I have for you is how much pain will it take before you agree to work for me again?"

Villain just shook their head, fear settling into their bones. They had never meant to become a villain. They had just wanted revenge against Hero. Supervillain had helped them with that but now they wanted their life back, they didn't enjoy it the way villains had to.

"Such a pity." Supervillain tugged open their shirt and put their cigarette out on Villain's collarbone. "But I can't-" they continued over Villain's sobs, "-have my employees defecting. It's bad for moral."

"Please..."

"Hush now, Villain. We'll have plenty of time to talk down in the cells." Supervillain said, raising Villains head to theirs with a single finger. "When you've had time to evaluate your choices."

[hokusu]

#DabiHawks ⛈️

Hawks is a little entranced with thunder storms. It's his little secret.

He can't fly in the weather but it's only more of an excuse to call it quits. The "Aw shucks, looks like a storm is brewing I'd better head home!" that he announces without a trace of remorse in his voice.

After all, they can't risk the number two hero getting electrocuted from the sky. Even the commission has no grounds to complain.

Heavy rainfall doesn't send him home, but thunder and lightning sure does. So Hawks will laugh and flutter his way home, catching the beginnings of rainfall against his wings.

It's strikingly cold and makes him shiver beneath the fluff of his coat, but he's a little in love. And when he gets back home, a soaked bird against his balcony floorboards, there will be warmth in the form of scarred hands waiting for him.

Hawks hides a smile as he strips himself down and let his feathers carry away his clothes into the washer. He shakes his wet locks of hair just as Dabi hands him a fluffy towel, straight from the dryer.

"You're home," comes the murmured greeting.

It's touchingly soft—Dabi standing in his living room with one of Hawks' very own oversized sweatshirt merch always is. It softens against his frame, against all of his lethal edges. It's only for Hawks to see. A villain in the world, domestic in his house.

"Sure am," Hawks grins. "The storms coming."

Dabi steps closer to run a heated hand against the wet barbs of Hawks' wings as he exhales teasingly, "Little hero bird afraid of some lightning?"

Hawks eyes twinkle in amusement as he leans into Dabi's touch, inhaling the scent of Dabi smelling entirely of his home. "Nah, just my get out of jail free card."

Dabi chuckles as he presses warm lips against Hawks’ cheek, tracing raindrops off right off.

The imagery of a younger Hawks staring out the windows, gaping with the strike of lights in the sky, is something he keeps close to his heart. Hawks had mentioned it to him in a passing, that he hadn't minded the storms as much as people tended to think he would.

Birds fly south for the winter, but Hawks had shrugged with a sheepish tug of his lips and admitted almost childishly, "Secret… I kinda love thunderstorms."

Dabi hasn't stopped thinking about it since.

He remembers the first time Hawks was on a mission in another city and the way he had excitedly video called Dabi without a thought, not remembering that between the two of them they had only called when it was urgent or pre-scheduled.

And Dabi, in the middle of a battle had picked up because it was his bird, of course he picked up.

It wasn't an emergency though, wasn't a pressing issue but to Dabi, maybe it had been pressing all the same.

Because Hawks had excitedly showed him what he was seeing, the lightning that flashed across the skies as Hawks dangled on a rooftop somewhere.

And oh, how his heart soared.

Dabi grinned. He wasn't even mad, the swell of his heart beats so noticeably even as a recruit gone wrong tries to kill him.

It was a few minutes before Hawks realized Dabi wasn't home, wasn't sheltered from the rain and Hawks had asked, alarmed and apologetic now, “Is someone attacking you? Shit Dabi, I'll hang u—”

Dabi juggled the phone in one hand, fire blazing in the other and had cut him off just as fast. "Don't be,” his breath comes out a little uneven, but he's still fond. “It'll be over soon enough. Just keep me company and watch the storm, yeah?"

And Hawks had blinked wide golden eyes right through the screen, nodding and eyes flickering between the storm and Dabi's every time he heard a beat too loud on the end of the line.

But as Dabi promised, the fight ended soon enough. Faster because Dabi couldn't keep his little bird waiting.

Now they make it a habit. On the occasions when lightning strikes the skies and thunder booms across the world, Dabi will take Hawks into his arms and they'll admire the storms from his penthouse windows, the floor to ceiling lengths giving them an unobstructed view of all the heavens have to offer.

Dabi will watch as the arrays of stricken light illuminate against the gold of Hawks' eyes and casts a glimpse into their otherwise darkened room, the feathers of Hawks' wings fluttering in excitement at each crack of light, his lips falling in open wonderment and a whispered "Pretty" as Dabi thinks—

Hawks is infinitely prettier.

And Dabi's secret? He loves the thunderstorms now if only because of Hawks, but he surely loves watching Hawks during the storms even more.

It's the little things with Hawks and it always will be.

[inky-squid]

Throughout the years -

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Despite not getting off on the right foot as kids, Jason and Reader quickly become close friends and remain at each other's side for as long as fate will allow it.

Once again no use of y/n, and no description (other than reader having braids as a child) also hasn't been edited, so if there are any mistakes, I'm terribly sorry but get used to it.

This one is a long one, I think it was like 3k words. It's kind of a second part of Wasn't for her, but can be read as a stand alone. I also decided to throw in a bit of angst, but it's only for a moment.

Decided to give the reader the nickname Birdie. Just makes things less repetitive (constantly using her/she) when I go back to the 3rd person POV.

Also want to clear up, I don't hate Bruce Wayne, before anyone attacks me. it was simply for the plot, and Birdie gets over that pretty quickly.

Ages 5 and 6

It was a surprisingly warm day in Gotham, the birds were chirping and your mother had decided it was the perfect weather to take you to the park down the road. It wasn't anything magical, more of a pile of scrap than anything, but a park was a park, and when you have a 5 year old practically bouncing off the walls of a small apartment, getting them outside to play was the best thing to do.

Nothing in Crime Alley was ever in the best condition. From being a prime target for the Joker or whatever other villain decided life was going too smoothly, to being significantly underfunded, it wasn't unusual for many things to be broken or just dilapidated. The park wasn't an exception to this rule. With two rickety swings, one of which had fallen off the chain years ago and just never fixed, a see-saw, and a little blue slide with burn marks on the plastic, it was far from perfect. But to a child who hadn't really been allowed outside due to the cold and rain that normally shadowed Gotham, it was heaven on earth.

Your mother had sat down on the grass just outside the park, trusting you to not get into any serious trouble while she took a few minutes to herself. You busied yourself with climbing a tree, waiting patiently for the swing to free itself (You had been checking over your shoulder every 4 seconds in the hopes that the kid on it would get off, almost falling out of the tree every time).

After 5 minutes, you had had enough of waiting and walked over to the swings, your braids bouncing against your shoulder as you moved.

“Can I have a go?”

The kid on the swing cast you a quick glance before resuming his swinging, not even giving you an answer. Furrowing your brows, you said the question louder, tacking a please on the end in the hopes of getting an answer this time.

“No, I'm using it.”

“Well, when are you gonna be done?”

“Dunno.”

Deciding this kid wasn't worth your time, You ran out of the park over to your mother. Tugging gently on the shoulder of her sleeve, you explained that you had asked, very very nicely, to have a go on the swing, and that the kid on it was being mean. After not getting anything other than a laugh and a soft “be patient baby” you decided to take your mother's advice.

Not the advice she had just given you, but rather something she said to herself quite often.

“if you want something done right, do it yourself”.

Marching over to the swing set once again, you crossed your arms over your chest and just watched for a moment before asking:

“Are you done yet?”

Repeatedly.

Clearly finding it annoying, the little boy stopped himself with the soles on his shoes and turned to you.

“I'm not done, I won't be done any time soon, and definitely not for you.”

His sentence was punctuated with a chesty sigh before he readied himself to start swinging again. Not happy with the answer at all, you moved to behind the swing, and without thinking, shoved him right off it.

Watching him fall to the floor was kind of magical. His face went from calm, to panicked once he had realised that the floor was getting closer. He met the rubber tiles of the playground with a sick smack, and as his wails filled the air, it wasn't so magical anymore. Ducking around the flailing swing, you knelt at his side, already slipping out apology after apology.

He completely ignored you, just kept repeating through cries “You made me swallow my tooth” as your mother made her way over to you both. She picked the boy up under his arms and set him back on his feet before also kneeling at his side to wipe little pebbles of rubber off his face. She cupped his cheeks and slid her thumbs under his eyes to rid them of tears but more would just replace them.

Her head snapped to you to scold you, only to find your eyes also welling up with tears. You tried very hard to keep them in, you really did. But once you made eye contact with her, the dam broke, and now she had two sobbing kids to deal with. Picking you up and placing you on her hip, she took the little boy's hand in her free one. She spoke to him in a delicate tone, asking his name, and how old he was to try and distract him as you all exited the park.

He was answering all her questions, saying his name was Jason, he was 6, and his favourite colour was red, but once she asked about his parents he went silent. Taking his silence as her answer, she took you both back home to clean the blood from his mouth and chin.

Later that night, once Jason had stopped crying and left, you were sent to your room as a punishment and only allowed out to eat, go to school, and use the bathroom for a week.

Ages 10 and 11

Despite the way you both met, you and Jason had quickly become friends after seeing him playing on the streets. It was just you two, best friends against the world. You had other friends, ones from school, but you didn't care about any of them like you did Jason. As far as you were concerned, he was your only friend. Sure you were an odd pair, a rugged little boy who traded punches like they were greetings, and a, seemingly, gentle little girl who was a mirror image of her mother, both in appearance and personality, but you didn't care.

I mean how could you? Sure he was rough around the edges, and people would say he was more trouble than he was worth. But so were you. The only difference between you both really was that you had a home to go to at the end of the day. And even then, you rarely went back without Jason. He was a constant in your life, and your mother didn't mind. She was more than willing to put a roof over his head and a warm meal in his belly. Especially if no one else was.

You were his “little shadow” as the old women in your apartment building liked to say to your mother, despite your insistence that you were his Birdie, not his shadow (A nickname given to you after you fell off the last level of the fire escape last summer and broke your arm. He liked to joke that you were trying to fly.)

The two of you were inseparable, and it was gonna stay that way if you could help it. No one else mattered to you, as long as you had Jason and your mother, you were set for life.

Unfortunately, the universe doesn't seem to like listening to the wishes of a 10 year old girl, and that autumn Jason would be taken in by none other than Bruce Wayne. You were happy for him, really. It was nice to finally see his face without the layer of grime that normally covered it. But Wayne Manor was so far away from Crime Alley, and that meant seeing less of Jason.

You'd still see him on most weekdays as he had a knack for sneaking around (not that he needed to, Alfred would willingly drive him to go see you if he'd just ask). But it still wasn't the same. You spent less time outside, and somehow your small bed felt huge without him squeezing into it. For a while you'd forget that he wasn't there anymore and make two bowls of cereal in the morning instead of one. It was a difficult adjustment, he was a constant in your life for 5 years, and now he just wasn't there.

That didn't mean he wasn't your best friend anymore, if anything it made you love him more. Mama said that distance made the heart grow fonder, and I guess she was right, because not a day went by that you didn't think about him. even when he was right next to you.

Ages 14 and 15

You had been aware that he was Robin for 2 years at this point, he felt like you deserved to know when he asked you to be his girlfriend. At the start you thought it was the coolest thing in the world. Your best friend? a vigilante? who wouldn't think that was cool. But now that you were sitting in your living room watching the small box TV that you had, you wish he'd never told you.

On the 27th of April, Jason Peter Todd died. in an “accident”.

His funeral was being held a week from now, and it was a closed event. “For family only”. meaning you couldn't say goodbye to, not only your best friend, but your boyfriend. Sure, you were only 14 and 15, how serious could your relationship be? it's not like you spent 8 years with him at your side and suddenly he was gone.

You later found out from Dick that only 4 people had known about the funeral (He had finally found you after months of searching. Jason only ever called you Birdie, never your real name). And he wasn't even one of them. You also found out from Dick that he wasn't killed in an accident, not that you believed that anyway, but was actually murdered by the joker. Who was still prancing around the streets of Gotham, a free man.

After telling you that, Dick had muttered the words “hopefully not for long” and, despite your hatred for violence, you couldn't find it in yourself to disagree with him.

Your mother had rushed home from work after finding out. Her boss was aware of your closeness with Jason, the two of you frequently popped into the diner she worked at for milkshakes, so he had no issue letting her go. She found you staring at the TV, completely unmoving, and quickly scooped you into her lap even though you were far too big for that now.

You sat there for hours, not saying a single thing. until finally you broke the silence.

“I hate him.”

“Who baby? Jason?”

You gently shook your head against her shoulder. What a silly thought. Nothing in you could ever hate Jason, especially not now.

“Bruce. I hate him, Mama. He took him from me, and now he's not coming back.”

Your voice had grown heavy half way through your sentence, the tears had finally built up in your eyes and a bubble was stuck at the base of your throat making it hard to breathe. Your mother just sighed against your head and placed a kiss on your forehead before whispering a small “I know” against your hairline.

Ages 17 and 18

It was 4 in the morning when your phone started ringing, rousing you from sleep. Picking up your phone and squinting against the light, Dicks face lit up the screen. Swiping to pick up the call, you pressed the phone to your ear.

“Do you know what time it is?”

“Jason's alive.”

Your whole world had, once again, been tilted on it's axis. Part of you refused to believe him. Jason was dead, if he wasn't surely you'd know about it. But then again, after he died, Dick had become an older brother of sorts to you. You knew he'd never lie about something like this, but how many people die and then randomly reappear?

“Have you finally lost your mind? What do you mean Jason's alive?”

“I mean, Jason is alive. Bruce didn't want me to tell you, but he ran a DNA test on some of Red Hood's blood and it matched Jason's. Said he didn't want to tell you until he was completely certain.”

5 minutes later, you were getting into your second hand shitbox car, still in your pyjamas, on the way to Wayne Manor. You had never been before, choosing to stay away from it, but this wasn't something that could wait for the formal phone call Bruce probably had planned. You needed answers, and you needed them now. What's normally a 30 minute drive was completed in 10, and the gates of the Manor opened as soon as you drove up to them. Dick had probably told Alfred in advance that you were coming. Or at least that's what you assumed when the door sprung open the second you stepped out of your car.

Alfred quickly ushered you inside, closing the door behind you, before practically dragging you down to the Bat cave. As soon as you laid eyes on Bruce you were ready to start rapid firing questions at him, but got cut off by Dick pulling you into a hug and giving you a once over.

“You hung up on me 15 minutes ago, how the hell did you get here so fast?”

His words fell out of his mouth, stumbling over one another as they did so. only for his jaw to swing wide open when you told him you almost hit someone on the way over. (a joke, but he didn't need to know that.) Swerving around him, you stalked your way over to Bruce and shoved your finger into his Kevlar chest plate. He was still in his stupid little furry outfit, which, for some reason, only made you angrier.

You had never met Bruce Wayne, or Batman for that matter, before, only hearing stories about him through Jason, Dick, and the news. But standing in front of him now, you'd say they were all full of shit. Not a single ounce of fear was in your body, just pure unadulterated rage. Because how dare he decide not to tell you that the boy you had been grieving for the past 3 years was actually alive, and casually walking the streets of Crime Alley every night.

The feeling of Dick hovering behind you did nothing to stop you ripping into him, calling him an inconsiderate asshole for not telling you the minute he found out. The only thing that made you stop your tirade of abuse was the haunted look in his eyes. For just a split second, his mask had slipped and allowed you to really see the man behind it. Not the great billionaire Bruce Wayne. Just Bruce, the man who buried his son far before his time and didn't know how to deal with the grief that came with it.

A part of you still blamed him for Jason's death, because who lets a 12 year old boy fight crime in possibly the worst city to ever exist, only for that boy to die, and then put another child in his place a few months later? But now you understood that Jason's death played on his mind far more than he let on. That Tim was just a way to avoid the grief he would have carried with him for the rest of his life. Not to say he didn't love Tim the same as his other sons, but he definitely played a greater part than he thought he did.

It wasn't until a few months after your meltdown, if it can even be called that, that you actually saw Jason. You had been fully caught up with the situation, about him being revived in the Lazarus Pit, and were, once again in the Bat cave, helping Dick stitch up his arm, when the sound of heavy boots against concrete met your ears. You had only been helping Alfred patch up the Bats for a few weeks at this point, even taking some first aid courses so you knew what to do, but you had their footsteps memorised, and that wasn't any of theirs.

Turning your head to see who had entered the room, you were met with the Red Hood, just standing completely still staring at you. feeling your hands come to a standstill, Dick paused his conversation with Tim to glance at you. Seeing you both engaging in a staring contest, he nudged Tim up the stairs to the Manor, both still dressed in their suits.

Taking a tentative step towards him, you let out a small whisper of his name, causing him to go completely rigid before trying to cover the action with a stupid little “who?”. Rolling your eyes at him, you took a few steps closer, only for him to back up slightly in retaliation.

“I know it's you Jay, Dick told me months ago. Now, take off that stupid mask and let me see you.”

He had always struggled at saying not to you, so his shoulders sagged and he reached up to unclip his helmet. A slight hiss of air followed before it came off, but he made sure his face was pointed towards the floor, unable to make eye contact with you. You walked with slow, even footsteps towards him until you were almost toe to toe before lifting your hands towards his face. Your movements were slow enough that, if he wanted to, he could move away from your touch. But rather than flinching away like you have anticipated, he melted into your hands the second they made contact with his face.

For the first time in 3 years, you were face to face with the only boy you had ever loved. By this point tears were flowing down your cheeks freely, unashamed of the relief and pain that had settled in your chest. He was different, that was undeniable. His limbs didn't hang awkwardly by his body anymore, he seemed more sure of himself than he had when he was 15. His once jet black hair now had a bright white streak in the front of it. And his gorgeous baby blue eyes were now a deep green colour that can only be described as emerald.

But he was still your Jason. Still the little boy that would run around the streets of Gotham, pocketing loose change before curling up in bed next to you, his bear plush clutched tightly in the crook of his arm. He was still the 13 year old boy who would walk from Wayne Manor, to your house all the way in Crime Alley, simply because you asked him to. Nothing would take your Jay away from you, not even death.

[creatingblackcharacters]

Hey! Its me from the posession ask. Thank you sm for your insights I didn't even consider that it could be perceived that way. I do have some explanation for the some of the questions posed .

The posession IS meant to be something horrible that happens to them. Their character growth was written in later because I wanted them to get something out of this instead of just being beaten completely beaten up by the narrative until they're no longer relavant to the plot. It was like slapping a bandaid on it.

The spirits were non-black just to visually show that they are foreign to the (fictional) country that this story takes place in. This character in question accidentally ended up possessed by studying foreign magic, they didn't seek the spirits out, and the spirits are just using them opportunistically, trying to live after being turned into something less than human. This character becomes a creature that has to consume souls/fuse to inhabit a body, but they're not pupeteered or lead by the other souls the way a traditional possession is portrayed. Not that this matters.

By more bold, I meant a switch from, dangle earrings to a Grace Jones inspired villain, more because I just wanted to draw that than anything else. I personally do struggle with my femininity scrutinized as a bw and I do make an effort to make sure Blackness is centered in the imagery I create.

(Not that that necessarily matters.)

The spirits don't have to be nonblack or even women, and this characters presentation doesn't have to change after the attack, though. And although I'm attached to the idea of them being trans, it's not a plot point in the story and can be changed as well.

Their possession is the initiating factor that drives the MC, who is trying to help them get back to themselves while also trying to protect them, so I do want to keep as much of that story as possible.

If I change the character surrounding this event, do you think it's salvageable?

Also, sorry for the double ask. Feel free to disregard this, I've used enough of your time. Either way, you've given me a lot to think about.

It hurts me that you were gonna let visibly nonblack women become a Grace Jones inspired villain 😭 don't do that to Grace! She is thee Original!

I think if you just let the villain be that Grace Jones-esque character, while Black, yes you could work with something like this. Or, I know you said that them being different was meant to show that they're not from the area, but like... It's a demon. Surely it can take on any form it wants, especially in the face of a potential victim? If Grace Jones is who your Black trans character wants to emulate... Why not?

Say it with me: it DOES matter! The things you're saying, the decisions you're making, do matter! I wouldn't be running a blog on thoughtful Black character design if it didn't! Don't dismiss your thoughts.

But also, why not just take some time and draw the villain character? Like, you want to draw them... Why not just do that? You don't have to wait on story to get the design together, and your research and enjoyment of that process might help you come up with more for your story. Like this isn't a rush or an ordered process!

[n0t-evenhere]

I’ve seen a lot of Ray ask but not enough of other characters so I’m gonna ask

1. How would double’s behavior be with a Mc who’s very affectionate , like since childhood. Holding his hand randomly, playing with his hair, following him like a lost puppy, being close to him, etc.

2.Would Haley every match outfits with Mc if they were dating and if so, what type?

3.Imagine a Mc with a “I can fix him” mindset with Luke / Blaze

4. Do you think Miles owns action figures of Binary Star and do you think Ray would stay tf away from Miles for that reason

Welcome, welcome, let’s get to it!

1. A lost puppy, that is exactly where double wants you to be. Utter and complete loyalty. To be able to use you in anyway shape and form. He could hurt but you would come crawling back to him because you are loyal. You are affectionate. He’d say things like “you know I only did that because you needed to learn right?” Or “You know I still love you right?”

You are moldable and can shaped even more into what he wants you to be. In short, you are a lost puppy and you will be trained and treated like one. Even if you don’t see the manipulation tactics, even if you fall for whatever he tells you. You are and will be used for his purpose. I mean…come on, what else are you supposed to be for him. Loyalty is a top notch thing for him, the affection is a happy little add in.

2. Matching outfits, no. Not unless you both have the same style and clothing habits. However, I do think that Haley would (going with a t-shirt example with some band name) you pick your color, and Haley would oil the color for the shirt. A easier way to put it because I may be over complicating it, if you don’t have the same style Haley does, you can get matching t-shirts but Haley’s would be a green and your would be for example purple. Indirect matching.

3. Oh my lanta, let me just tell you, that boy will not be fixed for anything. He likes who he is, he is who he is with fault. (In his mind anyway) the arrogance of this man. To give an answer from his perspective, “you cannot fix what’s not broken.” He’s not broken, he’s perfect as is. You will just emotionally tear yourself apart. Sooner or later, you’ll figure it out. He only loves what’s new and hot. You’ll become old and no longer interesting. You obviously stay even if he “bad” so it’s like, you are fall back. Someone he can go to because you’ll be there.

4. You bed miles has action figures or binary star. Definitely got one of those fully possible ones too! 😂 miles strikes me as the kind of collector who will change poses of the fully articulated figures. Not often maybe once every other week. (To not ruin them.) Ray has seen so many people with figurines. Mostly children with that plastic form of his hero self. Half chewed, or being intensely played with. (You know how kids are) Miles in Rays mind equates to a childish personality. So, it doesn’t surprise him. If MC is friends with miles, Ray will still tick around and only for you. The only thing that will word him out a little is figuring out how intentionally miles takes care of his binary star action figure. Dusting it, keeping it in a glass case, making sure its joints stay smooth.

(An extra thing) I realized I mixed up two of my characters in the last post. I mixed up Ripely and Luke. So, in the last post I said Luke would be doubles sidekick but who I meant was Ripley. The guy that was basically hurt because he wouldn’t give away MC location.

So, let me add on for Luke, let me give an actual answer. Luke/ Blaze would definitely take a villain role in the villain Ray AU, he may even still work with Ray from time to time. However, Luke is an annoyance to Ray and the rest of “The Syndicate” Blaze is a boisterous villain, doing what he wants essentially. Blaze wouldn’t have a tight relationship with Apollo because Apollo in the villain AU becomes reclusive when he ‘quits the NAHA’.

[oramn]

I saw Thunderbolts (2025) and I didn't like it.

I promise, I tried to like it, i really did, but it just didn't live up to the expectations. I really like marvel and I came in wanting to like it and it just fell flat for me :(

!!Spoilers below the cut!!

I think that as a whole, it didn't know what it wanted to be as a movie. I do like the concept of a group of heroes who don't work well in a group reluctantly working together to fight a common enemy, and I do love bob and the Centry as a concept as they portrayed it, i was fucking terrified in the theaters, fighting the phyiscal manifestation of those horrible intrusive thoughts is horrifying and i really want to see that expanded upon in the future. And the score! I loved the score!! I know i can always trust marvel to put a baller ass score to a film.

However, i think it was not as good as people are saying it was. First, when i say the movie doesn't know what it wants so be I mean it! The tone was a mess. It had a very silly tone and that didn't carry out through the rest of the film and the very serious moments were interrupted by little quips that ruined the gravity of the scene. And I can't blame the actors because this is a star-studded cast, you have Florence Pugh, Sebastian Stan, Dave Harbor, Lewis Pullman, Wyatt Russell just to name a few. These are all crazy talented actors who I know can do great things, but they just... fell flat because the writing wasn't good!!

I think Thunderbolts (2025) was trying to mimic Deadpool and Wolverine (or just the general tone of the film.) I think it tried to mix a very serious message of "those around you love you" with a very non-serious way of delivering it, which doesn't bode well when you're working with complex topics such as PTSD, childhood trauma, mental health, drug addiction, corruption, etc because it downplays the true extent of how much those things can ruin someone's life.

The film also had too many comedic reliefs, it was trying too hard and it was making it obvious, with the way it was edited and the way it was written it was taking the viewer and going "look this is funny, laugh now." like the only thing more obvious would be a fucking light up sign that says "laugh now" and to be frank that's downright insulting to the audience. It spoon fed so many aspects of the film to the viewers to the point where my friend literally said that it felt like it was targeted towards children.

On the same note, it was so heavy handed in it's messaging that a bull in a china shop would've been more subtle. If i took a shot for how many times "you are not alone" (or something similar) was repeated I would've been black out drunk. Like okay Evan Hansen, I get it, I'm not alone you don't need to hit me with a sledgehammer 30 billion times.

The film also felt like there was very little downtime, it didn't let the viewers sit with anything or digest anything, there was always action or something big happening, it was far too fast paced to the point where half the damn movie felt like an advertisement. It didn't have enough time to tell the story that it wanted and when the two subplots came together it felt forced and uncomfortable.

Also, there were no clear villains. First Valentina was a villain, then it was the centry as a bigger threat, but then it was valentina but they defeated her through love and compassion and now they own her? Idk

Now, it's time to be nitpicky.

The fighting was underwhelming, it felt so choreographed to the point where it felt like it was there just because it was a superhero movie.

I hated almost all of them. The writers were trying so hard to make sure the viewers understood the dynamic and that they were all funny. re: applause now sign. They were all incredibly flat and seldom changing. Even our protagonist's character arc went from "i hate poeple and I'm alone and i am bored" to "i have a team of people I tolerate and I tell people my feelings" like that's not a fundamental shift in the character, she is still very much the same person, nothing has changed.

I wanted to like Yelena so badly, but they fumbled her so bad. Like I'm so fucking sick of the nonchalant protaganist that is just so bored of her life and blah blah blah. I think John was a douche and it was clear, everything that came out of his mouth was so fucking selfish, and I get the point of his character, but even in points where it felt like he was supposed to say something good, nope! another deplorable thing came from his mouth!

Now bucky, my beautiful Bucky Barnes. the man I named myself after. What the fuck was that. That was not my Bucky Barnes why the hell was he a congressman, i genuinely don't understand. My beautiful baby boy, what the fuck did they do to you and your HAIR. why is a congressman looking like he is a cat that just got pulled out of a drain.

Eva was unremarkable. Bob was an interesting character that felt like they didn't respect or take seriously, which i understand was the point, but like again, writers needed to be more subtle about. Like the "oh no, bob helped" scene. bro, pack it up!

Again, the movie felt like it was trying to be something it was not and it turned into one big cliché, and it has solidified to me that Marvel is soulless. I have been saying that since 2019 and this movie solidified it for me. The writers and directors are not acting in the interests of the characters and not even insanely talented actors are not able to make up for a bad script.

The movie was fine. It was fine, that's all I can say. I went on a cheaper day so I saw it for like $7 but it wasn't worth it and I could've probably done better things with my evening. But it's seriously making me reconsider wanting to see Fantastic Four. I know I will go because I am in love with Pedro Pascal, but I will not be spending 14-20$ on that because I'm seriously concerned with how heavy handed the story telling was.

TL;DR: I didn't like Thunderbolts(2025) it was heavy handed in it's messaging, poorly written, poorly directed, and overall one big disappointment of a movie that had no idea what it wanted to say.

[everythingisamazing]

I think one of the biggest missed opportunities in S2 imo was not making Jayce’s time in the ravine a bottle episode. As it stands in the show we got, I’m fine with it being where it is and think the “Jayce in dark souls” contrast with Ekko is hilarious, but i think even cramming it in like they did has led to some viewers downplaying his trauma and the vague timeline of events only being segmented a la montage didn’t really help — and that’s not even getting into Mage Viktor’s role in all of this. It’s obvious when some people haven’t rewatched the show in a while since it came out, since there appears to be this narrative being spread around now villainizing the Mage, saying that he had “doomed” Jayce either through giving him the mission in the first place, or is trying to paint Jayce as a victim who only stayed with Viktor out of “obligation” for his mission or even people saying that he had groomed Jayce (god, I hate how flippantly that word is used nowadays), and I think that’s because, even foregoing the twist at the end, we just didn’t spend enough time with the Mage to establish his motivations even for a bait and switch. Now, while I know not a lot of viewers like him, either because they think the twist is stupid or they’re just salty it wasn’t Ryze (as if shoving in more League lore would magically fix the writing or pacing problems this season lmao), I actually think Mage Viktor ended up being one of the more compelling characters for me to come out of s2 because of how little we know about him and how he got where he did, but obviously not everyone feels that way and while I’m not saying the writers should’ve showed their hands entirely — because, regardless of the logistics, that reveal still was one of the better executed imo and hits incredibly hard, especially on repeat viewings — I also just wanted to see more of this character and the eerie, desolate world that Jayce was thrusted into.

There’s also the meta reasoning that we, the audience, would simply have more time to sit on the information being processed before being thrown back into Plot Stuff™: I hate the internet for what it did to the word “filler” and acting like character focused episodes over strictly plot-driven episodes is a sign of bad or “lazy” writing, because even in a show as plot heavy as Arcane, allowing moments of reprieve actually allows your audience to process what’s being shown onscreen rather than having a million things thrown at you or having crucial character arcs condensed into music video montages — lemme also just pour one out for specifically my girl Vi real quick because she was done so dirty. Now, you can argue that we simply just didn’t have enough time to explore little moments of R&R with the characters (ignoring the fact that s1 was also nine episodes here), that just points to the crucial problem of s2 in my opinion in that we simply had too much stuff going on. In a perfect world, to me anyway, we would’ve had at least another season or the finale releasing separately to the rest of the season as a two-hour special. Now, while I didn’t love s2 as much as s1, I also don’t think it’s unsalvageable or ruined the show either — in fact, there’s a lot of moments I love conceptually or standalone, and that’s why I think the choice to prioritize twists/big moments over smaller, more intimate character scenes hurts all the more, but with whatever ends up coming out of this universe in the future, we could wind up looking back at this season with a newfound appreciation. But if this is the last we see of Jayce or Viktor — if not forever, then for a while — I’m saddened that we weren’t allowed more time with them, especially since the core emotional moment of the finale hinges on them, and even on repeat rewatches, it’s very evident that the writing of Jayce especially in Act III is heavily reliant on the execution of the twist and even then, some of his lines are still confusing to me (“everything you did to these people you did alone” is one that confounds me, even from a place of rationalizing Jayce’s cryptic behaviour throughout the last two episodes as a front for toxic yaoi’s sake). All this, and I feel like letting Jayce have a moment to really reflect on him murdering Viktor and maybe even giving him a moment with Ximena was such obvious tearjerker material that I’m shocked the writers didn’t go for it.

Gah, my apologies for rambling so much in your inbox. I’m genuinely not trying to be a negative nancy like how a lot of people are about Arcane s2 and act pissy because the show didn’t go in the direction I wanted — writing is my passion and all of my critiques come from a place of genuine love. I guess I’m just throwing this out there for the sake of discussion? Do with this what you will, I’m just some random nobody on tumblr.com XD

Ooooh long ask - I love it! I will try to respond to everything you wrote, but incase I miss something - apologies in advance <3. Since you were mainly talking about S2, I have to give a little disclaimer: I am one of the few people on here (at least from what I've seen) who prefers S2. I wrote a #personal post about why that is; if you are interested you can find it on my profile, tagged as such. TL;DR I am NOT objective when it comes to S2 or S1. Because while the first season objectively has less flaws, there is one character that tainted my enjoyment of it on my first my first watch ( I am still debating on wether I want to get into that on my blog in a post someday, but that's neither here nor there). So yeah, just a heads up that I am somewhat biased :) I think one of the biggest missed opportunities in S2 imo was not making Jayce’s time in the ravine a bottle episode. As it stands in the show we got, I’m fine with it being where it is and think the “Jayce in dark souls” contrast with Ekko is hilarious, but i think even cramming it in like they did has led to some viewers downplaying his trauma and the vague timeline of events only being segmented a la montage didn’t really help — and that’s not even getting into Mage Viktor’s role in all of this

I adore bottle episodes. They are usually among my fave ones in any show, because the reduction of elements really allows good writing to shine. So, a Jayce ravine bottle episode? Hell yes. About downplaying Jayces trauma - I still think that episode actually helped make people like Jayce more than before (which is not saying that the montage etc was the best way to do it) - whereas most viewers on the first watch (including me) completely glossed over the fact that he tried to kill himself in S1 and failed to empathize or even understand Jayces character. I wrote a whole post about my thoughts on this - I hope it's okay if I just link it here. It’s obvious when some people haven’t rewatched the show in a while since it came out, since there appears to be this narrative being spread around now villainizing the Mage, saying that he had “doomed” Jayce either through giving him the mission in the first place, or is trying to paint Jayce as a victim who only stayed with Viktor out of “obligation” for his mission or even people saying that he had groomed Jayce (god, I hate how flippantly that word is used nowadays), and I think that’s because, even foregoing the twist at the end, we just didn’t spend enough time with the Mage to establish his motivations even for a bait and switch. All I can say is that arguments about who "doomed" who are really irrelevant when it comes to Jayvik. Idk if it's a perfect analogy, but it kind of reminds me of the trolley problem - there is no correct answer. Should mage!viktor have let Jayce die as a child? Should he not have saved him from suicide later? What about how Jayce doomed Viktor and by proxy himself, by ignoring his wishes? I think there are several valid positions for people to hold about this if they want to philosophize about what they would or would not have done in either one of those situations. BUT you shouldn't project it onto what the show explicitly depicted: Which is a) Jayce looking in awe when he sees mage!Viktor and neither scared nor angry b) Viktor giving Jayce the choice to leave and c) Jayce clearly stating that he wants to stay with him. Now, while I know not a lot of viewers like him, either because they think the twist is stupid or they’re just salty it wasn’t Ryze (as if shoving in more League lore would magically fix the writing or pacing problems this season lmao), I actually think Mage Viktor ended up being one of the more compelling characters for me to come out of s2 because of how little we know about him and how he got where he did, but obviously not everyone feels that way and while I’m not saying the writers should’ve showed their hands entirely — because, regardless of the logistics, that reveal still was one of the better executed imo and hits incredibly hard, especially on repeat viewings — I also just wanted to see more of this character and the eerie, desolate world that Jayce was thrusted into I am not sure if the majority of people really dislike the reveal, or if it is mainly those who are more involved in fandom or league lore. At least from people in my real life, I have never heard anyone disliking the reveal - quite the opposite.

Speaking for myself, I’ve never liked time travel plots — they often feel like a lazy cop-out. That said, this one actually works. It ties together several elements the show had already set up, and does so beautifully through a single character. Mage!Viktor’s message distills all the other storylines into one simple, tragically unsatisfying — yet strangely life-affirming — truth.

I also find it interesting that while he’s literally a mage, he actually aligns more with the archetype of the sage. To me, Commune Viktor embodies the show’s magician archetype (as hinted at in that one Sevika scene with the cards), whereas Mage!Viktor represents what happens when that magician archetype becomes too successful in reshaping the world. He even says as much himself. It really makes me think about how Viktor cycles through multiple archetypes over the course of the show — always orbiting around the hero archetype embodied by Jayce.

Sorry for suddenly going off about archetypes — but all this to say: Mage!Viktor doesn’t deserve the hate he gets, in my opinion. He’s a smart addition to the story and leaves a strong impact despite his limited screen time.

There’s also the meta reasoning that we, the audience, would simply have more time to sit on the information being processed before being thrown back into Plot Stuff™: I hate the internet for what it did to the word “filler” and acting like character focused episodes over strictly plot-driven episodes is a sign of bad or “lazy” writing, because even in a show as plot heavy as Arcane, allowing moments of reprieve actually allows your audience to process what’s being shown onscreen rather than having a million things thrown at you or having crucial character arcs condensed into music video montages — lemme also just pour one out for specifically my girl Vi real quick because she was done so dirty. Again, I am all with you on this. Filler episodes only feel like "filler" if the writing isn't on point - and because Arcane has skilled writers, I think their work gets better, the more it is allowed to breath. I am also glad you mentioned the music video montages. I am not a fan of those. They are very cool visually - hats off to the animators - but that's it imo. I also know they are a staple in the show, but I do wonder if both seasons wouldn't actually be better, if they replaced those with other scenes. As for Vi, all I am going to say is that I hardly remember her in S2. I think that speaks for itself. Now, you can argue that we simply just didn’t have enough time to explore little moments of R&R with the characters (ignoring the fact that s1 was also nine episodes here), that just points to the crucial problem of s2 in my opinion in that we simply had too much stuff going on. In a perfect world, to me anyway, we would’ve had at least another season or the finale releasing separately to the rest of the season as a two-hour special.

When I finished watching S1 and was talking to my friend who had recommended it to me, I remember saying how I felt like the show needed two more episodes (therefore making it 11) to really work for me. So S2 definitely could have done with at least 2 more, but realistically more like 3-4. I have to say though, while I was watching I didn't really feel like there was too much going on for me plot wise. I enjoy when the world opens up and the scale becomes bigger. The thing is though, back then I didn't know there wasn't going to be S3, so I got excited about the new things they threw in because I thought I was watching the midway point of the story - not its conclusion. So yes, agreed, in a perfect world Arcane would have had another season. I am still hopeful that they will give us what was missing in the spin offs (more on that in the next paragraph) Now, while I didn’t love s2 as much as s1, I also don’t think it’s unsalvageable or ruined the show either — in fact, there’s a lot of moments I love conceptually or standalone, and that’s why I think the choice to prioritize twists/big moments over smaller, more intimate character scenes hurts all the more, but with whatever ends up coming out of this universe in the future, we could wind up looking back at this season with a newfound appreciation.

This is exactly what I’m hoping for too — especially because I had a similar experience with Season 1 while watching Season 2. The added context really elevated a lot for me. And now, Season 2 itself has so much potential to be elevated by the spin-offs. I just hope they do it justice, because honestly, S2 is special to me — and I don’t want it to remain just potential. But if this is the last we see of Jayce or Viktor — if not forever, then for a while — I’m saddened that we weren’t allowed more time with them, especially since the core emotional moment of the finale hinges on them, and even on repeat rewatches, it’s very evident that the writing of Jayce especially in Act III is heavily reliant on the execution of the twist and even then, some of his lines are still confusing to me (“everything you did to these people you did alone” is one that confounds me, even from a place of rationalizing Jayce’s cryptic behaviour throughout the last two episodes as a front for toxic yaoi’s sake). All this, and I feel like letting Jayce have a moment to really reflect on him murdering Viktor and maybe even giving him a moment with Ximena was such obvious tearjerker material that I’m shocked the writers didn’t go for it.

I feel like I end most of my metas by pointing out how there is so much more to be done with Viktor and Jayce narratively. That being said, if I was a writer I'd be a lot more confident on what to do with Viktor after the finale, than with Jayce. Partly, because of what you described - some of the things he says and does in Act 3 are...strange.

You can tell the writers wanted two contradictory things at once: tell a story about how Jayce has come to understand Viktors importance to him and the lengths he is willing to go to for that but also not make it too obvious because then the finale will lose its emotional impact. I think the only way to rectify this, would be to show more of his conversation with Mage!Viktor and that somehow explaining why Jayce was putting up the "toxic yaoi" front as you accurately called it lol. They could still do this in flashbacks in a spin off - or maybe even in the form of dialogue with Viktor, who knows. Unfortunately, I see one more problem with Jayces as character (that I don't see with Viktor at all) - because they kind of wrote themselves into a corner when they completed his arc with "now, all i want is my partner back." and him succeeding in that. Because assuming that him and Viktor are not somehow separated after the finale (which I'd hate because their dynamic after what happened is too interesting to be left unexplored), he has everything he claims he wants. And if a character has everything he wants, what is there for him to do?

Don't get me wrong, I really enjoy post canon fluffy cottage by the stream AUs, and I'd watch the shit out of that if it were a show, but realistically, it's not something that will ever get made. I am not saying it's impossible to create a new plot line for Jayce - because he is an interesting character - but it isn't the easiest thing to imagine because of how murky they kept his inner workings in S2. Gah, my apologies for rambling so much in your inbox. I’m genuinely not trying to be a negative nancy like how a lot of people are about Arcane s2 and act pissy because the show didn’t go in the direction I wanted — writing is my passion and all of my critiques come from a place of genuine love. I guess I’m just throwing this out there for the sake of discussion? Do with this what you will, I’m just some random nobody on tumblr.com XD Please don't apologize - yapping about Arcane and Jayvik and writing is all I want to do on the internet these days, so thank you for giving me the opportunity to do so. I really really enjoyed your ask. You also don't come across as a negative nancy at all - as I said, everything you pointed out makes absolute sense to me as a S2 stan lol. I can see that it is flawed and I am happy to discuss those flaws, while loving it regardless. So yeah, thank you and if anyone else has anything they want me to ramble about - ask away!