ARSENY

[arsenysworld]

Well, this is the end of episode The Boys finale! Not the best ending I hoped , but it’s good I guess.

Kinda disappointed actually

@6rookie-writer0110 @jacenradio7 @fandomnerd9602 @viilovers @multi-fandom-enjoyer @marveldcfandom what about you guys did you watch it?

[arsenysworld]

Summer Shacks!

Wendy Corduroy x male reader

Y/N had never been the kind of guy who got the girl.

Back home in the city, he was the quiet kid in the back of the classroom with his nose buried in comics, building elaborate Minecraft redstone contraptions at 3 a.m., and ranking every horror movie ever made on a 47-page spreadsheet. Girls at school either ignored him or laughed when he tried to talk to them. “You such a sweet guy but…,” they’d say. “But, like… too nice? And kind of weird.”

So when his cousins Dipper and Mabel dragged him to Gravity Falls for the summer, Y/N expected more of the same: hiding behind books, helping Dipper with his mystery hunts, and trying not to die of embarrassment whenever Mabel tried to set him up with someone.

He did not expect to end up dating Wendy Corduroy.

It started innocently enough. He’d been at the Mystery Shack helping Soos with inventory when Wendy walked in, axe slung over her shoulder like it was a backpack, flannel shirt tied around her waist, and that effortless cool smile that made Y/N’s brain short-circuit.

She’d looked at him, raised an eyebrow, and said, “New guy? You look like you’ve never seen a real tree before.”

Y/N had stammered something about urban forestry statistics. Wendy had laughed — not at him, but with him — and somehow that turned into late-night talks on the roof of the Shack, sharing headphones while she showed him her favorite (terrible) horror movies and he explained why the plot holes were “structurally fascinating.”

One month ago, on a random Tuesday night under a sky full of stars, Wendy had looked at him and said, “You know, you’re kinda cute when you’re nerding out. Wanna make this official?”

Y/N had stared at her for five full seconds, convinced it was a dream.

It wasn’t.

Now, one month into the best summer of his life, Y/N still sometimes pinched himself.

The sun was setting behind the trees, painting the Mystery Shack in warm oranges and pinks. Y/N and Wendy sat on the old wooden porch steps outside, sharing a couple of cold cola cans from the Shack’s fridge. The air smelled like pine, dust, and the faint sweetness of Mabel’s latest glitter experiment blowing in from the gift shop window.

Y/N was mid-rant, gesturing wildly with his cola can.

“—and don’t even get me started on Zombies vs. Vampires 3: Blood Moon Over Miami. The practical effects looked like they were made by a drunk raccoon! The continuity errors alone could fill an entire notebook. Who thought it was a good idea to have the vampire protagonist sparkle in direct sunlight after they established in the first movie that—”

Wendy burst out laughing, nearly spitting out her cola. “Dude! That movie was garbage. The only good part was when the zombie king did the worm on the dance floor.”

Y/N grinned, cheeks pink. “Right? Iconic. Terrible, but iconic.”

They’d been doing this for the past hour — ranking the worst horror movies they’d ever watched. It was one of Y/N’s favorite things about dating Wendy. She didn’t just tolerate his rants; she joined in, adding her own dry, deadpan commentary that always made him laugh until his sides hurt.

Wendy leaned back on her elbows, long red hair spilling over her shoulders. “Your turn. Worst practical effect in any movie. Go.”

Y/N thought for a second. “The shark in that 90s Jaws rip-off. It looked like a pool float with teeth glued on.”

Wendy snorted. “Solid choice. I still say the killer snowman in Frostbite Massacre takes the cake. That thing had googly eyes.”

Y/N laughed so hard he almost dropped his cola. “Googly eyes! I forgot about the googly eyes!”

This was perfect. No supervillains, no apocalyptic threats, no weird Gravity Falls monsters trying to eat them (well, not tonight anyway). Just him, Wendy, bad movies, and the warm summer evening.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He ignored it. Nothing could ruin this moment.

Then Wendy’s phone buzzed.

She pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and her expression immediately soured. “Ugh. Robbie.”

Y/N’s stomach did a little flip. Robbie Valentino — Wendy’s ex. The wannabe rockstar with the terrible band and even worse attitude. Wendy had broken up with him months before Y/N arrived in town, but Robbie apparently hadn’t gotten the memo.

Wendy read the message out loud in a mocking, whiny voice:
“Wendy I miss you please come back to me blah blah blah I can change I swear blah blah yada yada! And look at this sending me crying emoji! Like a cry baby. Ugh!”

She rolled her eyes so hard Y/N was surprised they didn’t get stuck. “This guy. We broke up like months ago. I told him it was over. I even blocked him twice. He just keeps making new accounts.”

Y/N shifted uncomfortably, suddenly very aware of how uncool he probably looked compared to Robbie’s edgy “musician” vibe. “Uh… do you… miss him? At all?”

The question slipped out before he could stop it. Stupid. Awkward. Classic Y/N.

Wendy turned to him slowly, one eyebrow raised in pure confusion. “Miss him? Why the heck would I miss him when I’ve got you?”

Y/N blinked. “I mean… he’s all cool and plays guitar and stuff and I’m just… me. Comics and video games and overanalyzing horror movie plots guy.”

Wendy stared at him for a second, then burst out laughing. She set her cola down, scooted closer, and flicked his forehead gently.

“You’re an idiot. A cute idiot, but still an idiot.” She leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Robbie was a selfish jerk who only cared about looking cool. You actually listen when I talk. You make me laugh. You’re smart and kind and you don’t pretend to be someone you’re not. That’s way cooler than some guy who writes bad songs about how deep he is.”

Y/N’s face turned bright red. “Oh. Cool. Good. Yeah. That’s… good.”

Wendy smirked. “Smooth recovery, nerd.”

She stood up, stretching. “I’m gonna grab more cola. You want anything?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

She ruffled his hair as she passed. “Don’t overthink it while I’m gone, okay?”

“Too late,” Y/N muttered, but he was smiling.

He sat alone on the steps, sipping his cola and replaying her words in his head. You’re way cooler than Robbie. Him. The guy who once spent an entire weekend ranking every Star Wars EU novel. Wendy Corduroy thought he was cool.

Life was weird sometimes.

Footsteps crunched on the gravel path leading from the trees. Y/N looked up, expecting Wendy or maybe Soos.

It was Robbie.

The older teen had clearly been crying — red eyes, messy hair, guitar case slung over his shoulder like a security blanket. When he saw Y/N sitting there, his expression twisted from sadness to pure anger.

“You,” Robbie spat, voice thick. “This is all your fault.”

Y/N stood up slowly, heart hammering. “Uh… hi? What are you doing here?”

Robbie stomped closer, tears still leaking from his eyes. “You stole her! I heard everything. You and your stupid nerd things talking about how much better you are. Wendy was mine until you and stupid cousins showed up in this dumb town and you stole from me! Wendy! My girlfriend is everything to me until you came and brainwashed her!”

Y/N raised his hands, trying to stay calm. “Whoa, hold on. I didn’t steal anyone. Wendy broke up with you. She told me she did it months ago. She’s with me now because she wants to be.”

Robbie wasn’t listening. He shoved Y/N hard in the chest. Y/N stumbled back and fell straight onto the dirt, cola spilling everywhere.

“Get up!” Robbie yelled, voice cracking. “You think you’re so special? Some loser city boy who thinks smart enough, huh!? Who thinks impress everyone around all of this stupid town, my friends and Wendy! You don’t deserve her!”

Y/N got up, brushing dirt off his pants. His patience — usually endless — was starting to fray. “Robbie, stop. This isn’t going to change anything. Wendy made her choice.”

Robbie shoved him again, harder. “Who do you think you are, telling me what to do? You’re nothing! Just some pathetic nerd who got lucky!”

That was it.

Something inside Y/N snapped. All the years of being pushed around, laughed at, rejected — it boiled over in one clean, surprisingly strong motion.

He clenched his fist and punched Robbie square in the face.

Crack

Robbie stood there for a second, eyes wide with shock, then dropped like a sack of potatoes.

Y/N stared at his fist, then at Robbie’s unconscious form on the ground.

…Whoops.

For the first time in his life, Y/N had stood up for himself. And it felt… kind of awesome. Terrifying, but awesome.

He looked around quickly. No one had seen it. Good.

Panicking slightly, he grabbed Robbie’s arms and dragged the unconscious ex toward the big rusted trash container behind the Shack. With a grunt and a lot of effort, he managed to lift Robbie up and dump him inside.

Robbie landed with a muffled thump, still out cold, looking surprisingly peaceful with a growing bruise on his cheek.

Y/N dusted his hands off, breathing hard. “Well… that happened.”

A voice behind him made him jump out of his skin.

“That heck of a hit, by the way.”

Y/N spun around. Stan stood there, sipping from his mug, looking far too proud for a man who had just watched a teenager get knocked out.

“Grunkle Stan! I— uh— he started it! I didn’t mean to— I can explain—”

Stan waved a hand. “Relax, kid. I saw the whole thing. That punk had it coming. Heard him yelling about. Pathetic.” He took another sip. “Nice right hook, by the way. Proud of you.”

Y/N blinked rapidly. “You’re… not mad?”

“Mad? Kid, I’ve been waiting for someone to shut that whiny guitar boy up for months.” Stan grinned, showing gold teeth. “Now go back to your girlfriend before she wonders where you went. I’ll deal with this fella. Maybe leave him in there for a couple hours. Teach him some humility.”

Y/N nodded nervously, still processing. “Thank you, Grunkle Stan.”

“Eh, no problem. And kid?” Stan winked. “Don’t tell Wendy. She’ll just roll her eyes and call us both idiots.”

Y/N hurried back to the front of the Shack, heart still racing. Wendy was already sitting on the steps again, two fresh cans of cola beside her.

“Where’d you go?” she asked, tossing him one.

Y/N sat down, trying to look casual. “Stan needed help with… something. In the back.”

Wendy narrowed her eyes but didn’t push. “You look weird. Everything okay?”

Y/N took her hand, squeezing it gently. “Yeah. Everything’s great, actually.” He smiled shyly. “Wanna get out of here? Go somewhere quieter? Maybe the lake?”

Wendy’s face softened. She leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

They walked off hand-in-hand, leaving the Mystery Shack, Robbie in the trash, and Stan’s proud chuckle behind them. The summer night was warm, the stars were bright, and for once, everything felt exactly right.

Y/N still couldn’t quite believe he was dating Wendy Corduroy.

But he was starting to get used to it.

And he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

@6rookie-writer0110 @jacenradio7 @herioclizard @viilovers @multi-fandom-enjoyer @fandomnerd9602 @amphibiahawks321

[arsenysworld]

Have you ever seen the comic "Crossed", which was recommended on TikTok? First I watched half of comic, solid blood and violence, I started watching stories, all kinds of nonsense, and then I started looking for this comic on Google. I watched and read, and then I realized that, what the fuck I just watched it?! It's so damn cruel, so damn scary, I didn't even want to watch it to the end. Everything is complete nonsense, there are no words. I've never seen such a comic in my life, even in 2026. It's terrible, worse than "The Boys"! I don't know if you like this comic, but I don't want to watch it. I don't need this fuckin crap, I'm already sick of it. And they also want to make a movie based on this comic. I won't watch it! Fuck that!

@6rookie-writer0110 @jacenradio7 @fandomnerd9602 @viilovers

[arsenysworld]

Hiya i dont know if you accept request or if you do fem reader/ trans female scenes.

Could you make a scene with venom (not eddie) x trans female reader (born male but operated so no cock and a pussy and tits).

Y/N was teleported to universe 12456 (diferrent universe) by the events of spiderman across the spiderverse, the first thing she notice was the villans she fought were different, different styles and how they figth the thing she did notice was venom wasn't her nemesis in this universe but.....they were friends with benefits (fuck buddies).

Maybe start by this:

Y/n swings around the new city, her suit against her body like always as her six sense didn't warn her about the big black monster that has punch her throwing her against a wall.

Y/n grunts as she gets up from the floor, looking up seeing the big black monster "ready for our fun, spidey" -The monster said as his large tongue softly moves side by side as Y/n eyes notice his under part getting harder? And bigger as she suppresed a gasp of suprised

(Maybe include sex with y/n riding his monster cock, on her back, him deep balls inside her, sex carrying her body and maybe cumming deep inside her before he gets his cock out of her and let her rest on top of his dick, literally sitting on it)

Hi, be honest no, not really. I do only male and female readers.

[arsenysworld]

Carnival Chaos! But The Good Kind.

Jessica Jones x male reader

The neon lights of the Brooklyn Carnival blinked like they were trying too hard to be cool. Ferris wheel turning slow against the night sky, the smell of fried dough and popcorn thick in the air, and the distant screams of people on the Tilt-A-Whirl mixing with carnival barkers yelling about giant stuffed animals no one really needed. It was loud, chaotic, and exactly the kind of place Jessica Jones usually avoided like the plague.

But tonight was different.

Tonight was date night.

Y/N had spent three weeks planning this. Three weeks of overthinking, second-guessing, and scribbling notes on napkins at 2 a.m. while Jessica was passed out on his couch after a long day of PI work and too much whiskey. He wanted to impress her. Not with some fancy restaurant where she’d feel out of place in her leather jacket and perpetual scowl. No, he wanted something fun. Something that said “I know you’re tough as nails, but I also know you secretly like stupid shit that makes you smile even if you pretend you don’t.”

So he picked the carnival.

He stood at the entrance now, shifting from foot to foot, hands shoved deep in his pockets. His button-down shirt was a little wrinkled (he’d ironed it twice), and he kept checking his phone like the time would magically change. Jessica was ten minutes late, which for her was basically on time.

When she finally appeared, cutting through the crowd like she owned the place, Y/N’s heart did that stupid flip it always did. Leather jacket, dark jeans, boots that could probably kick through a wall, and that signature resting “fuck off” face that somehow made his knees weak.

“Hey,” he said, voice cracking just a little. He cleared his throat. “You look… great. I mean, you always look great, but tonight especially. Not that you need to try or anything. Shit, I’m rambling.”

Jessica raised an eyebrow, lips twitching like she was fighting a smirk. “You’re nervous. Cute. What’s with the shirt? You trying to look like a guy who sells insurance?”

Y/N glanced down at his slightly too-formal button-down. “I thought… carnival… maybe a little nice? But not too nice. I didn’t want to look like I was trying too hard.”

“You’re wearing a shirt with actual buttons. You’re trying too hard.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks heating up. “Yeah, well… I planned this whole thing. Games, rides, the works. I even made a list. Timed it out and everything. Thought it’d be… impressive.”

Jessica looked at him for a long second, then shrugged. “Lead the way, Romeo. But if there’s a cotton candy stand that doesn’t taste like regret, I’m in.”

Y/N’s face lit up like she’d just agreed to marry him. “Okay. First stop — ring toss. I practiced. Kind of. In my apartment. With bottles.”

He led her toward the game booths, already mentally rehearsing his moves. This is gonna work. She’s gonna be amazed. I’m gonna win her the biggest stuffed animal here and she’ll think I’m cool and competent.

The ring toss booth was run by a guy who looked like he’d been smoking since birth. Bright lights, cheap plastic rings, and bottles stacked in precarious pyramids.

Y/N paid for a set of rings, rolling his shoulders like he was about to throw a perfect game. “Watch this. I’ve got a technique.”

He threw the first ring. It bounced off the bottle and landed in the dirt.

Second ring — hit the rim and spun away like it personally hated him.

Third ring — somehow went backward and almost hit Jessica in the shin.

Jessica crossed her arms, clearly trying not to laugh. “Wow. Olympic level right there.”

Y/N’s face burned. “Okay, that was… warmup. The next ones are gonna be better. Physics was never my strong suit.”

He threw the last three rings in quick succession. One landed on a bottle but immediately slid off. The other two missed entirely.

The carnie gave him a pitying look and handed him a tiny plastic keychain as a “consolation prize.”

Y/N stared at the keychain like it had betrayed him. “This is not how I pictured this going.”

Jessica finally let the laugh out — short, genuine, and surprisingly warm. “You practiced in your apartment?”

“With empty beer bottles,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck again. “I thought it’d be impressive. Like, ‘Look at me, I can win you giant bears.’”

She took the pathetic keychain from his hand and hooked it onto her jacket zipper. “It’s ugly as hell, but I like it. Come on, loser. Let’s try something I’m actually good at.”

She dragged him toward the strongman game — the one with the giant mallet and the bell at the top. Y/N tried to protest. “Wait, this one’s rigged. The guy told me last year—”

“Watch and learn, Romeo.”

Jessica grabbed the mallet like it weighed nothing (because to her, it basically didn’t), swung it in one smooth, terrifying motion, and slammed it down. The puck shot up the tower, dinged the bell so hard the whole thing shook, and the carnie nearly dropped his cigar.

The crowd around them cheered. Jessica turned to Y/N with the smuggest look he’d ever seen on her face and pointed at the wall of giant stuffed animals.

“Pick one.”

Y/N blinked. “You… just destroyed that game.”

“Yeah. Now pick the biggest, ugliest one so I can carry it around and embarrass you all night.”

He ended up choosing a massive, bright purple elephant that was almost as tall as Jessica. She slung it over her shoulder like it was a purse, completely unbothered.

The squad — well, the imaginary squad in Y/N’s head — would have been dying laughing. In reality, a group of teenagers nearby were staring openly.

One of them whispered loudly, “Dude, that lady just murdered the strongman game. And her boyfriend looks like he’s about to propose.”

Y/N turned bright red. “I’m not— we’re not— it’s our first real date night, okay?”

Jessica snorted. “Relax. They’re just jealous I can swing a mallet better than their dads.”

Next came the shooting gallery. Y/N thought this would be his redemption arc. He’d played enough video games. How hard could it be?

Very hard, apparently.

His first shot missed the target by a mile and hit the back wall. The second shot pinged off the side of the booth. The third somehow ricocheted and knocked over a stack of cans that weren’t even part of the game.

The carnie stared at him. “Kid, you sure you’re allowed to handle firearms?”

Jessica stepped up beside him, took the toy rifle, and fired six shots in rapid succession without even aiming properly. Every single target went down.

She turned to Y/N, deadpan. “You were saying?”

Y/N threw his hands up. “I give up. You win at everything. I’m just here for moral support and emotional stability.”

“That’s why I keep you around,” she said, voice softer than usual. She picked another giant stuffed animal — this time a neon green dragon — and added it to her growing collection. “You’re good at the parts I suck at. Like not scaring small children.”

They moved on to the Ferris wheel. Y/N had planned this as the romantic climax. Soft lights, nice view of the city, maybe a quiet moment where he could tell her how much he actually liked her without sounding like an idiot.

The carnie locked them into the seat. As it started moving, Y/N cleared his throat.

“So… this is nice, right? I mean, not too crowded, good weather, no one trying to kill us for once. I thought it’d be a good way to… you know… show you I can do normal stuff. Not just sit on your couch while you drink and stare at case files.”

Jessica looked out at the glowing carnival below them. The wind tugged at her hair. “It’s not terrible.”

High praise from Jessica Jones.

Y/N took a breath. “I overthought this whole night. Like, a lot. Made lists. Timed everything. Practiced ring toss in my living room like a loser. I wanted to impress you. Make you think ‘wow, this guy’s got his shit together.’ But I’m realizing I’m mostly just… me. Awkward, shy, and really bad at carnival games.”

Jessica turned to look at him. The colorful lights reflected in her eyes, making her look softer than usual. “You think I wanted some smooth operator who wins every game? I like that you tried. Even if it was embarrassing as hell. It’s… sweet. In a pathetic kind of way.”

Y/N laughed, the sound shy and relieved. “Pathetic sweet. That’s my brand.”

The Ferris wheel stopped at the top for a moment, giving them a perfect view of the carnival spread out below like a messy, glowing painting. Jessica shifted closer, her shoulder pressing against his.

“You know what I like about you?” she said quietly. “You don’t try to fix me. You don’t flinch when I’m in a mood. You just… sit there. Listen. Bring me shitty coffee when I’ve been up for thirty hours. That’s better than winning some stupid giant bear.”

Y/N’s heart did another flip. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She bumped his knee with hers. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

They rode the rest of the wheel in comfortable silence, the earlier embarrassment fading into something warmer.

Afterward, they hit the fun house. Y/N thought it’d be harmless. Mirrors, silly slides, maybe a few laughs.

He was wrong.

The first mirror made his head look enormous. Jessica pointed and laughed — actually laughed, loud and unrestrained. “You look like a bobblehead.”

Y/N groaned. “This is my nightmare.”

The next room had a tilted floor. Y/N immediately lost his balance and slid straight into Jessica, nearly knocking both of them over. She caught him easily, one arm around his waist.

“Steady there, Romeo. Can’t have you breaking something before I get my cotton candy.”

They stumbled through the rest of the fun house, bumping into walls, making ridiculous faces in the distorting mirrors, and laughing harder than either of them had in months. At one point Y/N got stuck in a spinning barrel and had to be pulled out by Jessica, who was wheezing with laughter.

By the time they emerged, both were flushed and grinning like idiots.

“Okay,” Y/N admitted, “that was fun. Even if I looked like a distorted potato in every mirror.”

“You looked cute,” Jessica said, surprising both of them. She quickly added, “Don’t make it weird.”

They spent the next hour wandering from booth to booth. Jessica dominated the basketball toss (sinking every shot with bored precision), the balloon dart game (popping them so fast the carnie looked scared), and even the duck pond (somehow winning a goldfish she immediately named “Kilgrave” just to watch Y/N’s horrified face).

Y/N tried the milk bottle pyramid game three separate times. He knocked over exactly zero bottles.

On the third attempt, Jessica stepped up beside him, took the ball from his hand, and gently tossed it underhand. The entire pyramid collapsed like it had been waiting for her.

She handed him the giant stuffed tiger the carnie reluctantly gave her. “Here. For all your hard work and zero results.”

Y/N hugged the tiger to his chest like it was precious. “This is the best worst date ever.”

“It’s not the worst,” Jessica said, bumping his shoulder again. “It’s actually… nice. Really nice.”

They ended the night on the benches near the exit, sharing a massive bag of cotton candy and watching the carnival lights flicker. Y/N’s arm was around her shoulders — shy at first, then more confident when she didn’t shrug him off.

“I had all these plans,” he confessed, popping a piece of cotton candy into his mouth. “Timed everything. Thought if I won enough prizes and did everything right, you’d be impressed. Turns out I’m terrible at carnival games and you’re terrifyingly good at all of them.”

Jessica leaned her head against his shoulder, the giant purple elephant and neon dragon sitting beside them like ridiculous bodyguards.

“I don’t need you to impress me with games,” she said quietly. “I like that you tried. Even when it was embarrassing. Especially when it was embarrassing. Makes me feel like… I don’t have to be the tough one all the time.”

Y/N turned his head to look at her. The colorful lights reflected in her eyes, and for once she didn’t look like the unbreakable Jessica Jones. She just looked like a woman enjoying a date.

“I really like you, Jess,” he said softly, the shyness creeping back in. “Like, a stupid amount. Even when you’re grumpy and drink too much and threaten to throw me out the window.”

She snorted. “Good. Because I like you too. Even when you overthink everything and wear button-downs to carnivals.”

They sat there for a long time, sharing cotton candy, laughing about the ring toss disaster and the fun house barrel incident, trading quiet stories about nothing important. No cases. No demons. No bruises.

Just two people who somehow fit — the private investigator who carried the weight of the world and the nerd guy who carried her stuffed animals without complaint.

When the carnival started closing down, Y/N stood and offered her his hand.

“Ready to go home?”

Jessica took it, lacing their fingers together. “Yeah. But next time, I’m picking the date. And there better be whiskey involved.”

“Deal.”

They walked out of the carnival together, arms full of ridiculous prizes, shoulders bumping, laughing about nothing and everything at once.

It wasn’t a perfect night.

It was better.

It was theirs.

@6rookie-writer0110 @fandomnerd9602 @marveldcfandom @multi-fandom-enjoyer @viilovers @herioclizard @superflash2255 @tenaciousnymphinsight

[tenaciousnymphinsight]

@arsenysworld @viilovers @jacenradio7 @daydaydayrk420

Jules vaughn x male!reader

Warnings: drug usage, alchohol, blowjob (giving!), sweet, first time 4n4l!, aftercare.

Note: If you don't like this type of one-Shots/stories then don't read it thats why there are my warnings.

Smut kinda rushed!

You never where the type of person who got a lot of attention, didn't even care about having the attention of people which didn't give a fuck about you, your best and closest person was rue bennet, she was there when your parents broke up and you where there when jules came around.

Months passed as jules came around and you three were close, mostly you and jules were the closest which rue was fine by it and even tease you two about it, one day in a party you three where attending, rue told jules that you had the hots for her and she decided to test that theory.

The music blasted your ears as you were sitting on the couch, a joint rested between your fingers which make an effect on you faster than you expected, you noticed jules figure moving thougth the wave of bodies towards you before she softly sit on you, not beside you or close to you but ON you, literally sitting on your lap, the blood of your body rushing everywhere but your head and brain as her body softness and warm was comfortable on your lap

"What a-are you doing?" You ask softly as the breath get caugh on your throat keeping your hands still trying to not touch her thick thighs.

"Nothing~" She says with a teasing smirk forming on her face as she grabs your joint, letting the humes fill her lungs and getting it out before passing it back to you and moving on your lap, trapping you with her thighs on each side of your hips and the same smirk on her face.

Your cheeks start paiting a deep red color as you grab the joint and feel the blood rushing towards your pants "Then why you sitting on me?" You decided to ask bluntily as the weed and alchohol already had make effect

"Hmm maybe cause you like a big teddy bear?" She replaid her face leaning closer to yours and your noises almost touched as you chuckle stupidly

"I'm high i-i can't take this rigth now, ba-jules" You almost said without knowing but thougth you covered it good enough but the wider smirk on jules face told you otherwise

"Then don't, let's go" She says grabbing your hand and getting both up and walking you both down out of the house, the cold air hitting you like a punch and waking you from the high a little

"Where we are going?" You decided to ask as you play softky with her fingers like a little child which make her smile more

"I'm getting you home" She said softly as she grabbed her bike she come with rue and look at you "come on, get on" She says as she waits for you to get behind her, she felt your body behind her, she was taller than you by 1'5 inches and you were a bigger than her, you wrapped your arms around her waist as you let your head rest on her back feeling the cold air and her slowly breathing.

Soon enough you both went to her house instead of yours, she holds your hand softly but tigth while going to her door, opening it and getting you both inside before locking it behind her, when she turned around she was meet with your lips on hers while your hands on her hips as she lets out a suprised yelp and didn't response back to the kiss making you feel like she didn't wanted this, before you could lean back she kiss you back softly while her hands where on your hair.

Soon you two where on her bedroom making out quiet loudly as she softly places you on her lap "Babe we have to be quiet, my dad's home" She warns you as your eyes widen before nodding softly when you felt her skirt riding up and felt her cock against your ass making you grin as you softly grind on her

"F-fuck" You softly said as you never knew jules would be dominant on bed as her hands were on your hips going down to your ass

"Yeah thats what we sre gonna do" She says stupidly as a teasing smirk find it's way to her face, your lips find her neck as you started kissing your way down, your hands soon founded her skirt as you place your hands underneath it hearing some breathlest gasp from jules making you smirk as you take off her panties and let her cock free.

(I was thinking like 3'5 inches but whoever you like)

You let out a gasp as you spit on it while locking eyes with her "Why you didn't told me you had a gun?" You teased as you softly started sucking her off, your rigth hand went to stroke her shaft while your left hand softly pushes her closer to you, jules let out a moan as she felt your warm mouth wrapping around her dick and your hand closing around it.

Jules let out a moan as she sits on her bed before softly taking her cock out of your mouth "get on the bed, baby" she said as she slapped your ass softly "are you clean?" She ask softly as you nod timidly as she let out a low chuckle.

You got on your hands and knees on the bed before your eyes widen as you felt jules tongue in your private part.

Soon jules hard cock was inside you, her hands on your hips as she told you soft reasurring "good boy", "you are tight" or "love you" as you moan and shake a little from the new pleasures.

The room felt too quiet after everything, like the air itself was trying to settle. You were lying on your back, breathing slow, still trying to understand your own body again. Your legs felt heavy, your chest warm, and your thoughts were just… soft, drifting.

Jules noticed before you even said anything. She always did. She slid closer, her hair brushing your shoulder as she leaned in, her voice low and steady.

“Hey… look at me for a sec.”

You turned your head, and she gave you that small smile — the one she only used when she was being real with you, not performing for anyone else. “You’re okay,” she said, thumb brushing the side of your jaw. “You’re doing good.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Your body still felt sensitive, not in a bad way, just… new. Different. She could see it in the way your fingers curled slightly against the sheets.

“Does anything hurt?” she asked, softer now. “Tell me honestly.” You shook your head, but your voice came out quiet. “Just… tired. And kinda overwhelmed.”

Jules nodded like she expected that. She pulled the blanket up over your waist, tucking it around you like she was sealing in warmth. Then she lay you on her chest — not pushing, not grabbing, just grounding you.

“First time can feel like that,” she murmured. “Your body’s still catching up. Just breathe with me.” So you did. Slow. In and out. Her breathing matched yours until your shoulders finally dropped.

She shifted closer, her forehead touching your temple. “You did really well,” she whispered. “I’m proud of you.”

Your chest tightened a little at that not in a painful way, just in that way where someone sees you more clearly than you expected. You swallowed. “Thanks for… y’know. Being gentle.”

Jules smiled against your skin. “Of course I was gentle. You trusted me.” Her fingers traced small circles on your back, barely there. “And I’m not going anywhere. Not tonight.”

You let your head rest against hers, the warmth of her body easing the last bit of tension out of you. The room didn’t feel too quiet anymore. It felt safe.

And for the first time since everything happened, you let yourself relax fully — because she was right there, holding you through the after.

[arsenysworld]

Corporate Sin

Ashley Barrett x Male supe reader

Warning: smut

Y/N L/N was the newest and youngest member of The Seven, barely twenty-three, and already Vought’s golden boy. Marketed as “The All-American Hope,” his powers were a clean, photogenic mix of super strength, flight, and energy blasts that looked amazing in slow-motion commercials. No messy moral gray areas like Homelander, no unhinged chaos like A-Train. Just a handsome, polite kid who smiled for the cameras and said the right things in interviews.

But behind the scenes, Y/N was starting to realize how suffocating the spotlight was. Every move was scripted. Every smile calculated. Every interaction monitored.

Except for one person.

Ashley Barrett, Senior Vice President of Hero Management, was thirty-eight, sharp-tongued, perpetually stressed, and the only person at Vought who seemed to treat him like a human being instead of a walking branding opportunity. She was the one who stayed late fixing his press releases, the one who chewed out producers when they tried to make him say something too cringeworthy, and the one who occasionally looked at him with something that wasn’t just professional concern.

Tonight, the Vought Tower was mostly empty. The rest of The Seven were out on “missions” (or doing whatever the hell they did when the cameras were off). Y/N had just finished a long photoshoot for a new energy drink campaign and found himself wandering toward Ashley’s office on the executive floor.

He knocked once.

“Come in,” her voice called, tired but still commanding.

He stepped inside. Ashley was behind her massive desk, hair slightly disheveled, blazer draped over the back of her chair, white blouse unbuttoned at the top. Papers and tablets were scattered everywhere. She looked up, surprised to see him.

“Y/N? It’s almost midnight. Shouldn’t you be resting for tomorrow’s charity appearance?”

He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, arms crossed. “Couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d see if you were still here burying yourself in work again.”

Ashley sighed, rubbing her temples. “Someone has to keep this circus from burning down. Homelander threw another tantrum today because the lighting wasn’t ‘godlike’ enough. Deep wants to do a dolphin awareness PSA. It never ends.”

Y/N walked over and dropped into the chair across from her desk. “You look like you need a drink. Or a vacation. Or both.”

She gave a dry laugh. “Vacation? Vought doesn’t do vacations. They do ‘mandatory team-building retreats’ where everyone signs NDAs and pretends they’re not terrified.”

There was a beat of silence. Y/N studied her — the faint lines at the corners of her eyes from years of stress, the way she bit her lip when she was thinking, the exhaustion she tried to hide behind sharp professionalism. She was older than him by fifteen years, powerful in her own corporate way, and completely off-limits.

And he was hopelessly in love with her.

“Ashley,” he said quietly, dropping the hero persona entirely, “can I be honest for a second?”

She looked up, eyebrows raised. “That sounds dangerous coming from you.”

“I’m serious.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I didn’t join The Seven because I wanted to be a celebrity. I thought I could do some good. But every day it feels like I’m just another product. Except when I’m around you. You’re the only person here who talks to me like I’m a person, not a walking billboard.”

Ashley stared at him for a long moment, her usual sharp corporate mask cracking. “Y/N… you’re twenty-three. I’m thirty-eight. I’m your boss. This is a terrible idea on every possible level.”

“I know,” he said, voice steady. “But I can’t stop thinking about you. The way you roll your eyes when Homelander monologues. The way you sneak me actual coffee instead of that Vought-branded sludge. The way you looked genuinely worried when I got hurt during that last training exercise. I’m tired of pretending I don’t feel something.”

She stood up slowly, walking around the desk until she was leaning against it, arms crossed. “You’re young. You’re a Supe. You could have any twenty-something model or influencer throwing themselves at you. Why the hell would you want someone like me? I’m burned out, sarcastic, and half the time I’m one bad meeting away from a nervous breakdown.”

“Because you’re real,” Y/N said simply. He stood too, stepping closer until there was barely a foot between them. “You see through all the bullshit. And yeah, you’re older. You’re smarter. You’ve been through the machine and still haven’t let it completely break you. That’s… hot as hell.”

Ashley let out a shocked laugh, the sound surprised and a little shaky. “Jesus Christ, Y/N. You really just said that.”

“I did.” He reached out slowly, giving her time to pull away, and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m in love with you, Ashley. I know it’s messy. I know it’s complicated. But I’m tired of pretending it’s not there.”

The silence stretched. Ashley’s breathing had quickened. Her eyes searched his face — looking for the joke, the hidden camera, the corporate trap. She found none.

“Fuck it,” she whispered finally, voice cracking with disbelief and something hotter. “Fuck it. Let’s do it.”

She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him into a kiss.

It started desperate and messy, years of tension exploding between them. Y/N’s hands found her waist, pulling her flush against him. Ashley’s fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just hard enough to make him groan into her mouth. She tasted like coffee and lipstick and the faint hint of the mints she kept in her desk for stressful meetings.

When they broke apart, both breathing hard, Ashley laughed — a short, stunned sound. “This is insane. You’re barely old enough to rent a car in some states.”

“I’m old enough to know what I want,” he murmured, kissing along her jaw. “And I want you.”

She pushed him back toward the couch in the corner of her office, the one usually reserved for very serious “damage control” meetings. “Then show me, golden boy. Show me what a young Supe can do.”

Y/N’s eyes darkened with heat. He lifted her effortlessly — super strength had its perks — and set her down on the couch, kneeling between her legs. He took his time unbuttoning her blouse, kissing every inch of skin he revealed. Ashley’s head fell back against the cushions, a soft curse escaping her lips.

When he reached her skirt, he pushed it up slowly, hands sliding up her thighs. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered, voice rough. “Been thinking about this for months.”

“Shut up and put your mouth to better use,” she said, but there was no real bite — just breathless want.

Y/N grinned and hooked his fingers into her panties, sliding them down her legs. He spread her thighs wider, eyes dark with hunger as he leaned in. The first slow lick over her pussy made Ashley’s hips jerk and a sharp moan escape her throat.

“Fuck— Y/N—”

He didn’t tease. He devoured. His tongue worked her clit with perfect pressure, alternating between slow, broad licks and quick flicks that had her gripping the couch cushions. Two fingers slid inside her, curling just right, and Ashley’s back arched hard.

“Oh my god— right there— don’t you dare stop—”

Y/N hummed against her, the vibration sending sparks up her spine. He was relentless and skilled, reading every gasp and twitch like he’d studied her body for years. When he sucked her clit into his mouth while his fingers pumped steadily, Ashley came hard, thighs shaking around his head, a broken cry tearing from her throat.

But he didn’t stop. He worked her through it, gentling his touches until she was trembling and oversensitive, then started building her up again.

Ashley was panting, hair a mess, blouse hanging open. “You’re too fucking good at that. Jesus Christ, where did you learn—”

“Practice,” he said, kissing her inner thigh. “And paying attention to you.”

He stood, stripping off his shirt and pants quickly. Ashley’s eyes widened at the sight of him — young, fit, and very obviously eager. She reached for him, wrapping her hand around his cock and stroking slowly.

“My turn,” she said, voice husky.

She pushed him down onto the couch and slid to her knees between his legs. Y/N’s breath hitched as she took him into her mouth, warm and wet and confident. Ashley was no shy intern — she sucked him with practiced skill, tongue swirling around the head, taking him deeper until he hit the back of her throat. Her hand worked what she couldn’t fit, the other cupping his balls gently.

“Fuck, Ashley—” Y/N groaned, fingers threading into her hair but not pushing. “You’re incredible.”

She hummed around him, the vibration making his hips twitch. She bobbed her head faster, hollowing her cheeks, eyes watering slightly but never breaking eye contact. When she took him all the way and swallowed around him, Y/N’s head fell back with a guttural moan.

She pulled off with a wet pop, lips shiny. “You like that, golden boy?”

“Love it,” he rasped. “But I need to be inside you. Now.”

Ashley stood, stripping off the rest of her clothes. She straddled him, guiding his cock to her entrance. They both groaned as she sank down slowly, taking every inch until he was buried to the hilt.

“Fuck, you’re big,” she breathed, adjusting to the stretch.

Y/N’s hands gripped her hips, steadying her. “You feel so good. So tight.”

She started riding him — slow at first, then faster, hips rolling in a rhythm that had both of them panting. Y/N met every thrust, hands roaming her body, thumbs brushing her nipples, mouth finding her neck and breasts. He was good — attentive, strong, and completely focused on her pleasure.

When he flipped them so she was on her back, he drove into her harder, deeper, hitting that perfect spot with every stroke. Ashley’s nails raked down his back, legs wrapped tight around his waist.

“Oh god— Y/N— right there— don’t stop—”

He didn’t. He fucked her hard and deep, sweat slicking their skin, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the office. Ashley came again, harder this time — her whole body shaking, walls clenching around him as a loud, broken moan tore from her throat. Her legs trembled violently, toes curling, eyes rolling back as the orgasm crashed through her.

Y/N followed moments later, burying himself deep with a low groan as he spilled inside her, hips stuttering through the aftershocks.

They stayed locked together, breathing hard, foreheads pressed together. Ashley let out a shaky laugh, still trembling.

“That was… fuck. I think I forgot how to speak English for a second.”

Y/N kissed her softly, brushing damp hair from her face. “You okay?”

“More than okay.” She cupped his cheek, thumb stroking his skin. “This is insane. You’re half my age. I’m your boss. Vought would lose its mind if they found out.”

Y/N smiled, still buried inside her. “Then we keep it secret. For now. But I’m not letting this go, Ashley. I meant what I said. I’m in love with you.”

She searched his eyes for a long moment, then pulled him down into another kiss — slower, deeper, full of something that felt dangerously like hope.

“Fuck it,” she whispered against his lips. “Let’s do it.”

They stayed like that for a long time, tangled together on the office couch, two people who had no business falling for each other but had done it anyway.

Outside the office, Vought Tower kept spinning — full of lies, egos, and corporate sin.

But inside, for a few stolen hours, there was something real.

And for once, Ashley didn’t feel like she was drowning.

@6rookie-writer0110 @fandomnerd9602 @jacenradio7 @herioclizard @viilovers @multi-fandom-enjoyer @marveldcfandom

[arsenysworld]

Punching Through the Noise

Emilia Harcourt x male reader

Got idea from @marveldcfandom

Emilia slammed the door of her beat-up SUV harder than necessary, the sound echoing across the quiet suburban street like a gunshot. The therapy session had run long—again—and the late afternoon sun was already dipping low, painting the neighborhood in that soft orange glow that made everything look deceptively peaceful. She hated it. Peaceful was for people who didn’t have body counts or nightmares that smelled like gun oil and regret.

She trudged up the walkway to the modest two-story house they shared on the outskirts of the city, far enough from the Vought-adjacent chaos and Checkmate briefings to pretend they had something normal. Her boots scuffed the concrete, leaving faint marks from the mud she’d tracked in from the parking lot outside the therapist’s office. The place was nothing fancy—just a rental with a decent backyard and neighbors who minded their own damn business. It was the kind of spot where a burned-out government operative and her civilian boyfriend could try to breathe without someone trying to recruit them for the next black-site op.

Y/N was already home. She could smell the coffee brewing from the kitchen the second she stepped inside, that cheap but reliable drip machine he insisted on using because “fancy pods taste like regret, babe.” He poked his head around the corner, wiping his hands on a dish towel, that easy, slightly worried smile on his face. No cape, no powers, no agenda—just a guy who worked logistics for a shipping firm downtown and somehow stuck around after she’d accidentally dragged him into her world six months ago.

“How was therapy, babe?” he asked, voice casual but his eyes already scanning her for the usual signs: tight shoulders, clenched jaw, that thousand-yard stare she got when the walls felt too close.

Emilia kicked off her boots by the door, not bothering with the mat. “The therapist says I have toxic masculinity.”

Y/N blinked, freezing mid-step as he came closer. “How?”

She shrugged, tossing her keys onto the entry table with a clatter. “I’m just pissed off. Apparently that’s a problem now. Suppresses emotions, acts aggressive, all that DSM bullshit. Guy looked at me like I was one bad day away from starting a bar fight.” She let out a short, bitter laugh that didn’t reach her eyes. “Like I haven’t been doing this job since before most people figured out how to file their taxes. Toxic masculinity. Jesus Christ.”

Y/N set the dish towel down and crossed the living room, the wooden floor creaking under his socks. The house smelled like coffee and the faint pine from the candle he’d lit earlier—something cheap from the grocery store that was supposed to smell like “forest relaxation.” It mostly just smelled like trying too hard.

“That sounds rough,” he said carefully, stopping a few feet away. He knew better than to crowd her when she came back from these sessions. “You wanna talk about it, or should I just grab the whiskey and let you vent?”

Emilia dropped onto the couch, the old leather groaning under her weight. She ran a hand through her dark hair, pushing it back from her face. The therapist’s office had been too warm, the chairs too soft, the questions too pointed. “What’s there to talk about? The guy spent forty minutes telling me I bottle everything up. That my ‘default setting’ is aggression because it’s safer than feeling shit. Like I don’t already know that. I grew up with a dad who handed me a Glock when I was twelve and told me the world eats the weak. Joined the CIA right out of high school, bounced to the DEO, then A.R.G.U.S. under Waller. You think that leaves room for feelings hour?”

Y/N sat on the coffee table across from her, close enough to reach out but giving her space. His knee brushed hers lightly. “Sounds like the dude hit a nerve.”

“He didn’t hit shit,” she snapped, but there was no real heat in it—just exhaustion. “I’m pissed because it’s the same crap every week. ‘Emilia, you suppress your emotions.’ No shit, Sherlock. Suppressing keeps me alive. Suppressing means I don’t freeze when some Butterflies are trying to wear my friends like meat suits. Suppressing means I can look Peacemaker in the eye after everything and still do the job.”

She stood up abruptly, pacing the living room. The space felt too small suddenly—the framed photos on the wall (mostly blank spots where she’d taken down old mission prints), the stack of takeout menus on the counter, the dumb novelty mug Y/N had bought her that said “World’s Okayest Handler.” Her blood was boiling, that familiar hot rush that usually ended in a gym session or a solo drive with the music cranked.

Y/N watched her, quiet for a moment. “Babe, you’re allowed to be pissed. That’s not toxic anything. That’s just… you. You’ve seen more hell than most people can handle. Doesn’t mean you’re broken for feeling it.”

Emilia stopped by the entertainment center, eyes landing on the old CD player they’d inherited with the house. It was ancient, one of those bulky things from the early 2000s with a scratched-up copy of some classic rock album still inside. She didn’t even like the band that much, but it had been playing the last time they’d had a decent night in—before another late-night briefing pulled her away.

“Allowed to be pissed,” she muttered, echoing his words with a sarcastic edge. “Yeah, well, the therapist thinks my version of pissed is ‘toxic masculinity.’ Aggressive. Emotionally constipated. Like I’m some dudebro who can’t cry at movies. Fuck that noise.”

The anger spiked sharper than she expected. Before she could stop herself, her fist flew out. The punch connected with the CD player’s plastic face with a sharp crack. The unit jolted, the disc inside skipping wildly before the whole thing went silent. A small dent bloomed in the casing, and one of the buttons popped off, rolling across the floor.

Y/N flinched hard, eyes wide. “Jesus, Em—”

She stood there, breathing heavy, knuckles stinging but not bleeding. The sudden silence in the room felt louder than the punch. Her hand throbbed, a reminder that she was still just flesh and bone under all the training and scars.

Y/N stood slowly, hands raised in that gentle, non-threatening way he always used when she got like this. “Hey, easy. It’s okay. That thing was a piece of junk anyway.”

Emilia stared at the dented player, chest tight. The anger drained as fast as it had come, leaving that hollow ache she hated more than anything. “Shit. Sorry. I didn’t… fuck.” She flexed her fingers, wincing. “I’m just so goddamn tired of hearing I’m doing it wrong. Like there’s a right way to carry all this crap around.”

Y/N crossed the room carefully, stopping right in front of her. He didn’t grab her or pull her in—just stood close enough that she could feel the warmth coming off him. “You’re not doing it wrong, babe. You’re doing it the only way you know how. That therapist? They get paid to poke at stuff. Doesn’t mean they get the full picture. You’ve been through the wringer—Waller’s ops, Corto Maltese, all the shit with the team. Anybody would come out swinging.”

She looked up at him, her usual cool mask cracking just a little. Those dark eyes of hers, usually sharp as knives in the field, softened at the edges. “I don’t know how to do anything else, Y/N. Suppressing keeps the nightmares at bay. Keeps me from losing it when some asshole in a suit tries to play god with people’s lives. But then I come home and… I punch a fucking CD player because some shrink called me toxic.”

Y/N reached out slowly, giving her time to pull away. When she didn’t, he took her sore hand in both of his, thumb brushing gently over the reddening knuckles. “That’s the thing, though. You don’t have to do it alone anymore. I’m not some super-spy or a guy with a helmet and a pet eagle. I’m just me. Logistics guy who burns toast half the time. But I’m here. You can be pissed. You can punch things—maybe not the electronics next time, we’re on a budget—but you can let it out. I’ve got your back.”

Emilia let out a shaky breath, the fight draining out of her shoulders. She leaned forward, resting her forehead against his chest. He smelled like coffee and that cheap laundry detergent he liked, steady and real in a way nothing in her world usually was. “You’re too damn nice for this shit, you know that? Most guys would’ve bailed the first time I came home covered in someone else’s blood.”

“Most guys aren’t lucky enough to have you come home to,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her carefully. Not too tight—just enough to ground her. “I’m not going anywhere, Em. Toxic masculinity or not. You’re allowed to feel whatever the hell you need to feel. The past is heavy, yeah? All those years with your dad handing you guns instead of hugs, Waller treating you like a tool, the ops that still keep you up at night. It’s okay that it messed you up. Doesn’t make you less.”

She stayed there for a long minute, letting his heartbeat steady her own. The drama of the day—the sterile therapist’s office, the pointed questions about her “aggression patterns,” the way her fists itched for a fight she couldn’t legally win—felt a little further away with him holding her like this.

“I hate that word,” she muttered against his shirt. “Toxic. Like I’m some poison just because I don’t cry pretty or talk about my feelings over kale smoothies. I’m pissed because the job demands it. Because if I let the soft parts show too much, someone ends up dead.”

Y/N rubbed slow circles on her back, the motion soothing. “Then be pissed. Yell at the CD player if you gotta. Hell, we can go to the range tomorrow and you can shoot paper targets with my face drawn on them. But when you come home, you don’t have to be the handler or the operative. You can just be Emilia. The woman who makes killer coffee and laughs at my dumb jokes even when she’s had a shit day.”

A small, reluctant smile tugged at her lips. “Your jokes suck, by the way.”

“They grow on you,” he teased gently, tilting her chin up so he could meet her eyes. “Like you did. Sneaky as hell.”

Emilia searched his face, that guarded wall of hers thinning just enough for the warmth to show through. The drama of her life—the endless cycle of missions, secrets, and the heavy legacy of every kill that still haunted her—felt a fraction lighter when he looked at her like she was worth the trouble.

“You’re an idiot,” she said, but there was no bite. She leaned up and kissed him softly—nothing heated, just a quiet press of lips that said thank you without the words. When she pulled back, her hand was still in his, the sting in her knuckles fading under his gentle hold.

Y/N smiled, thumb stroking her cheek. “Your idiot. C’mon, let’s ice that hand before it swells. Then I’ll order pizza and we can watch something stupid on TV. No therapy talk, no shop talk. Just us being normal for five damn minutes.”

She nodded, letting him lead her toward the kitchen. The house felt warmer now, the dented CD player already forgotten in the corner. As they moved, she squeezed his hand once—tight, grateful.

“Therapy’s supposed to fix me,” she said quietly as he pulled an ice pack from the freezer. “But it just makes me feel more broken sometimes.”

Y/N wrapped the pack in a towel and pressed it gently to her knuckles, holding it there with one hand while the other stayed laced with hers. “Maybe it’s not about fixing. Maybe it’s about learning you don’t have to do it all alone. The anger, the walls, the whole tough-as-nails routine… it kept you alive. But you’re safe here. With me. You can let some of it go, babe. Bit by bit. I’ll catch whatever falls.”

Emilia watched him for a long moment, the drama of the afternoon settling into something quieter. The support in his voice wasn’t flashy or heroic—it was steady, the kind of rock she’d never had growing up. No grand speeches, no promises he couldn’t keep. Just a guy who showed up, every time.

“Fine,” she said finally, voice softer than usual. “But if that shrink calls me toxic again, I’m sending you in next time. See how he likes dealing with a logistics nerd who quotes bad movies.”

Y/N laughed, the sound warm and easy. “Deal. I’ll bore him to death with shipping manifests. Now sit your ass down before I make you.”

She smirked but obeyed, perching on the counter while he held the ice pack in place. The quiet stretched comfortably between them, broken only by the distant hum of traffic outside and the occasional clink of the ice.

Later, as they sat on the couch with pizza boxes open between them and some mindless action movie playing low on the TV, Emilia leaned her head on his shoulder. Her sore hand rested in his lap, fingers loosely intertwined.

“You know I’m still gonna be pissed sometimes,” she murmured around a bite of pepperoni.

Y/N kissed the top of her head. “I know. And I’ll still be here. Angry, quiet, whatever you need. We’ll figure the rest out together. One therapy session, one dented CD player at a time.”

Emilia huffed a small laugh, the sound genuine this time. The romance wasn’t fireworks or grand gestures—it was this. The ordinary comfort of someone who saw the cracks in her armor and stayed anyway. The drama of her past didn’t vanish, but with Y/N’s steady presence, it felt a little less like a weight that would crush her.

For the first time in a long while, the anger didn’t feel quite so lonely.

She squeezed his hand once more, letting the quiet wrap around them like a promise.

They’d face the next session, the next bad day, the next ghost from her past—together. And that, for Emilia, was more support than she’d ever thought she’d get.

@6rookie-writer0110 @marveldcfandom @jacenradio7 @viilovers @fandomnerd9602 @multi-fandom-enjoyer @herioclizard

[arsenysworld]

Ghosts in the Past

Emilia Harcourt x Shelby male reader

The clock on the nightstand burned 3:17 AM in blood-red digits, casting a harsh glow across the rumpled sheets of their Washington D.C. apartment. Y/N jolted awake with a strangled gasp, chest heaving violently as if he’d been drowning. Sweat poured down his face and back, plastering his dark hair to his forehead and making the thin white T-shirt cling to the hard lines of his chest and shoulders. His heart hammered against his ribs like artillery fire.

The nightmare had been worse tonight — more relentless, more suffocating than ever before.

It always started the same, but the details clawed deeper each time, refusing to fade no matter how many nights he tried to outrun them.

He was back in the narrow, gas-lit alleys of Small Heath, Birmingham, but the streets bled seamlessly into the sleek glass-and-steel corridors of Shelby Corporation’s headquarters. The air was thick with coal dust, cordite, and the metallic tang of fresh blood, mixing with the sterile scent of polished marble and expensive cologne. Razor blades glinted wickedly in the brims of flat caps, but those caps now sat atop men in tailored suits carrying encrypted phones that buzzed with the same deadly urgency as old revolvers.

Arthur appeared first, massive and wild-eyed, towering over Y/N in a derelict warehouse that reeked of rust and gun oil. Blood streaked his knuckles and splattered across his face as he laughed that broken, manic laugh — the same one that had echoed through Y/N’s childhood after every bare-knuckle brawl. “We need you strong, brother!” Arthur roared, grabbing Y/N by the collar and slamming him against a brick wall that suddenly felt like the cold concrete of a D.C. back alley. The impact rattled Y/N’s teeth. “The family don’t die — it just evolves! You think you can walk away? The blood’s in you, lad. Fight or it’ll eat you alive from the inside!” Arthur’s grip tightened until Y/N couldn’t breathe, his laughter twisting into a guttural scream as shadows closed in from every side, pressing against his chest like collapsing earth.

Then John stepped forward, that easy, charming grin plastered on his face even as bullets whizzed past in agonizing slow motion, kicking up sparks from the ground near Y/N’s feet. “Keep the fire burning, yeah?” John winked, blood blooming dark and wet across his chest from an unseen wound. “Or it’ll consume you instead. Remember how we used to run these streets together? You were always the quiet one, but we needed you in the thick of it. Don’t you dare go soft on us now, little brother.” John reached out, his hand leaving a sticky, ice-cold bloody smear on Y/N’s shoulder that burned like guilt.

Ada appeared next, elegant and sharp in a tailored coat that looked too modern for the vision, standing in the middle of a foggy street where passing cars had headlights like accusing eyes. Her gaze was filled with quiet, piercing disappointment that cut deeper than any blade. “You’re running, Y/N,” she said, voice calm but laced with betrayal. “We never ran. Not from the coppers, not from the Italians, not from each other. What are you building in that shiny American city? A life? Or just another pretty cage to hide in?” She stepped closer, her hand brushing his cheek in what should have been sisterly comfort, but her eyes held the weight of every family betrayal they had ever endured. “The name follows you. It always will. You can’t escape what we built with blood.”

Polly materialized in the shadows of an abandoned factory, cigarette smoke curling around her like a Romani curse made visible. Her dark eyes — wise, unforgiving, and filled with that old gypsy knowing — pierced straight through him. “Blood calls to blood, love,” she whispered, her voice echoing as if coming from inside his own skull. “You can change the suits, the cities, the women you let close… but you can’t outrun what’s carved into your veins. Curses don’t care about borders or boardrooms or how many times you tell yourself you’re different.” She exhaled a long plume of smoke that formed fleeting, horrifying shapes razor blades, nooses, empty graves, and a noose tightening around a familiar neck before slowly dissipating into the thickening mist.

The tension built unbearably as the dream shifted. The alley walls began to close in like a collapsing tunnel from the old war stories Tommy used to tell in hushed, broken tones late at night. Y/N could hear the distant rumble of artillery, feel the damp earth pressing against his skin, the raw panic of being buried alive rising in his throat until he wanted to scream. Every desperate step he took to escape only brought the figures closer, their voices layering over one another in a deafening cacophony of accusation, demand, and love twisted into something unbearable.

And then, at the peak of the suffocating pressure, when Y/N felt like he was drowning in the weight of generations, Tommy appeared.

The devil himself. Sitting in a high-backed leather chair that blended an old Peaky office with the sterile conference rooms of Shelby Corporation. Cap pulled low over those ice-blue eyes that had stared down empires and broken stronger men than Y/N. A cigarette burned slowly between his fingers, the smoke rising in perfect, deliberate curls. Tommy leaned forward, voice low and cutting as a razor blade hidden in a cap brim.

“You can't run away from us,” he said, each word landing like a hammer on an anvil. The air grew thicker, harder to breathe, pressing down on Y/N’s chest until black spots danced in his vision. “The empire never dies, brother. Not the razors, not the ambition, not the blood on our hands. You think moving across an ocean erases us? You think a pretty government woman and a corner office will silence the call?” Tommy’s eyes bored into Y/N’s, unblinking, relentless. “I carried it all — the wars, the betrayals, the slow breaking of everyone I loved. It hollowed me out from the inside until there was nothing left but the strategy and the silence. And now it’s your turn. Someday it’ll swallow you whole… just like it swallowed me. You can run. You can love. But the devils doesn’t release his own easily.”

Tommy reached out, his hand closing around Y/N’s wrist like cold iron. The touch burned, and in that moment Y/N felt every ghost at once — the crushing weight of generations, the inescapable pull of legacy, the terror that no matter how far he ran or how much he tried to build something clean, the darkness would eventually claim him too.

Y/N woke with a violent start, gasping desperately for air as if he had truly been buried alive. The dream’s suffocating tension still clung to him like wet cement, making his muscles ache and his pulse thunder in his ears.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, bare feet hitting the cold hardwood floor of their Foggy Bottom apartment. The distant hum of late-night traffic on Independence Avenue filtered in, mixed with the faint wail of a siren near the National Mall. Even here, the ghosts refused to stay in the past.

He stood on shaky legs and moved to the kitchen. The half-empty bottle of Irish whiskey waited on the marble counter. He poured two generous fingers into a heavy crystal glass, then slipped out the front door into the damp night, bottle in one hand, glass in the other.

Emilia woke minutes later. Her hand instinctively slid across the empty space where Y/N’s body should have been. The sheets were already cool. Concern twisted sharply in her chest as she searched the apartment — bathroom, living room, balcony — all empty.

She finally spotted him from the tall window: sitting alone on the wet concrete steps under the building’s front stairs. The street was dimly lit by old-fashioned lampposts casting orange pools on the slick pavement. Light mist hung in the air, softening the distant glow of the Capitol dome. Y/N’s legs were stretched out, back braced against the iron railing. The glass of whiskey rested on his knee, a cigarette burning between his lips.

Emilia grabbed the thick wool blanket, slipped on his oversized socks, and went downstairs. She sat beside him without a word, pressing her thigh firmly against his under the blanket.

After a long, heavy silence, she asked softly,

“You okay?”

Y/N took a deep drag from the cigarette, exhaled slowly, then sipped the whiskey. His voice came out rough and exhausted. “They visited me again… and I can’t get rid of them, Em. No matter what I do — moving here, trying to build something clean, being with you — they keep coming back. Every few nights now. Sometimes every night. I wake up sweating, heart racing, feeling like I’m still trapped in that fucking tunnel with all of them pressing down on me. I thought distance would quiet them. I thought time would. But they’re always there, reminding me I’m a Shelby and the past doesn’t let go.”

He told her every detail — Arthur’s crushing grip and manic laughter, John’s bloody grin, Ada’s disappointed eyes, Polly’s smoke-wreathed curses, and Tommy’s cold, commanding presence that made the air feel thick and the walls close in. “They won’t leave me alone,” he finished, voice cracking slightly. “I can’t get rid of them.”

Emilia listened without interrupting, her dark eyes steady on his face. When he fell silent, she reached over and took both of his hands in hers, interlacing their fingers slowly and deliberately. Her thumbs stroked soothing circles over his scarred knuckles.

“Hey… look at me,” she whispered, voice low and gentle but firm.

Y/N turned. Their eyes locked in the orange streetlight and mist.

“It’s okay,” she said softly, leaning in until their foreheads nearly touched. “It’s just the past, Y/N. Those are echoes — painful ones, I know — but they’re echoes. They don’t get to own you anymore. You’re not trapped in that tunnel. You’re right here, with me, in this city, building something real. The dreams can keep coming… but they don’t get to win. Not while I’m here.”

She lifted one of his hands and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to his scarred knuckles, her breath warm against his skin. “You don’t have to carry it alone anymore. I’ve got you. Every time the ghosts show up, I’ll be right here to pull you back. Okay?”

Y/N’s breath shuddered out. The tension in his shoulders eased just a fraction under her steady gaze and touch.

The rest of the night unfolded with the same deep romantic tension and comfort — the charged almost-kisses, the intimate closeness on the bed, and the fierce connection that made the haunting feel survivable.

In the quiet afterward, tangled together under the covers with the distant glow of the Capitol outside the windows, Y/N felt the dream’s suffocating grip finally begin to loosen.

The ghosts would return — they always did for a Shelby — but with Emilia’s quiet reassurance echoing in his mind it’s just the past”, and her warm body pressed against his, the weight no longer felt impossible to bear.

For tonight, love stood stronger than the devil’s whisper.

@6rookie-writer0110 @viilovers @jacenradio7 @marveldcfandom @fandomnerd9602 @multi-fandom-enjoyer

[arsenysworld]

Web of Secrets

Cassie Cage x Spider Man reader

Cassie had always prided herself on being able to read people. Growing up as the daughter of Johnny Cage and Sonya Blade meant she’d learned early how to spot bullshit from a mile away. Her dad’s Hollywood charm, her mom’s no-nonsense stare — she’d inherited the best (and worst) of both. So when her boyfriend of six months started acting weird, she noticed immediately.

Y/N was different from anyone she’d ever dated. He wasn’t a cocky Special Forces guy trying to impress her with push-up contests, nor was he some Outworld thug with a death wish. He was sweet, awkward in the most endearing way, and ridiculously smart. They’d met in New York during one of Cassie’s off-duty trips — she was there “liaising” with some shadowy government contacts about potential interdimensional threats. Y/N had literally bumped into her while chasing a runaway hot dog cart (long story). One spilled coffee, one sarcastic joke from her about his “spider-like reflexes,” and somehow they’d ended up grabbing pizza together.

Six months later, they were official. He lived in a tiny apartment in Queens, worked as a freelance photographer and part-time lab assistant, and always had time for her when she was stateside. He made her laugh with his terrible science puns, listened when she vented about the pressure of living up to her parents’ legacy, and never once tried to “handle” her like some fragile princess. He treated her like an equal — a badass sergeant who could kick ass and quote bad action movies in the same breath.

But lately… something was off.

He’d cancel dates at the last minute with vague excuses about “work emergencies.” He’d show up with fresh bruises he blamed on “clumsy lab accidents.” And twice now, when they were out at night, he’d suddenly tense up, mumble something about needing air, and disappear for twenty minutes, only to return looking exhausted but relieved.

Cassie wasn’t stupid. She’d grown up around secrets. Her mom ran Special Forces black ops; her dad had hidden his own Hollywood ego trips for years. So when Y/N bailed on their movie night for the third time in two weeks, she decided enough was enough.

She waited on the rooftop of his building — a habit she’d picked up from years of stakeouts. The New York skyline glittered below, sirens wailing in the distance like a familiar soundtrack. Cassie leaned against the air conditioning unit, arms crossed, wearing her favorite leather jacket over a simple tank top and jeans. Her blonde hair was pulled into a practical ponytail.

“Come on, Parker,” she muttered. “Where are you?”

That’s when she saw it.

A red-and-blue blur swung across the gap between buildings, landing gracefully on the opposite rooftop before webbing away toward a bank alarm screaming a few blocks over. Cassie’s eyes widened. She’d seen enough weird shit in her life — demons, gods, cybernetic ninjas — but a guy in a spider-themed suit flipping through the air like it was nothing? That was new.

She pulled out her phone and zoomed in on the footage from a nearby security feed she… borrowed… access to. The suit was unmistakable. And when the masked figure paused under a streetlight to check on a civilian, the way he moved, the slight hunch of his shoulders when he thought no one was watching — it was Y/N.

Her boyfriend was Spider-Man.

Cassie didn’t freak out. She didn’t call her mom or text Jacqui for backup. She just sat there on the rooftop, processing. Part of her wanted to laugh — of course the sweetest, most normal guy she’d dated turned out to be a secret superhero. The other part felt a sharp sting of betrayal. Why hadn’t he told her? Did he think she couldn’t handle it? That she was just some spoiled celebrity kid who couldn’t keep a secret?

She waited until the sirens died down and the blur swung back toward his apartment. Then she made her move.

Y/N landed quietly on his fire escape, mask half-pulled up as he climbed through the window into his dark living room. He was breathing hard, suit torn at the shoulder from what looked like a nasty claw mark. He winced as he peeled the top half down, revealing fresh bruises blooming across his ribs.

“Another night saving the world, huh?” Cassie’s voice cut through the darkness like a knife.

Y/N spun so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet. “Cassie?! How did you— what are you doing here?”

She stepped out from the shadows near his couch, arms still crossed, expression unreadable. “I got tired of waiting for you to show up for movie night. Figured I’d surprise you instead.” Her eyes flicked to the suit, then back to his face. “Surprise.”

He froze, mask dangling from one hand. The friendly neighborhood Spider-Man looked like a deer caught in headlights. “I… can explain.”

“Yeah? Start with why my boyfriend has been lying to me for six months.” Her voice was steady, but there was hurt underneath the sergeant tone. “I thought we were past the whole ‘keeping secrets’ thing, Parker. Or should I call you Spider-Man?”

Y/N ran a hand through his messy brown hair, wincing again at the movement. “It’s not like that. I wanted to tell you — God, Cassie, I’ve wanted to tell you since our third date. But this life… it’s dangerous. People who get close to me end up hurt. Or worse. I’ve lost too many already. I couldn’t risk you.”

Cassie stepped closer, her tough exterior cracking just a little. She reached out and gently touched the bruise on his ribs. He didn’t pull away. “You think I can’t handle danger? I’ve fought Shinnok. I’ve led a team against Outworld invaders. My mom trained me to stare down gods, Y/N. You swinging around in spandex stopping bank robbers is… honestly kind of cute compared to that.”

A small, relieved laugh escaped him. “It’s not spandex. It’s a high-tech polymer blend. Aunt May helped with the stitching once.”

She couldn’t help but smile at that — classic Y/N, deflecting with nerd facts even when caught red-handed. “You’re such a dork.”

“I know.” He looked down at her, eyes soft behind the exhaustion. “I’m sorry, Cass. I hated lying. Every time I had to run out, I felt like the worst boyfriend ever. But seeing you laugh, hearing you talk about your team and your family… I didn’t want to drag you into my chaos. You deserve someone normal.”

Cassie cupped his face with both hands, forcing him to meet her gaze. “Normal is overrated. I grew up with a dad who quotes his own movies during fights and a mom who’d rather disarm a bomb than hug me sometimes. I don’t want normal. I want you. The guy who brings me coffee at 3 a.m. after a bad mission, who listens when I rant about not feeling good enough to carry the Cage-Blade name. The guy who makes me feel like I can just be Cassie for a while, not Commander Cage.”

Y/N’s hands settled on her waist, tentative at first, then firmer as he pulled her closer. “You are good enough. You’re incredible. I’ve seen the news clips from your fights — the way you lead your team, the way you crack jokes right before you kick some interdimensional ass. You inspire people, Cass. You inspire me.”

She leaned her forehead against his, the tension in her shoulders easing. “Then stop trying to protect me by shutting me out. We’re a team, remember? Or at least… I thought we were.”

“We are,” he whispered. “If you still want that. After everything.”

Cassie pulled back just enough to look at him properly. The city lights filtering through the window cast soft shadows across his face. He looked vulnerable without the mask — just Peter Parker, the brilliant, clumsy, heroic guy she’d fallen for. “I still want you, web-head. But no more secrets. Not between us. If some green goblin or whatever comes after you, I want in. I’ve got guns, shadow powers, and a mean right hook. We can handle it together.”

Y/N grinned — that bright, boyish smile that always made her stomach do little flips. “You’d really team up with Spider-Man? Your dad would never let me hear the end of it. ‘My daughter’s dating a bug-themed vigilante? Where’s the merchandising deal?’”

She laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “Dad would probably try to cast you in one of his direct-to-video sequels. ‘Spider-Cage: Web of Justice.’ Mom would run a background check so deep you’d think you committed treason.”

“I’ve survived worse than background checks.” He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch lingering. “You’re really not mad?”

“Oh, I’m mad,” Cassie admitted, but her tone had softened into something playful. “You owe me like ten make-up dates. And I want the full story — how you got the powers, the suit upgrades, all the embarrassing fails. But… I get it. The secrecy. I’ve got my own classified files I can’t share. Just promise you’ll let me be part of this side of your life too.”

“I promise.” Y/N’s voice was earnest, filled with quiet relief and something deeper. “You make me want to be better, Cassie. Not just Spider-Man saving the day, but… someone who deserves to come home to you.”

Her heart did that annoying fluttery thing again. She’d faced down elder gods without blinking, but this — this quiet, honest moment with him — somehow felt scarier and sweeter all at once.

“Good answer, Parker.” She tilted her head up and kissed him softly. It wasn’t rushed or dramatic like the action movies her dad loved. It was real — warm lips, the faint taste of adrenaline and the city, his hands steady on her back as if anchoring himself after a long night.

When they pulled apart, Cassie smirked. “You know, for a guy who swings from buildings, you’re surprisingly good at the whole romance thing.”

“Years of practice apologizing to Aunt May for coming home late,” he teased, but his eyes were serious. “I love you, Cass. I should’ve said it sooner. Before the mask, before the lies. I love how tough you are, how you never back down, how you make me laugh even when the world feels like it’s ending. You’re my favorite hero.”

Cassie’s cheeks warmed — rare for her. She wasn’t used to being called the hero; usually she was the one cracking jokes to hide how much the weight of expectations crushed her. “I love you too, you big spider-nerd. Even if you do leave web fluid stains on my favorite jacket.”

Y/N winced. “That was one time!”

They moved to the couch, where he finally let her help patch him up. Cassie cleaned the claw mark on his shoulder with careful hands, listening as he opened up — really opened up — about Uncle Ben, the bite, the responsibility that came with great power. She shared her own insecurities: the fear that she’d never measure up to Sonya’s legacy, the pressure of leading the next generation of Earthrealm defenders while still wanting to live her life.

“You don’t have to be perfect,” Y/N said quietly, wincing only a little as she applied antiseptic. “You’re already the person everyone looks up to. Including me.”

“And you don’t have to carry the whole city on your shoulders alone anymore,” she replied, pressing a gentle kiss near the bandage. “We’ve both got teams. Now we’ve got each other too.”

Later that night, they stood together on the rooftop. The wind tugged at Cassie’s ponytail as Y/N — still in the bottom half of his suit, mask off — pointed out different landmarks, explaining some of his more ridiculous fights.

“That building over there? Guy tried to rob it with a mechanical octopus suit. Classic Tuesday.”

Cassie snorted. “Sounds tame compared to fighting a guy who literally controls chaos magic.”

He laughed and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her against his side. “We should do a crossover sometime. Spider-Man and Cassie Cage versus the multiverse.”

“Only if I get top billing,” she shot back, leaning into him. “And you have to wear the suit. It’s growing on me. Kinda hot, actually.”

Y/N’s ears turned pink. “Careful, Cage. Compliments like that might make me swing you around the city for a date.”

“Promise?” Her voice dropped into that cocky, flirtatious tone she inherited from Johnny. But underneath it was real affection — the kind that made her feel safe and excited all at once.

They stayed up there for hours, talking about everything and nothing. Cassie told him stories about the Kombat Kids — Jacqui’s latest tech upgrades, Takeda’s weird visions, Kung Jin’s sarcastic commentary. Y/N shared tales of his own friends: Ned’s endless enthusiasm, MJ’s sharp wit, the quiet moments where being Peter Parker felt heavier than the suit.

As the sky began to lighten toward dawn, Cassie turned to face him fully. “No more running off without a heads-up, okay? If you need backup, call me. I’ve got ways to get to New York fast. And if some villain from my world shows up here… you’re helping me take them down.”

“Deal.” Y/N rested his forehead against hers again, eyes closing for a moment. “Thank you for not freaking out. For giving me another chance.”

“You’re stuck with me now, web-slinger.” She grinned, that bright, confident Cage smile. “We’re in this together. Heroes, secrets, bad guys, and all the pizza we can eat after saving the day.”

He kissed her then — slower this time, deeper, pouring in all the relief and love he’d been holding back. Cassie kissed him back with the same intensity, her hands sliding up to tangle in his hair. When they broke apart, both a little breathless, she whispered against his lips, “Best secret identity reveal ever.”

Y/N chuckled softly. “Better than Aunt May finding out?”

“Way better. She probably grounded you. I’m rewarding you.”

They eventually made their way back inside, curling up on his small couch under a blanket. Cassie’s head rested on his chest, listening to his heartbeat — steady now, no longer racing from the fight or the fear of discovery.

For the first time in months, Y/N felt truly light. No more hiding from the girl he loved. Cassie felt the same — the pressure of her legacy didn’t feel quite so heavy when she had someone who saw her as more than Johnny and Sonya’s daughter.

As sleep started to pull at them, Cassie murmured, “Hey, Parker?”

“Yeah?”

“Next time you swing off to fight crime… take me with you. I’ve always wanted to try the web-swinging thing.”

He smiled into her hair. “Only if you promise not to punch the bad guys before I can quip at them.”

“No promises.”

They fell asleep like that — two heroes from very different worlds, tangled together in the quiet after the storm. The city kept moving below, full of threats and chaos, but for tonight, Earthrealm’s sergeant and New York’s friendly neighborhood Spider-Man had found their own little pocket of peace.

And maybe, just maybe, the multiverse was a little brighter because of it.

@jacenradio7 @marveldcfandom @multi-fandom-enjoyer @6rookie-writer0110 @fandomnerd9602 @viilover

[arsenysworld]

Something different

Debra Morgan x Male reader

Romance, drama, smut

Request: @tenaciousnymphinsight

Y/N L/N had been transferred to Miami Metro Homicide only a month ago, fresh from a smaller department up north. Lieutenant LaGuerta had wasted no time pairing him with Detective Debra Morgan for “field training.”

“Show the new guy the ropes, Morgan,” LaGuerta had said. “And try not to scare him off in the first week.”

Debra had rolled her eyes so hard Y/N thought they might fall out. “Great. Babysitting duty. Just what I fucking needed.”

She was exactly as everyone described: loud, foul-mouthed, brilliant, and carrying the weight of being Harry Morgan’s daughter like a loaded gun. Dark hair usually pulled into a messy ponytail, sharp blue eyes that missed nothing, and a temper that could clear a room.

On day one, she dropped a thick folder on Y/N’s desk with a thud. “Alright, Rookie. Listen up. This isn’t some cushy small-town gig. We deal with blood, guts, and assholes who think they’re smarter than us. You fuck up my crime scenes and I’ll personally shove my boot up your ass. Got it?”

Y/N had just smiled calmly. “Got it, Detective Morgan. Teach me.”

She blinked, surprised he didn’t shrink back. Most rookies did.

Over the following weeks, the “tutoring” became routine. Mornings were spent reviewing case files at his desk. Debra would lean over his shoulder, pointing at photos with a pen, her voice a rapid-fire mix of sarcasm and genuine instruction.

“See this blood spatter pattern, Rookie? Arterial spray. Means the vic was alive when the throat got slashed. Don’t just look — think. What does the angle tell you about the killer’s height?”

Y/N listened intently, asking questions that showed he was actually absorbing it. “So if the spray is higher on the wall here, the attacker was probably standing…”

“Exactly,” Debra said, sounding almost impressed. “Not bad for a Rookie.”

By the second week, the tutoring spilled into lunch breaks. They’d grab terrible station coffee and sit outside on the concrete steps, talking about more than just murder. Debra learned Y/N had joined law enforcement after losing a close friend to unsolved violence back home. He wasn’t chasing glory — he wanted to do the job right.

“You’re not some glory-hound prick like half the guys here,” she told him one afternoon, lighting a cigarette. “That’s… refreshing. Most rookies either kiss ass or try to play tough. You just show up and do the work.”

Y/N shrugged, watching the Miami traffic crawl by. “I figured the best way to learn is from someone who actually knows what they’re doing. You’ve closed more cases than anyone else in the unit this year.”

Debra snorted, but her cheeks warmed slightly. She blamed the sun. “Flattery won’t get you out of paperwork, Rookie.”

They started hanging out after shifts too. First it was quick beers at a dive bar near the station — the kind of place where cops went to decompress without tourists. Debra would rant about the latest case, about her brother Dexter being his usual socially awkward self, about how the job never let her switch off.

Y/N listened without interrupting, offering quiet insights or stupid jokes that made her laugh despite herself. One night she told him about growing up with Harry Morgan’s impossible standards.

“Dad always said being a cop wasn’t about being liked — it was about getting shit done,” she said, nursing her second beer. “But sometimes I wonder if I missed the part where you’re supposed to have a life outside the badge.”

“You’ve got one,” Y/N replied, clinking his bottle against hers. “You’re sitting here with a Rookie who’s probably boring you with questions all day. That counts.”

She laughed — a real, unguarded sound. “You’re not boring, Rookie. Annoying sometimes, but not boring.”

By week four, they were texting outside work. Debra would send him photos of ridiculous crime scene evidence with captions like “This asshole tried to hide the body in a fucking kiddie pool. Your thoughts, Rookie?” Y/N would reply with analysis and a meme that made her grin at her phone like an idiot.

She didn’t notice how much she looked forward to those messages. Or how her stomach did a little flip when he brought her coffee exactly the way she liked it — black, two sugars, no bullshit. She told herself it was just because he was a decent partner. Nothing more.

Then came the breakup with Joey Quinn.

It had been messy for months — on again, off again, full of arguments and make-up sex that never fixed anything. The final blow-up happened on a Friday night. Quinn had said something about her “being too much” again, and Debra had told him exactly where he could shove it.

She showed up at the bar the next evening looking wrecked. Eyes puffy, hair messier than usual, shoulders slumped in a way that didn’t suit the tough Detective Morgan everyone knew.

Y/N was already there, having gotten her text: “Bar. Now. Bring alcohol.”

He slid into the booth across from her without a word, setting down a fresh whiskey. “Heard the rumors. You okay?”

Debra downed half the glass in one go. “Fucking Quinn. Said he couldn’t handle my ‘bullshit intensity’ anymore. Like I’m the crazy one for caring about the job. For caring about anything.” Her voice cracked just a little. “I always end up with guys who want the fun parts and bail when it gets real.”

Y/N reached across the table and covered her hand with his. It was warm, steady. “You’re not too much, Deb. You’re passionate. You fight for what’s right even when it’s ugly. That’s rare. Anyone who walks away from that doesn’t deserve you.”

She stared at their joined hands, throat tight. For once, she didn’t pull away with a sarcastic remark. “You always say shit like that, Rookie. Like you actually mean it.”

“I do mean it.”

They stayed at the bar for hours. Debra talked — really talked. About the pressure of living up to her father’s legacy, about feeling like she had to be twice as tough as the men around her just to be taken seriously, about how lonely the job made her sometimes. Y/N listened, sharing pieces of his own past: the friend he’d lost, why he’d become a detective, how he admired the way she never backed down even when the world tried to knock her down.

“You’re a good guy, Y/N,” she said eventually, voice softer than he’d ever heard it. “Most people see the loud mouth and the badge and assume that’s all there is. You… you see more.”

“Because there is more,” he replied quietly. “I see you, Deb. All of you.”

The bar closed. Y/N drove her home in his car, the Miami night humid and heavy around them. At her apartment door, Debra hesitated, keys trembling slightly in her hand.

“You don’t have to come in,” she muttered. “I’m probably shit company tonight. Drunk and pathetic.”

“You’re not pathetic,” Y/N said firmly. “And I’m not leaving you alone if you don’t want me to.”

She looked up at him, eyes glassy with emotion and something deeper — something that had been building for weeks without her admitting it. “Fuck it,” she whispered. “Come inside, Rookie.”

The second the door clicked shut, the tension snapped.

Debra turned and kissed him — desperate at first, like she was afraid he’d disappear. Y/N kissed her back just as fiercely, but slower, pouring in all the care he’d been holding back. His hands cupped her face, thumbs brushing away the remnants of dried tears.

They stumbled toward her bedroom, shedding clothes in a trail behind them. Debra’s hands were eager, tugging his shirt over his head, running over the solid muscle of his chest and shoulders. “God, you feel good,” she breathed between kisses.

Y/N took his time undressing her, kissing every inch of skin he revealed. When her bra hit the floor, he cupped her breasts, thumbs circling her nipples until they hardened under his touch. Debra moaned, arching into him.

“Bed,” she demanded, voice husky.

He laid her down gently on the sheets. Debra looked beautiful like this — flushed, hair spread across the pillow, eyes dark with want. Y/N kissed down her body, taking one nipple into his mouth while his hand slid between her thighs. She was already slick, hips bucking as he stroked her slowly, teasingly.

“Fuck, Rookie…” she gasped, one hand fisting the sheets, the other tangling in his hair. “Don’t you dare tease me tonight.”

He didn’t. He moved lower, settling between her legs and replacing his fingers with his tongue. Debra cried out, thighs trembling as he licked and sucked at her clit with focused hunger. Two fingers slid inside her, curling just right until she was writhing.

“Y/N— shit— right there—” She came hard, back bowing off the bed, a string of curses and his name spilling from her lips as pleasure crashed through her.

When she came down, panting, she pulled him up and kissed him deeply, tasting herself. “Condom. Top drawer. Now.”

Y/N rolled one on quickly. Debra spread her legs wider, wrapping them high around his waist as he positioned himself at her entrance. Their eyes locked in the dim light.

“You sure?” he asked, voice rough with restraint.

“Fuck yes,” she whispered, nails digging into his shoulders. “I want you. All of you. Make me forget everything else tonight.”

He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, groaning at how tight and perfect she felt around him. Debra moaned long and low, head falling back. “Oh god… you’re big. Move, Rookie. Please.”

Y/N started thrusting — deep, steady strokes that built gradually. Debra met every movement, her body rising to match his rhythm. The room filled with the sounds of skin slapping skin, her breathy moans, and his low groans of pleasure.

“Harder,” she gasped after a while, heels digging into his back. “I can take it.”

He gave her what she asked for, thrusting deeper, faster. One hand slipped between them to circle her clit again. Debra’s second orgasm hit her like a wave, walls clenching around him as she cried out his name. The feeling pushed Y/N over the edge right after her — he buried himself deep, groaning against her neck as he came hard.

They stayed locked together for long moments, breathing ragged. Y/N carefully pulled out, disposed of the condom, then returned to pull her into his arms. Debra curled against his chest immediately, face tucked into the crook of his neck, one leg draped over his.

For once, the loud Detective Morgan was quiet.

“…That was…” she murmured eventually, tracing lazy patterns on his chest. “I didn’t expect any of this. Not tonight. Not with you.”

Y/N brushed damp strands of hair from her forehead and pressed a gentle kiss there. “I’ve been falling for you for weeks, Deb. Watching you at the station, the way you fight for every case, the way you laugh when you think no one’s looking. I didn’t want to push while you were still tangled up with Quinn. But seeing you hurt tonight… I couldn’t just sit back.”

Debra lifted her head, eyes searching his face. A small, genuine smile — the soft kind she almost never showed at work — curved her lips. “You’re dangerous, Rookie. Saying shit like that. Makes a girl want to keep you around.”

“Good,” he replied, tightening his arms around her. “Because I’m not going anywhere. Not unless you tell me to.”

She rested her head back on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. “Stay. At least for tonight. Maybe longer.”

“Longer sounds perfect.”

Outside, the Miami night continued — sirens in the distance, palm trees rustling in the breeze. Inside Debra’s apartment, for the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel like she had to be the toughest person in the room. She had someone who saw past the badge and the loud mouth, someone who wanted all of her — intensity, flaws, and all.

Y/N held her close as they drifted toward sleep, his hand stroking her back in slow, soothing circles.

“Get some rest, Detective,” he whispered.

Debra smiled against his skin. “Shut up, Rookie.”

But she held him tighter.

@6rookie-writer0110 @jacenradio7 @marveldcfandom @fandomnerd9602 @multi-fandom-enjoyer

[marveldcfandom]

Harley walking Y/N home.

Y/N: You don’t have to walk me home.

Harley: Babe, I want to. What if a bad guy jumps out?

Y/N: You are the bad guy.

Harley: Yeah, but I’m your bad guy

[arsenysworld]

True…

@6rookie-writer0110 @jacenradio7 @multi-fandom-enjoyer @fandomnerd9602 @marveldcfandom

[arsenysworld]

The way your girlfriend's impression did not go according to plan

Max Mayfield x Male reader❤️

Max had dragged a lot of weird things through Hawkins before.

Broken bikes. Dustin after a sugar crash. Lucas after losing an argument. Even Steve once, half-conscious and bleeding, muttering something about bats and babysitting.

But dragging a woozy, concussed Y/N up Hopper’s front steps while he giggled like he was floating three inches off the ground?

That was new.

“Come on,” Max grunted, tightening her grip on his jacket. “Don’t sit down. If you sit down, Hopper will yell at me.”

Y/N blinked at the porch like it was personally fascinating.

“Wow,” he murmured. “This house is… wobbly.”

“It’s not wobbly,” Max snapped, though her heart was still pounding. “You are.”

She banged on the door with her free hand.

A second later, it swung open.

Hopper stared at them.

Max stared back.

Y/N waved.

“Hey, Chief,” he said cheerfully.

Hopper’s eyes narrowed. “Why does he look like that.”

Before Max could answer, Eleven appeared behind Hopper, peeking around his arm.

“What happened?” she asked, eyes immediately locking onto the faint bandage on Y/N’s head.

Max exhaled. “Y/N tried to skateboard,” she said flatly. “Smacked his head. We just got back from the hospital.”

Hopper groaned. “Jesus Christ.”

“I’m fine,” Y/N insisted, swaying slightly. “The doctor said my brain is… still there.”

Max tightened her hold. “You asked the doctor if you could feel colors.”

Eleven’s lips twitched.

“Inside,” Hopper muttered, stepping aside. “Before he falls over and bleeds on my floor.”

They shuffled inside. Y/N nearly tripped over the rug, laughed at his own feet, and then leaned far too comfortably against Max’s shoulder.

She froze for half a second.

Then she dragged him toward the couch.

As Hopper shut the door and went to grab ice, Max pushed Y/N down onto the cushions. He flopped back dramatically, staring at the ceiling like it held all the secrets of the universe.

“This couch is… really soft,” he whispered.

“It’s old,” Max said. “Don’t drool on it.”

Eleven stood nearby, watching him carefully. “Does your head hurt?”

He turned his head slowly to look at her, eyes unfocused but bright. “Kinda. But in a sparkly way.”

Max groaned. “Great. He’s broken.”

Hopper returned with a bag of frozen peas and shoved it into Y/N’s hands. “Hold this on your head.”

Y/N stared at it. “Why is it cold.”

“Because it’s frozen.”

“Oh,” he said thoughtfully. “That makes sense.”

Max crossed her arms, relief finally settling in now that he was sitting and breathing and not bleeding anymore. But the image kept replaying in her head anyway.

The board. The stupid grin on his face.

The trash can.

Earlier that afternoon, Hawkins had been suspiciously calm.

No sirens. No monsters. No government vans. Just the soft hum of cicadas and the sound of skateboard wheels rattling against cracked pavement.

Max had been sitting on the curb, tightening the laces on her sneakers, when Y/N rolled up beside her.

“I got this,” he said confidently.

She looked up. “You said that last time.”

“And last time I only fell twice,” he replied. “That’s improvement.”

She snorted. “You don’t even skateboard.”

“Yeah, but I watched you,” he said. “And Steve. And… some movie.”

“That’s not how that works.”

He stepped onto the board anyway, wobbling immediately.

Max stood up. “Okay, get off before you die.”

“I’m serious,” he insisted, arms out for balance. “It’s not that hard.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re literally shaking.”

“I’m fine,” he said, forcing a grin. “Just—watch.”

He pushed off.

For exactly three seconds, it almost worked.

Then the front wheel clipped the edge of a dented trash can.

There was a loud bang, followed by Y/N yelping as the board shot out from under him. He went down hard, head smacking against metal with a sickening thunk.

“Y/N!”

Max rushed forward, dropping to her knees beside him.

He blinked up at her, dazed. “Did you see that trick.”

Her chest tightened. “Don’t move.”

“I think I nailed it.”

Blood trickled slightly from his scalp.

Her hands shook as she pressed her jacket against his head. “You’re such an idiot,” she snapped, voice cracking. “Why would you do that?”

He squinted at her, confused. “Because… you were watching.”

That was when fear turned into something else entirely.

Back in Hopper’s living room, Y/N shifted on the couch, the peas sliding off his head and onto his chest.

Eleven picked them up and placed them back carefully.

“Stay still,” she said.

He smiled at her. “You’re very serious.”

“She always is,” Max muttered, sitting on the armchair across from him.

Hopper hovered nearby, arms crossed. “You puke, you clean it up.”

“Deal,” Y/N said solemnly.

A few minutes passed in relative quiet.

Then Y/N giggled.

Max looked up instantly. “What.”

He turned his head toward her, eyes glassy but warm. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she said cautiously.

He lowered his voice like he was sharing a secret. “Don’t tell Max this.”

Her stomach flipped.

“…Tell Max what.”

He leaned forward slightly, swaying. “I was trying to impress her.”

The room went silent.

Max’s face went hot. “You—what?”

“I really like her,” Y/N continued dreamily. “Like… a lot.”

Eleven slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes sparkling as she tried very hard not to laugh.

Max’s brain short-circuited.

“You— you’re not supposed to say that,” she stammered. “You hit your head.”

“I know,” he nodded. “That’s why I’m being honest.”

Eleven failed to hold it in and let out a small snort.

Max shot her a look. “El!”

“What?” Eleven said, smiling. “It’s cute.”

Hopper raised an eyebrow. “Kid’s got guts. And zero survival instincts.”

Max stared at Y/N, who was now smiling at her like she was the best thing he’d ever seen.

“You’re an idiot,” she said softly.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “But I’d do it again.”

Her heart did something stupid.

She stood up abruptly. “You’re not allowed to skateboard anymore.”

“Okay.”

“And you’re not allowed to impress me by hurting yourself.”

“Okay.”

She hesitated. “…You can just talk to me instead.”

His smile widened. “I like that option better.”

Eleven beamed.

Hopper sighed. “I’m surrounded by idiots.”

Y/N leaned back against the couch, eyes fluttering closed. “Max?”

“Yeah?”

“Next time,” he murmured, “you teach me how to fall right.”

She smiled despite herself.

“Next time,” she said, “you wear a helmet.”

He chuckled softly.

And for once in Hawkins, the danger had passed—leaving only bruises, embarrassment, and something new quietly beginning.

For @fandomnerd9602

@jacenradio7 @6rookie-writer0110 @marveldcfandom @multi-fandom-enjoyer

[arsenysworld]

New year, new chapter. No blank pages — just good vibes, big moments, and awesome adventures ahead. Hope luck, success, and money stay on your side all year long. Enjoy every moment, stay close to your people, and keep spreading love and warmth.

Give love, get love back.

Stay happy. Happy New Year! 🎉✨

@6rookie-writer0110 @fandomnerd9602 @multi-fandom-enjoyer @jacenradio7 @marveldcfandom

[antler-moth]

I've got an ask game for you! Post 5 songs you like, then send this to 10 followers!

how to disappear completely-Radiohead

Gossip-Maneskin

would’ve been you-sombr

Her-American dawn

Let down-Radiohead

@just-4-girl @this-mutant-kid @charliessaxophone @whimsical-extravagance @straw-bee-rry @drpeppercreamsodaa @toddanderson1959 @princessglitterbitch @ghost-in-park @sharks-are-better-than-people

[edawgz]

IVE BEEN TAGGED BY POOKIE YAY five songs is HARD i have so many

!! sugar talking by sabrina carpenter

!! remember the time by mj

!! tití me pregunto by bad bunny

!! i wanna be around by tony bennett

!! cosmic girl by jamiroquai

TAGS!! @onlyfeng @jaehyunloml143 @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger @froggibus @n4nab4nan4 @redvdress

[lemoncandiedlesbian]

I LOVE BEING TAGGED IN THESE AJSDFGHJK<JHGFDS

She's so pretty- Ashnikko

Drank in my cup- Kirko Bangz

DUH!- P1Harmony

Euphoria- Bktherula

Action Figure- Wayv

NO PRESSURE TAGS: @novatheory @organgrl666 @snazzysnap @primeofprimes115 😏🫰

[primeofprimes115]

Interesting... Thanks for the tag, jae!

I've got a mix of songs that are from videogames as well, but of course, I'll post the ones I like!

Starboy - The Weeknd (ft. Daft Punk)

Espresso - Sabrina Carpenter

Title - Meg Donnelly

Bury the Light - Casey Edwards, Victor Borba

Afterlife - Evanescence

Tags: @jacenradio7 @multifandomimaginelover @6rookie-writer0110 @beestriker015 @rodimusprime2017

[6rookie-writer0110]

Thanks @primeofprimes115 👍

1- Mas y mas By Trill Bans

2- Just when you think you know somebody By Dave Monks FT. Kenny Hoopla

3- End of You By Amy Lee, Poppy & Courtney Laplante

4- Where’s your head at By Eurotripp

5- Ketutecre By Bad Bunny

Your choice if you want to do it or not

Tagging — @inhumanshadows @jacenradio7 @jacobblack3751009 @arsenysworld @marveldcfandom @billyloveworld88

[arsenysworld]

Thanks @6rookie-writer0110

1- Without me by Eminem

2- Yamakasi by Miyagi & Andy Panda

3- Rock that body by The Black Eyed Peas

4- Scream & Shout by will.i.am & Britney Spears

5- In da club by 50 Cent

Tagging: @herioclizard @justalittleguywritingstories @p-s-stories @fandomnerd9602 @multi-fandom-enjoyer

[arsenysworld]

Da fuck did you say?

Emilia Harcourt x Male Reader

Got idea from: @amphibiahawks321

The convenience store’s automatic doors slid shut with a soft hiss behind Y/N as he wandered down the snack aisle, already regretting coming in hungry. His arms were full—chips, beef jerky, soda, something chocolate he didn’t remember grabbing—and he was staring at the shelves like they personally offended him.

Outside, leaning against the brick wall near the entrance, Emilia was very aware that she was alone.

She’d only stepped out because Y/N had forgotten his wallet in the car, and somehow that turned into him disappearing inside the store like a kid let loose in a candy shop. Emilia scrolled through her phone, earbuds in but no music playing, just enjoying the night air.

That was when a shadow fell a little too close.

“Hey there, sugar plum~”

Her spine stiffened she didn’t even look up. “Fuck… off.”

There was a brief pause, followed by a low chuckle, the kind that thought it was charming.

“Whoa, no need to be feisty, sweetheart. I’m just trying to make conversation.”

Emilia finally looked at him.

Mid-thirties. Leather jacket. Smug smile that screamed I think I’m God’s gift to women. Too close. Way too close.

“Yeah,” she said flatly, slipping her phone into her pocket, “calling someone ‘sugar plum’ is totally not creepy and is totally a great way to make conversation.”

He grinned wider, clearly mistaking irritation for interest.

“Not my fault a pretty girl like you is alone,” he said, eyes raking over her. “Had to take my chance, sweetheart~”

Emilia blinked.

Then she smiled. Not sweetly. Not kindly. The kind of smile that meant someone was about to have a very bad night.

“Yeah, no,” she said. “I’m taken. By a more qualified guy. So now you can go ahead and fuck off.”

The guy scoffed, hands raised like he was amused rather than dismissed.

“Aww, man. What a bummer,” he said. “You sure we can’t get along a little more~? I could treat you to a nice restaurant, y’know~?”

“No.”

The smile vanished from her face entirely.

He sighed dramatically. “Whatever. Who’s this boyfriend of yours anyway?”

Emilia didn’t answer right away.

Instead, she turned her head slightly and pointed through the large glass window of the supermarket.

Inside, Y/N was standing in front of the freezers, intensely debating ice cream flavors like it was a life-or-death decision.

She stared at him with something soft in her eyes.

“Yeah,” she said. “It’s that guy.”

The stranger squinted.

“Him?”

“Yeah.”

He let out a laugh. “You’re kidding, right?”

Emilia’s head snapped back toward him, her expression shifting instantly into something sharp and dangerous.

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, come on,” he continued, shaking his head. “The guy doesn’t look special at all—”

BAM!

Her fist connected with his face before he finished the sentence.

There was a sickening crack as his nose broke on impact, and the man went down like a sack of bricks, hitting the pavement hard. Emilia didn’t hesitate.

She was on him in seconds.

Her knee slammed into his ribs as he groaned, hands scrambling uselessly. She grabbed the front of his jacket and drove another punch into his face, then another.

Again and again.

Someone screamed. A car horn blared. Emilia barely noticed.

When he tried to curl in on himself, she kicked him square in the gut, knocking the air out of him. And when he made the mistake of gasping and rolling slightly—

She kicked him there.

He screamed.

Only then did Emilia step back, chest heaving, hands clenched, adrenaline buzzing through her veins. She looked down at him, bloody, sobbing, humiliated.

“Next time,” she said coldly, “keep your mouth shut.”

Inside the store, Y/N finally chose his ice cream.

He paid, thanked the cashier, and stepped outside just in time to see police lights flashing and Emilia standing off to the side, arms crossed, looking bored.

“…What the hell happened.”

Thirty minutes later, the front door of the house closed with a soft click behind the police officer.

Y/N stood next to the officer. “Thank you, officer.”

“No problem,” the officer had said. “Hey, kid listen.”

“Yeah?” Y/N had replied.

“You got a good one,” the officer nodded toward Emilia, who was sitting on the couch like nothing had happened. “Just tell her to be less violent next time someone hits on her, okay?”

Y/N had rubbed the back of his neck. “I understand.”

“Good. Have a nice day.”

Now the house was quiet. Too quiet. Y/N turned slowly to face her. “You punched his face,” he said carefully, “and you kicked his what now?”

Emilia shrugged. “Oh, come on. He had it coming.”

“Emi,” Y/N sighed, running a hand through his hair, “I love you. I love you so very much. But you gotta admit—if someone hits on you, you can’t be that violent.”

She opened her mouth.

“But,” he added quickly, “yes, he deserved getting punched until his nose bled. I fully agree with that part. One hundred percent. No notes.”

She smirked.

“But kicking him in that area—”

“Wait,” Emilia interrupted, eyes narrowing. “That cop didn’t know?”

“Didn’t know what?”

She leaned forward, elbows on her knees.

“I didn’t beat him up because he was hitting on me,” she said calmly. “I beat him up because he was hitting on me and because he was talking crap about you.”

Y/N froze.

“…What?”

“He laughed at you,” she said simply. “Said you weren’t special.”

Something warm bloomed in his chest.

“…Oh.”

She watched his ears turn red.

“Well damn,” he muttered, smiling despite himself. “Now I don’t know whether I should be flattered or completely thankful that I have an awesome girlfriend like you.”

Emilia smiled back, softer this time.

“Both,” she said.

He laughed, pulling her into his arms, careful but tight.

“Next time,” he murmured against her hair, “maybe let me punch the guy?”

She snorted. “Next time, don’t take so long buying snacks.”

He kissed her temple.

“Deal.”

YEAH!!! I’M BACK BABY!!!

@6rookie-writer0110 @jacenradio7 @fandomnerd9602 @marveldcfandom