#this is from the drafts but i still stand by this

[lostfracturess]

LAST DECEMBER MORNING — SATORU GOJO

pairing — satoru gojo x sorcerer!reader

summary — on a frost-bitten december morning, you watch satoru gojo prepare for his fated battle with sukuna with infuriating calm, like he isn't planning to sacrifice himself for the greater good. you've spent years being his secret, clearing battlefields for him and stealing kisses between missions, but now you're faced with the most brutal truth. that sometimes the cruelest curse isn't the one that kills you — it's loving someone who belongs to the world before they belong to you.

word count — 5.4 k

warnings — heavy angst, hurt/no comfort, mentions of blood and violence, implied death, unhealthy relationship, sad ending

author's note — this has been rotting in my drafts since the final jjk chapter dropped, and i finally dragged it out into the light bc i'm procrastinating uni. fair warning, this is pure angst with zero comfort, just two people breaking each other's hearts because sometimes love isn't enough. anywayys, happy reading <3

masterlist

Winter had never felt so much like an ending.

You watched frost creep across the windows of your shared apartment, each crystalline pattern forming like cracks in glass, spreading slowly but inevitably.

Outside, the world lay hushed under winter's blanket, everything soft and serene. Birds traced lazy patterns against a sky so blue it hurt to look at, and fresh snow made everything clean and new.

It was the kind of morning that belonged in fairy tales, the kind poets write about when they want to capture peace in words. Strange, how you'd never imagined death would choose such a beautiful day.

You watched Satoru move through his routine, each gesture precise and unhurried. White hair caught the pale sunlight as he smoothed it back, his reflection in the mirror handsome as ever before he adjusted his clothes, and put on his blindfold.

You'd watched him prepare for countless missions before, but this felt different. This felt final.

The normality of it all was almost cruel — how he could stand there, getting ready like this was just another day, just another fight. Like the sun wasn't rising on what could be your last morning together.

The clock on the wall ticked steadily forward, each second falling like a stone into still water. Time felt strange, both rushing too fast and moving too slow. You wanted to grab the clock's hands, force them to stop, to give you just a few more moments in this morning that felt like borrowed time.

"You're staring," he said without turning around, a slight smile playing at his lips.

"Can you blame me?" You were curled up in the window seat, tea growing cold in your hands. "It's not every day your— whatever we are goes to fight the King of Curses."

He turned then, and even through the blindfold, you could feel the weight of his gaze. "Whatever we are?" There was amusement in his tone. "After all this time, you still don't know what we are?"

"Well, we're not exactly big on labels," you pointed out, trying to keep your voice light despite the heaviness in your chest. "Secret relationship and all that."

"Ah, but that's what makes it fun, isn't it?" He crossed the room to where you sat, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. "The sneaking around, the secret meetings—"

"Satoru." You caught his hand. "How are you so calm about this?"

He tilted his head, considering. "Would you prefer if I was panicking?"

"I'd prefer if you showed any emotion at all about the fact that you're about to fight Sukuna." You stood up, setting your tea aside. "You've been acting like this is just another day, just another fight, but it's not. You know it's not."

"I think I've shown plenty of emotion," he said, pulling you closer with a playful smile. "Just last night, if I recall—"

"Don't." You pressed a hand against his chest, keeping him at arm's length. "Don't deflect. Not today."

The smile faded from his face, replaced by something more serious. "What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to tell me why you're so calm. I want you to tell me why you're not worried." Your voice cracked slightly, but you pushed on. "I want you to tell me why it feels like you're saying goodbye."

He was quiet for a long moment, his thumb tracing patterns on your wrist where he still held it. Finally, he spoke, his voice softer than before. "The world needs to move forward. It needs to find someone stronger."

"What are you talking about?" You pulled back slightly. "You're the strongest there is."

"Am I?" His smile was gentle, almost sad. "Or is that just what everyone needs to believe?"

"Satoru—"

"The world has relied on me for too long," he continued. "They've made me their symbol, their savior, their stupid hero. But what happens when I'm gone? Who protects them then?"

"You're not going anywhere," you said. "You're going to win. You always win."

He cupped your face in his hands, thumbs brushing your cheekbones. "Sometimes winning isn't about surviving. Sometimes it's about making sure what comes after is better than what came before."

"That's not funny."

"I'm not trying to be funny." He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours. "I'm trying to tell you that whatever happens today, the world will keep turning. It will find new leaders, new protectors. Maybe even better ones."

"I don't want new protectors," you whispered. "I want you."

"Ah, but you've always had me," he said softly. "Ever since that first mission together, when you told me my head was too big to fit through doorways. Do you remember?"

You huffed. "You were showing off, making everything more complicated than it needed to be."

"I was trying to impress you."

"You're always trying to impress me."

"But it's working, right?"

You pressed closer to him, breathing in his familiar scent. "You know it is, you idiot."

He wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight against his chest. For a moment, you both stood there in silence, listening to each other's heartbeats. The familiar rhythm brought back memories of how this all began, of the first time you'd been close enough to hear his heart race.

For loving Satoru Gojo had always been the most beautiful and dangerous thing in your world.

It started in blood, as most things in your world did. A mission gone wrong, cursed spirits thick in the air, the metallic taste of death sharp on your tongue. You’d seen him fight before—who hadn’t?

But that night was different. That night, you saw him bleed.

A special-grade curse caught you both off guard. One moment, he fought three curses at once like some untouchable god, and the next, he was crashing through three buildings, blood gushing from his mouth.

Something in your chest cracked at the sight — not from the impact of being thrown back yourself, but from seeing him, the strongest sorcerer alive, look so terrifyingly human.

You remembered how his blindfold had been torn, those devastating blue eyes meeting yours across the wreckage. Blood trickled down his chin, his usually perfect hair matted with debris, and yet he smiled. That damn smile that made your heart stutter even as cursed spirits attacked you from all sides.

“Trying to steal my spotlight?” he’d joked, wiping blood from his lips as he stood. “I’m the only one allowed to look cool here.”

You wanted to strangle him. You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to scream at him for making jokes when he could have died. You did none of those things. Instead, you cleared the area, giving him the perfect opening he needed to obliterate the special grade.

Later, after the dust had settled and the reports had been filed, he cornered you in the darkened hallway of Jujutsu High.

“You’re angry,” he said, not a question but a statement.

“I’m not angry.” You were furious. “I’m just wondering how someone who’s supposed to be the strongest can be so fucking reckless.”

He stepped closer, backing you against the wall. “Worried about me?”

“You wish.” But your voice shook, betraying you. Because you had been worried. Terrified, actually. The image of him lying in that wreckage, blood staining his white hair red, had burned itself into your mind.

“Liar,” he whispered, and then his lips were on yours.

Everything they said about Satoru Gojo was true — he was overwhelming, all-consuming, impossible to resist. Kissing him felt like being struck by lightning, like being unmade and remade in the space between heartbeats. You broke apart, both breathing hard, and reality came crashing back.

“Fuck,” you summarized eloquently.

He laughed, the sound low and rich. “That could be arranged.”

“Satoru.” You pressed a hand against his chest, feeling his heart race under your palm. “We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re you. Because I’m me. Because there are a thousand reasons why this is a terrible idea.”

“I’m only hearing excuses.” He caught your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. “Not actual reasons.”

And that was how it started — with blood and curses and kisses in dark hallways. With terrible ideas that felt too good to resist.

Keeping it secret was both easier and harder than you expected. Easier because everyone already knew how Satoru was — flirtatious, tactile, always pushing boundaries. No one questioned when he draped himself over your desk during meetings or appeared uninvited in your office and stayed for hours.

Harder because every moment felt like a lie of omission. Harder because you had to watch him walk into danger again and again, had to maintain professional distance when all you wanted was to grab him and never let go.

You stole moments where you could find them. Quick kisses in empty classrooms, heated encounters between missions, quiet nights in your apartment when the world thought he was somewhere else entirely.

It ate at you sometimes. Not because you wanted to announce it to the world, but because each moment felt borrowed, stolen from a future you might never have.

Every time he left for a mission, every time he faced another curse, you wondered if this would be it. If this would be the time your last memory of him would be a secret smile across a meeting room, a cryptic message that no one else understood. But then he’d come back, always with that insufferable smile, usually with some ridiculous story about how amazing he’d been.

He’d find ways to touch you in public that looked casual — a hand at the small of your back during briefings, fingers brushing as he passed you documents, his body angled toward yours in crowded rooms like a sunflower seeking light.

And the worst part? The absolute worst part was how good he was at pretending. How easily he maintained his public persona — the untouchable, unbeatable Satoru Gojo, who flirted with everyone and meant it with no one.

Sometimes you’d catch him looking at you in meetings with the same expression he gave everyone else, and for a moment, you’d wonder if you’d imagined everything between you.

But then night would fall, and he’d show up at your door with takeout and that soft smile he saved just for you. He’d kiss you like he was trying to apologize for every moment he had to pretend you were nothing special, like he was trying to prove that this, the two of you, was the only real thing in his world.

You never talked about the future. How could you? In your line of work, tomorrow was never guaranteed. Each mission could be your last, each kiss could be your goodbye. The closest you ever came to acknowledging it was in the desperate way he’d hold you after a close call, in the way you’d trace his features in the dark like you were trying to memorize them by touch.

Some nights, when sleep eluded you both, he’d tell you about the weight of being the strongest, about the exhaustion of being everyone’s last hope.

He’d whisper his fears into your skin — not of death or defeat, but of failing those who believed in him. Those were the moments when the great Satoru Gojo disappeared, leaving just Satoru, just a man who carried the world on his shoulders and made it look easy.

You lived for those moments. The quiet ones, the real ones, the ones where he wasn’t the strongest sorcerer alive but just yours. Just as you were his.

You carved out your own little infinity in the spaces between battles and duties. A secret world where his laugh wasn’t for show, where your touch wasn’t professional, where you could just be the two of you without the weight of expectations and reputations.

But infinity, as it turned out, had limits. Even his.

Looking at him now, preparing to face Sukuna with that same causality he brought to everything, you wondered if this was how your story was always meant to end. If all those stolen moments were just preparing you for this — one last morning, one last smile, one last chance to pretend tomorrow might come.

The world needed someone stronger, he said. But you needed him. And maybe that was the cruelest curse of all — loving someone the world needed more than you did.

"Promise me something," you said then.

"Hmm?"

"Promise me you won't just give up. Promise me you'll fight to come back."

He pulled back slightly, reaching up to remove his blindfold. His striking blue eyes met yours, intense and clear.

"I promise," he said, "that everything I do today will be for a better tomorrow."

"That's not what I asked."

"It's the only promise I can make."

"Stop." Your voice turned sharp, anger finally breaking through. "Stop talking about tomorrow. Stop talking about the future and the next generation and whatever noble sacrifice you think you need to make. I don't care about any of that."

"Don't you?"

"No, I don't." You grabbed his jacket, fingers twisting in the fabric. "I don't care if the world needs someone stronger. I don't care if the next generation needs to step up. I care about you, you impossible man. I want you here, alive, with me. Is that so wrong? Am I not allowed to be selfish when it comes to you?"

"Huh." He caught your hands in his, but didn't pull them away from his jacket. "And here I thought you understood me better than anyone."

"Don't." You tried to pull away, but he held firm. "Don't you dare try to make this about understanding. I understand perfectly. But you're wrong. You don't have to do this."

His smile faltered slightly. "It's not that simple."

"It is that simple!" Your voice cracked. "You're choosing to make it complicated. You're choosing to walk away, to... to what? Make some grand statement about the future? Prove that the world can survive without the great Satoru Gojo?"

"Someone has to."

"But why does it have to be you?" The words burst out of you, raw and desperate. "Why do you have to be the one to show them? Why can't you just fight to win, to live, to come back to—" You cut yourself off, biting back the words that wanted to follow.

"To you?" he finished softly.

"Yes," you said, dropping your forehead against his chest. "To me. Call me selfish, call me short-sighted, I don't care. I want more mornings like this. More everything. More of you, being insufferably calm and making terrible jokes and acting like the world isn't ending when we both know it might be."

He was quiet for a moment, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head. When he spoke, his voice was gentler than before.

"I can't promise to come back." He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "But know this, every moment with you has been worth fighting for. Worth living for."

You pulled back enough to look at him, really look at him. "Then fight for more moments. Fight to make more memories. Fight to come back to me, not for some greater purpose or stupid sacrifice, but because you want to."

"And if I told you that wanting isn't enough?"

"Then I'd call you a liar." Your voice turned cold. "Because you're Satoru fucking Gojo. When has anything ever been impossible for you? When have you ever let anyone tell you what you can't do?"

​​"This is different—"

"How? How is this different? Because it's Sukuna? Because it's the fate of jujutsu society? Or because you've already decided how this story ends?"

His hands tightened on you, and for a moment, just a moment, you saw something flicker behind those blue eyes — doubt, fear, longing, you couldn't tell. But then it was gone, replaced by that same calm certainty that made you want to scream.

"Because I can't protect everyone—can't protect you if I allow myself to believe in a tomorrow," he whispered.

The gentleness in his voice, the soft way he delivered words meant to cut, made you want to tear the world apart. It was so perfectly Satoru — to break your heart like he was doing you a favor, to wound you with a tenderness that felt more cruel than any violence could be.

"I never asked you to protect me," you said finally. "I asked you to stay. There's a difference."

"Is there?" His hand came up to cup your face, shaking ever so slightly, betraying the calm he fought so hard to maintain. "Because every time I look at you, all I can think about is how many people would use you to get to me. How many would hurt you just to prove they could touch something I care about."

"So your solution is to what? Die nobly? Make sure there's nothing left for them to use against you?"

"My solution is to make sure the world doesn't need me anymore." His thumb brushed across your cheek, catching a tear you hadn't realized had fallen. "To make sure you don't need me anymore."

"That's not your choice to make. You don't get to decide what I need. You don't get to martyr yourself for some greater good and pretend it's for my protection."

"Then what would you have me do?" For the first time, there was a hint of frustration in his voice. "Ignore my responsibilities? Pretend I'm not who I am?"

"I would have you fight like you want to come back!" The words ripped from your throat. "Fight like there's someone waiting for you after. Fight like you love me as much as I love you!"

The confession rang out between you, and the moment it left your lips, you realized you'd never said it before. Through all the stolen moments, all the secret touches, all the nights you'd spent memorizing each other's bodies — you'd never actually spoken those words aloud.

You'd both danced around it, implied it in every action, every look, every unfinished sentence, but neither of you had ever dared to make it real with words.

Until now. Until you were angry enough, desperate enough, terrified enough to let it slip from your heart straight past your defenses.

"Love?" His voice was barely a whisper.

"Of course I love you, you idiot." Your voice equally quiet. "Why else would I be standing here, begging the strongest sorcerer alive to be selfish just once?”

He made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, maybe a sob, his fingers tightening on you. "Don't," he whispered, and for the first time that morning, his voice was shaking. "Don't make this harder than it already is. Don't say things that make me want to—" He cut himself off, jaw clenching. "That make me want impossible things."

"Impossible? Since when does Satoru Gojo believe in impossible?"

"Since I realized loving you means putting you at risk." His thumb brushed your cheek, the gesture achingly gentle. "Since I understood that staying alive isn't the same as keeping you safe."

"I hate this." You shook your head. "I hate how calmly you can stand here and talk about sacrifice like it's inevitable. Like there's no other way."

"Would you prefer if I fell apart?" His smile turned sad. "If I raged and cried and promised things I might not be able to keep?"

"Yes," you admitted, your hands coming up to cover his where they still held your face. "Because at least then I'd know you want to stay as much as I want you to."

"Oh, my love." The endearment fell from his lips like a confession. "Wanting to stay has never been the question. The question is whether I can live with myself if I do."

"And what about whether I can live with myself if you don't?" Your voice broke. "What about whether I can forgive myself for not fighting harder to make you stay?"

"This isn't your fight."

"Like hell it isn't." You pulled back. "You think I spent months learning to clear battlefields just so you could take center stage? You think I perfected my technique to complement your infinity because I had nothing better to do?" You dug your nails into your palms, throat tight with fury. "I've been fighting alongside you since before you ever kissed me in that hallway. Before you ever decided I was worth protecting. Don't you dare tell me this isn't my fight when I've spent years making sure you had the space you needed to be great."

He was quiet for a long moment, studying you. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, almost reverent. "And that's exactly why I need to go. The world doesn't need more people making space for me. It needs people who'll fill that space themselves."

You recoiled like he'd slapped you, hurt burning in your chest. "Is that what you think I've been doing? Making myself smaller for you? Made space for you because I was afraid to reach higher?" You stepped closer, deadly calm now. "I made space for you because that's what you do when you love someone."

His lips twitched into a smile. "So you do understand me."

"Don't pretend those are the same thing."

He was quiet for a moment. Then, instead of answering, he pulled you into a kiss that tasted like goodbye. Like all the tomorrows you'd never have, all the moments you'd never share, all the promises neither of you could keep. You kissed him back with everything you had — all your fury and fear and love condensed into this one perfect, terrible moment.

His hands tangled in your hair like he was trying to memorize the feeling, yours gripping his jacket as if you could keep him here through sheer force of will. When you finally broke apart, hearts pounding, foreheads pressed together in the space between one heartbeat and the next.

"I'll hate you," you whispered against his lips. "If you don't come back, I'll hate you for the rest of my life."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, and for once, his smile held an edge of something raw, something that looked almost like pain. "No, you won't."

"I will." Your fingers tightened in his jacket. "I'll hate you for making me fall in love with someone who was always planning to leave. I'll hate you for every morning I wake up alone, for every mission briefing where someone else stands in your place, for every year I have to leave flowers on your grave."

"You'll move on. You'll find someone—"

"Fuck you," you cut him off, the words sharp enough to draw blood. "Don't you dare tell me how I'll feel. Don't you dare stand here and plan out my future without you in it."

"I'm just trying to—"

"To what? Prepare me? Make it easier? There's nothing easy about loving you, Satoru Gojo. There never has been. But I chose it anyway. Every day, knowing this moment would come."

"What do you want me to do? Do you want me to say goodbye? Make it messy and painful and real?"

"I want you to stop pretending this is just another mission and show me something that tells me this is killing you like it's killing me."

The silence stretched between you like a chasm. For just a moment, beneath his careful composure, you caught a glimpse of the man behind the name — vulnerable, conflicted, maybe even afraid. But he buried it quickly, like he buried everything that might make him waver from his chosen path.

You'd always known this about him, hadn't you? Known it from that first bloody mission, from every fight where he'd put himself between the world and destruction.

Satoru Gojo was a man built for sacrifice, shaped by duty and power into something that could never truly belong to just one person. You'd fallen in love with him anyway, foolishly hoping that maybe love could be enough to make him choose differently.

But watching him now, seeing the gentle finality in every movement, you understood with crushing clarity that this was always how it would end. No amount of pleading or anger or love could change what he'd already decided.

He'd made his choice long before this morning, probably before he'd ever kissed you in that darkened hallway.

"Keep the tea warm for me," he said finally, stepping back. The words were casual, almost playful — exactly the kind of thing he'd say on any other morning. But that's what made it cruel. Even now, he was trying to soften the blow, pretending this was just another goodbye, just another mission.

You didn't say anything as he walked to the door. Didn't wish him luck or tell him to be safe. The time for those platitudes had passed.

Instead, you watched him pause in the doorway, his hand resting on the frame. For a moment, you thought he might turn around, might drop the act and let you see something real. One last true moment before the end.

He didn't fully turn, but his voice carried back to you, soft and achingly sincere. "I love you. More than anything." A pause. "That's why I have to go."

The words hit you like a physical blow, knocking the air from your lungs. You'd never expected them, had made peace with the silence between heartbeats where those words should have lived.

You'd imagined them differently, in all the quiet moments you'd shared — whispered against your skin in the dark, laughed into your mouth between kisses, murmured sleepily on lazy mornings. Not like this. Never like this.

How cruel, that he would finally say them now, when they felt more like a funeral rite than a confession. A parting gift from a man walking towards his own chosen end, making what should have been beautiful feel like another wound. The words you'd never dared hope for now hurt more than a lifetime of silence ever could.

Your throat burned with all the things you wanted to scream at him — about how love should mean staying, about how he was breaking your heart while trying to save it, about how dare he make those words sound like goodbye when they should have been a beginning.

"I hate you," you whispered.

He made a sound that might have been a laugh or might have been something more broken. "No, you don't." The certainty in his voice felt like another wound. "You love me. You said so yourself."

"I'll hate you." Your voice hardened with each word. "I'll hate you so much it'll make you wish you'd stayed."

His hand tightened on the doorframe, knuckles white with tension. For a heartbeat, you thought you'd finally cracked his composure. That he might turn around and choose you over duty, love over destiny.

He didn't.

The door closed behind him with a soft click that sounded like an ending.

"But I'll wait for you anyway," you whispered to the empty room, hating yourself for the truth in those words.

The truth was, you'd always known it would end like this, known that loving Satoru Gojo meant loving someone who belonged to the world before he belonged to you.

But you'd been naive enough to hope. Foolish enough to think that maybe, just maybe, love could be enough to make him choose differently. That your selfish desire to keep him alive and whole could outweigh his selfless need to reshape the world.

The morning light cut across the empty room, highlighting the space where he'd stood moments before, and you wondered about the cruelty of it all.

Was it wrong to want to keep him here? To ask the strongest sorcerer alive to choose personal happiness over humanity's future? How many would suffer because you'd asked him to be selfish just this once?

But then again, how many had already been saved by him? How many times had he bled and broken and pieced himself back together for a world that only saw him as a shield, never as a man? Didn't he deserve the chance to live for himself, just once?

If love died today, buried six feet under noble intentions and greater goods, then maybe hate was all you had left. And wasn't there something pure in that? In hating him with the same intensity you'd loved him? In letting that hate fill the spaces he left behind, burning away the softness until all that remained was sharp edges and bitter truths?

The world needed Satoru Gojo the symbol, the untouchable god of jujutsu. But you'd needed Satoru, just Satoru, the man who brought you tea exactly how you liked it and kissed you like you were his everything. The man who was walking away, leaving you with nothing but memories and the taste of hate on your tongue.

Was it selfish to think your love was worth more than the world's need? Was it cruel to measure the weight of one heart against humanity's future?

Love and duty were never meant to be weighed against each other like this, weren't meant to be choices that tore a person in two. And perhaps that was the real tragedy — not that he was walking away, but that you'd let yourself believe he wouldn't.

You'd known how this story would end from that very first kiss. Had tasted it in every goodbye before a mission, felt it every time you waited anxiously for his return, seen it lurking behind every smile that never quite reached his eyes.

Loving Satoru Gojo meant loving someone who was always meant to be sacrificed. You'd just been naive enough to think sacrifice could look different, that it didn't have to end with you here, choking on love turned to ash in your mouth.

Your fingers traced your lips where those three words still lingered like a curse. The tea was getting cold on the windowsill. You should pour it out, make a fresh cup. Should start preparing for a world where Satoru Gojo was just a memory, a legend, a story of sacrifice and strength. Should learn how to breathe around the thorns growing in your chest where love used to live.

Instead, you stayed frozen, caught in the space between what was and what could have been. Because maybe he was wrong. Maybe the world didn't need someone stronger. Maybe it just needed him to come back. You certainly did.

But it was too late for maybes now. He was already gone, walking toward a destiny he'd chosen long before he'd chosen you. And you were left here, caught between hating him for leaving and loving him for exactly who he was — a man who would always choose the greater good, even when it shattered both your hearts.

But perhaps the cruelest irony was that in trying to protect humanity, he'd forgotten he was human too. That in becoming everyone's shield, he'd forgotten shields could break. That hearts could break. That yours was breaking.

The sun climbed higher in the sky, indifferent to your pain, indifferent to the way your world had just walked out the door with a smile and a promise he might not be able to keep.

You'd wait anyway. Even knowing how the story was meant to end, you'd wait. Because that's what love was — not just the beautiful parts, but the ugly parts too. The waiting. The hoping. The hating.

The choosing to love someone even when they choose something else. Even when that love turns to poison in your veins.

Even when they choose the world over you.

The tea had long gone cold when you finally moved, muscles stiff from standing still for so long. You'd sworn you wouldn't watch. Had promised yourself you wouldn't be there to see him die for his greater tomorrow.

But your hands were already reaching for your jacket.

Because that was the thing about loving Satoru Gojo — even when it turned to hate, even when it felt like acid in your throat, you couldn't look away. You'd watch him fight Sukuna. Watch him smile that infuriating smile as he chose the world one last time.

After all, you'd already promised to hate him if he didn't come back.

The least you could do was be there to keep that promise.

author's note — thank you for reading this little piece of heartbreak. i was very unsure if it will ever see the light of day but i finished it now bc i was in the mood for pain. if you enjoyed, i would greatly appreciate a reblog or comment. hope your heart isn't too broken <3

ps: if you want to get notifications for future updates, you can join my taglist here!

tags — @fayuki @starmapz @saurondriell @starlightanyaaa @sxnkuna

@cocomanga @nanamis-baker @rosso-seta @shervinss @chiyokoemilia

@janbannan @bloopsstuff

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you offering?- bucky barnes unhinged!avenger reader x bucky

a/n: this was the first draft of smash (in a loving way) which is why some lines are the same.

Moving day swiftly degenerated into chaos as more and more boxes were unloaded from the truck. Theoretically, Steve and Bucky should not have that many possessions, seeing as neither of them had lived very long lives in the new century; however, as box after box is carried in, you realise you couldn't be further off base.

Steve shouts down the hall, alerting you of their arrival (having smacked headfirst into you with a box full of record hours earlier, you had developed the system of very loudly announcing yourselves before walking into narrow spaces). You turn to the hallway, ready to semi-jokingly tell Steve off for all the free labour he had managed to squeeze of you, but your brain short circuits as Bucky walks in. The long-sleeved shirt had turned up in has long since been discarded. Instead, he is sporting a black tank top showcasing a stunning display of his muscled arms and shoulders. Unable to look away, you follow the veins along muscled forearms, sweat glistening in the afternoon sun, vibranium fingers humming as they glide over the tops of the box, his hair pulled back in a bun sitting low at the nape of his neck and those godforsaken strands that hang over his eyes leave you thinking about the way they would feel brushing over your thighs.

"You're drooling." You jump, startled by Steve's amused whisper, as he stands behind you, cast iron pot in his hands.

"Ha.Ha." The retort is weak, mind too preoccupied with thoughts of your friend to conjure a coherent sentence.

"Seriously. You gotta bit'a...." Steve wipes the side of his mouth with his thumb, smirk growing as he continues to tease.

"You need to get outta here before I punch you in the face." you whirl on him, warning through clenched teeth. "I will fight you, old man."

He backs away, raising his hands in defeat. "Kids these days, can't take a joke."

-----

An Ikea flatpack sits on the floor of the living room. The name and instructions unreadable as the three of your stare a the unbuilt couch frame.

"You bought a box?" Bucky turns to Steve, brows raised as he gestures to the floor.

"It's a sofa, Buck. We just need to build it." the former sighs, crouching down to examine the slip of paper it came with. "We just need to learn Swedish."

Bucky follows suit and squats, grumbling something about knowing 30 languages but unable to put together a stupid piece of furniture.

You debate joining them, adding a new brain to the equation, but as if it were your turn to take that single cell passed between the three of you, you reach for your laptop and begin your search.

30 minutes later, the frame is complete. The cushions, however, are nowhere to be found.

"Did you not order them?" you ask, eyes still trained on the screen as the two super soldiers stare at the incomplete project.

"I didn't know I was meant to!" Steve is quick to defend his mistake. "If you buy the couch, it comes with it."

It's not a completely irrational thought. It's common sense really. You buy a couch it must come with cushions, so why didn't this one?

Bucky sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "So we have one bed and couch frame? Where am I meant to sleep, Steve?"

"You can sleep with me." You mumble as you scroll through ikea website, searching for the accompanying pillows.

"Is that you offering?" Bucky asks, and for a second, you are confused by the question, but as you look up from the screen, you find both men staring at you. Ah, the super hearing caused by the super serum. Super.

"Offering what?" you play dumb, biting down on the tip of your thumb, hoping he can't hear your heart slamming in your chest.

"Just thought you were offerin' to have me sleep with you but I guess I heard wrong." Bucky smirks and shrugs. "Guess ill have to take all this " he begins to flex, making an obvious show of his muscles. "and sleep on the floor."

You bite down on your finger in a futile attempt to hide the smile that is forming. "Guess so."

Bucky frowns, sad, wide puppy eyes staring at you. "Come on, doll. Don't make me beg."

Heat flashes through you and your heart picks up speed again. "You can beg for it, Barnes, doesn't mean I'll let ya' " your voice shakes a little, but you can hide it behind a smug chuckle.

Bucky's tongue darts out to wet his lips as he begins to retort but Steve's cough stops you both. The Captain's face is crinkled in disgust as he stares.

"Could you save this till I'm not in the room?"

[delulustateofmind]

Yan!JJK x Reader: How you met!

Fun Fact: It's wholesome! What could possibly go wrong in the future? :)

Characters: Satoru, Suguru, Nanami, Choso and Shoko!

TW: Mentions of partying (it's brief), pet names, maid cafe (Suguru gets a little pervy thoughts), Mostly Fluff. Oh but it's yandere fluff :)

WC: 5.1K

A/n: So anytime I do a Yan!JJK this is the lore for those headcannons. I might make it, its own masterlist? idk still debating. Also, I rotated through so many ideas. My drafts for this are insane (Literally). I tried different variations for each one. Feel free to give me feedback if there are certain yan tendencies you want to see.

The dark content for this week: How they kidnapped you :)

Satoru: Are you an angel?  

Gojo Satoru, the strongest sorcerer of the century, was running a high fever.

Swaying slightly as he walked down a quiet neighborhood street, his head spinning, he tried to focus. He just needed to get to the pick-up location. That was it. He could handle it.

But it was getting harder to concentrate. The heat of the summer sun seemed to beat down on him relentlessly, his body too weak to handle the intensity. His normally steady steps faltered, and for a moment, he thought he might collapse.

Then, he heard it. A soft, sweet voice, like the melody of an angel.

“You alright?”

Gojo turned his head toward the sound. An angel?

There you were, standing in front of your apartment, your hands gently watering the flowers that lined your balcony. You were older than him—maybe five years, judging by the way you carried yourself, the maturity in your voice, the way you looked at the world like you had it all figured out. There was something about you that made his pulse quicken. Why was he feeling this way?

He blinked, his feverish thoughts clouding his focus. You were so gentle, so sweet. His head throbbed, but your soft gaze was like a balm.

“Come have a seat here,” you continued, your voice soothing. “And is that a blindfold? Honey, that’s probably why you’re running a fever. We’re going through a heat wave, you know?”

You chuckled lightly, but it wasn’t condescending. No, it was sweet, nurturing. You carefully led him to the small outdoor patio that was adorned with delicate chairs and a charming little table, a tiny vase of flowers sitting in the center.

Gojo followed, his head still dizzy. How could an angel like you ever trick him?

You weren’t just sweet, you were… perfect. He couldn't remember the last time he’d been so caught up in someone like this. His usual cocky, overconfident demeanor felt like it was slipping away, replaced by something softer, more desperate. Something he’d never let anyone see—until now.

You guided him into one of the chairs with gentle hands, taking the blindfold from his face with the same tenderness. His fevered skin flushed under your touch. He couldn't help but let out a low groan of relief as the air hit his face, the sensation a small comfort amidst the haze of his fever.

"Stay here for a minute," you said softly, your smile so warm and sincere that it made his heart skip. "I’ll be right back with something for you."

He nodded, feeling a strange sense of peace wash over him. There was no reason to leave now. He felt dizzy, weak, and content to stay under your care forever.

And when you returned, he saw that you weren’t just being kind—oh no, you were going above and beyond.

You made him rice balls, neatly wrapped in seaweed, and a glass of iced tea, its chilled surface sweating under the heat of the day. Homemade baked goods sat on a small plate next to the drinks, their scent filling the air with sweetness.

"You must be hungry," you said, setting the food down in front of him with a smile. "It’s not much, but I thought it might help."

Gojo picked up one of the rice balls, staring at it for a moment. There was no way he could say no to you. He didn’t even want to. Your kindness, your soft voice, the way you treated him like he wasn’t just the strongest sorcerer, but someone who needed care—it was intoxicating.

He bit into the rice ball, the taste as comforting as your presence.

You were perfect. Sweet, caring, thoughtful, and so effortlessly graceful. It was as though the universe had put you in his path, just for him.

But he knew better than to trust anyone so easily.

Gojo’s mind was clouded, his thoughts sluggish under the fever’s grip, but there was one thing he was sure of: You were too good to be trusted.

You were standing right beside him, still watching him with those soft, caring eyes as if you really cared about him. Your gaze was warm, concerned, but—he couldn’t help it—he felt a twinge of doubt. People like you didn’t just act like that without wanting something. He’d seen this before, felt it too—people were always after something, even when they pretended to be kind.

And yet, in the back of his mind, a darker part of him couldn’t shake the thought. Maybe this time was different. Maybe you weren’t like the others.

“Thank you,” he murmured between bites, his voice thick with something more than just gratitude. Did rice balls always taste this good? 

You hummed sweetly, a soft smile playing on your lips as you shrugged. "Just doing the right thing."

You weren’t just being kind—no, you were going out of your way to care for him. It felt too personal, too intimate, but he didn’t mind. In fact, the more you did for him, the more he wanted from you.

“You shouldn’t be wearing all that black during a heat wave, y’know?” you chided lightly, your voice lilting with that same gentle concern. But when you looked into his eyes, Gojo couldn’t miss the way your gaze lingered, like you were looking at him— just him. Sick, weak, and so very human.

He wanted to laugh at the thought. He was Gojo Satoru, after all. The strongest, untouchable. But in this moment, with you here, something about the way you cared for him made him feel... vulnerable.

“Even the cicadas aren’t singing today," you said, tilting your head as if you were pondering something deeper. "Is there somebody I can call for you?"

Gojo’s pulse quickened at the soft weight of your words, the way you framed your question. Was it concern? Or was it an invitation? He leaned back slightly, the fever making his thoughts blur, but he didn’t want to let go of that feeling of closeness you’d given him.

Someone to call?

A soft, amused smirk spread across Gojo’s face as he locked eyes with you. “I’m fine,” he said, his voice low and almost teasing. But inside, something darker flickered. “But... if you really insist, you could always stay with me for a while. Keep an eye on me.”

You blinked, caught off guard, but there was no hesitation in your answer. You didn’t sense the undercurrent of possessiveness in his words, didn’t feel the quiet edge to his smile. You were too kind, too innocent, to see the real reason Gojo had said it.

But Gojo? He knew what he was doing.

You had helped him. You had made him feel seen.

And now... well, now he would make sure you never left his side. 

Suguru: Maid to Fall for You

The girls were turning six this weekend, and all they could ask for was some… magical girl doll? Suguru recognized the figures. Satoru used to make him watch that show all the time. Yet, did they really need to sexualize the magical girls so much? 

Suguru was genuinely concerned—how could anyone fight in a mini skirt and high-heeled boots? But, if that’s what the girls wanted, then that’s what they would get.

The problem was that the doll was so limited edition, the only place in Tokyo that had it was this… maid cafe? Suguru sighed, looking at the cute pastel pink exterior of the shop. He had missions to complete and didn’t exactly want to be seen here.

As the bell above the door jingled when he stepped inside, Suguru scanned the room. His eyes were immediately caught by you.

Was it the pretty lolita black dress with the dark red bow tied around your waist? Or maybe it was the collar wrapped around your neck, or the cute garters hugging the soft fat of your thighs. Perhaps it was the little cat ears with bells that sat perched atop your head. 

No… it had to be the way you looked at him. Your flushed face, the innocent sparkle in your dewy eyes as you purred, “Welcome home, Master!”

Oh, God. Suguru had to bite his lip to stifle a frustrated groan. The cuteness aggression was overwhelming. He just wanted to pick you up, throw you over his shoulder, maybe chain you to his bed so no one could ever find out how adorable you were.

No. No, he couldn’t think like that. He was here for one thing, and one thing only. He wasn’t some pervert who went to maid cafes. But still… he couldn't help but wonder if the dress came with matching… No! He couldn’t think like that either.

“Yes, I, uh…��� Suguru, fumbling with his words? A first. “I need a limited edition magical girl doll. The pink one and… the purple one?”

You blinked for a moment, and then your eyes lit up in recognition. 

“You’re a fan of Magical Girl: X&X too? Oh my goodness, I’m a huge fan too!” 

You squealed, practically bouncing on your heels as you turned to lead him toward the back of the store. Suguru had to look away, his cheeks flushing slightly as he tried to keep his gaze from lingering on how cute you were. Focus, Suguru. Focus.

You practically skipped toward the back of the store, the sound of your little heels clicking on the floor making Suguru’s heart race. He couldn’t stop his eyes from following the sway of your hips as you led him deeper into the shop. The way the skirt of your dress swished, revealing cute little bloomers under your petticoat. He mentally slapped himself. He had  to keep his thoughts in check, focusing on the task at hand. Geto Suguru was not some pervert! 

As you reached the display, you turned to face him with an excited gleam in your eye. “Here it is! The last one in stock,” you said, pointing proudly to a pair of limited edition dolls. The pink one, with her sparkling pigtails, and the purple one, holding a very magical looking wand. 

Suguru's gaze briefly flickered to the dolls, but then it shifted back to you. The way your eyes lit up, the excitement in your voice—it was all so… intoxicating. Like you were holding onto his every word. He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, still not quite sure how to behave around you. "I didn’t expect… I didn’t think it would be so hard to get."

You giggled, a soft, melodic sound that made something flutter in his chest. “Well, Magical Girl: X&X is a very popular series! It’s hard to find the dolls, especially the limited edition ones. I’m glad you came in time.”

Suguru didn’t trust his voice to speak anymore. He just nodded and pulled out his wallet, handing over the money. You didn’t even look at the transaction, instead continuing to talk to him as you carefully wrapped the dolls in bright, crinkling pink paper.

Focus, Suguru. Focus on the dolls. You’re just here for the dolls.

But how could he? His eyes couldn’t seem to leave the way you tilted your head just slightly, your little cat ears bobbing with every movement. The little jingle that came with every movement. And the way you smiled at him, so genuinely, with that adorable little glint in your eyes that made something inside of him twist. He couldn’t stop it—his heart was pounding, and his brain was screaming at him to do something.

You handed him the dolls with such enthusiasm, your hands barely brushing against his fingers as you passed the package over to him.

Oh god, even the way you handed me the dolls is cute. Why are you so cute?

Suguru swallowed hard, the overwhelming desire to just… hug you, smother you, rising up in his chest. He wanted to pick you up, hold you close, and just protect you from the world. He wanted to be the only person you ever looked at, the only one you ever smiled at like that.

You were practically defenseless anyways. 

But he had to hold himself back. He couldn’t be that person, could he? No, no—he was here for a reason. He was supposed to be here for the dolls. 

“Uh… Thanks,” Suguru managed to choke out, his voice coming out hoarse and unsteady. He was so aware of the way his hands were shaking, holding the package. He needed to leave. Now.

But you were still looking up at him, your lips curving into a playful little smile. “You know, you’re really serious about this, aren’t you, Master?” You giggled, the sound so light, so melodic that Suguru almost felt like he could die from the sheer cuteness of it all. 

No, no, stop, Suguru! Stop!

“I—yeah, I guess,” he muttered, looking anywhere but at you. His gaze darted over to the corner of the room, anywhere but those soft eyes that were making his chest feel like it was going to explode. 

The urge to reach out and squeeze your cheeks—to just hold you—was so strong. His fingers twitched, his jaw clenched. He wanted to pull you closer, get a better look at how delicate you were, how fragile. 

“I hope you enjoy your figures, Master!” You brightly smiled up at him. God, how he wanted to strangle that pretty little neck of yours. How he wanted to tug on that collar so tight that you were choking with tears in your eyes. How he wanted to bite your cheeks to see what sounds you’d make. 

Stop smiling like that. Stop acting so cute. It’s too much. It’s too fucking much.

His hands tightened around the package, the sharp edges digging into his palm. He wanted to scream, to yell at you to stop making him feel like this. But instead, he just smiled back, a smile that felt more like a grimace than anything else. 

“Right… right. I will,” Suguru said, his voice barely a whisper now. “I’ll… I’ll come back soon.” He forced the words out, though they felt foreign on his tongue. The truth was, he didn’t just want to come back—he wanted to stay. He wanted to be close to you. He wanted to know everything about you, every little detail. 

You smiled even wider, completely unaware of the danger you were putting yourself in. “I’ll be here! I’ll be waiting for you, Master!”

Suguru turned on his heel, trying desperately to calm his racing heart as he walked toward the door. But the entire time, his thoughts were consumed by you. The way you looked at him. The way your voice sounded when you called him “Master.” 

His thoughts spiraled as he stepped outside, gripping the package tightly in his hands. His chest felt tight, constricted. He had never felt this way about anyone before. This level of intensity, this overwhelming desire to possess and protect—it was like nothing he had ever experienced. He didn’t know whether to run or stay. All he knew was that you were the most perfect person he had ever met, and the more he thought about you, the more he spiraled.

But you were still so innocent. So dumb to how he felt. And that—that—was what made it so unbearable.

Nanami: Online Dating

Nanami Kento didn’t have time for dating. Not that anyone believed him when he expressed that.

Gojo, that meddling idiot, had sneakily downloaded a dating app on his phone, swiping through profiles until Nanami found himself matched with you—a party girl, as Gojo put it. The last thing Nanami needed was some whirlwind romance or a string of distractions. He had work to do, responsibilities to handle. Yet here he was, standing outside a quaint little café, a man of routine now playing the part of someone interested in this game.

He glanced down at the photos on his phone. There you were: pictures of you laughing with friends at clubs, holding drinks in your hands, the glamorous nights out at fancy restaurants. And then there were the modeling shots—posing next to sleek supercars, all shiny and polished. Nanami’s lips pressed into a thin line.

He didn’t need to be a mind reader to know you were probably a disaster waiting to happen. You had issues, he could tell. And that was the last thing he wanted to get entangled in. He wasn't the type to judge a book by its cover, but he knew enough to assume you wouldn’t be the kind of woman he'd ever bring home to his parents.

His brows furrowed slightly, a sigh leaving his lips as he shoved the phone into his pocket. He adjusted his long coat, letting the cool evening breeze swirl around him. This date was probably going to be a waste of time.

Then, out of nowhere, you appeared.

You walked toward him in a soft pink maxi dress, the delicate fabric flowing behind you like some ethereal vision. A simple, sweet white bow tied neatly in your hair. You radiated a charm, an innocence that Nanami hadn’t expected, and for a brief moment, his chest tightened with something he couldn’t immediately place.

You smiled at him, sweet and genuine, and he couldn't help but feel...

“Am I late?” you asked softly, your head tilting as you looked up at him, your eyes bright with genuine concern. “Sorry, I had a late shift at the cocktail bar I work at, so I was really worried I was going to—”

Your voice trailed off as you noticed the strange expression on his face. Nanami blinked, clearing his throat, but the chill of his cynicism seemed to melt under your gaze. The hardness in his chest softened, and that unsettling feeling gnawed at him again, the one that made him feel like he should be on guard. But why? Why did you make him feel like this?

“No,” he said, his voice gruff but steady. “You’re fine. I’m just... surprised.”

He hadn’t meant to say that last part out loud, but there it was. He was surprised—surprised by how genuine you seemed. It wasn’t the image he’d built in his mind based on the photos. He was used to women who were superficial, all looks and no substance, but you… you didn’t fit that mold.

You smiled again, this time a little more shyly, before giving a small nod. “I’m glad. I really didn’t want to make you wait too long.”

Nanami nodded curtly, unsure of what to do with this strange reaction inside him. His eyes studied you more closely now, noting the little details—the way you moved with a kind of quiet grace that almost made him forget the judgment he had passed on you. You weren’t like the other women he’d met, and that was... unsettling.

You stepped closer, the scent of your perfume—something light and floral—lingering in the air around him. He found it strangely intoxicating, though he hated to admit it.

"So, what do you want to do?" you asked, the sweetness in your tone making him feel almost... guilty. He was supposed to be the one guiding this evening, not you. But it was hard to ignore the pull you had over him already.

He cleared his throat again, pushing the discomfort aside. “I was thinking dinner. Nothing fancy.”

You smiled softly, your eyes twinkling, but there was something behind that smile—something that made his stomach twist, and not from discomfort. It was an entirely different kind of tension, one he had no intention of analyzing too deeply.

“Sounds perfect,” you agreed.

As the Date Continues:

Nanami hadn’t expected much, but as the evening wore on, he found himself listening to you in a way he hadn’t done for a long time. You weren’t just talkative, you were engaging, and each laugh that escaped your lips seemed to stir something inside him. You were kind, warm, easy to talk to—and it was starting to unsettle him. This wasn’t what he had imagined, and that, in and of itself, was a problem.

Every time you reached across the table to grab your drink, or brushed a lock of hair from your face, Nanami couldn’t shake the growing sense of... need. It wasn’t the typical attraction he felt—this was different. You were slipping under his skin in a way that was both dangerous and familiar.

By the time the meal was over, Nanami was no longer concerned about how out of place he felt. He was no longer thinking about the party girl who didn’t fit into his carefully constructed life. Instead, he found himself obsessed with the way you moved, the way you spoke. Everything about you now seemed... necessary.

“Are you sure you want to head home alone?” Nanami asked, his voice quieter than before.

You paused, blinking in surprise, but your smile remained sweet. “I’m used to it. My apartment’s not far.”

For a moment, Nanami didn’t speak, just watched you with an unreadable look in his eyes. 

“I’ll walk you to your door,” he said finally, his tone calm, as he gave you a smile. “It’s the right thing to do” 

Choso: Heart Shaped Lattes

Choso stood outside the small café nestled in the heart of Akihabara, waiting for Yuji and his friends. The city buzzed around him, but he remained still, his gaze distant as he watched the passing crowds. His phone buzzed in his pocket, pulling his attention. It was a message from his little brother:

“Sorry Choso! We’re running a bit behind, you can order first if you want! :)”

Of course, he wasn’t upset. Even though Yuji was already fifteen minutes late, and Choso had been awkwardly standing alone outside, he would never feel anger toward his brother. It was just a small thing. A human thing.

With a quiet sigh, he pushed open the café door, and the familiar sounds of clinking cups and soft lofi music washed over him. The dimly lit interior felt cozy, a warm contrast to the bustling streets outside. Choso’s tired eyes scanned the room, his thoughts clouded as he made his way to the counter, gaze fixed on the floor.

“One latte. Please,” he ordered in his usual low, steady voice. He glanced up at the menu, as if the words there would help him understand what to say next. “Hot.”

It was the only drink Yuji had introduced him to, and despite its simplicity, Choso had come to enjoy it. There was something comforting about it. Something predictable. He was still getting used to this—this human lifestyle, the routine, the small moments that made up their lives.

The barista behind the counter smiled, her eyes warm as she took his order. Choso barely noticed the kindness in her expression, too focused on his own thoughts to appreciate the way she smiled at him. She handed him the receipt with a soft clink, and he nodded in acknowledgment before stepping away to find a table.

The café wasn’t crowded, but it wasn’t empty either. It was just the right amount of busy that allowed Choso to sit quietly in the corner, unnoticed. He chose a seat by the window, glancing at his phone again to see if Yuji had messaged. Nothing. He smiled faintly. He could wait. He had all the time in the world.

A moment later, his latte arrived, set on the table with a soft clink of ceramic against wood. Choso’s eyes flicked down to the cup as the barista placed it in front of him. He froze.

There, on the surface of the coffee, was something unexpected. A perfect heart, etched into the foam.

Choso’s breath caught in his throat. His mind spun in confusion. Why was his heart beating so fast? Was it—an enemy? Was someone threatening him? No… that wasn’t it. This wasn’t danger. It was something else. Something he didn’t understand.

Blood rushed to his face, and he quickly glanced away, his eyes darting around the café in a frantic search for a distraction. But there was nothing. Nothing to explain this. 

No. It wasn’t possible. Was it?

His gaze snapped back to the barista. The girl who had taken his order. Her face was bathed in the soft glow of the café lights, and now that he was looking—really looking—he saw how stunning she was. Her lips were slightly pressed, a small concentration as she worked, preparing drinks with smooth, delicate movements.

You. You were the one who had made the heart in his coffee.

Choso swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. His pulse was erratic, the sensation almost overwhelming. 

A heart. You had put a heart in his latte. The pretty little barista.

That must mean… love, right?

His mind raced with the possibilities. Was this some kind of sign? A gesture? Were you—interested in him?

No. It couldn’t be. He didn’t even know your name. He had barely spoken to you, hadn’t even properly looked at you until now. But still… the heart was something. It had to mean something.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away as you moved behind the counter, your every action now laced with meaning. The simple task of preparing drinks had transformed into something so intimate, so personal.

Choso leaned forward, his fingers curling tightly around the edge of his coffee cup. His thoughts churned as he stared….at that sweet little heart. 

Yuji and his friends would be here soon, but for now, he was lost. Lost in the warmth of the coffee, and in the warmth of a feeling that was new—and so very dangerous. A feeling that crept into his chest, tugging at something dark inside him.

Choso couldn’t help himself. He ordered at least three more drinks before his friends showed up. His heart is racing every time. Each time, you greeted him with that same smile, handing him the perfect coffee, each cup as flawless as the last. Each one had that sweet little heart in the foam. When you even gave him a free pastry—something small, something extra—he was sure of it. 

Surely, this was love.

Surely, he was meant to be here every day, because you two—you and him—were meant for each other, right?

This was what a soulmate was. 

Shoko: Medical School 

Oh, medical school. What a joke.

Shoko could cheat her way through most of her labs using her technique—healing, manipulating, fixing. But there was one thing she couldn’t control, couldn’t fake: Organic Chemistry.

She could easily fix broken bones, curse away a cold, hell, when her students lost limbs, Shoko could put them back together without even breaking a sweat. But Organic Chemistry? That was her undoing.

How was she supposed to understand what a nucleophilic attack was? Why were there shapes in chemistry?

It was a joke.

Which, of course, led her to you.

It was a slow morning, and Shoko dragged herself to the lecture hall, already exhausted from last night’s work. She slumped into the back row, hoping to at least catch a nap while pretending to take notes. Her eyes half-lidded, she scanned the room, not expecting anything interesting. That was until you—sweet, innocent little you—sat right next to her.

“Hah... I was worried I wasn’t going to make it. I never miss a lecture, y’know!” You said brightly, your accent heavy from one of the more rural areas of Japan. You were so… casual, so warm.

You leaned over, extending your hand to her with a smile. “I’m Y/n, and you are…?”

Shoko blinked, looking at your outstretched hand for a long beat, her gaze flickering from the innocent shine in your eyes to the warmth in your palm. She didn’t even bother to hide the smirk that tugged at her lips.

“Ieiri Shoko,” she hummed, amusement dancing in her tone as she took your hand and gave it a firm shake.

You were like a cute little puppy, weren’t you? Too trusting, too innocent.

She could already picture you with a tail wagging—completely unaware of what she might do to you.

Then, her gaze shifted.

You pulled out your notes—so detailed, so organized. Color-coded, of course, and even had cute little doodles in the margins explaining everything. A simple little smiley face here, a heart there, like a child’s drawing. Everything was perfect.

It irritated her. Not in the usual way. It wasn’t jealousy. No, it was something else. Something darker. Something that whispered: You’re the answer. You could help me…

Shoko’s eyes lingered on the page as she tried to suppress the urge to take those notes. She wasn’t proud of it, but—well, she had to admit it to herself. Organic Chemistry was her weakness. And you? You were her ticket to fixing that.

It didn’t take long for Shoko to fail the first exam. She’d be fine, of course. She could always cheat. But for now, it was an excuse to get closer to you.

She leaned over, her tone casual, but with a hint of something more—something almost… possessive.

“Your notes,” she began, voice dripping with barely-contained amusement, “they’re cute.”

Your face lit up immediately, a pure excitement in your eyes as you beamed at her. “Oh, thank you! I almost always get a seat in the front, but today I just missed my train after my shift at the Lawson, and well—”

Shoko didn’t need the backstory. She never did.

Her lips curled into a teasing, playful pout, the kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes, which glinted with something more dangerous. She leaned in just a little closer, lowering her voice.

“Could you lend them to me?” she asked, her tone silky and smooth, the words almost too innocent. “I really need them for studying. And I didn’t quite catch everything in the lecture…”

Your enthusiasm was infectious. You beamed, completely unaware of the darker edge in her voice. “Well, I can’t exactly lend them to you…but I could give you a copy!” you chimed brightly. Your excitement was so pure, so sweet, it made Shoko have to stifle a laugh.

Oh, you were cute.

Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, as if she were plotting something already. “Sure, sure. How about you come over to my apartment and drop them off, yeah? Maybe we could study together too… You seem to know your stuff.”

She watched as you nodded eagerly, too eager. Someone could just easily kidnap you, couldn’t they?

“Oh, that would be great! Here’s all my contact information!” you chirped, pulling out your phone and eagerly handing it to her.

Shoko took the phone from your hand, the faintest smile playing at her lips. 

You had already caught her interest. In more ways than one.

[sizzlingcloudmentality]

slower

pairing: Dave York x f!reader

wordcount: ~2,4k

summary: One fine morning you overthink a little too much for Dave's liking, so he prescribes you his tried-and-true treatment: cockwarming. He continues to be just a guy <3 can be read as part 2 to slow, but works as a standalone as well

warnings: smut, explicit, no use of y/n, reader is ablebodied, established relationship, mild d/s dynamics, unprotected p in v, creampie, cockwarming but make it oral, deep throat-ish but not really, squint and you miss the dacryphilia, pussy pronouns, dick pronouns, pet names (honey, puppy), soft (dom)!Dave deserves his own warning, feelings

a/n: these two sat in my drafts since slow came out: to everyone who loved part 1, thank you and I hope you'll enjoy this one, too. my undying love and gratitude to @guiltyasdave because she beta'ed again (thanks bby) and reassured me by saying this is still Dave even if he's a little soft for his girl. I'd be so lost without you Jana 💛 tagging @sp00kymulderr as well because ✨dick pronouns✨ (justice for dick pronouns y'all)

Sunday morning. He ran. He made coffee. He showered. He stands next to your side of the bed with a steaming cup in his hand.

Your nose twitches, he can see it. It's either the coffee or the scent of his body wash that pulls you out of your sleep. 

You look so pretty, with that tiny gap between your lips, your lashes slowly fluttering against your cheeks as you wake up.

The coffee finds its place on the bedside table and Dave sits down, the mattress dipping under his weight. Finally you open your eyes, and when you see him, still wet from the shower and not already dressed, a smile touches your lips.

“There she is,” he hums with a smile of his own and gently cups your jaw in one hand. His thumb drags down your bottom lip before letting go of it again. 

You know him. At least the things that he lets you know about him. And he's having thoughts, you can clearly see it in the way he is staring at your mouth and the way his thumb looks pressed against the soft flesh of your lips.

You kiss the pad of his finger, adding a little kitten lick after and smirk when his eyes narrow for a split second. You got him. 

“What are you thinking about, handsome?” You stretch your body and lean one of your bare legs against his wet back.

“None of your business,” he grumbles, feeling his resolve slip away. You were onto him. Usually he is too clever and stubborn to fall for your weak manipulation attempts. But this morning he is feeling soft.

You pout, pursing your lips against his thumb that still moves along them. ‘Meanie,’ you mouth silently before licking his thumb again, slowly, as if you want to drag the digit into your mouth when you pull your tongue back.

It is so obvious, you don't even try to conceal the way you want him.

His thumb slips between your lips and when you make that little muffled uh and start to lazily twist your tongue around his finger, he can feel the memory of this feeling between his legs.

He needs you. 

“That's better, isn't it, honey. Keeping your pretty mouth busy and filled.”

You shift your body, move it closer to Dave and his towel clad thighs, your hands snaking over the sheets towards him.

He pushes his thumb deeper into your mouth, pressing down onto your tongue to get you from licking to sucking and you oblige, like you always do.

With half lidded eyes, another moan doesn't quite make its way past his finger and stays stuck in your mouth. Your thighs clamp together and your eyes open again, only to find your own desire mirrored in his expression.

You need him, too. To trust you enough to be soft around you, vulnerable. Just once.

“Too many thoughts in your pretty little head…” Dave shakes his head dismissively when he sees your tiny worry-line appearing between your brows. “When I fill your mouth, you better only think happy thoughts, honey. Or none. That's what I would prefer.”

Unceremoniously he pulls his thumb from your mouth and the deepening line between your brows makes him laugh a little.

“Poor baby,” he mocks with so much softness in his voice that his attempt to kiss your forehead smooth again works. 

You shuffle closer, your hand tugs his towel to the side so you can rest your cheek on his naked thigh. Skin to skin. You crave this nearness so openly and extensively that he can hide his own need for it behind your clinginess.

He never would admit it, but he enjoys it, the way you ask for his touch or simply just touch him whenever you need to. Which is often. Daves is sure about it, if you could and if he would let you, you would curl up in his lap like a loyal puppy.

He admires that about you, the fierceness with which you adore him. The way a heartfelt I love you slips from your lips so easily and the way you never are disappointed when he can't return the favor. He feels it, but words are hard for him. 

“What's worrying you, honey?” he coos quietly, looking down at you while he caresses your cheek.

“Nothing.” You. You worry me, David, you think to yourself while a finger follows the faint shadow of a vein appearing from under his towel.

“Mhmm… You're lying, honey.” A few droplets of water fall down from his wet hair and he wipes them away from your face. “Do you… want me to give you something to occupy your mind with? Something that helps you to get that adorable blank expression?” 

You nod your head slowly and a moment later Dave is on the bed and you are on him. The sheets rustle softly but the towel makes no sound when it slips open and down onto the floor.

A little pat on his thigh and you move without hesitation, curling your body between his spread legs and resting your cheek once again on him. 

It is comfortable, the position with your head in his lap, but also all of this. The absence of shame. Dave’s confidence and casualness with his body rubbed off on you. The definitions of naked, bare, exposed, vulnerable have shifted since you were with him. He often was bare before your eyes, he exposed his body in front of you, used and moved it as the high precision tool he thinks it is. But Dave was never vulnerable. 

You on the other hand have always been vulnerable when you were naked. He had a way of connecting your mind with your physical form and that made you exposed, bare, vulnerable. And seen and safe. Is he feeling safe with you?

“Stop overthinking,” he hums and strokes the back of your head. Such a good, loyal puppy for him.

“I can't.” The words are muffled against his skin, your lips occupied with scattering little kisses up his leg until you reach the always trimmed but never bare triangle. You stop and look up at him.

“You can. Just gotta focus, honey.” You are so pretty like this, so respectful, your mouth just one breath away from what you want and yet, you wait for his permission. “Let me help you,” he mutters softly. “What do you want?”

You move your head, your whole body, closer and nuzzle the patch of shortened curls at his base. “Him. Please.” 

You already miss him. It's been a couple of days. And the last time Dave helped you with your extensive overthinking has been even longer. You need him, them. A faint throb against your nose assures you that he needs you, too. Please, your eyes say when you look up again. He is so pretty like this, looking down at you.

“Go on. You can have him.”

You move again, immediately, and lick his limp dick into your mouth. He tastes so clean. Sweet almost. Purely David. Soft and sweet, resting on your tongue.

He continues to stroke your hair. There you are, curled up in his lap, needing him to help you relax. Such a good, good puppy.

“Don't move, just breathe.”

You nod and swallow. He starts growing. It never stops being magical. Slowly he crawls down your tongue, stretches into all directions that are you. Seeking your depths. You let him. 

It's peaceful, this morning, your head in Dave's lap, his hand in your hair, his hardening cock securely plugged in your mouth. No noise, just sheets rustling, your deep breaths, his sighs, your mewls. No movement except him, pushing himself deeper in the steady rhythm of Dave's pulse.

He begins to feel heavy. You know how he would look if you didn't hold him between your lips. Hanging, not hard enough yet to stand, point, spear. Just heavy hanging, swinging, giving the best slaps against your mouth and cheeks and pussy in this state. Full, heavy, promising. You want to suck him so bad. Want to suck him until he's rock hard and throbbing. You mewl again, sounding choked as he slowly makes it past the base of your tongue. 

Dave grips a fistful of hair and tugs. A reminder. Breathe for me, honey. And you do. In and out. In and out, no thoughts in your head, just his cock, who is forcing his way past your resistance. You breathe. You focus. You relax your jaw and your mind. Bliss. Your pussy pulses. You mewl.

“Such a good girl, you're doing so good.” He wants to move so badly. In and out. But he can't. You need him, trust him to take care of you. He sees the glossy sheen in your eyes as you're tearing up just the slightest bit. He's somewhere in there, he thinks and caresses your throat with his thumb. You don't like him there too much and he respects that boundary. But he loves being in there, loves seeing you getting teary eyed whenever you decide to grace him with your trust and kindness and take him as deep as you can. He's a bastard, he thinks when he coos at you, for taking such a pleasure in seeing you cry.

You swallow again, your saliva struggles past him on its way down and there it is, a fragrant hint of salt makes it to your palates. He is leaking. You see it in your mind: salty shimmery pearls, making a pretty string of beads down his cock, along that one pretty vein that throbs against your tongue right now. You mewl but all that you both can hear is a pathetic, strangled gurgle. A tear forms on your lash line and lands on your cheek. 

Dave takes it up with his thumb and licks it. Saltiness spreads on his tongue. A trade of salt, he gives you his, you give him yours. You're even, always. 

His hand loosens around your hair, it's over if you like, keep going if you want, puppy.

You struggle a few moments more around him while he takes up space in your throat and mind. Dave's eyes feel heavy on you, the love he never expresses with explicit words is carving the trails of your tears into your cheeks. He throbs violently and you pull yourself off of him, coughing.

You scramble to your knees and before you could even miss the feel of Dave's skin he has you pulled into his lap, cradling you, peppering you with sweet praise. How well you did with the breathing. How good and calm your mouth felt around him. How pretty you are. 

He feels it, your slick. Silky and sweet, sticking between your thighs, just from holding his cock in your mouth. Dave looks down, shifting you, encouraging you to straddle him and spread your legs wider, so he can see everything that is his.

Shimmery threads of sweetness, stretching from one inner thigh to the other. He sticks his fingers into it, twists them, turns them, spinning your thread of silk around his digits. He sucks them clean. Sweet. Like spun sugar but better. 

You look down, between your legs and watch him as he grips himself by the base, and twists more of you around him, mixing your sweetness with his saltiness, creating a smooth blend of sticky threads. You almost drool and add another liquid, but Dave is quicker.

With a small thrust he pushes himself inside of you, not hurried, not slow either, but determined and eager. Another wet, tight heat welcomes him this morning and he feels truly blessed for this woman on his lap. 

“Such a good puppy for me. So loyal,” he murmurs, voice strained and like gravel. Now it's you throbbing and pulsing, stretching around him but unwillingly, she likes to hold him close and tight, tucked away where he belongs. What you lack in clarity your pussy has enough of: she wants one thing and that is him. 

You tilt your hips, angling him deeper. You whimper and sling your arms around Dave's neck and you breathe, in and out, and he moves beneath you. In. And out. A determined rhythm, chasing nothing because why chase the inescapable? It will come, like Dave, like you. 

His hand finds his way down to the spot where you are joined, dipping and smearing in the salty sweet gooeyness, gliding over and circling around the nub that makes you hiss and your pussy clench violently.

“Feeling good, little puppy?” Dave groans and pushes his spread fingers deeper, feeling himself push inside of you and out again until the thick rim of his tip appears and disappears again.

You nod, head bouncing in the steady rhythm. In. Out. Up. Down. Full. Empty. Full. Empty. Deeper. Fuck, you're close. Deeper again, tensing, throbbing.

“Dave-”

“I know, honey. Be good.” Let go. Just breathe. In. Deep. Deeper, out. “Be a good puppy for me. I'm right there.” All he needs is you spasming around him and your whines. 

You angle your hips again, dragging your aching clit against his spikey trimmed hair that got all smooth and slick. Salty and sweet. Up, down, so fucking deep you wince, up, down, faster, again. Now you're chasing. Mind deliciously blank, just the hum of pleasure in your spine. So close. So deep, so full, so stretched around him you can't even clamp on him anymore. More. Down, deeper.

His fingers flick and he pinches your clit and you fall, white noise and moans in your ears, riding Dave through the wave of your orgasm. Feeling him filling you now. Feeling his fingers digging into your hips and pressing you down on him, so deep inside of you and he whines. A sweet whimper of your name, breathed into your ear and securely locked away in your mind with a kiss. 

You both breathe heavily now, in and out, sticky skin, gasps trickling from your mouths, arms encircling, little giggles mixed in, to make a soft, warm blend of safety.

He feels safe with me, you think and when you lean back, just enough to look at Dave's face, he mouthes something that looks like love and you and you securely lock those words away with a kiss.

comment or reblog to get an anti-overthinking session with Dave (I'm in dire need of one myself, help)

read part 1 here

find my Dave York masterlist here

find my general masterlist here

dividers: as always @/saradika-graphics

[ins4-tiable]

A Knight's Hymm

Knight! Levi Ackerman x Princess! reader

Levi being the first commoner captain, is quite sceptical of royalty. especially, you.

A/n: This a draft I couldn't bring myself to finish but I put my whole budussy into it so imma js post it.

You always smiled in a way that dulled the gold and jewels around you, A smile that covered your face and painted a pretty picture.

He couldn't stand it, No matter how much his head warned him of its falsehood, his heart couldn't help but flutter.

"Greedy wealthy pigs." 

He would mutter under his breath, even as they drafted him into the Royal Army, As captain no less. As he stood at attention at the mention of the king, his brows still furrowed in disgust.

They really should have known better than to put a man from the slums in such a high position.

Everyone else did. 

Everyone, but you. 

"Captian Levi! There you are!” You smiled. 

He couldn't help but loop himself, every time you flashed him that damned grin he couldn't stop himself from comparing you to gold.

"Your majesty." He acknowledged. 

You rolled your eyes.

"Must you be such a buzz kill?" You shook your head. 

Before he could answer, soft pampered hands had grabbed his; 

Thick and rough, littered with irreversible tales of the past, mostly the thick stubs where his middle and index fingers once were. 

He doubts it was an accident when you grabbed that hand

You covered his hand in yours, A cold and small item resting in his hands.

Your fingers dragged as they left. Neither of you mentioned it. 

Levi skeptically eyed his hand. A small, but heavy broach resting in the palm of his hand. 

“A formal invitation.” Your smile reached your eyes. “As my escort of course!" 

Levi furrowed his brows, his eyes snapping up to look at you

“…" He paused, giving you an unimpressed look "Invitation? Do I have much of a choice?” He snarked, eyeing you suspiciously. 

Your eyes seemed to crinkle.

" I always give you a choice. " You pause, glancing at the broch, Seemingly chuckling to yourself. " Think it over will you?"

You bowed your head slightly before you took your leave. 

It always made his skin crawl when you did that. He would rather you treat him like all the other nobles did. 

When you treated him like he was worth something his job got far harder.  

You ran your brush through your hair after meticulous work, the fresh feeling of newly washed hair enveloping your scalp. 

Your arms were quite sore, having only recently banned your maids from your chambers. But hard work receives fruitful rewards. 

You were sure it wasn't nearly as good as trained hands, but your heart swelled with pride. 

Your hair and skin were still damp as you slipped on your bathrobe. Nevertheless, you did not have time to fuss over the small details, you were sure Captain Levi would be arriving any-

The sound of a polite but firm knock harshly interrupted your thoughts. 

"I can always count on Captain Levi to mess with my plans." you chuckled to yourself. 

You begrudgingly made your way to your door. You expected him to take longer than he did to think about your proposal. 

Your door pulled open, fresh damp hair clinging to your face 

as your eyes glided to his

" Captain Levi." you hummed. A surprised look plastered on your face. Though, you doubt you fooled Levi.

 " It's quite late for visitors. Don't you think?" 

You could hear Levi's breath stop in his throat, and as quick as you heard it his brows snapped down in a furrow. 

"Your Highness!" He hissed, neck and ears flushing.

"What? It's to be expected that I would be bathing at these hours." You shrugged, shifting your weight to the right, motioning him inside. 

"no, I don't think that would be appropriate-"

"It must have been important for you to come to my chambers at this hour, so please." You insisted.

You could see his jaw visibly clench, Your eyes briefly flickering to the vein that gathered on his neck. 

The sound of his heavy footsteps dragged against the marble floor, Willing himself to move further into your chambers. He had hoped it was his sense of duty willing him to gather more information on you, but he knew that wasn't the case. 

He reluctantly took a seat, eyeing you with a glare. His brows furrowed in an almost permanent M. 

The sound of thick splashing filled the room as you filled both cups. A small smile on your lips, your eyes entirely focused on the cup before you. 

"Your Highness, I-" 

" I know you're a part of the rebellion." You began, cutting his speech off. "That's why you are here to deny my escort request. Right?" 

Your eyes flickered to his as you asked. 

His face was pulled taunt. Not letting a slip of emotion seep through his skin. He was already glaring at you, but this one was different.

It was cold. 

Your eyes locked to his, And in a moment a knife was at your neck. A steel-stained knife threaded at your throat. You didn't even blink, your facade of a smile still permanent on your lips. 

Your eyes glanced down at the knife. 

"The knife at my neck makes me think you want to kill me." You state, looking back up at him that cold look he wore at war glazed over his eyes. 

"Quit with the Bullshit." He spits, rising in his chair. "What do you want." 

"Me?" You ask, tilting your head to the side. "You're the one who put a knife to my neck. " Your brows furrowed and jaw slacked, painting a furiously offended look on your face. 

"You-" 

"I'm kidding." You say, a smirk replacing the frown you placed on your lips. "I'll speak when there is no longer a knife at my throat." 

Silence filled the room, Your eyes locked onto each other in a glare. 

Levi let out a sharp click of his tongue, reluctantly moving back down, slipping his knife back into its hiding spot. 

You take a long sip of your now lukewarm tea, humming disapprovingly before setting it back down with a click.

"That invitation is one for my wedding." 

"what-"

" And once I'm married I'll be no more than a living doll. " You sighed, your eyes stuck to the round edge of your cup. 

" They don't want me to exercise my right as a royal, so they sold me off to a pig." You sneered. " Since they threw me away the only thing left for me to do is to sell information to the rebellion."

A Thick solemn Silence Stuck in the air, constricting around Levi's throat. He couldn't speak. 

His hand gripped tightly to your round marble table. He could feel his heart tighten to a stop.

He glanced up at you, steeling himself.

"And how am I supposed to believe that? This could easily be a trick."

You sighed, standing up from your seat. Levi watched you in silence as you reached under your thick bedding. Pulling a bland or unremarkable box from under your bed.

The sounds of the soft patter of your feet echoed through the empty room, and with a swift flush you emptied the dull box onto the table.

Covering the table were altered royal documents.

"I've been keeping Erwin and the rebellion alive by altering information" You stated, " Without me, they'd be dead."

"You-"

" Even if you don't like me, don't let that stop you from helping the people!" You reason, a sudden passion filling your words. " I had planned on doing this myself.. but."

You stopped your words, your perfectly crafted mask beginning to crumble as your throat constricted at the thought of being sold off.

Levi paused as he watched true emotion seep through your face, You seemed to shine even brighter.

" Goddamn it." He hissed, 

You didn't get the chance to speak, as he quickly grabbed you by the back of the head, leading his lips to yours. 

Rough chapped lips pushed aggressively into you, his entire body leaning across the table to reach you, as a hand keeping your head steady while he kissed you. Kissed you as if he was in battle.

Your head was moving a mile per minute, and yet, not a single thought could process through you. But for some straight reason, you couldn't seem to stop yourself from wanting more.

You pushed back against him, running your tongue past his lips and into his awaiting mouth. You could feel his gasp against you, and tremble as he reciprocated the action. 

For someone who grabbed you so passionately, he sure wasn't prepared. 

Levi pulled away from you, A red face gazing up at you as his forehead pressed against yours. 

" They'll kill you," He said, breath heavy in his words and a worried tremble in his raspy tone. 

You paused at his words, letting out a breathy chuckle. 

" It's worth it." You smiled. 

His jaw clenched

"What? No! What the hell is wrong with you?" He asked, roughly grabbing you by the shoulders.

His brows furrowed far harder than ever, and his eyes filled with a thick passion that made your heart flutter.

"I finally get the chance to have you and you want to just die?" He exclaimed

"What-"

Levi kissed you again, a scared, Emotional kiss.

This has been sitting in my drafts for over a year so I'm releasing it to the world!

[ginnsbaker]

All Of Your Pieces (1 - Honey! I shrunk the kids! 18+)

Summary: Wanda accidentally shrinks your kids while trying out a spell that would benefit both of you in the bedroom; Jimmy and Darcy attempt to find out more about the Hex, particularly when they discover a remarkable detail about you. Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 3k+ | Tags: Smut, Campy Humor, Language

A/N: I've been working on this series since late August and have finally figured out what to do with it, enough to share it with you all. The story will be told in three parts: Westview (The Missing Town), Pre-Westview, and Post-Westview. This follows some events in WandaVision, but it's very canon-divergent. It's going to be different from my other works (I've never written humor before and I'm quite insecure about that), as this one is very plot-driven but at the same time, still very much Wanda x Reader (especially in parts 2 and 3). Updates will be every Wednesday. Chapters will be 2.5–3.5k words long, except for the ending chapters of each part, which are twice as long. So, without further ado…

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

-

“Honey! I shrunk the kids!” 

Wanda bursts into the basement, apron billowing out like a cape. Except, there's no draft down here; that apron shouldn't be moving like that at all. But then again, considering your wife’s claim, maybe the laws of physics are taking a day off.

You glance up from the miniature model home you’re meticulously working on, unsure if you heard her right. Did she really just say that? 

“You what?”

Wanda, flushed and a little breathless, skids to a stop in front of you. “Okay, so I was experimenting with a new spell, one that was supposed to…” She bites her lip, hesitating, her face glowing a deeper shade of red. “...it was supposed to do something else, but it backfired and... well, it’s not important right now!”

“Jesus, Wanda.”

Your poor, beautiful, occasionally clumsy wife stands there, teetering between a freak-out and a fit of giggles. 

“It was an accident! I didn't mean to!” Wanda shrieks, causing the room to tremble from her panic.

Wanda's powers have always been a wildcard. You can child-proof the entire house in a day, but that definitely doesn't cover child-proofing Wanda herself—especially not when your kids are involved. Luckily, the boys have inherited some special abilities of their own, which leaves you as the sole non-superpowered member of the household. With that in mind, you know better than to panic. Getting worked up alongside her would only escalate things, and you’re not exactly keen on being shrunk next.

“Okay…where are they now?” you ask as calmly as you can manage.

Wanda takes a deep breath and leads you to the living room. You trail her in silence, clutching at composure. It can’t be that bad, right? The distant sound of playful music trickling through the house almost makes it seem like everything’s fine. You hadn’t really noticed it before, but now that you think about it, it’s like your brain has learned to associate that kind of tune with situations that somehow always end in collective sighs of relief.

Sighs, giggles, and applause—sounds that don't belong to Wanda or the boys.

Where are they coming from?

Before your mind can completely sink into the oddities of your life here in Westview, Wanda halts in the middle of the living room. Your eyes dart around, searching for Billy and Tommy, but they’re nowhere to be seen.

“Where?”

“Right there,” Wanda points toward the coffee table, her finger trembling slightly.

You squint in the direction she’s pointing. Next to the TV remote, two tiny figures wave up at you—your sons, each about the size of your thumb.

“Oh my god, they’re tiny!” you gasp, covering your mouth with your hand. You expected them to be at least half their normal size—a size they might grow out of eventually.

“Shhhh, Y/N!” Wanda hisses, pressing her index finger to her lips. “The neighbors might hear you.”

Neighbors. Which usually means just Agnes from next door. There’s literally several meters of spaces between your houses, but somehow, she always manages to hear things she shouldn’t and pries like she’s in some perfectly timed routine.

Wanda kneels by the coffee table, her eyes soft. “I told them to stay right there until we sorted this out.”

The twins start making noises, sounding like tiny bells, though still hard to make out. You pull out a magnifying glass from your back pocket—has that been there the whole time?—making sure your sons are okay. As soon as the lenses zoom in on their faces, you're relieved to see them laughing uproariously, seemingly unbothered by their predicament.

“They seem... happy?” you say, lowering the magnifying glass.

“They think it's hilarious,” Wanda grumbles, her lips curling into a pout.

“So,” you sigh, pushing yourself to your feet. “Any ideas on how to fix this?”  You're tempted to suggest just letting it run its course, waiting for the spell to fizzle out, but you know Wanda wouldn’t go for that. She's fiercely protective of the twins, and you can't blame her—it’s all her handiwork, after all.

Then you hear it—a hiccup. Another follows, and then another, each one a little louder than the last.

Before you know it, Wanda's a sobbing mess.

You cup her face in your hands. “Hey, hey...it’s okay,” you murmur, gently brushing away a tear with your thumb.

Wanda’s breath hitches as she looks at you, her eyes brimming with worry. “What if I can’t fix it?”

“We will,” you promise, looking into her eyes.

A collective ‘awww’ rings in your ears, pulling you out of the moment. What the hell—where did that come from? You've had this creepy feeling of being watched lately, and it's only getting worse.

Wanda brings you back to focus when she nuzzles into your palm. “Oh, Y/N, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You give her a small, lopsided grin and plant a kiss on her forehead. “Good thing you’ll never have to find out.” Something passes over her eyes as soon as you say it, but it vanishes in a split-second, replaced by a moment of inspiration.

“Wait,” she bursts out, stepping away from your embrace. “I think I have an idea.”

She heads straight for the fridge, and you trail after her, holding your breath.

“I’ve been trying to reverse it, but my magic isn’t cooperating. It’s like... it’s tangled,” Wanda mutters, yanking things out of the fridge.

You scowl, arms crossed, watching her. “Tangled? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. The more I try to fix it, the worse it gets. Like it has a life of its own,” she says. she says. After a few more seconds of rummaging, Wanda finally grabs a tetra pack of chocolate milk—the twins' favorite.

“I’m hoping this will do the trick,” she says, giving the carton a shake.

You cock your head, clueless on what’s going on. “Honey, what’s going on?”

Wanda mumbles, barely glancing up as she vigorously shakes the carton. “Just doing what it says—’Shake well before serving.’”

You roll your eyes, muttering, “This woman...”. Then louder, you ask, “I mean, what’s the chocolate got to do with our tiny children?”

Wanda stops mid-shake, a look of realization dawning on her face. “Oh, right,” she slaps her forehead. “You can’t read minds. I keep forgetting,” she chuckles, setting down the carton with a sheepish grin.

There it is again—a chorus of laughter from somewhere far off. Your mouth twitches at the sound—it’s really starting to get on your nerves. You make a mental note to bring it up with Wanda later.

Wanda gathers herself, then pitches her plan. “Instead of directly casting a spell on the twins, I think it’s safer to enchant this chocolate milk.” She picks up the carton again, giving it a final shake. “The idea is to infuse the milk with a spell that will gradually restore them to their normal sizes.”

You nod, beginning to understand what she’s trying to do. “Sounds less risky than zapping them with more magic head on.”

“Exactly,” she agrees, her eyes lighting up with excitement. You’d swear she’s getting a kick out of this macabre parenting hack—kids and all. The background tune keeps playing, like a promise that the universe won’t let things turn to shit. You’re wondering if maybe Wanda hears it too.

“This way, the magic is diluted and can adjust more naturally with their systems. It’s like... sneaking the cure into their bodies,” she says, snapping her fingers, red swirls of magic emanating from them to the carton of milk.

“I'm so proud of you, baby,” you say, leaning in for a quick kiss which she happily accepts. “For finding a fix, I mean. The whole shrinking our kids thing? Still not great.”

–

“What kind of spell do you think Wanda was going for?” Darcy asks, her eyes fixed on the credits rolling across the screen before it fades to black. She’s really gotten into Wanda’s little show, a welcome distraction from the freezing depths of hell that is New Jersey in November. Though exciting things are finally happening to her, the timing couldn't be worse. 

“No clue,” Jimmy mutters, his attention glued to the laptop in front of him. It’s been two days since Quantico sent him to look into the bizarre case of a missing town—a phenomenon almost unheard of in the 21st century. Upon arriving, they discovered that the town in question, Westview, was enveloped by some sort of anomaly—or a Hex, as Darcy has started calling it, referring to the hexagonal shape of the barrier encasing the town. 

Around the same time as the discovery, S.W.O.R.D. agent Monica Rambeau was quite literally sucked into the anomaly by accident. The only breakthrough has been Darcy Lewis’ detection of the signals, providing them with a window into the mysterious shroud, even helping them identify some of the show's characters as actual residents of the town.

But overall, they're still desperately trying to piece together why this is happening and how to stop it.

Darcy peeks over at the data on Jimmy’s screen. “Find anything new?”

Jimmy sighs in frustration. “No, not really. Everything we dig up just adds more questions instead of answers.”

“Like what, for instance?”

Instead of answering directly, he slides a thick file across the table toward her. “See for yourself.”

Darcy catches the file and starts flipping through it. Murmuring, she says, “So, Google finally returned search results?” The stack of papers is downright daunting. Jimmy’s right—any mountain of information would raise more questions than answers.

“No, not Google,” Jimmy corrects her. “Stark's highly confidential database did. The woman Wanda's married to in Westview? She’s not in any public records. Turns out her records were wiped clean two years ago.”

Darcy looks up, puzzled. “Why would Stark's company have this?”

“Just read, Darcy. It’s all in there,” he says, turning his full attention back to his research.

Darcy frowns slightly and begins scanning through the pages more attentively. It takes her a few minutes to piece together the information she's reading, with her mind going in different directions and still burning with curiosity about the spell Wanda botched.

Finally, she reads aloud, somewhat incredulously, “Subject was recognized as S.H.I.E.L.D.'s youngest marksmanship prodigy prior to recruitment by Stark Industries following the dissolution of S.H.I.E.L.D.. Subsequently provided tactical support on multiple classified operations in conjunction with the Avengers initiative.”

She sets the file down thoughtfully. “Kinda reminds me a bit of Romanoff or Barton. Total badass. I hadn’t pegged Maximoff for that crowd.”

“What crowd did you have Wanda filed under?” Jimmy asks, just out of curiosity.

Darcy’s gaze drifts off, a dreamy smirk on her lips. “Honestly? I always pictured her—or anyone for that matter—swooning over someone more…mythical hammer than tactical espionage.”

Jimmy snorts to himself at Darcy's whimsical take and says, “Of course, you’d say that. Thor's everyone's type.”

“He’s yours too?”

“Yeah, why not,” Jimmy shrugs, his tone more reluctant than sarcastic, which only amuses Darcy more.

“So,” Darcy begins, “Wanda's settled down in New Jersey, married to a woman? I mean, good for her. They all deserve a break. Maybe even an early retirement.”

Jimmy lets out a long, tired sigh, like he's just about done with everything. Darcy notices and raises an eyebrow. “What now?”

He barely glances up. “Like I said, everything’s in there. Just keep reading.”

Darcy groans but goes back to the file, flipping through the pages again. She’s about to make a snarky comment when something catches her attention—something that has her eyes practically popping out of their sockets.

“It… it says here Y/N’s dead.”

“That’s right,” Jimmy responds without missing a beat.

“Not snapped five years ago. Dead-dead.”

“Yep.”

Darcy stares at the page, disbelief all over her face. “That can’t be right, can it?”

Jimmy finally swivels his chair to face her, looking as tired as he sounds. “That’s what I’ve been trying to wrap my head around for hours. If aliens and superheroes are real, maybe bringing someone back from the dead to star in a sitcom isn’t so far-fetched, right?”

–

You carefully pull the blankets up over Billy, smoothing his hair and whispering a soft good night. Tommy’s already half-asleep, but you make sure to tuck him in just as snugly, brushing a kiss on his forehead. Wanda stands in the doorway, watching you, her heart swelling in her chest. You were so clueless when she first had the twins, but now, being a mother just seems to come naturally to you. 

And you pulled it off in a week, while the twins stretched into six-year-olds just as fast.

“Honey,” you call softly, noticing the way she’s lost in thought. “Aren’t you going to say good night to our boys?”

Wanda steps into the room, giving each of the boys their good night kiss. You pucker your lips, silently asking for your turn, and she playfully swats your arm, whispering, “Not here, baby.”

You pout, giving her your best puppy-dog eyes, which only makes her smile. Without warning, you grab her hand and hurriedly pull her out of the boys' room, making a beeline for your bedroom. Wanda’s laughter fills the hallway, and just as you reach the door, you suddenly sweep her off the ground, lifting her into your arms.

Wanda lets out a shriek, her laughter infectious, and you can’t help but grin, even as you let her thump onto the mattress—a sloppy, graceless drop. You follow her onto the bed, rolling onto your stomach to peer down at her, still sporting that stupid smile.

“So, about that kiss you owe me,” you whisper, hovering closer, teasing her with your proximity.

Wanda nods distractedly. “I think I can manage that,” she murmurs, and then her lips are on yours.

It starts simple and sweet. Though soon, her tongue is gently nudging your lips apart, and it quickly becomes anything but. Her hands slip down to your back, pulling you close until her heartbeat hammering against yours. You break away, lips trailing down to her neck, exploring every dip and hollow, your tongue darting out to taste her skin. When you hit that spot just behind her ear, the one that always drives her wild, she gasps.

“Don't start something you can’t finish,” she warns, her voice already thick with want.

“Who says I won't?” you shoot back with a wolfish grin.

You both fall into a familiar routine, as easy to slip into as the back of your hand. There’s no hurry, just the two of you moving languidly—whispering against skin, giggles turning into sighs and breathy moans. Sometimes, being with Wanda feels like a desperate need, as if not having her completely would literally be the end of you. But it’s moments like these that are your favorite—the ones where you’re barely even trying, yet she still comes apart at your touch, at the mere feeling of your fingers on her. 

Eventually, you both settle down, a contented sigh escaping you as you curl up against Wanda, your skin slightly damp with the effort of your love. You like this, being the little spoon, hiding your face in her neck like you’re hiding from the world, though you vaguely recall a time when it was usually her in your arms. 

As you’re staggering on the edge of sleep, Wanda’s fingers gently massage your scalp, her lips dropping soft, pensive kisses on your forehead. You're almost out, but one last question keeps you from drifting off entirely.

“Wanda, that spell earlier that shrunk the boys—what was that about?” you mumble, your words slurring into the dream nipping at your consciousness.

Wanda’s laughter rumbles through her chest, nudging you slightly from your drowsy state.

“Come on, tell me,” you coax, giving her side a playful pinch to keep her talking.

“It’s embarrassing,” she mumbles, her face turning a delightful shade of pink again that spreads down her neck and chest. Her coy reaction wakes you up some more. As a twisted kind of payback, you run your tongue rough over her nipple, snatching a sharp gasp from her. Moving up, you hold her flushed cheek, making sure she’s looking right at you. Your thigh presses between hers, and it doesn’t take long before she’s wet and ready again.

“Are you going to tell me, or do you plan on sleeping with a wet pussy tonight?” you whisper, brushing your lips against the corner of her mouth. Under different circumstances, Wanda would scold you for your crudeness, but right now, she's too worked up to care. Your dirty mouth has always been one of the most irritating yet irresistible things about you. Even having kids hasn’t changed that.

“I was trying to... enchant your...” she starts, but then your hand tightens on her butt, spurring her subtle grinding movements. By this time, she’s practically dripping onto the sheets, her thoughts scattering as the tightening sensation below her stomach builds.

“My what?” you push, smirking as you watch her fumble for words. You hoist her leg, resting it on your shoulder, laying her wide open. You slide two fingers inside her, fucking her slowly while your thumb brutally circles her clit. As she hesitates to answer, you hook in another finger, drawing a sharp cry of pleasure from Wanda. Your gaze stays locked on your wife, a part of you as surprised as she might be at your boldness tonight.

All day, she’s haunted every corner of your mind, fantasizing about stealing a quick, desperate moment while the twins are asleep or at Agnes’s. But there’s been something—an unnameable restraint—holding you back from indulging those wicked impulses. It isn’t until the boys are asleep, the house quiet, that those invisible chains start to loosen. That’s when you can finally allow yourself to desire Wanda the way you really want to. The way you’ve always been meant to.

“Your... clit,” Wanda finally spits out, seeing you've drifted off, stuck in your head. “I thought I could make it... well, longer. Like a...” She chokes on the words, too embarrassed to finish.

“Like a cock?” you throw out crudely, looking down at her impishly.

Wanda nods, mortified but also a little defiant. “Wanted you to fuck me with it,” she mumbles, finding her backbone now that the secret's in the open.

“I am fucking you,” you whisper hotly right into her ear. “But if you want it like that, all you have to do is say the word.”

Wanda clenches around you at the thought of doing it like that in the near future, her breath hitching. “Please,” she mewls, the word dripping with need. 

“Good girl,” you growl, cranking up the pace as you drive your fingers harder inside her, making her gasp and arch towards you. “You can come.”

With a choked whimper, Wanda surrenders, her body seizing as her orgasm washes over her. She soaks your wrist, the clear fluid trickling down onto the sheets, but you don't stop, pushing through every pulse of her release until she's quaking, utterly wrecked beneath you. You patiently wait until her spasms subside before slowly pulling your fingers away.

Wanda's hand shoots out, stopping your movements. “Stay,” she implores, sounding like she's on the verge of tears. You're momentarily startled by her reaction, concerned something might be wrong. Swiftly, you slide your fingers back where they belong, nestled deep inside her.

“Okay, baby, I’m not going anywhere,” you murmur, pushing back the damp strands of hair sticking to her forehead with your free hand. Exhaustion begins to cloud your senses as you sink down beside Wanda, still keeping your hand where she wants it. 

“I'm sorry for needing you so much,” Wanda murmurs, her voice shaky with tears you can't see, your cheek pressed against the pillow beside hers.

“Don't be,” you mumble, half-lost to sleep as she clings to you more tightly. “I’m here.”

“You love me,” she says, a hint of wonder, of fear.

You nod, lips brushing the nape of her neck. “And you love me,” you murmur back, your eyes slipping shut. “I'm not going anywhere, Wanda.”

“For now,” she whispers to herself, once your breathing evens out in sleep.

Tears betray her then, and she clamps a hand over her mouth to keep quiet. But just before her sobs fully break free, she flicks a finger, a thin red wisp of magic ensuring you stay deep in sleep.

With you unaware, Wanda surrenders to her grief.

[mydearestbeloved]

Chapter 8 [Draft]

Sung Jinwoo/Trial Player!Reader

CW:

Inspired by @circeyoru ‘s “Future Power Couple”

[Masterlist🦋✨️]

It was inevitable that Jinwoo would introduce you to Yoo Jinho.

As you stood there, the lower half of your face concealed by a laced black mask patterned with butterflies, you had to hide your grin. The mask, enchanted with illusion magic, ensured that most people couldn’t recognize or remember your face easily, except those you wanted to be recognized by.

Perhaps it was because you were mentally older than your physical age in this world, or maybe you were just prone to cuteness aggression. E-rank Jinwoo had been spared only because you couldn’t reveal yourself at the time. But now, facing Jinho, you really wanted to squish his boyish face. Thankfully, you managed to rein that urge in.

You could almost see Jinho’s thought process as he saw Jinwoo with you. Jinho’s tendency to misinterpret situations had been a refreshing comic relief in the manhwa, but now wasn’t the time to focus on that.

“Don’t think too hard about it, Child,” you said, ruffling Jinho’s hair and making him stumble forward slightly. Perhaps you exerted too much force?

Jinho blinked, his eyes wide with surprise. “Ah, uh, yes! I mean, no! I mean...”

You chuckled softly, scanning your surroundings. The people hired just to fulfill the requirements of raiding a gate had already started to mind their own business, used to the routine by now, barely sparing you or Jinwoo a second glance.

That was fine; the less attention, the better. But your gaze caught Han Song-Yi standing a little farther off. You smiled beneath your mask and gave a small wave. But when you saw Han Song-Yi, you smiled behind your mask and waved. She seemed surprised before hesitantly waving back.

You turned to Jinwoo, who was already in front of the gate, waiting for Jinho and you.

As you approached, Jinwoo raised an eyebrow. “Ready?”

"Shall we?" you asked quietly, stepping up beside him.

Jinho, still flustered, scrambled to stand beside you. “Ready, Hyung!”

The butterflies embroidered on your mask seemed to shimmer for a moment as you prepared yourself for the challenge that lay ahead.

---

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Jinho. I'm (Name)."

Yoo Jinho's mind was already swirling with a dozen thoughts the moment his Hyung introduced you. Jinwoo rarely worked with others, so your presence threw him off.

(Name). No last name. A C-rank healer, not widely known, but Jinho had heard a few whispers about you. Word was that you had a nurturing, kind disposition every time the South Korean Hunter Association dispatched you for backup in raids.

His first impression? You looked like a professional. Your combat-ready outfit was practical, and the long coat draped over it hinted at versatility, allowing freedom of movement. There was no visible armor, but the way you held yourself, with your hair styled elegantly yet suitable for combat, spoke volumes. Even with the mask obscuring part of your face, Jinho sensed you were what most would consider a subtle beauty.

"(Name) will be joining our raids from now on," Jinwoo stated matter-of-factly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world..

Wait, what?

His Hyung, who had always preferred to raid solo, was now bringing someone along—and acting like it was a routine occurrence?!

Did you and his Hyung perhaps—

Before Jinho could finish the thought, you ruffled his hair fondly, startling him with the unexpected strength behind your gesture.

“Don’t think too hard about it, Child.”

“Ah, uh, yes! I mean, no! I mean…” Jinho stumbled over his words, clearly flustered.

You chuckled softly, your demeanor warm.

That was how the day began.

Jinho spent most of the raid gawking as you and Jinwoo seamlessly coordinated your attacks. He watched in awe as you effortlessly took down enemies alongside Jinwoo. More impressive was how naturally Jinwoo seemed to work with you, almost as if the two of you had been doing this for years. It was like watching a finely tuned machine in action, with both parts working perfectly in sync.

For a moment, he felt a little lost. What was he supposed to do when his hyung and you didn’t seem to need backup?

Then, as if sensing his uncertainty, you approached him. “Hey, Jinho? Thank you. Jinwoo might not say it out loud, but I’m sure he appreciates your company all this time.”

Jinho perked up at your words, feeling a surge of pride, only to become flustered when he heard you giggle. You were trying to be discreet, but it was clear you found his reaction amusing.

Another time, during another raid, you commented on Jinho’s armor—more out of thoughtfulness than criticism. “That’s some expensive armor you’ve got there,” you remarked, noticing his attire.

Jinho, eager to explain, mentioned the high-end gear he had bought back when he first started working with Jinwoo. His hyung had thought it was excessive, but Jinho wanted to be prepared.

You hummed thoughtfully. “It won’t hurt to be a bit more prepared,” you said, and before he knew it, you pulled something out of thin air—a small, unassuming butterfly brooch.

Jinho’s eyes widened. How did you do that? He had never seen anything quite like it. You pinned the brooch to his clothes with a graceful motion. “It’s imbued with some spatial magic,” you explained. “Try clicking it three times.”

Curious, Jinho did as you said., and his eyes lit up as his expensive armir were replaced by a sleek, high-quality combat suit. The fabric was sturdy yet comfortable, allowing for easy movement. He marveled at how perfect it felt.

“How… how did you do that?” Jinho marveled at the suit, admiring its design and function.

You bring a finger to your lips.

“Don’t worry. Your current wear was just switched out, it’s in there if you want to switch again.”

Before he could offer to pay you back, you raised a hand to stop him. "Just take it as a thank you, for always accompanying Jinwoo. If that’s not enough, consider it an advance payment for your continued help in the future."

From that day on, Jinho started calling you Noona. He couldn’t help it—you had earned his respect and admiration. Plus, you always looked out for him, even when it wasn’t necessary. You had a way of making him feel important, part of the team, even though he knew you and Jinwoo were leagues ahead.

You weren’t just cool. To Jinho, you were someone he could look up to.

Even Jinwoo seemed to tolerate it, though you noticed a slight twitch in his expression whenever Jinho said it, making you suspect that Jinwoo wasn’t as indifferent as he let on.

---

"Woah, who's that?" "She looks so cool..."

You could hear the whispers as you removed your helmet after parking your motorcycle in the parking lot. The students stared, intrigued by the mysterious figure you cut against the backdrop of their daily lives. Your eyes, however, were trained solely on the building in front of you.

It wouldn’t hurt to be a bit more prepared, you reminded yourself, as you often did.

---

Inside the school, Jinwoo didn’t expect to run into you. He had come for Jinah’s parent-teacher meeting, but here you were, in a place that seemed far from your usual.

You spotted him almost immediately.

“What are you doing here?”

"Straightforward as always. I'm here on personal business," you said, offering a brief, cryptic smile.

He raised an eyebrow, the suspicion clear in his eyes. “Personal business? At this high school?”

Before he could question you further, Jinah’s voice broke through the conversation. “Oppa!” she called out, jogging toward them. Jinwoo sighed, shifting his attention to his sister. You, meanwhile, stood a little off to the side, watching the sibling banter unfold with an amused glint in your eyes.

Jinah quickly noticed you standing there, and her eyes lit up with recognition. “Wait—are you the cool unnie my friends keep talking about?!” she asked, her voice filled with excitement. "They said you visited the school a few times!"

You smiled warmly at her. "That might be me," you said, not denying it. “I’m (Name),” you said, offering your hand to Jinah. “Nice to meet you.”

Jinah took your hand eagerly, her curiosity piqued, but you didn’t linger. “I’ve got some things to take care of, so I’ll leave you two to your meeting,” you said, with a nod to both siblings before walking off toward the administrative wing.

Jinah turned to Jinwoo with wide eyes. “Do you know her, Oppa?”

Jinwoo only nodded, his gaze following you until you disappeared around a corner. His instincts told him there was more to your presence here than you were letting on.

---

Later, as Jinwoo sat in the meeting room speaking with Jinah’s teacher, your name came up again—though this time in a different context.

“Miss (Name)?” the teacher asked, recognizing the confusion on Jinwoo’s face. "She’s one of the school’s key investors. A remarkable woman. She funds a portion of the scholarship program for students with financial difficulties. She was here today to inspect how the program was progressing.”

Jinwoo raised an eyebrow at the revelation. He certainly didn’t expect to hear that you were involved in something like that. He had always sensed that you were up to more than you let on, but this? He didn’t imagine you were the philanthropic type—

Okay, he had been on the receiving end of that exact action for the past few years, but still!

After the meeting, at the teacher’s request, Jinwoo briefly met with Han Song-Yi. After they talked, Jinwoo felt a sudden shift in the air. A butterfly—one of yours—fluttered into the room and landed on his shoulder. It was your usual method of contacting him without drawing attention, and he had come to expect it.

---

Jinwoo followed the butterfly, and soon enough, he found you waiting just outside the school, leaning casually against the establishment’s wall, your arms crossed. The street empty.

“I heard from Song-Yi that you're planning to take her into a dungeon soon.”

"Since when have you been in contact with Han Song-Yi?" he said, getting straight to the point.

You didn’t flinch under his scrutiny. “She’s got potential,” you answered casually. “She reminds me of someone… so I decided to lend a hand.”

Jinwoo’s suspicion deepened. “You’ve been helping her?”

“I’ve been making sure she has the opportunities she deserves. Just as I’m helping others.”

Before he could react, you handed him an impressive stack of homemade meals, each one neatly packed for travel. "These are imbued with magic, of course," you said casually, as though giving enchanted meals was the most normal thing in the world.

"...Isn't this too much?" Jinwoo asked, looking between you and the stack of containers.

You scoffed lightly, almost rolling your eyes. “You never know what might happen. Besides, it’s for your other raid members too." For a moment, you could’ve sworn you saw his expression twitch, but it was gone as quickly as it came. Was he annoyed? Amused? It was hard to tell with Jinwoo sometimes. "You can store them in your system’s inventory. I see no problem."

As if that wasn’t enough, you produced a small pouch filled with shimmering stones. "And here. Mana gems, made by me. Break them if you’re low on mana. Otherwise, they’re versatile—use them however you see fit."

Jinwoo stared at the gems for a moment, before closing his hand around them. “You’re not coming?”

"No. Not this time."

There was a brief silence as your words hung in the air. Before he could respond, you gave a slight wave, already turning to leave.

“Have a safe journey, Jinwoo,” you said softly over your shoulder, disappearing into a flurry of butterflies before he could say anything more.

Jinwoo stood there for a moment, watching the last flutter of your butterfly vanish into the distance.

---

You stood at the edge of the red gate with <Illusory> activated, arms crossed as you stared at the shimmering barrier before you. The system’s all too familiar message blinked in your vision, barring you from entering.

[Access Denied, Trial Player.]

Figures.

You had expected this. The system had been unpredictable at times, but this was one of the moments you knew too well—it wouldn’t let you intervene directly when it came to certain pivotal moments in the story, like this red gate.

“Well,” you muttered to yourself, “that’s why I prepared those meals and mana gems.”

You could only hope they would be enough to make a difference, lightening the load on Jinwoo’s shoulders while he navigated the dangers inside. He’d grow stronger through this trial, but you didn’t like the idea of just standing on the sidelines.

---

Inside the red gate, Han Song-Yi took a bite of the meal you had sent through Jinwoo, her eyes widening in amazement. “Oppa, this is amazing!” she exclaimed between mouthfuls. “I’ve never tasted anything like it!”

The rest of the party, seated around their small campsite, were similarly engrossed in their meals. It wasn’t just the taste that astonished them—it was the feeling of being energized, as if the food itself was somehow infused with power.

For a moment, they all forgot they were stuck in a deadly red gate, too busy enjoying the brief reprieve you had provided.

Meanwhile, Jinwoo sat on the outskirts of the camp, watching his shadow soldiers march silently in the distance. He had been taking the opportunity to level up while they hunkered down in a safe area. The enemies within the red gate were tougher, as expected, but that was precisely what he needed to test the maximum potential of his shadows.

It wasn’t long before he had acquired new soldiers to add to his ever-growing army.

As he observed his surroundings, Jinwoo’s gaze landed on the mana gems you had given him. They had proven more versatile than he initially thought. holding them for a few moments seemed to give him a temporary stat boost. The warmth that radiated from the gems was also useful, especially given the freezing environment inside the red gate.

The most surprising discovery, however, was that the gems could recharge themselves. Even after they had grown cold, they would warm up again in an hour or two, ready to be used once more. Jinwoo eyed at the small, glowing stone between his fingers, his thoughts drifting back to you.

How does she do it? Jinwoo wondered, turning the gem over in his hand. It glowed faintly with residual energy, pulsing slightly as if alive. The craftsmanship was unlike anything he had seen before.

Jinwoo pocketed the gem. There was always a sense of assurance that comes with you. The meals and gems you had provided, along with his newly strengthened soldiers, he knew they stood a better chance at survival.

With each passing moment, the line between curiosity and fascination grew thinner.

---

You knew how things would unfold, like in the story you once knew. Still—

Stay strong, Jinwoo, you thought, turning away from the gate. You had done everything you could from the outside. Now, it was up to him.

---

In the heat of the battle with Baruka and his army of ice elves, Jinwoo instinctively crushed one of your mana gems, expecting the usual mana regeneration to help keep his shadow soldiers going. What emerged, however, wasn't just an influx of replenishing energy but dozens of your familiar butterflies.

They swarmed out with a grace Jinwoo had grown accustomed to. While he focused on defeating Baruka, the butterflies spread through the battlefield, weaving between the ice elves. Some of them fluttered around the elves, casting illusions that confused their enemies, while others began draining life force, transferring that energy to Jinwoo's shadow soldiers, all while simultaneously regenerating Jinwoo's mana. It was an unexpected but welcome bonus.

Then something else that happened: a few butterflies, glowing faintly and without hesitation, imbued themselves directly into his daggers. The familiar system notification popped up.

[System Notice: Trial Player’s summons have used <Indwelling>. Your weapon has been enhanced.]

The magic now coating his weapons shimmered, adapting to the weaknesses of the enemies Jinwoo faced. The attack stats of his daggers surged, responding fluidly to the situation at hand. With each strike, the butterflies seemed to anticipate Jinwoo’s movements, boosting his strength at just the right moments.

The thrill of battle coursed through his veins even more intensely than before.

---

After Baruka’s defeat, Jinwoo tried to extract the ice elf’s shadow. To his irritation, the extraction failed, leaving him frustrated. But something else quickly caught his attention.

He noticed the butterflies again—fluttering around his shadow soldiers. The red one, always lingering near Igris, hovered quietly. But Jinwoo’s eyes were drawn to two new butterflies: one settled on the newest addition to his soldiers’ nose, making the large shadow blink in confusion, while another perched on the biggest shadow ice bear’s ear, which twitched periodically in response. It was subtle, but these butterflies seemed different, more distinct somehow.

If I can't extract Baruka's shadow, Jinwoo thought, can I at least make use of his remains?

His musings were suddenly interrupted by a voice that wasn’t his own.

“We can make a mana reservoir of his left-over life force, for future use, Sire.”

Jinwoo immediately stood on alert, scanning for the source of the voice. Was there another enemy nearby?

“At ease, Sire. We’re under orders from our Mistress to assist you.”

The realization hit Jinwoo like a tidal wave. Slowly, he turned his gaze to the red butterfly, now fluttering in front of him, its delicate wings moving calmly, as though it were the leader of the swarm.

Did... did your butterflies just...?

“Correct, Sire. We can communicate with you using the sub-skill: <Sensory Illusion>.”

The red butterfly drifted closer to Jinwoo, its shimmering wings catching the light of the dungeon. Even Igris seemed momentarily shocked by the sudden speech coming from one of the familiars, his shadowy form tense.

The red butterfly hovered in front of Jinwoo, as though bowing slightly before him. It spoke again, this time with more clarity, its tone eerily reminiscent of you. "Let us confirm, Sire. Would you like us to make a condensed reservoir of the enemy’s remains?"

It paused for a brief moment, as if allowing Jinwoo to process the information. Then it added, “With Our Lady’s current skills, she can surely make something of it that will be helpful to you in some way.”

Jinwoo's eyes narrowed slightly. This butterfly was sly—cunning, even. He smirked slightly. Even your summons had your subtle charm.

"Do it."

The butterfly bobbed once, almost like a respectful bow, before flitting away to relay the message to the rest of the swarm. Jinwoo watched as they began their work, weaving magic that siphoned the residual energy from Baruka's remains.

Once again, you had surprised him, even in your absence.

End Note:

Unedited Draft of [020/10/2024] -

[3amcowgirl]

Today I present two couples that would literally destroy the world for each other. (Side note: this was a post in my drafts before the bitch was anchored. I still stand what I said about the Briarwood)

The way Imogen would murder anyone who even thinks about touching or hurting Laudna. The way she loves that woman with every inch in her body. The way Laudna would literally murder (her words) any one if anything happened to Imogen. The way they look at each other. You can see the love. Imogen hurts so much when Laudna has to deal with Delilah. They make me so sad when I think about how much they love each other, and had to deal with Delilah Briarwoods bitch ass completely taking over.

Speaking of Delilah Briarwood…

The way that women will stop at nothing to get Sylas back. Like she literally gave up her soul to bring Sylas back from the dead. The way they both continuously went after Vox Machina to bring each other back. Like CONTINUOUSLY going after them. Sylas literally threw Percy and Vex off of a cliff to retaliate against them for killing Delilah. Now Delilah is in Laudna and her goal is to bring back Sylas, no matter what it takes.

[graveyardmouth]

incest plotlines obviously written by only children r so funny. i make my brother leave the room if he makes a single noise i dislike. if he tried to fuck i would kill him and then myself

[aroaceleovaldez]

very specific opinion i have:

I don’t think the Lotus Hotel & Casino should automatically acclimate its inhabitants to the modern time period, because the entire point of the hotel is that it’s trying to keep people there and they will never leave, so the ideal scenario is to prevent them from experiencing the passage of time. The best way to do that would be to keep things changing as little as possible from the guests’ perspectives, and convince them they’ve spent less time there than they thought.

Even though the guests are canonically in a sort of daze, Percy specifically notes that time felt extremely distorted in the hotel, not just in the sense of “we were here for what felt like hours but outside the hotel it was a week,” but in more of a “It only feels like we’ve been here like half an hour, but i guess it might have actually been a couple hours or so- oh, a week has passed outside.”

I like to imagine the hotel is actually pretty labyrinthine when you start getting into it, and the deeper you go the older the sections of the hotel start becoming, so you get these really eerie effects when traveling through it. Especially since the hotel would theoretically shift with the other mythological locations, so if you go back far enough the hotel probably starts getting really weird, because also it’s just kind of infinite inside. People have definitely gotten lost in the depths of the hotel forever, outside of the whole never leaving the hotel thing. The di Angelo siblings might have been slightly extra resistant to the daze effect though and so were able to travel further outside their designated era wing than they normally would and start noticing that there was Something Really Weird Going On. But it still probably would have taken them awhile.

[rockpaperscissuhs]

HISPANIC HERITAGE MONTH + BAND OF BROTHERS:

JOSEPH "JOE" RAMIREZ

Born October 5th, 1921, in Nebraska

Died April 8th, 1988 (age 66), in Martinez, California

Joe Ramirez enlisted in September 1942 (age 20) in San Francisco, CA, and he trained with Easy Company at Toccoa. Holding the rank of Private, he served in Normandy, Holland, and Bastogne. He was hospitalized in January 1945, and discharged in July 1945. After the war, he was married for many years, and had children and grandchildren. When he passed away he was buried with his wife, who had passed away 11 years earlier. Further information about him is scarce, but the brief character profile in the Band of Brothers series bible describes him as Mexican-American, and his personality as "sensitive and nervous."

Appears in Episodes 1, 3-8, and 10; portrayed by actor Rene L. Moreno

Sources below

A million thanks to @bleedingcoffee42 for tracking down this info for me!

[twilight-zoned-out]

I get that the main reason the Crows were put into Shadow and Bone was for fan service but that butterfly scene felt like it came straight from a fanfiction

[bonefall]

maybe with the ending.. make it be like the link between Breezepelt's leaving to join Kin and his POV in AVOS? of course from Nightcloud's perspective but

like. she would be injured and recovering away from the clan. but they would be unaware that she is alive and like in canon assume she died and hold her a vigil. Breezepelt, who is already at low point, taking it very badly - yes he was pushing her away bc he was hurt and angry and started taking it out on her, but.. it's still his mom. his Mi. and she is dead? or is this stupid clan just going to believe this to make it easier? are they really giving up on looking for her, or her body??

i can see Nightcloud being the one of very few, if not THE Only one, things that kept Breezepelt in WindClan at this point. and without her, what's the point? it's not like anyone else likes him. the link is gone and they buried it in a bodyless vigil. so it's what pushes him to actuall take the step and leave.

not sure how well it would align with the timeline and events. and how soon Darktail was assembling cats from other clans like Breeze. but i think it would be interesting and heartbreaking if at the end of her SE, Nightcloud just arrived back to WindClan and asks where Breezepelt is and someone tells her.. he either was missing since this morning or just left the clan earlier the same day. like, just have them miss each other by a hair.

I'm thinking that the second-to-last chapter is her with Pickle, having a bit of a sabbatical to unpack everything that happens through the story. Mostly because I want to throw her into some kind of pretty garden as a nice setting for this lmaoo

A LOT of BB stuff is being added to Nightcloud's Pannage that wasn't in the main series; Hillrunner's abuse, her mentor Addersong, several expanded little background characters now complete with their own side conflicts. I think what I can bind all these things with is Nightcloud considering what a Clan means.

Because of her new reputation, I'm noticing I'm writing scenes where she's intentionally doing and saying things to try and sway them. While also grappling with her resentment towards them, and things she can't change.

There's a bit of a melancholy air so far, so I'm starting to feel like the best ending is just having a bit of space to herself to think. Ultimately, she decides that it's more than Breezepelt or Crowfeather that binds her to WindClan. It's the life and connections she COULD have.

WindClan cats are also quite religious next to other Clans, so I really do mean "sabbatical." I'm going to have Addersong die of old age shortly after they reconnect, so she's in Pickle's Garden talking to her new friend, choosing cats she's lost to pray to as patron spirits to give her the traits she feels she needs, and just recovering both physically from injury and spiritually from turmoil.

So all that to say; it works well that by the time she gets back, Breezepelt has joined The Kin. He was one of the first to join when he started calling for members anyway, so having Night be gone for about two or three weeks sounds appropriate.

[atrophiedemotion]

i apologize in advance for the man i will become if till dies in round 7 because i just know i’ll be inconsolable. i will not be coming back from that i stg

like ofc i was devastated by ivan’s death but i couldn’t really be surprised when he’s narratively a walking death flag. till, on the other hand, is a character who shows so much promise for development and growth (especially because he wasn’t exactly as firmly dead set/sure as ivan and sua in his plans).

i just need to see him cope with survival’s guilt and the relief of knowing mizi is alive and i need him to know there’s a resistance and that there’s a life beyond the aliens he needs this okay i need this for him

[silverwhittlingknife]

How do you feel about Jack Drake?? What are your thoughts on him and Tim’s relationship?

Anon, I hope you were interested in a novel, because look, I am fascinated by Jack Drake.  He’s key to a whole lot of what I find compelling about Tim as a character, and if I were in charge of DC, I’d bring him back to life.  This would make Tim unhappy but would IMO make for good plotlines.

Jack and Tim’s relationship is Complicated (TM)...

Jack and Tim hug in Nightwing 20 / Jack impulsively yanks a TV out of the wall in Robin 45 / Tim grieves in Identity Crisis

“I could tell the truth.  But I don’t.” - Robin 66

...and it involves a whole lot of Tim lying, and feeling guilty about lying, and thinking about telling the truth, and choosing again and again to keep lying.

And I think that’s great.

Below the cut:

Shorter version - key points about Jack

Really long version - my gentler take (vigilantism is choir and Jack loves sports) vs. my harsher take (Jack has some major flaws)

Final thoughts

Shorter version - key points about Jack:

He’s a bad parent.  He’s self-centered, he consistently prioritizes his own comfort and interests over his son’s, and when upset, he does things like order Tim off to boarding school.

But he’s never a bad parent in an actionable way.  He’s not like David Cain or Arthur Brown, who are abusive monsters.  Jack’s not a monster!  He just...kinda sucks.

He genuinely loves Tim. If Jack’s aware that Tim’s disappeared or is in trouble, he’s always worried and upset.  He periodically resolves to be a better dad, and IMO he’s always sincere.

And Tim loves him, a lot.  Tim’s protective of him and worries about him when he’s kidnapped or in danger, and when they’re reunited, Tim’s really relieved and usually hugs him (and Jack hugs back!). 

...But they have very little in common, and that’s a problem. Jack doesn’t value the things that Tim values, or respect the people that Tim admires, or care about the things that Tim’s interested in.  Tim lies to him a lot, but that’s partly because he correctly guesses Jack wouldn’t respond well if he knew the truth of what Tim’s up to.

The Batfamily is a surrogate family that Tim’s drawn to because of the ways his real family doesn’t meet his emotional needs…but also he feels guilty about that and disloyal. (And to the extent that his dad recognizes what’s going on, he's jealous and resentful!)

Very long version:

(LISTEN I HAVE SO MANY THOUGHTS ABOUT THIS)

Okay!  So first: Jack’s a character who IMO is pretty up for interpretation.  You can interpret him very charitably, and make excuses for the bad behavior, and fill in the blanks sympathetically when situations are ambiguous; or you can interpret him uncharitably, and emphasize the bad behavior. I don’t think either approach is invalid - it depends on what kind of story you’re interested in!  I have enjoyed Bad Dad stories and also stories that redeem Jack.

My personal take on canon is that Jack and Tim’s relationship is in a gray area.  Jack's definitely neglectful, and he does prioritize other things over Tim, but he’s never so bad that Tim can easily reject him, and he's never so bad that Bruce could justify taking Tim away.  He's just...not great.  Tim loves him, and feels loyal to him, but it’s a very mixed-up complicated love.

I have a gentler take and a harsher one which I switch between as the spirit moves me. xD

My Gentler Take (tl;dr: vigilantism is choir and Jack loves sports)

Here’s the core conflict: Jack and Tim are very different people with different values.  Tim idolizes Bruce and Dick and vigilantism, and secretly gets involved, knowing his dad will hate it. He gets increasingly wrapped up in his secret world and lies to his dad...because if his dad finds out, he’ll make Tim quit.

This is a great setup for an ongoing comic.  It’s practical, because it provides endless potential for plotlines, and it’s nicely thematic, because it maps closely onto relatable real-life situations with extracurricular activities:

Tim the drama nerd whose dad thinks he’s playing football and not in the school play; 

Tim the closeted-queer kid secretly getting involved in his school’s politically-active Gay-Straight Alliance; 

Tim the choir kid whose dad only values making money and wants him to go into the family business (and Tim keeps promising himself he'll give up choir soon, definitely soon, but maybe he'll stay in just a liiiittle longer, because they need him, you see, the last tenor left town, so...); 

Tim the computer geek with the sports-obsessed dad (this one’s just canon);

etc. etc.  

The extracurricular metaphor works pretty well for Tim’s relationship to vigilantism.  Tim's involved in his "extracurricular" because he genuinely thinks it's important and fulfilling, and he values it and wants to be good at it. He idolizes Bruce and Dick because they're good at it. He's been collecting information about it since he was a little kid, and hiding it from his parents because he knows they wouldn't approve. And mayyyybe there's also an element of low-key rebellion against his dad, and maybe that's secretly part of the appeal. And yet also as Tim gets more and more invested, he starts to daydream: maybe I could tell my dad and he'd be proud of me and supportive. But he doesn't, because actually he knows his dad would be upset and angry and make him quit.

And - again, just like with lonely kids and extracurricular hobbies - one of the things that happens is that Tim starts getting his unfilled emotional needs met ... by people he knows through this secret hobby. And people like Bruce and Dick start turning into a surrogate family. Which Tim feels guilty about. And also as Tim gets more and more wrapped up in their world, he has to lie to his dad even more, which means the distance between Tim and his dad gets bigger and bigger and more and more unfixable.

I love this dilemma. It's simple, it's recognizable, it provides endless sources for conflict, and there's no obvious solution! Tim can't tell Jack: he'll make Tim quit! And Tim doesn't want to quit, because he loves choir / art / theater / whatever.  Yeah, it’s difficult, and there are challenges, and sometimes he has doubts...but at the end of the day, he cares about it a lot.  And everything he values is there, and all the people he admires and cares about are there, and all he wants in the world is to feel like he's one of them and belongs there. So he has to lie, even though he doesn't want to lie, and he feels guilty about it...

...but also he ends up lying more and more.

(Sidenote: I think it's important that Tim chooses to keep lying - Tim's narration often glosses this as "I have to lie to my dad," and that's certainly how it feels to Tim, but this... isn't quite true. He has to lie to his dad, because if he doesn't, his dad will get mad at him and try to stop him, not because he literally has no choice about it.)

Other Reasons Why I Like The "Secret Extracurricular" Interpretation

(tl;dr it complicates not just Tim's relationship with his dad, but also all his other relationships)

Tim's problems have some obvious parallels to Steph and Cass, who both become vigilantes while rejecting their evil supervillain dads. But Jack isn't evil. And that means the Tim-and-Jack relationship is ambiguous and complicated in ways that I like. Steph and Cass can just leave their Bad Dads in prison, and say good riddance, and feel very righteous and triumphant about it! Tim’s more complicated. Tim gets into vigilantism ostensibly out of duty and altruism, but secretly, he's also involved for straight-up selfish self-fulfillment reasons. He's lonely, and bored, and his life feels pointless, but he thinks that Bruce and Dick are cool and amazing and he wants to be a part of the things that they do.  When his dad gets jealous of Tim’s relationship to Bruce, and feels like Tim’s looking for a surrogate family, he’s... not wrong.

And the ways in which Jack is not Actionably Bad complicate things from Bruce's POV.  If Jack was a straight-up villain, it’d be an easy call to keep in touch when Jack finds out and makes Tim quit...but he’s not a villain, not really.  So what do you do?  Do you try to surreptitiously stay in touch with Tim even though you’re ignoring his dad’s express wishes and thus forcing Tim to sneak around?  Do you respect his dad’s wishes and stay away from Tim even though you have a years-long relationship at this point?  

Again: a bit similar to the extracurricular analogy.  Say you’re the choir director and you’ve built this whole relationship with a kid in the choir, and you’re an important mentor to him and you care about him etc. etc. etc.... and then right before a big performance, his dad finds out he’s been secretly involved, and yanks him out.  How would you react?  Well, maybe kind of in some of the ways Bruce reacts.  You replace him. You’re annoyed with him. You miss him. You want him to come back. You’re also worried about him.  You’re upset with his dad.  But also... what should you do, exactly?

Bruce and Alfred and Dick care about Tim as if he were part of their family, but he’s not part of their family, and there’s a lot of interesting tension there.

My Harsher Take

Jack never hits his son.  But his temper is a big deal.

In his worst moments, he takes out his anger on Tim’s stuff - wrecking his room, or ripping his TV out of the wall and confiscating it.  When he’s worried about Tim, he usually expresses that fear by yelling at him / punishing him / sending him away - threatening to send him to boarding school in Metropolis in Robin III, or threatening to send him to military school abroad in Robin 92, or actually forcing him to go to an all-boys' boarding school post-NML.  

This is bad behavior!  It is Not Good!  

And you can easily connect the dots to a bunch of Tim’s terrible coping mechanisms, like the constant lying and or the fact that Tim’s go-to methods for dealing with interpersonal conflict are 1) repress it and pretend it never happened (most of his fights with Bruce), 2) withdraw from the relationship until he can pretend the conflict doesn’t exist (when his friends get mad at him in YJ, he quits the team for a while), or 3) literally run away from home.

Also, Jack is a Manly Man with firm opinions about how men behave vs. how women behave, and he thinks boys shouldn’t be scared and thinks Tim should date hot girls and pushes Tim to work out and wants him to play football and expresses period-typical sexism, etc. etc. etc. ... and though obviously this wasn’t what the writers had in mind at the time, all of that is certainly interesting to read backwards in the light of Tim as a queer character.

More Disorganized Thoughts on Jack Drake

Tim’s our hero, so we’re naturally more sympathetic to him, but it’s also true that relationships are a two-way street, and Tim doesn’t value any of the things his dad values, either.  Jack at various points is shown to care about grades, business, money, boarding schools, archeology, football, a kind of macho bragging-about-dating-hot-women ethos, and a very public and performative kind of caring. Tim tends to respond with discomfort or disinterest or even disgust.  When Jack gets on TV to try to rally the government to save his son from No Man’s Land, Tim isn’t touched—he’s mortified.  When Jack makes some bad investments and loses money, Jack’s deeply upset and his self-image is majorly impacted, and far from being sympathetic, Tim’s annoyed and kind of contemptuous of the idea that this is a problem.  Jack thinks fishing in the early morning and going to tennis matches is a fun father-son activity; Tim finds it exhausting and tedious.  And so on.

This means that Tim often longs to be closer to his dad in theory, but this longing is more tied to fantasy than to reality. He rarely seems to enjoy spending time with His-Dad-The-Actual-Person.  So for example, when Tim’s deadly ill with the Clench, he has an extremely poignant fever dream about telling his dad the truth and getting hugged…even as he insists in real-life to Alfred and Dick that he does not want them to tell his dad what’s going on.

The same is true of Jack, who IMO genuinely wants to be closer to his son and is continually declaring that he’s going to turn over a new leaf and get closer to his son…and just as continually backs out of activities or loses his temper when faced with spending time with his actual son.

Tim and his dad sadly get along best—by far—in Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder situations.  When Jack gets kidnapped or is in danger, Tim worries for him (and Tim grieves him deeply when he dies).  When Tim disappears or runs away, Jack’s genuinely worried about him.  So e.g. they have a really moving emotional reunion and hug when the earthquake hits Gotham, and Tim panics about his dad’s safety and comes running home (and meanwhile Jack’s been panicked about Tim’s safety!).  It’s the day-to-day, regular life stuff where they don’t connect.

Jack's written quite differently by different writers. Mostly, Tim's parents are at their least likable in his early appearances and early miniseries (this is where you get, for example, Jack and Janet being nasty at each other while a pained employee looks on, and Tim disappointed to once again get news of where his parents are via postcard - "I guess that sums them up! Never know where they’re going to be–or when–or even how long!” - and Tim alone on school break, and Bruce and Alfred thinking there's something weird going on with Tim's parents, etc. etc.). Jack's more sympathetic but still often unlikable in most of Tim's Robin solo, and he's almost invisible (but positively treated if he does show up) in Tim's team books.

For obvious reasons, Jack's remembered way more sympathetically after his death. Tim's completely devastated by Jack's murder, which he arrives moments too late to prevent, and he basically never gets over it. We see him grieving Jack again and again in Robin, and also in Teen Titans, and also in Resurrection, and again in the Halloween Special, and again in Batman: Blackest Night, and all the way up to the end of Red Robin. Tim also grieves for an extended time over Janet - he hallucinates a happy reunion with her when he's feverish in Contagion, and hallucinates her in the final issue of Robin, and the reveal-your-buried-emotions song in Robin 102 brings up his grief for her too (meanwhile, other characters dance or laugh or otherwise get giddy).  Tim’s grief over his parents’ deaths is intense and long-lasting.

I'm not going to clip comic panels because this is long enough, but if you're curious, here's a nice and fairly lengthy compilation of comic panels with Tim and Jack.

If you're interested in a Jack-centric story with a softer-but-still-recognizably-canon take on Jack, I really like the way Jack’s narration is written in the one-shots Heart Humble (set shortly before Jack dies) and Never a Hero (Ra's resurrects him during Brucequest, and Jack's archeology skills turn out to be unexpectedly useful).

[silkjade]

i wish i were more versed in topics of music and music theory because i’d love to be able to delve into the semantics as to Why a certain song fits into my selfship !