#‘lets get back together even if you don’t want to because if one of us should be unhappy idk why it should be me’

[luv-lock]

⸻ ᴊ ᴀ ʏ ʙ ɪ ʀ ᴅ ⸻

“ Safe Home: Night of the Young Heroes ”

Pairing: Dark Jason Todd x Fem Reader Part 5

Summary: He was your safe place. The only one who always keep you safe. And you were his. His home. His love. His first. He promised to always protect you... But did he?

Warning: Teenagers in love, sexual tension and intimate situations.

Note: English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

She ran her fingers through his damp, golden hair, combing it gently as she worked the dye into the strands. Jason sat between her legs, his back resting against her as she applied the color with slow, deliberate care. His head tilted slightly into her touch, eyes closed, shoulders relaxed. It was the only time he ever really let his guard down—when it was just the two of them, in the dim glow of her shitty bathroom, the smell of hair dye thick in the air.

She had never seen him like this before. The real Jason. Not the copy. Not the replacement. Just him.

And God, he was beautiful.

“Wow,” she murmured, voice soft as she ran her nails lightly across his scalp. “You’re so pretty, Jaybird.”

Jason huffed out a laugh, but there was something guarded in it. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get used to it. It’ll be black again in an hour.”

She hummed, tilting her head as she studied him. His sharp cheekbones, his full lips, the way the light made his green eyes almost glow. He looked just like—

"Y’know," she started, a teasing lilt in her voice, "you look just like Dick like this."

Jason stiffened, shoulders tensing beneath her hands. She felt it immediately, the way his fingers curled into fists against his thighs, the way his jaw clenched.

"But you already knew that, huh?" she continued, tone saccharine, like she was talking about something innocent. "It’s why you do this, right? Why Bruce makes you do this. Gotta keep his little Robin looking just like the last one."

Jason swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He didn’t answer.

But she didn’t stop. “It’s weird, y’know? You’re like... his twin. Just with blonde hair.”

He flinched, barely, but enough that she noticed. His eyes narrowed. “Don’t start,” he muttered, his voice low, like a warning.

She leaned down, her lips brushing the shell of his ear. "But you're not him," she whispered. "You never will be. And that’s the problem, isn’t it?"

His breath hitched, and she saw it—the crack in his armor, the flash of raw, unfiltered hurt in his expression before he forced it down, burying it deep.

“Bruce never wanted you, Jaybird. Not really. He only took you in because you were a replacement. A distraction, so he wouldn’t have to face the fact that he lost Dick.”

His chest tightened, his heart hammering beneath his ribs.

She reached around, fingers finding his, prying his clenched fists open. His palms were warm, calloused from too many fights, too many hours spent swinging between rooftops.

"It’s okay," she murmured, pressing his hand against her chest, right over her heart. "You don’t have to be him, Jaybird. You never did."

Jason exhaled shakily, eyes fixed on where their hands met.

"He doesn’t want me," he finally admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

She hated the way he sounded. Like he had always known it. Like it wasn’t even a question anymore.

"He doesn’t see me," Jason continued, voice raw. "He sees a fucking shadow. A mold to fill. A—"

"A copy," she finished for him, nodding.

Jason's fingers curled around hers, gripping tight, like he was holding on for dear life.

"Yeah," he whispered.

She moved her hand, threading their fingers together, grounding him. "Then fuck him," she said simply. "You don’t need him to see you. I do. I see you, Jason."

His head snapped up, green eyes locking onto hers, searching for a lie. He wouldn’t find one.

Jason’s breath shuddered, his heart pulsing harder. It was like she was saying the things he didn’t even know he needed to hear.

He swallowed hard, then let out a shaky exhale, his hand coming up to rest on hers. He pulled her closer, his forehead pressing gently against hers.

“Yeah?” His voice was barely more than a whisper, strained with something raw he didn’t know how to name.

“Yeah,” she replied, a slow, dark smile spreading across her face. “I’ll always love you, Jaybird. Even if he never could.”

She pressed her lips against his, soft but insistent, as if to pour all the poison in his mind, to drink all the doubts that Bruce had planted in him. As her hands slid around his neck, pulling him in deeper, Jason let himself sink into her warmth, into her twisted comfort.

For once, he didn’t feel like he had to be anyone else. He was just Jason. And that was enough. Enough for her.

But even as he kissed her, his thoughts lingered. She really does see me, doesn't she?

And in the back of his mind, a voice whispered, Maybe... she’s the one who’s always seen me.

The hair dye was forgotten. The world outside of that room was forgotten. There was only her, and Jason’s reflection in the mirror—blonde hair and all.

His breath left him in a shuddering exhale, and for the first time that night, Jason let himself lean into her, let himself be held.

And when she rinsed the dye from his hair an hour later, watching as the last traces of blonde washed down the drain, she couldn’t help but wonder—

How much of Jason had already disappeared down there with it?

The ropes around her wrists were tight. Not too tight, though. Amateurs.

She sighed, legs crossed, perched on a rickety chair in the middle of some dusty-ass warehouse while a bunch of greasy-looking criminals argued over what to do with her.

“Maybe we call the Bat,” one of them grunted, pacing.

“Nah,” another said, shaking his head. “The Bat’s a pain in the ass. We should—”

“Boring,” she muttered under her breath, tilting her head back.

“What?” one of them snapped, turning to glare at her.

She rolled her eyes. “I said boooring,” she repeated, drawing out the word. “You guys suck at this.”

One of the goons—probably the leader, considering how he had the most scars and the least amount of brain cells—stepped forward, scowling. “The hell you say?”

She gave him a once-over, unimpressed. “Look, I’ve been kidnapped before, alright? Plenty of times. And this?” She gestured vaguely at her tied-up state. “Weak. No drama, no creativity. You didn’t even monologue. What kind of low-tier villainy is this?”

Scarface turned red, jaw tightening. “Listen, you little bi—”

A loud crash cut him off as the warehouse skylight shattered, glass raining down. A figure dropped from above, landing right in the middle of them, cape billowing, boots hitting the ground with a solid thud.

And there he was.

Jason. Her hero for the evening.

He straightened, rolling his shoulders, cracking his knuckles as he surveyed the room with that signature cocky smirk. “Evenin’, gentlemen.” He tilted his head toward her. “And lady.”

She sighed dramatically. “Finally.”

“Miss me, princess?” he asked, his voice dripping with playful arrogance. "Hope they weren’t too annoying."

"Oh, they were."

"Figures." Jason rolled his shoulders. "Alright, boys. You know the drill. We can do this the easy way, or—"

The leader pulled a gun.

Jason sighed dramatically. "Oh, thank God. I was hoping for the hard way."

Then he moved.

And it was beautiful.

Jason fought like he lived for this—like every punch, every kick was part of some perfectly executed symphony of violence. He ducked under a swing, spun behind another guy, kicked out a knee, and grinned as someone screamed.

He ducked under a swing, slammed his elbow into someone’s gut, spun, kicked another in the jaw. He was so dramatic with it, flipping over one guy’s head, twisting mid-air, landing in a crouch before sweeping someone’s legs out from under them.

She just sat there, watching. “Show-off,” she muttered.

Jason, currently mid-punch, glanced at her and winked.

She rolled her eyes. Dumbass.

"You guys are making this too easy!" Jason taunted, dodging a knife and slamming his escrima stick into someone’s ribs. "C’mon! At least try to make me sweat!"

The last guy standing made a run for it. Jason sighed, pulled a batarang from his belt, and chucked it without even looking. It nailed the guy right in the back of the head.

"Night, night," Jason quipped as the guy face-planted.

Then he turned to her, hands on his hips. "Now, let’s get you outta there, princess."

She huffed. "Took you long enough."

Jason grinned, stepping behind her to untie the ropes. "C’mon, doll. You love it when I save you."

"I could’ve handled it myself."

"Mmmhmm. Sure you could’ve."

He knelt in front of her, his hands working quickly to untie the ropes, his fingers brushing against her skin with a shocking tenderness.

“Thanks for the save...” she whisper, the teasing in her voice light, but underneath, there was a spark of something else—a warmth that she couldn’t ignore.

Then, before she could react, he lunged forward, grabbed the back of her chair, and tipped it back.

She gasped as the world tilted—but before she could hit the ground, Jason caught her, spinning her up into his arms like something straight out of a damn movie.

She landed against his chest, his arm strong around her waist, his other hand tipping her chin up.

Jason smirked, “Anything for you, sweetheart.” He gave her a playful wink, “You sure you didn’t miss me?” he asked, his voice playful but with a hint of something deeper.

“I was starting to think you forgot about me,” she replied with a roll of her eyes, even as she leaned into him.

“Oh, I could never forget about you.” His voice softened for a second, just a flicker of something real before the cocky grin was back, wide and dangerous. “Now, let’s get you out of here, yeah?”

He spun her into his arms suddenly, lifting her with ease as if she weighed nothing. She gasped, a little taken aback by the suddenness of it, but he just flashed her that grin again, his eyes dancing with mischief.

“You’re not gonna drop me, are you?” she teased, wrapping her arms around his neck to steady herself.

“Me? Drop you?” Jason raised an eyebrow as if the idea was preposterous. “Sweetheart, I’m not that cruel.” He held her effortlessly, twirling her around once, then pulling her close again, his lips brushing her cheek as he whispered, “Besides, I’d never let anything happen to you. You’re too damn precious.”

Her heart skipped. Just for a second.

She blinked. “Oh my God, you’re such a dork.”

His hand was on her chin, gently lifting her face so that she was looking into his eyes.

“I’ve got you now,” he murmured, the cocky bravado slipping away for just a moment, replaced by something softer. “You’re safe.”

She swallowed, feeling the weight of the moment settle in her chest. She nodded slowly. “I know, Jaybird. I know.”

He just laughed. “You know,” he said with a wink, his voice flirtatious and teasing, “I think I deserve a reward for my heroic efforts.”

Before she could reply, he leaned in and kissed her—deep, passionate, and all-consuming. The world seemed to fall away, leaving just the two of them. Her heart raced, her pulse pounding in her ears, as she melted into the kiss, forgetting for a moment about the danger, the fear, and the chaos. There was only him. Always him.

"Are you two done?"

Jason groaned against her lips. “Jesus, old man, can I have a moment?”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed, but there was something else in his gaze—a flicker of something that resembled fond exasperation. “If you’re going to play games, at least get out of here before more criminals show up.”

Jason chuckled, shifting her so she was resting against him more comfortably. “Oh, we’re going, old man. But I’m not done with her just yet.”

Bruce’s glare intensified.

She snickered. Jason huffed, dropping his forehead against hers. “This is why we don’t invite him.”

Bruce’s glare could’ve melted steel, but Jason was already striding toward the exit, she was still in his arms. "We’ll be fine, Bruce. Don’t worry. I’ve got her."

As they walked out into the night, Jason's smirk never wavered. He was the hero. He was her hero. And as long as they were together, that was all that mattered.

Bruce could deal with the rest.

The classroom was silent, save for the scratching of pens on paper and the soft hum of the fluorescent lights. She was seated in the middle of the room, trying to focus on the question on the board, but her mind was racing in a completely different direction.

Why was he doing this to her?

Jason was sitting at his desk, one seat over, a few rows behind her. At least, that’s what she thought—until she felt the subtle graze of fingers against the side of her leg.

Her heart skipped a beat.

She glanced under the desk, catching just a glimpse of Jason’s hand disappearing under the table, inching closer to her thigh. His eyes were half-lidded, the kind of lazy gaze he always wore when he was enjoying himself, a teasing smirk playing at the edges of his lips.

No, he’s not…

She flinched when his fingers brushed against her skin, just above the hem of her skirt. It was gentle at first—just a light caress, like he was testing the waters. But she knew him. Jason never did anything by accident.

“Hey,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. She shifted in her seat, but it only seemed to encourage him. His fingers snuck higher, brushing just under the fabric of her skirt, feeling the warmth of her skin.

Her breath hitched. She tried to focus on the board, on the lesson, on the goddamn question about trigonometry that she could barely wrap her head around. But Jason’s touch was too distracting.

“Focus babe,” he murmured low enough that only she could hear. His voice was thick with amusement, like he knew exactly what he was doing to her.

She barely registered the next question on the board, trying not to shift too much in her seat. She had to stay calm. She had to.

But then—pinch.

Her eyes widened as Jason gave her a small, almost playful pinch on the inside of her thigh. It wasn’t hard, but it made her jump, her face flushing with heat.

She shot him a glare, but Jason just grinned, chin resting lazily in his palm, elbow propped on the desk as if he was in no rush. His eyes were heavy-lidded, watching her struggle with a look that said he was enjoying every second of it.

She gritted her teeth, trying to ignore the way his touch was driving her crazy. She couldn’t let him win. Not here. Not in front of everyone.

But Jason? He wasn’t giving up so easily.

His hand shifted again, slipping underneath the hem of her skirt—just enough to feel the bare skin of her thigh again. His fingers traced a slow path, just grazing her, pushing her to the edge of what she could stand.

She swallowed hard, gripping the edge of her desk to steady herself. Keep it together.

“Stop it,” she whispered through gritted teeth, her voice tight, trying not to let anyone notice how red her face was.

Jason leaned back slightly, shifting so that his gaze locked onto hers. There was something about the way he looked at her—half-lidded eyes, smirk pulling at his lips, his hand still lingering dangerously close to her skin. He was in control, and he knew it.

“I’m not doing anything,” he teased, his voice low, barely above a whisper. He looked at her like he could read every thought in her head. “Just keeping you company, babe.”

She clenched her jaw, her fingers tightening around the edge of her desk. This was fine. She was fine.

But then his fingers dipped slightly lower, and she sucked in a breath, her body tensing. It was almost impossible to stay still. Every inch of her felt like it was on fire, her heartbeat thudding in her chest, and all she wanted to do was turn around and snap at him. But they were in class. In front of everyone.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to concentrate, trying to block out the growing heat in her chest and the way her body was betraying her every time his fingers brushed against her.

"Alright, Y/N," the teacher’s voice snapped her back into reality. "Could you please answer the question on the board?"

She blinked, caught off guard, and immediately felt the weight of everyone’s eyes on her. The classroom had gone dead quiet, and she realized, with rising panic, that she was the center of attention. Jason was still here, still touching her, and now she had to speak.

Her throat felt dry, and her palms started to sweat. She opened her mouth, her voice shaky at first. “Uh… uh, yeah. The answer is… um…”

Jason’s hand slid higher, his fingers pressing against her inner thigh with a soft, teasing motion.

“Calm down, baby,” he whispered, just loud enough for her to hear. His voice was low, soothing in a way that only made her blush even harder. He knew what he was doing.

She tried to swallow the lump in her throat, tried to steady herself enough to speak, but she couldn’t seem to find her words. Her mind was swirling, her body burning.

Jason was grinning, his head now resting lazily on his hand, leaning back with his usual attitude, watching her with those half-lidded eyes like this was just some game to him. But to her?

It was torture.

The teacher’s voice cut through the haze of her thoughts. "Are you alright, Y/N?"

She blinked, feeling the heat rising in her cheeks as she nodded quickly, unable to look away from the board. “Y-Yes. The answer is… 42.”

Her heart was racing, but she tried to sound confident, pushing the heat in her face away as best she could.

“Correct,” the teacher nodded, and she quickly sat down, her hands trembling in her lap. She could feel Jason’s eyes on her the entire time.

As soon as the teacher moved on to another student, Jason leaned forward, his chair scraping against the floor as he moved in closer. She barely had time to react before he cupped her cheek in his hand, tilting her face toward him with a grin on his lips.

“Good girl,” he whispered, his voice low and smooth, sending a shiver down her spine. “You held it together better than I thought.”

Before she could respond, he leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her cheek.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she turned her face away, hiding the fact that her face was still burning hot. Jason’s hand remained on her cheek, his thumb brushing over her skin in that tender, almost possessive way that made her feel dizzy.

“You’re welcome,” she whispered, trying to regain some semblance of normalcy. But the moment the words left her lips, Jason pulled back, his eyes glinting with mischief.

“You’re so cute.” His voice was teasing, playful, and yet there was that underlying note of admiration, like he couldn’t get enough of her.

The bell rang, signaling the end of the class, and the classroom filled with the noise of students packing up and getting ready to leave. Jason stood up, flashing a grin as he stretched. “Come on, princess. Let’s get out of here before you completely lose it.”

She awoke gasping for breath, her sheets tangled around her as if the fabric itself was trying to hold her down. Her heart pounded in her chest, her body trembling from the remnants of the fear that clung to her skin like a cold sweat. Her throat burned, constricting as if the very air had turned to stone.

Her breath came quick and shallow, heart pounding, and before she knew it, she was slipping out of bed, her feet landing on the cold floor. She knew what she had to do.

Jason.

She padded quietly down the hallway, careful not to wake anyone, her hand trembling slightly as she reached for his door. She knew he’d be up—he always was, especially at this hour. It was the perfect time for him to retreat into his own world, just like she was trying to do.

She pushed the door open, and there he was.

Jason.

The faint glow of his cigarette lit up the room, the smoke curling up lazily toward the ceiling in soft tendrils. Jason sat on his bed, his back against the wall, his eyes half-lidded as he took a long drag, the orange tip of the cigarette glowing brighter in the darkness. The faint smell of tobacco filled the air, an oddly comforting presence that seemed to settle her nerves, even though she hated the smell.

Alfred, of course, would never approve of this, but it was well past midnight. The house was quiet, and the night belonged to them—if only for a few hours.

Jason didn’t say anything at first. He just glanced up at her, those familiar, piercing eyes meeting hers. He knew. He always knew.

Without a word, he opened his arms, an invitation she didn’t have to think twice about.

She crossed the room slowly, her heart still racing from the remnants of the nightmare, and sat down on his lap. The warmth of his body, the smell of his cigarette, and the comfort of his presence instantly made her feel a little less fragile.

Jason exhaled the smoke in a slow, measured cloud, watching her as she buried her face in his chest. Her breath was shaky, her body still tense with the lingering fear.

"Bad one?" he asked softly, his fingers running through her hair, gentle and slow.

“Yeah...” she whispered, her fingers clutching at his shirt. “I hate it. I just…” She trailed off, unable to find the words. She hated how weak she felt after one of those nightmares. How vulnerable, how exposed. But with him, it was different. She didn’t have to explain anything. He already knew.

The tears she tried to hold back finally broke free, one by one, soaking into the fabric of his shirt. She couldn’t explain it—not the pain, not the fear, not the memories. But Jason didn’t need her to. He just held her, tight and steady, his body radiating warmth, as though he was trying to shield her from everything.

Minutes passed in silence, only the soft sound of his cigarette burning in the background, and her soft sobs. His fingers never stopped stroking her hair, never stopped offering comfort in his silent, steady way.

After a while, she wiped her eyes, pulling back slightly to look up at him. “Can I try it?”

Jason raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a teasing smile. “What?”

She pointed to the cigarette. “I want to smoke too.”

He laughed softly, the sound low and rich with amusement. “No way, princess. You’re not getting hooked on this shit.” His hand slid up her back, fingers threading through her hair as he pulled her gently against his chest once more. “Not while I’m still around.”

She pouted, her lower lip jutting out as she tried to push against him. “Why not? It looks fun.”

Jason shook his head, his fingers tracing circles along her spine, sending shivers down her body. “You don’t need this,” he said, voice soft but firm. “You have me.”

She rolled her eyes at him, but it wasn’t in the playful way she usually would. It was a quiet, sulking gesture, her chest still tight from the lingering effects of the nightmare.

Jason’s smirk faded into something softer, something more genuine, as he cupped her face with one hand, tilting her chin upward to meet his gaze. His thumb gently brushed over her lower lip, and she felt her breath catch in her throat.

“Pretty girl,” he murmured, his voice low, thick with something she couldn’t quite place. He leaned in just enough for her to feel the heat of his breath on her skin before he softly pressed his thumb against her lips.

“Open up,” he whispered, his thumb moving slowly, gently, coaxing her lips to part. And when they did, his thumb slid inside, the warm pressure of it sending a shiver through her body. His thumb moved in slow circles against her tongue, and she couldn’t help but close her eyes, her body responding to the intimate gesture. She didn’t know what to do with the sensation—the way his thumb was pushing deeper into her mouth, the way she could taste the lingering trace of smoke on his skin, mixing with the taste of his cologne and the heat between them.

Her heart raced, but she didn’t pull away. She couldn’t.

Jason leaned in, his breath mingling with hers, the air thick and heady. And just when she thought she might lose herself in the moment, he pulled back just enough to look into her eyes—eyes that were now dark with something deeper than just affection.

“Breathe it in, baby,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. Then he kissed her.

It started slow. A gentle brushing of lips, a tentative touch, but it didn’t stay that way for long. The moment their lips met, something inside both of them snapped, and it was as if the floodgates had opened. Her hands roamed up to his chest, pushing his shirt up as the kiss deepened, and Jason’s hands slid down her back, pulling her closer, his body pressing against hers with a desperation that made her dizzy.

The kiss became hungry. Heated. With every movement, the tension between them built, thick and electrifying. She could feel his heart pounding against her chest, matching the frantic pace of her own. His hands were everywhere, moving over her skin, pulling her tighter against him.

The world outside the room seemed to fade away, leaving only the heat between them. The pressure. The need.

She gasped into the kiss when his hands slid lower, his fingertips teasing the hem of her shirt. And then she felt it—the brief, fleeting moment of something she couldn’t control. She wanted him. All of him. Right now.

But Jason didn’t rush. He never did.

His hands explored, teasing, as if savoring every inch of her skin. She couldn’t stop herself from reacting, from leaning into him, from pulling at him, wanting more. She was lost in the moment, her senses overwhelmed by the feel of him, the taste of him, the way his body was pressing against hers.

Jason pulled away, breathing hard, his eyes wild, his lips swollen from the kiss. “You okay?” His voice was rough, more intense than usual. He was waiting for her answer, his fingers brushing her hair back from her face.

She nodded, heart still pounding in her chest. “Yeah… yeah, I’m fine.”

Jason gave her a soft smile, his thumb grazing her cheek. “Good. You’re always gonna be fine with me.”

And then, the kiss grew more intense, more heated, and it was impossible to stop. His lips left hers only for a moment, his breath hot against her ear as he whispered, “I’ll never hurt you.”

A tremor ran through her as his words sank in. His hands were moving beneath her shirt now, fingertips grazing over her skin, making her shiver at the touch.

“I’m not like him,” Jason continued, his voice rough, desperate. “I swear on my life, I’ll never hurt you. You’ll be safe with me. Always.”

She could hear the truth in his words, feel the sincerity in the way he held her, the way he touched her. Her heart ached, her emotions spiraling out of control. She wanted him, needed him in a way she couldn’t explain, but it was more than just physical. It was the comfort, the protection, the promise that she wasn’t alone.

“I’d kill myself before I ever hurt you,” he whispered, his words a dark vow that made her heart stop.

The intensity of it all hit her in a way she wasn’t prepared for. The warmth of his body, the heat of the kiss, the honesty in his voice—it all collided inside her, breaking down the walls she’d built up for so long.

She kissed him back, her hands trembling as she pulled him closer, her body pressed tightly against his. Every inch of her skin was on fire, every nerve singing with the need to be closer, to be consumed by him.

And as the kiss deepened, the world outside of them disappeared. There was only Jason, only the promise he had made, the promise to protect her, to keep her safe. She clung to him, her fingers tangling in his hair, and for once, she felt like she could breathe again.

But it wasn’t just about the kiss. It was about everything—the broken parts of her past, the weight of the nightmares, the fear of being lost. With Jason, she didn’t feel lost anymore.

She pulled away from the kiss just for a moment, breathless, her eyes locked with his. “Promise me,” she whispered, her voice trembling, “promise me you won’t leave me. Promise me I’m safe with you.”

Jason’s hand moved to her face, wiping away a tear she hadn’t even realized had fallen. His gaze softened, his thumb brushing gently across her cheek. “I promise,” he whispered back. “You’ll never have to be scared again.”

And in that moment, she believed him. She believed him in a way she never thought possible, and with him by her side, she knew she could face whatever came next.

For now, that was enough.

MASTERLIST

Next ☆ Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 6.

© luv-lock. Don't copy, repost or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[telephoniii]

Do you accept requests? I really loved the Really him thing and was wondering if you could do that but him reacting to reader being in a polyamorous relationship with Malleus and Leona? Srry id u not comfortable with it. I thought id ask cuz there are like no poly fics

I’ve actually been debating whether or not to do requests. That and I was thinking about making a masterlist! If people really want to request stuff/have a masterlist then lmk and I’d be down to do it. My verdict rn is; if you have an idea, feel free to send it. 🤷

Also! It's not exactly polyamorous, but I've got a longer fic in the works abt Leona and Malleus being love rivals for the reader. So if that interests you than stay tuned!!

Anyways, lets get to the fun and whimsical stuff!

I’m not poly myself so I’m really sorry if anything is misrepresented. I did decide to add more than just Malleus and Leona since I thought it’d be fun! I hope you enjoy :>

REALLY…HIM? (Poly Addition)

malleus and leona

Oh, you’re going to give this man a heart attack. Because what do you mean you’re dating the two most powerful yet reckless students of them all. Malleus and Leona? The two have a heated rivalry, do they not?!Do you have no concern for your safety?!?!The amount of sheer power these two hold together frighten this poor soul. He tells you to keep your distance if they start to fight. As a magicless student, you do NOT want to get involved if a duel were to break out. No, Trein wants you to RUN if that ever happens. Give him some time to get used to it. The sight of you next to Malleus and Leona in the hallways sends panic throughout his nervous system. After a month or so, Trein mellows out. He’ll start asking technical questions that you don’t have answers to. “If you were to marry them both, would all three of you be the rulers of Briars Valley?” ??? No clue, Professor. Can I get back to my test in peace now?

ace and deuce

He’s not surprised in the slightest. Trein always had an inkling that something was going on between you three. He just didn't want to believe it. Why? Because he doesn't like them. Well, scratch that. He doesn't like Ace. Is he supposed to jump for joy at the fact you’re dating the biggest slacker among all the first years? Trein has a habit of nit-picking them both and what they do. However, despite all the smack he talks, deep down he heavily approves of the relationship. He knows the two boys and doesn't doubt their loyalty to you. It's always been the three of you from the start and he views it as an unbreakable bond. So, even though he makes a face when you walk in with Deuce’s sports jacket and says you should take it off because it smells like sweat, he finds himself smiling when he spots you three sitting together at lunch just enjoying each others company. The way you all joke around and laugh together like you’re the only people in the world. He trusts them with your heart more than anyone else.

vil and rook

He actually thinks it's a pretty sweet relationship at first. You all balance each other out. Vil and Rook earned Trein’s seal of approval to date you from day one… and then Rook sends him a creepy letter thanking him for being supportive and— yep. Trein takes back that seal because what the hell. For the senders name on the letter, it was by both Rook and Vil, so Trein pulls both of them aside to talk about HIS boundaries. (He thought he didn't have to explicitly say, “Don’t stalk me before, during, or after school hours” but here we are) Vil is so confused the whole time. What could've possibly prompted this?? Then he remembers his boyfriend next to him who’s blissfully smiling and it all starts to make sense. With a sigh, Vil ends up apologizing to Trein for the whole ordeal and tells you about it as well. Rook gives you a kiss and promises to just watch Trein from afar. You don’t know how much better that is and it seems like Vil is thinking the same thing as he lets out a small groan. Trein is forever unnerved by your relationship— specifically because of Rook.

jamil and azul

Honey, are you being manipulated into this relationship? Which one of them is gaslighting you? Trein knows that they both have deceptive tendencies and is concerned. He’s not actively against it or anything, but he just keeps a close eye on the three of you. Jamil and Azul pick up on this and silently agree to each other that they want to prove themselves to Trein. Expect to get the ultimate royalty treatment everytime the Professor is around. One moment they’re playfully poking fun at you, the next they are cherishing the ground you walk on. (As they should) Unfortunately, it ends up having the opposite effect where Trein is even more suspicious and starts telling you to keep your distance from them. Jamil lets out a tired sigh an decides to do the mature thing by actually talking to Trein about their relationship with you. He drags Azul along with him and makes sure to keep him in check during the discussion. Jamil’s honesty takes Trein by surprise. Usually he wasn't one to make himself notable like that. Azul, reluctantly, ends up being honest about his feelings and relationship regarding you after Jamil. Afterward, Trein doesn’t say anything the next time he sees the three of you together. Instead, he just gives you a small nod and smile. Wow. Ultimate approval. Jamil and Azul high-five each other under the table.

[hyunjiiza]

hint: lover with a dollar sign | . ᯓ 🍵 ݁‧ ᵔ

➜ he’s a loser ! ୨୧ skz members and what type of cute loner they’d be . | contents : drug use , fem reader implied ᰋ wc ; 1633 . ꉂ ot8 .ᐟ

｡ ᰋ 𓂃 | i’m not pushing any of these narratives onto them, it’s just dif scenarios i wanted to write them in ! this is a bit of an older work from my other account but i’m moving here so hi

chan as the 𐔌 stoner loner .ᐟ ˚ ੭

shows up to school smelling like weed but no one cares because he does all his work and never causes trouble

you make eye contact with him for the first time in the parking lot while he’s smoking, he falls in love when you smile and wave

turns down everyone that hits on him after that

when he finally musters up the courage to talk to you all he can do is tap your shoulder in the same parking lot he first saw you and ask if you smoke

no matter your answer, he asks to get to know you better

follows you around like a bodyguard after that

never ever lets you carry your own bag and always makes sure you have something to eat for lunch whether he has to pay for you or not

pretty smart in most subjects so you have study dates often because he just likes your presence

won’t smoke around you if you don’t like it

never posts anything besides you and aesthetic pictures he takes

isn’t the type to fight but he will if someone disrespects you, but they back off because of his size before it gets to that point

hyunjin as the 𐔌 artsy loner .ᐟ ˚ ੭

has one black pen and one red pen that he abuses every day

pays attention for the most part but occasionally gets distracted doodling in his notebooks

def has drawings all over his hands

the first time he noticed you was in art class and he thought you were so pretty he started drawing you

you glance over and he’s mortified when he realizes he probably looks like a creep

too nervous to go up to you and explain so he leaves you a note with little drawings all over (plus the drawing of you) and a replacement of the pink gel pen he notices you using all the time

gets super nervous when he sees you walking up to him the next day

you ask him to partner up for a project and thank him for the drawing

ends up kissing you at your last project session

asks you out with the most thoughtful basket filled with things you like and a letter with another drawing of you and almost cries when you don’t answer right away

does everything for you after you get together

the art teacher is yalls biggest fan

has no one else to cling to so he’s all over you 24/7

gives nasty glares to men who simply look at you

felix as the 𐔌 fashion design loner .ᐟ ˚ ੭

like hyunjin, spends most of his time sketching out designs in his scrap book where he keeps all his miniature fabric samples in

sulks because there’s no fashion club for him to join

is initially drawn to you because of an outfit you wore that he loves

eventually asks where you got your top when you wear it again and his heartstrings pull at the way you answer so sweetly and compliment his hair

after that the two of you gradually got closer and closer

you help him learn to sew and he starts planning marriage then and there (he wants to help design your wedding dress)

sews matching patches on your backpacks

you catch him texting his best friend that lives abroad about you

gets so nervous he cries

you tell him you feel the same way and he cries even harder

just gets even clingier once you end up together

loves kissing you and laying together while he sketches

takes you out whenever you want and spoils you rotten because he has rich parents

matching outfits = fire insta pics

jeongin as the 𐔌 sour patch loner .ᐟ ˚ ੭

never talks to anyone so everyone thinks he’s mean but he’s really an angel

your elective teacher makes your class do a secret santa and he gets you

he gives you oddly specific gifts (he has a massive crush on you and overhears you telling your friends your wishlist) and includes a note sweet talking you

you go up to him and thank him with a kiss on the cheek and he turns red

he asks you to hang out and pays for brunch and the cutest pottery painting date

gets the teacher to move you two to sit next to each other

everyone’s a little surprised when they see how he’s so gentle with you

decides he needs to get over himself and ask you out and gets you a pandora charm bracelet and a pretty bouquet of flowers

pampers you with your favorite snacks or meals randomly, refills of makeup you use, randomly does your homework for you

flips off ur exes and flexes on them when you aren’t looking then turns around to kiss you

is at your house 24/7 because he can’t breathe without you but is supportive when you go out with your friends or need a solo day

loves going to the beach with you and carrying you so your feet don’t get sandy

jisung as the 𐔌 nerdy loner .ᐟ ˚ ੭

has good grades and the teachers remember his name because his work is always on time

eats alone in the library because he has no one to sit with

you walk in on him while picking up a book you need and he’s super embarrassed (he’s had a crush on you since middle school)

you ask to sit with him because you think he’s cute and he trips over his words answering you

you spend lunch with him every day after that and he starts packing a lunch for you too

accidentally confesses he has a fat crush on you when you ask if he has a girlfriend

he starts rambling after and shuts up when he notices you’re giggling at him

you kiss him and he swears his lifelong dream has come true

is the sweetest boyfriend ever

does all your homework for you and insists it’s really no problem

drives you to and from school every day because “that’s what boyfriends are for”

never looks at anyone but you and writes down threats and shoves them in guys lockers when they hit on you

minho as the 𐔌 gym loner .ᐟ ˚ ੭

purposefully gets his free period after his weightlifting class so he can spend two periods working out

isn’t really shy, just doesn’t like anyone enough to have friends

girls check him out occasionally but he always ignores them

catches you freaking out when you have no clothes to change in and offers you his shirt because he thinks you’re cute

uses that as an excuse to mess with you

“if i can bench your weight you owe me a date”

spoiler, he can.

makes sure to tell you you don’t really owe him anything and he’s just messing with you

you agree to the date and he picks you up and takes you on a surprisingly thoughtful date

drive around town, food and watching the sunset, takes your pictures next to pretty flowers and keeps his arm around you the whole time

asks you if you really have to go when he’s dropping you off

walks you to your door and gives you a hug (he’s never dated anyone and too scared to kiss you)

texts you that he had a really good time and he would “work to make you his”

it doesn’t take much work and he kisses you right after he asks you to be his

is way too proud of his build and wears sleeveless shirts just to scare anyone that looks at you

carries you around any chance he gets

seungmin as the 𐔌 music lover loner .ᐟ ˚ ੭

walks around with his headphones in 24/7

hums to himself quietly while he studies

you ask him about a song he was humming and he’s surprised you were talking to him

you think he hates you till he smiles at you when you walk into class

makes you a playlist to make his move on you

doesn’t know how to tell you he likes you at all so he just kinda teases you to flirt with you

takes you to a record store at lunch because he wanted to show you the spot

stares at you a little too hard so you ask him if he wants a kiss as a joke

says yes and moves your hair out of your face, you guys have a make out sesh and only stop when the owner clears his throat awkwardly at the both of you

you make him go back inside alone and buy you the vinyl you want

he comes back out with it and 5 more that you didn’t wanna ask for but knows you wanted anyway

you skip the rest of the day and go to his house and use his record player

you fall asleep on him and he takes 0.5s of you

shares his headphones with you, but doesn’t share his food (until you make a sad face at him and he gives in instantly. works every time.)

changbin as the 𐔌 sweetheart loner .ᐟ ˚ ੭

all of his professors adore him, all the school staff does at this point

has the maximum hours of community service that he can have but won’t stop helping around where he can

notices you from the start because he thinks you’re pretty, but really starts liking you when he sees you volunteer at an elementary school

accidentally scares you coming up behind you when you’re hanging a banner

you guys start helping at the same places and make a tradition of hanging up banners together

after a while he figures he might as well just tell you how he feels, is elated when you hug him and tell him the feelings mutual

confesses that he was actually really nervous and gets flustered when you tease him about it because he thinks you’re the prettiest

when you ask why he never hangs out with anyone he says he doesn’t like people with unpure hearts and that’s why he loves you so much

definitely takes you out and buys you guys matching stuff

married couple

. ᯓ 🍵 ݁‧ ᵔ | @0sunshinecryptid0 @jinnieboosworld @lixies-favorite-cookie @zelinkcrossing @hwanqluvs @hyunjiiza @hyunnisa @eastjonowhere @nxtt2-u @pixie-felix @smlbch @tricky-ritz @yaniluvs @pigeonseatmayo @transparentheartcollection | [༝༚] @hyunjiiza 1:37 am

[rafesbuzzcutseason]

chasing city lights

chapter 16 - did i mean nothing?

synopsis: you move to new york to start fresh, hoping to find comfort in the city’s atmosphere. that’s when you meet sarah cameron, where she takes you to a concert and you catch sight of the lead band member, rafe cameron. it only takes a moment for you to realize you’re captivated by him. as sarah helps you navigate your new life in the city, you start to get pulled deeper into rafe's world—the music, the fame, the chaos. the more you get to know him, the more you realise that rafe is not just the rock star he seems to be. he’s wrestling with his own demons, and the last thing he needs is someone like you getting close.

masterlist

cw: language, angst

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

the cold night air hit your tear streaked face as sarah, cleo and kie led you out the club.

"hey it's okay, you don't need to stay and watch that bullshit. what a great fucking friend cara is." sarah spoke.

"i didn't like her as soon as i met her" cleo mentioned.

"not right now cleo." kie shushed her. "look, it was all from her side right? rafe wasn't doing anything or initiating anything back so everything is ok i promise." she said, wiping your tears.

"i know you're right" you agreed, "i just can't believe she would do this. i don't understand."

"she's a cunt is what she is." sarah firmly said, earning a small smile from you. "i'm sending her home first thing tomorrow. i'll pay for her flight."

"no sarah stop."

"i'm serious, don't want her anywhere near you or us or him."

"oh fuck." cleo said, panic overtaking her face.

"what?" you mumbled, your heart racing at her distress.

"i am so sorry y/n," cleo whispered.

"cleo." your stomach dropping, "what is it?"

she turned her phone around and your heart dropped at the screen. rafe and cara face to face, lips almost touching. there was no denying the photo.

"oh my god" your voice fell, tears threatening to fall again.

the girls said nothing, but rubbed your back as you sobbed on the side of the pavement. no words could describe the way you were feeling.

"lets get you home y/n, i'll take you to mine." sarah finally spoke.

after a long, silent taxi ride home, you got out the car and straight into sarah's bed, tears not stopping.

you felt drained, your chest aching. the girls had tried everything to distract you, but you couldn't stop staring at the photo, like staring at it long enough would make it disappear.

but it wouldn't. it was real.

you couldn't process that rafe would do this to you. the boy who had loved you, written songs about you, confessed his deepest issues to you, trusted you. how could he have let this happen? did the last 8 months mean nothing to him?

"okay no more of that." sarah said, taking the phone out of your hands. "do you really think he would do that to you? i mean the photo isn't clear, he could've been talking to her?"

"come on sarah. you saw them together too." you mumbled.

"i just don't get it. he is so in love with you." she replied.

"cleary not." you huffed.

"that's not true and you know it." kie said.

"he told me i was different. that he'd never felt this way before." you spoke as the tears falling again. "i don't know what to do."

"look, we don't know the full story ok? there is nothing we can do." cleo chimed in. "i know it doesn't feel like it right now, but you're going to be okay."

"and i swear to god, when you're ready, we'll make sure they regret this." kie stated.

you swallowed hard. regret. did rafe even feel regret? did cara? or were they still at the club, laughing, dancing, kissing, like none of this even mattered?

your stomach twisted. did you even matter?

sarah must’ve sensed the storm in your head because she gently took your hand, squeezing it. “don’t do that. don’t let them make you feel like you weren’t enough. they weren’t enough for you.”

you let out a bitter laugh, eyes still glossy. “then why does it feel like i’m the one who lost everything?”

kie sighed. “because you’re a good person y/n. and they’re not.”

you wanted to believe that. you really did.

instead, all you could do was lie there, staring at the ceiling, trying to breathe through the pain.

because no matter how much your friends reassured you, one thought haunted you.

rafe had promised forever,

and forever had ended with a single photo.

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

a/n: sorry guys😩 you all knew it was coming

taglist: @hoefordrewstarkey @marleymarleymarleymarley @bee-43 @cherryhoneybabe @skye-44 @drewrry @drewrry  @yesterdaysproblemm @pogueprincesa @dylsdaily @rafeysworldim19 @valyrianflower @kaiparkerwifes@judesgfirl@4urvalidation @chillgal135 @drewstarkeyslover @yesshewrites1 @amterasuu@babykhloutofthisworld@blushmimi  @moonywhisp3rs @rafeysworldim19 @marleymarleymarleymarley @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account@vcnillafairy@bambii1i @sammyrenae68 @kittenjujusblog @bambii1i @thesunflowersociety @wtfdudesblog

[unacknowledgeable]

I absolutely adore your rise TMNT with yan batfam short clips. Like the whole why pick them over us becomes 10x worse like. Reader is living in the sewers most of the times and basically decided that the turtles were their brothers and not batfam. They rather live in the sewers with a rat as a substitute dad and they prefer it. I can imagine how much of a blow that would be to them! Also the family knows nothing about them till bam here they show up with a different hero/vigilante group. Want to throw my two cents in that the reader likes to use war pain/ let's Micky pain on a mask that helps them blend in with the crew ( also I can imagine they don't like wearing the color black).

Oh yeah the Bat family is coping sooo hard.

 After they, quite rudely, take you back to Gotham they are gonna be on. Your. Ass. About how  “better this is” and “ isn’t this so much nicer then some nasty sewer” but you quite literally are having none of it

Every snide comment about how it’s “so much more open and spacious right?” is met with “I literally had a skate ramp outside my room Tim, fuck off” or “at least i was allowed to leave the sewer whenever i wanted, unlike here”

Like, 80% of the Bat family isn't blood related and even LESS than that have actually been formally adopted, so they can't even try to pull the “but we’re your REAL family” card with you, though Damian will still absolutely try. Of course, you always remind him that he literally stabbed you in the leg when you two first met. Yes you're still pissed about it, HE STABBED YOU! IN THE LEG!!

Jason’s bear hugs? Weak sauce compared to Raphs. Do you even lift bro? Also, don't you like, kill people? Tf are you doing here? Also aren’t you DEAD?!

Dicks puns and jokes? Yeah no, Leo’s funnier, also he’s not a cop, so.

Tim tries to wow you with some techie nonsense? Donnie learned that when he was 7, it’s not that impressive. “Also your formula is all wrong, get your shit together man, aren’t you supposed to be smart?” It wasn’t wrong, but watching him panic for the next half hour was priceless.

 You strictly call Cass by her last name because you already know Casey and Casey Jr. So yeah she’s been demoted to Cain. You'd have been nicer about it but then again she was complicit in your kidnapping soooo, no.

Bruce tries to scold you for being mean? Gee that's big talk coming from a guy who didn’t even know my birthday until about a week ago, you know who didn’t forget my birthday? My rat dad. Bitch.

Not to mention, you won't even talk to Alfred because you know he was the one who sold out where your apartment was. You're fucking pissed that he chose the rest of the family over you. Again.

Despite not particularly liking the color, you exclusively wear black arm and leg wraps to match with your brothers. Otherwise, it is nowhere to be found in any other article of clothing you own. Only the brightest of highlighter colors for you, thanks.

As for a mask, I'm thinking Winter Soldier vibes lol. You have a few of them at your disposal, with varying designs from both Mikey and yourself. Angelo will also doodle on your shield a lot, it’s basically his noncommittal doodle board. You have a full photo album dedicated to your favorites.

The Batfam also tries to gaslight you soooo much too, like, “if they really cared about you then where are they, it’s been weeks now and they haven’t even made an effort to look for you, doesn’t seem like they actually care all that much. But don't worry, we’ll always be here for you!”

“One, don’t you dare take that tone while talking about my family again, and two yeah my brothers are a little dumb but they're MY LITTLE brothers so they get to be. I know for a fact that once they realize I'm actually missing they will rip this place apart and I, for one, cannot wait to watch it happen”

The bats will totally think your bluffing, that is until a fucking sword slices through the literal fabric of reality and you fall backwards through a glowing blue portal before they can even sit down for dinner. They really have to reevaluate what they’re up against after that.

[softaestluv]

Guard Dogs

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Neighbor! Reader

Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3, Pt. 4, & Pt. 5 (final part!)

This chapter will contain smut! 18+ content!

Tags: Smut, Cunnilingus, oral, vaginal fingering, creampie

Summary: You were a proper good girl. Just like in his fantasies when he was a little boy. Ghost only looked to protect you from the evils of the world just like Riley. Your two personal guard dogs.

But maybe this is where he belonged, on the other side of the glass, staring at you from afar. Even if Riley wanted more.

Ghost used to believe he favored winter more than summer, despised sweltering days when sweat trickled from his mask. Gathered wet pools in his collarbone, dried sticky on his skin. At least during winter he could blame the cold in his home on the weather rather than the loneliness.

But now he isn’t entirely sure, not when he knows your warmth, makes the cold almost tenfold without you.

He decides it may just be when it brings you to his doorstep, rainstorm rumbling behind your standing figure. He lets you in despite running away from your home less than a week ago. Doesn’t let his pretty bird stand in the storm for long.

“My power went out, it’s dark and cold over there,” You explain, swiping your tongue over bitten dry lips, “Is it okay if I stay here until morning? I didn’t know where else to go.”

His girl was scared was she? Came to him for rescue.

Almost snickers at the irony, came to his home, the same walls he only felt alone and frigid in. Yet you stand at his doorstep, seeking refuge like he could provide you with the same warmth and comfort your home does, that you do.

So, he sets a kettle of tea for the both of you. Joining him quietly in the kitchen, leaning against the opposite side of the counter he is. He keeps his eyes on the stove, doesn’t exactly plan to fill the awkward tension with anything more than the boiling water. Small talk wasn’t his strong-suit, and he definitely didn’t want an explanation from you.

Why would he need one? The two of you were nothing but neighbors, friends if that.

However, the silence seems to bother you; he knows it does when you speak up, “How are you?”

“Been fine,” He huffs, handing a steaming cup of tea to you.

And because he doesn’t want to know how you and your new boyfriend have been he doesn’t ask.

“That’s good, I’m glad,” Give him a tight smile in return.

The room becomes silent again, the sound of both of you drinking tea fill the kitchen. Even after the both of you are done drinking, no words are said, gazes avoided as the light tapping of your fingernails against the glass replaces the slurping, loud even between the pitter of the rain outside.

“Don’t you get it?” You finally ask, laughing remorsefully under your breath, continue once he tilts his head at you, “It’s you.”

He still doesn’t understand what you mean, brows furrowing together under his mask.

You sigh, “There’s no one else, I don’t have a boyfriend. I was talking about you, Simon.”

“What are you talking ‘bout?”

“You’re who I have waiting for me at home. You’re who I want to spend time with. Who I want to come home to. Well I don’t mean it like you’re sitting waiting around for me, it’s just,” You begin to ramble, trying to explain your emotions while your face warms, turns the pretty pink he has grown to love.

The rest of your words don’t matter to him, his balaclava is forgotten on the floor, insignificant. A stupid barrier between him and his bird. Breaks the distance between the two of you in two quick strides. Has you hoisted on his kitchen counter in a second, lips stamped to yours. Your words swallowed down between his lips, dissolved into a muffled yelp.

It’s intense, cups his palms around your jaw so tightly you can’t even think about pulling away from him, but you kiss back with the same intensity. Makes his head spin at the sheer way you reciprocate, doesn’t think he’s ever been kissed like this before. Like your life depends on it. As if you intended to take the breathe from his lungs, trying to portray your emotions through your lips.

The past months poured out of his chest and into your pretty mouth, but your own desires fill his chest, leave him impossibly warm and full. The pain of just looking, watching for so long without being able to touch or taste had him digging shallow indents into your skin, didn’t want to let go. Though you don’t seem to mind his strong hold, only cling to him in turn, curling your arms around his neck. Trying to pull him closer as if your proximity wasn’t nearly enough.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He rasps against your lips, hot air blowing over your cheeks.

“Thought I was making it pretty clear,” You chuckle lightly, “Figured you didn’t want me like that.”

“Are you kidding me?” Simon says, “You don’t get it.”

Presses his lips against yours again, even if he has more he wants to say. Doesn’t exactly know how to balance pouring his heart out to you and sealing your mouths as one. So, he tries to do both, breathing hushed words between kisses.

“Thought it was too good to be true. You don’t get it,” He repeats, because, really, he thinks you don’t understand.

Don’t understand that he thinks you’re too good for him. That it doesn’t make any sense that someone like you would want someone like him. Broken and damaged when you were anything but.

Accepted what you were willing to give him without pressing for more, even if he wanted to fuse himself with every dimple and blemish on your body. He almost doesn’t believe it. It’s not what he deserves, some educated man should be in his spot. A man that isn’t tainted in filth and blood.

A better man.

And yet, you kiss him like he is the only who deserves you. Look up at him like he hung the fucking stars. He would— if he could, string them bright and twinkly above your pretty head.

Doesn’t think you truly understood how much his fingertips ached everytime he forced them to clench onto something other than your soft body. How hard he had to dig his teeth into his knuckles when he climbed into bed after he shared dinner with you. Stomach still full, pretty voice still ringing in his ears, cock heavy in his palms.

“You’re all I wanted,” He confesses, “Wanted to come home to you every day.”

Don’t understand that he never wanted anything more.

“And what if I did have a boyfriend?” You ask, “Would you just let me go that easily?”

Can’t help the way he holds you a little tighter. Something possessive burns in his throat now that he knows the taste of your lips.

“Don’t wanna think ‘bout that. Doesn’t matter anymore. I have you now, don’t I?” He grunts against your neck, breath warm on your skin, “Riley and I were yours, always. Tried to show you that.”

Your next words— if you can call them that, are nothing more than breathless quakes. Make his cock throb painfully in his pants; you’ve been nothing, but sensible, sophisticated, but now you sound so frail, impatient.

“Show me then, Simon.”

The way your gaze sharpens is cue enough for him, doesn’t need to be told twice. Won’t miss another opportunity or wait another second to make you his. He wasn’t exactly eloquent, couldn’t express what he wanted with his words. Opts to use his roughened hands the only way he knows how.

Takes your plump thighs into his hold because as much as he’d like to bend you over his kitchen counter, lap at your pussy like all the endless pies you’ve made him, he’d much rather prove he could satisfy you in his bedroom. Fuck you wet and sticky into his mattress.

It’s a mess of limbs, stumbling down the hall as you plea his lips not to leave yours for more than a second. He almost stops at his couch, bumping clumsy into it on his venture, but he decides splitting you in two over the arm would be for another day.

The kiss turns lewd as he carries you, smacking lips messily, saliva sloppily smeared against tongues and roofs of mouths, teeth knocking together. Though it doesn’t deter you, only slot your lips against his more earnestly. Barely manages to drop you onto his bed before you’re pawing at him to join you.

Yanks your clothes off like they personally offended him, feet and arms getting stuck in the tangles of clothes. His own follow soon at your sweet request, both of you stripped to your underwear.

It’s almost impossible to keep his hands on just one part of your body. Probably spends entirely too long palming your round breasts, pinching your pert nipples, kneads the doughy meat of your sides and hips. Large hands everywhere and nowhere at once, like he needed to touch every inch of your body, wasn’t enough until he did. Hypnotized by the way your supple flesh spills between his fingers, how you arch into his touch with breathy whines.

It’s overwhelming being able to touch you however he pleases after holding back for so long. Makes his touch that much more firm, calloused and scarred fingers scratching your smooth skin. Can’t fucking decide what he wants to do first because he wants to do all of it.

But when he descends between your body, peeling your underwear off so you lay bare for him, and his eyes land on your pussy, soaked and pretty for him, he loses all reason.

He spreads your thighs wide, must be hovering close, feel his hot breath on your wet cunt because you whimper a quiet ‘oh Simon, please.’

And because he can’t deny his girl of anything, especially when you ask so sweetly, his tongue swipes between your folds, dragging slowly to your clit. Something carnal washes over him as he repeats the motions like he’s pussy-drunk, intoxicated by the pretty noises you let slip past your lips.

Surprises himself when he groans deep and beastly against your sensitive flesh. Hadn’t even realized he had been making noises between each wet lap and harsh suck. Too inebriated by your arousal, melting on his tongue smoother than any plate you’ve placed in front of him.

Spreads your glistening cunt open between his thumbs, burying your face into the pillows from the way he openly examines you. Breaking you down and peeling you apart under his intense stare. He doesn’t mind too much, not when he drags a finger between your folds, dipping the full length into you. Causes you to snap your head forward, give him such a pretty moan when he plunges a second finger in. Spongy walls popping around his thick digits, slowly works you stretched and opened. Until he could comfortably burrow to the knuckle with each stroke.

Deliberately kept it slow, drawing out each glide so only his fingertips remained. Took his time breaking through your wet entrance, enjoyed the desperate little mewls you released above him too much to give you anything more. Strong and deft hands bring his pure girl ecstasy, gentle despite the way he’s used them to hurt others.

Wasn’t pleased until your thighs began to tremble either side of his head, hoists them on his shoulders to settle them. Smushed his face against the fat of your thigh, decorated the skin in his lips and teeth.

“More, more mmph— Simon, please.”

Can’t hide the smile that breaks across his lips, pressed teeth to your thigh from the way you whimpered his name. Sounded so pretty coming from your lips, begged so sweetly for him. He rewards you, wraps the cushion of his lips around your swollen clit and smothers his tongue over the bead in calculated strokes.

Your hips buck away from his stimulation, loud cry muffled against the sheets when he suctions the bead. A firm arm bands around your waist, holds you down to take it, wouldn’t let you escape his grasp that easy. Doesn’t stop until you finish on his tongue and around his fingers, hiccuping on your breaths as you stiffen. Your palm wrapped tightly around his wrist on your hip, dig indents into his flesh as he works you steady through it. Slick gathering in his palm and between his knuckles.

He rests between your thighs a little longer, not quite trying to overstimulate you, but rather staining your taste in his throat. Both of you basking in your orgasm.

When he crawls on top of you, you blink lazily at him, half-lidded and dilated. Swipe your thumb across his chin to wipe your collected slick off. He doesn’t let you move far, chases after your thumb and sucks it clean, makes you inhale a sharp breath through your teeth. Kisses the pad gently when he’s done, trails soft pecks down your palm and arm, over your shoulder to your chin. Stops when he reaches your lips, taking your chin between his index finger and thumb.

“Wanted to know how you tasted for so long,” He murmurs, lips brushing against yours with each word.

Your fingers find the nape of his neck, scratching at the short blonde hair, “Thought about you every night after dinner. Kept hoping you would just eat me instead.”

Simon’s eyes flutter, exhaling through his nose like a bull, “Was so hard to keep my hands to myself, you know that, sweetheart? Especially when you look like this.”

Emphasizes his words by squishing the plush of your hips, “Couldn’t stand thinking you were in some other blokes bed.”

Hooks his hand under your knee, pushing it higher slightly, adjusting his own hips between your legs. You’re soft and pliant, just how he imagined his girl would be, let him bend you how he sees fit.

“But you weren’t, were you?” He hums, “Just perfect and proper for me like always, huh?”

Nudges the bulb of his cockhead along your swollen folds, catching on your welcoming entrance.

You nod your head weakly, “Yes, Simon, only you.”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, burying your face in his neck as he pushes forward. Puffy walls splitting open for him, stretch for his girth, slick aiding in the glide. Feels you dig your fingers into his shoulders, hears your breaths stutter in your throat. Purrs gentle praises into your ear to ease the thick stretch.

His pretty bird was such a good girl, wasn’t she? You can take it, knows you can.

Bottoms out in your pussy, gives you a minute to adjust before you’re slurring pleas against his neck. ‘Oh, Simon, s-so big. Feel so good, oh fuc- please move? Please, Simon?’

So he does, can’t hold back when you sound like that. Give you anything you ask for.

Grinds his hips shallow and slow, makes a steady pace of it. Tangles your legs around his hips, locking them at his back, keeps the two of you pressed together. Broad chest smashed against your smaller one, impossible to move far from your aching cunt. His strokes are languid, gentle. Softer than he’s used to, but he doesn’t intend to fuck the sensation away with hurried and inept thrusts.

He wants to remember how every ridge in your pussy feels, memorize and store each shuddered breath and strained moan you give him. Needs you to feel cherished, the way your warmth has made him feel for months. Wants you to feel each inch of him, molding your walls into his shape until it’s all you ever knew.

You seem to agree, only squeeze your legs tighter around him as if to keep him tucked to your cervix. Though it’s not like he could even imagine pulling away from your searing flesh, plans to keep himself buried inside your pussy for as long as he can.

It’s intimate, almost too tender, but not nearly enough at the same time. As if the way you cling desperately to him, keep him pressed skin to skin doesn’t appease your ache. Like the way his entire shaft finds a home in your pretty cunt isn’t close enough. Decides to intertwine the both of your fingers together, pulls you from his neck so he can rest his forehead against yours.

But your eyes flutter shut, brows furrowing together with each determined stroke. Kiss swollen lips caressing his with each mewl, joins the obscene noises in the room. A mixture of squelches and whined ‘Simon!‘

“What’s t’matter baby?” He coos, wipes the sweat-slicked hair on your temples, “Tell me, huh?”

“Simon, nmmf—oh god. Right there, please right there. Please, don’t stop.” You beg.

He doesn’t.

Fucks you through it, balls sticky with your slick.

“Yeah?” He hums, “Right there, baby? Liked that?”

Your voice cracks over a high-pitched moan, can’t answer with a full sentence when his fat cock plunges deep, rakes against the spongy flesh that has your toes curling and back arching. Watches as you unravel on his length, walls clinging to him after each drag. Mouth slacked when three fingers find your clit. Swipe steady strokes in tandem with his thrusts.

You finished just like that, wrapped around his cock, walls clenching painfully tight, spamming and twitching with each pulse. White froth gathering at the base of his cock.

“That’s it, there we go,” He praises, “My pretty fucking girl.”

Doesn’t even care how he sounds or really, think about the words spilling from his lips.

“So good for me, yeah? She takes me so well,” He continues, talks you through your orgasm, words slurred, “Such a good girl. My sweet girl. Gonna make you all mine.”

You nod frantically babble for him to. Tell him you want nothing more than to be his. And he has every intention to, buries himself to your cervix and paints you as his.

It takes him a moment, bodies still conjoined between your legs even though he went soft long ago. Fingers still intertwined beside your pretty head, basking in your warmth and sweet kisses. Separating is difficult, but the moisture begins to dry tacky on your skin, sticky between your thighs. Becomes uncomfortable, so the two of you take a shower, wash each other clean.

Pride beats his ego when he has to keep an arm around you. Standing under the water, legs numb beneath you. And because you’re too sweet for him, you scratch his scalp while he holds you close. Mollifies under your touch, water drenched kisses shared between quiet giggles.

You return to the bed with him once again. Pulls your bare skin flush against his, tucks your head under his chin, arms banding your hips. Holds you tight through the night, possessive and protective. Doesn’t plan to ever let go. Not when his terribly cold bed melts warm in your presence. Sheets encased in your heat, stinging his fingertips and toes. It’s almost too hot, palms clammy against your pretty skin, but he doesn’t pull away.

Doesn’t care that sweat beads at his back when this is the closest his bed has felt like a bed and not a mattress with coiled springs and worn duvets. The most his house has felt like a home instead of four walls of brick and drywall.

Sleep doesn’t come easy, not when he wants to savor the moment for as long as he can, but your warmth lulls his eyes heavy and tired.

When the morning comes, he thinks it might be a sweet dream— a rare occurrence in his mind. But there you lay, fast asleep in his arms still. He can’t keep his hands to himself when he sees you. Meaty paws trace your figure, pushes the blanket low so he could get a pretty view of your smooth skin.

His touch rouses you, shifting in his arms to turn your backside to him. Mumble a groggy morning to him, muffled against his pillows.

You’re even more malleable than last night, lift your leg so sweetly for him when his hand descends between your thighs because he thinks he might be addicted to you. Whimper quietly into the sheets when he slides home, fucks you lazy and slow. Little more than sex, just wants to relish in your warmth.

Gets to experience one of the lazy Sundays he always watched you take from afar, except now he’s participating. Glass barrier nonexistent, not when you’re in his bed, whining his name against his lips.

Shatters it for him, makes his house a home.

The weekend ends too soon, isn’t ready to leave your cocoon quite yet, but you wake up beside him when Monday morning comes. Ask if him and Riley are going to join you on your run.

They do.

He was sure Riley wouldn’t want anything more.

Leaving each other for work proves difficult, almost stays so he could remain in your contented warmth. He doesn’t, bleeds the taste of your lips in his mouth instead.

And when he does return home, he returns to you and Riley. Greet him with a pretty smile just like you always do, place a plate of fresh food in front of him. Eat dinner together, like you two always used to, Riley snuggled on your couch, but now instead of walking across the street, he stays.

Thank you so much for all the likes/reblogs/comments! I’m so happy you guys enjoyed it as much as I have! 🍒💌❤️

Cross posted on my Ao3 here, as well as all my other fics!

Tag list: @ttznlettt @rainschnael @rockinraccoons @crypticenbug @c1garette-nightmares @keepghostly @l3thal-l0lita @terrifiedanimegirl @migueloharacumslut @tine1603 @whoisteona

[ghostgirl-22]

I fear I need more art calling patrick daddy

my lovely Mel you requested this at the beginning of the year so sorry for the delay 😅 I combined it with a similar anon request <33 original fic is here. My apologies for this being so long! I was so tired and also on my period when writing this so I’m really sorry if it comes across tired and horny 😭

CW: 18+ NSFW daddy kink, mild voyeurism/exhibitionism

——

It’s barely been ten minutes since Patrick had a very drunk Art all over him, hands down Art’s boxers, jerking him off while Art whispered daddy in his ear over and over. So ridiculous in his voice. With his cadence. It’s fucking insane. Patrick feels insane because now Arts sitting on his bed width wise. He’s showered and cleaned up in fresh clothes, resting his back against the wall. Fidgety, he’s swinging his socked feet back and forth and biting his thumb like nothing ever happened. Like Patrick didn't just tell him he wanted to fuck him. Like he didn't just basically say yes. 

Art’s roommate Ethan (who doesn’t know much about Patrick except that his silent dislike is mutual) wants to tell Art all about his night out. Talking and bragging about this gay bar he went to in San Francisco. Patrick is annoyed and hard but whatever. he’s not a total asshole so he lets them talk while he scrolls through his iPod. He’s already tried to go use the bathroom but it was pointless, he’s too hard to piss without making a mess everywhere.  

“One day I’m gonna make you come out with me. I’ll even pretend to be your boyfriend…you know…just so you don’t get hit on.” Ethan says to Art he’s in the same position on his own bed, Patrick rolls his eyes. 

“Why? Are they gonna wanna kiss me or something?” Art says playfully. He’s so giggly, eyes like little half moons, chest full of hiccups. Incurably flirtatious when he’s had too much to drink. Exactly how he and Patrick ended up doing what they just did. And so many other things before that. 

“Are you kidding, blondie? Fuck. They’d be all over you.” Ethan says, hungry eyes looking over Arts body.

Patrick thinks Arts drunk little roomie should shut the fuck up and go to bed so Patrick can finally cross the line. He’s resting on Art’s pillow, knees drawn up, he scrolls past the song Blame It on the Alcohol by Jaime Foxx. Just the perfect song for Art right now. He taps Art’s thigh with his barefoot and shows him the iPod. 

Art squints at him and then crawls closer to see the iPod screen. he should be wearing glasses but he never puts them on, crawls on his hands and knees, between Patrick’s thighs so he can see the title properly and then he grins. “Send it to me.” 

“When I get on my computer,” Patrick says. 

“Please just don’t fucking forget,” Art gazes at him— wet lips, eyes fully dilated. He smiles. So flirty. Fucking slut. Patrick needs to be inside him.

“So how was your night, Art?” Ethan goes on, like he’s determined to be oblivious. Art does a dramatic flop onto the bed next to Patrick, head on the same pillow. 

“It was so… tired,” Art groans into the pillow.

”Yeah me too,” Ethan says. “If you want… I don’t mind sharing with you if your friend wants this bed to himself. You know, like what we did when my sister was here.”

“No he jerked off in my bed and made a mess, he should have to sleep in it.” Art mumbles without looking up. 

Ethan presses his lips together, eyes narrowing in Patrick’s direction, subtly irritated. Patrick smirks at him. Ethan rolls his eyes and finally starts getting ready for bed. He leaves the TV on. they both leave it on every night.  Patrick thinks he hears the Ethan snoring after a bit but he’s worried that Art’s actually fallen asleep too. He’s lying on his tummy, hugging the pillow. Patrick puts the iPod down and rolls over. “You still gonna let daddy fuck you?” He whispers.

“Mm,” Art hums and rolls over. “You’re such a freak.”   

“You started it.” Patrick smiles, rubbing his bottom. Art sits up. Leans in too close. He’s still so drunk. Patrick tangles his fingers into golden curls “if you’re daddy… what am I? Baby?” Art asks. 

“Mmhm,” Patrick nods. Convinced every time Art says it, an angel gets a halo or whatever the phrase is.  

“So fucked up,” Art whispers and Patrick kisses him. Art slips his tongue in right away, wet and warm, exploring Patrick’s mouth. Before long he’s moaning a little bit. Stuff he does when he’s drunk. He’s got Patricks leg between his thighs, pressed along his erection. He starts grinding. Patrick pulls back, dizzy already.

“Mm no you’re not coming like that,” Patrick whispers. 

“Cause you wanna fuck me?” Art hiccups, trying to sneak another kiss, Patrick stops him. 

“No. I’m going to fuck you.” 

“Mmkay daddy. But you have to be really quiet,” He whispers, grinning.

Patrick comes apart, but only a little bit, he touches himself idly before balling his fingers to make himself stop. He brackets Art’s waist instead. “Has your roommate ever fucked you?”

Art gets the giggles. “No.” 

“You kiss him?” 

“Uh once but we were—“

”You were drunk,” Patrick finishes for him. 

“Yeah, like now,” Art says, this time he manages to steal a kiss before Patrick presses him back down on the bed and he’s grinning. 

“You’re so naughty,” Patrick whispers. 

“What? Are you gonna spank me?” Art grins, “like make me call you daddy when you do it?” 

God. His stupidly soft, sing-song voice and that fucking word. Makes Patrick’s skin tingle at every spot where their bodies are touching. “I don’t know. Should we try it?” Patrick whispers softly. “You let me spank you till you’re red all over, till you’re squirming and crying, and your hole is twitching for me. Till your dick is so hard and your balls are so full. And you’re begging me to just please, please fuck you? And I promise you I will if you just ask daddy so nicely?”  

Art’s gone silent, he’s settled on his back, knees pulled up and falling open, the slightest glimpse of his tongue flitting across his lips, as he gazes up at Patrick. So goddamn magic.   

“You have lube?” Patrick asks. 

“I um— I think my roommate does.” 

“Go get it.” 

Art obeys. crawls off the single and sneaks over to his roommates side. There’s still the sound of his roommates' soft snoring. Not that Patrick actually gives a fuck if they wake him, outside of how Art will react. 

He stumbles over and pulls a small bottle of lube out of his roomie's nightstand and brings it back to the bed. Patrick stops him mid straddle as he’s moving to climb over him. “Sit, I want you to put it on.” 

Art’s a little breathless. He settles on Patrick’s thighs and Patrick watches him. He slowly tugs at the waist band of Patrick’s boxers and his long neglected dick rises at attention.

”Oh,” Art’s breathing goes shallow, his eyes widen like he’s seeing it in a new light now that he’s thinking of it going inside him. 

“You see what you do to me?” Patrick asks gently.

“Fuck… Patrick… I don’t think I can…” 

“Yes you can, of course you can. You’re so talented.” Patrick says.

”But…” he takes a breath. One that tells Patrick he’s actually kinda nervous. “It’s too much… daddy.” he teases, dancing his fingers over the length. Patrick scoots closer. God. This could ruin him.  “ I’ve never had anything inside me before.” 

“I know, baby. God, you make my fucking teeth ache.” Patrick breathes, coming to the distant realisation that he’s shivering. 

Art is squirming on Patrick’s lap, touching it like he doesn’t want to get caught touching but he can’t stop himself.  “Daddy I wanna…” and then he does something that breaks Patrick a little bit more, he takes hold of the base more firmly and presses it to his lips. 

“Oh, oh shit,” Patrick hisses as Art fills his mouth. Just puts as much in as he can. Inexperienced, teeth scraping and everything, making it fucking hot and painful at the same time. 

Patrick can’t help himself, jerking his hips up. ”Art nngh… shit… oh fuck…you gotta stop or ‘m gonna fucking come in your mouth baby… fuck,” Patrick groans as his blonde head bobs up and down. 

Art pulls back and looks up at him, eyes all sparkly and oh… Patrick realizes he’s gone. He’s so far gone. “Mm sorry.” He hiccups. “I think I’m just dizzy.” He’s still touching Patrick idly, can’t stop touching. 

Patrick takes a deep breath and steadies Arts hand. Such a smart kid, all higher thoughts hijacked by just the sight of Patrick’s swollen dick, Patrick hasn’t even fucked him yet. He grins in spite of himself.  “You like it?” 

“Mmhm,” Art nods. Jesus. he’s practically drooling.   

Patrick snatches the lube from Arts useless hands. He’s barely got any self control left. He starts coating his dick with it. Using too much, for Art’s sake. Art is fixated on his movements. Lips parted, eyes glassy. Head empty.

“Lay down,” Patrick says, softly. Art is so silly. He lays down facing Patrick, and Patrick makes him turn over to face his roommates bed, grabs his hips to pull him back. “Take these down,” Patrick says. 

Art eases his shorts down over his ass and Patrick presses up against his entrance. Art’s breath hitches, he’s suddenly tense. The heat of him is already making Patrick’s mouth water. He’s so tight. stupid little virgin. Patrick’s impatient, but decides to prep him just a little. Slips his finger in, and listens to Art whine before he tries again with the head of his dick. 

Art is holding his breath and Patrick rubs his side, “breathe, i know it’s a lot. I know. I know. You’re doing so good, baby. Taking such a big one right out of the gate. Such a good boy.” Patrick whispers, he’s short circuiting just a bit. Going crazy just a little bit. 

Art takes deep breaths. “Really?” 

“Yes, so good for me baby. Oh so fucking tight. I can feel you stretching for me. Fuck. I feel you opening up for every inch of me. Your body just taking me in.” 

“Mm,” Art squirms, clenching, clenching so tightly and fuck Patrick thinks for the first time tonight he’s probably not gonna fucking last. 

“Mm, it feels so…” Art whines, breathlessly. “It’s so big, it’s so… full. I feel really full. I feel so…weird.” 

“It’s okay… it’s okay. Daddy’s gonna take care of you. Breathe. Fuck. Just breathe through it. You feel that… how much your body needs it. Squeezing me. So fucking tight.” 

Art’s whining, panting like their full on fucking and Patrick’s not much better, he kisses Art’s shoulder, he’s nearly all in when Art wants a break. He’s settled with Patrick inside him, cockwarming him while Patrick runs his finger tips idly over Arts pelvis. 

“Patrick. Can I—” 

“Mm that’s not how we’re talking right now, is it?” Patrick says, his voice tight. Art’s squirming all over him.  

“Daddy,” Art whispers. 

It takes everything not to pound into him when he says it. Pitched high and desperate. “MmHm.” Patrick breathes.

“Daddy please can I—- I wanna suck— I want something in my mouth,” Art whines. 

Fuck. It’s on brand. This is the same kid that was still sucking his thumb when Patrick met him after all.  

“Is that what you need?”

“Yes please, need it so much,” 

He teases his fingers inside Arts wet mouth, doesn’t do it gentle. Shoves so much inside Art is immediately drooling on him. Wiggling on Patrick’s dick, the little bit of stretch and movement has him moaning. Patrick squeezes his eyes shut, tries to let him get used to it but too much more of this and he’s gonna black out. Probably wake up with Art beneath him, load after load of come dripping out of him.    

“I think… I think… can you fuck me now? ” 

“Is that how you ask?” 

“Please daddy,” Art whines. “Please fuck me.”

Patrick’s hips are rocking right away, not bothering to be soft or gentle with it. “daddy was going so fucking crazy letting you play around with my big long dick inside you. I might have to fill you with a couple loads before I can stop baby. Is that okay baby? Hm? Is it okay?”

Art moans. “Yes daddy” He gasps. And that’s it. That’s the end. That’s all it takes.

Patrick is losing control, Art’s first time and he’s losing control.  Pumping furiously in and out and in and out of him.  gripping his waist, so tight, too tight. It’s so much fucking better than anything he could ever imagine. This insanely tight, silky wet heat. Art moaning, swearing, begging for more. He’s so loud. It’s filthy actually, his pretty voice saying things like, “more daddy, more, please daddy, fuck me more… I’ll be so good…”  

“Shh… my god,” Patrick whispers, “fuck sweetheart… I know it feels good but Jesus christ,” he’s covering Art’s mouth to try and muffle him. 

His poor roommate isn’t snoring anymore, in the pale light of the television Patrick can practically make out the frantic way his sheets are moving. He’s definitely awake, watching, touching himself.  

Patrick loses everything when Art starts meeting his thrusts. The bed squeaking. Heavy breathing. The television low, white noise in the background. 

Patrick takes his hand off Art’s mouth to bring him to completion, gripping him, jerking him. Can’t muffle Art’s sounds any more. He can’t help a breathless laugh for how feral Art’s gone by the time he comes. He’s practically full volume, no thoughts in his head except for how much he needs to cum…hips stuttering, spurting all over his sheets. Patrick grips his waist and buries his load deep inside, groaning into his curls. 

“Mm, fuck,” he moans. 

“Yeah,” Art agrees breathless. 

And suddenly Patrick needs to pee like a race horse. He’s pulling out and Art groans reluctantly as Patrick gets out of bed. 

“Where are you going?” He whines. 

“Right back in a minute,” Patrick says, rushing into the bathroom, he barely makes it. 

Art can’t wait a minute. He’s pushing in the door. His boxers all twisted, hair all sexed up. Skin flushed. And immediately Patrick thinks he might need a second round.

“Miss me?” He smirks.

“No.” Art says, but he’s smiling.

“It’s okay, I have that effect on people.” 

Art’s eyes follow the movement of Patrick tucking himself back into his boxers and he pads closer to meet him near the sink. “My roommate just said he really wants to fuck me next.” His voice is a little worn out. Of course he sounds hot. 

“Surprise of the century.” Patrick mutters.. Art yawns, hugging himself, his t-shirt lifts slightly and Patrick can see little pink bruises on his hips in the shape of Patrick’s fingers. Yeah he needs another round. Patrick reaches for him. He steps closer and lets Patrick grab him with wet hands and kiss his cheek. “What’d you tell him? Not that it matters. Cause he doesn’t get to.”

Art smirks at him in the mirror, rubbing his sleepy eyes. “Seriously?”

”Yeah seriously.” 

“What do you care? You have a girlfriend.”

”I know.”

”So maybe I can do whatever I want.” Art turns to face him, challenging him. 

“Mm that was true… yesterday…but then you made a mistake and called me daddy, and that means every boy that wants you needs my permission first.”

“That’s marriage.” 

“It’s everything.” 

Art bounces from one foot to the other, his eyes getting shiny again and that’s when Patrick knows he’s won. “You’re a freak.” Art says, but he doesn’t disagree and Patrick smiles and follows him back into the bedroom. 

[bwobgames]

On the ever-bustling capital

The station awakes

The last time he’d been in the capital it was spring, for a wedding. He remembers sitting by the fan until night came.

And yet, even with such inscrutable proof, he still decided that it was a good idea to come back in summer.

Like some sort of forgetful fool.

Hm- actually, no. Just a fool. He doesn’t like that other word.

He is detective Oliver Beebo and he has solved the mystery of the overheating city.

The answer is global warming and corporate greed. Money now, please.

"Take my hand, alright? Let’s not get lost here"

It’s not that big of a place, but who is he to judge. Guess he’ll have to hold hands with his very hot boyfriend! Hot in multiple ways. He might be used to it, but the heat affects him too.

It must have. he can’t be the only one dying here! With Ángel as the sole survivor! That'd be too cliche now!

Hopefully everyone is fine as well.

Okay. Never mind. Ángel was right. This place is massive.

And absolutely full of people! Are they synthetizing humans here or what? How is it possible to have this many people around every day!

It’s… almost a bit too much. It’s slowly becoming too much. It’s really starting to be too much.

“Ángel. Um.”

“Let’s not enter yet, yeah? We are the first ones here, and the train is not moving anytime soon”

Ah, yes. The train. His salvation from hell city.

He heard there was going to be a free showing of multiple museums, so, like an easily amused fool, he asked Ángel to do a quick visit to the capital.

It was hot.

Usually, his dreams are filled with snow, but the heat won’t leave him even in sleepy land.

Small miracles, he guesses.

And even more miraculously, the Margulis were also sick of the heat, and decided to get a trip to the south as vacation. So why not get the gang back together and hitch a ride back home!

Of course, because they are not normal people who travel by an overnight bus, they simply must try out the new train.

Something about vintage realistic experience from when the country was filled with trains.

Well, he can’t complain much. Trains are awesome.

“Alright, just checked the groupchat. Vivi says she’s gonna be here soon, Marigold says they are leaving the house as we speak, and Nadia told me to die. So, everything seems to be going well!”

“Why is everything here so overpriced. Why was there a shopping mall inside there. When does summer ends.”

“Ahaha, that’s the shark mindset, my beloved. A place with so much people traffic? An opportunity like no other. Reminds me of the good old days, when I was evil and had money”

“You barely did anything economy wise. And you still get money from branding”

“Haha, that’s true!”

“Speaking of overpriced evil things, Let’s go get a snack! The train has bathrooms, so we have nothing to worry about”

“… Inside? In the torment nexus? With the many people and smells and lights?”

“Ah, we don’t have to if you don’t want to! We can wait until the train opens! I wasn’t that hungry anyways.”

Ángel’s tummy rumbles

“Ignore that. My demons.”

“You can go. I’ll wait here”

“.......”

“Really! I’ll be fine! Look! I’m no longer a noddle arms boy anymore! Your workout thing worked! So…”

“This place is dangerous.”

“I know my way around the common mugger”

“No, these guys are even more dangerous! They’d kill for nothing more than your phone! A-And the luggage is-!”

“Ángel.”

“I’ll be alright. You trust me, right?”

“I do... But it’s the other people that-!”

“Then you trust all the years of detective work that I’ve managed to survive. Assassins and Houses included”

“.......”

“...Fine. Fine, I get it. Just... If anyone tries to rob you, just give them everything, okay? Your phone, your shoes, whatever! I’ll buy you anything, so don’t try to fight back, yeah?”

“And don’t wander off! Stay in this street, okay? If you get lost just search for the giant awful clock. Without breaking it this time. I can buy you phones, but I’d really rather not pay another clock you ‘accidentally’ broke”

“It had it coming”

“And try to be close to people alright? Don’t wander off where there’s no people!”

“I’ll stay right here!”

“...Oliver.”

“Yeah, okay, I won’t. But I can always call you, yeah?”

“Yeah… Yeah. You can. It’s going to be fine.”

“I want a muffin and juice, please”

“Protect your luggage. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Be safe, don’t even dare not be safe”

“byebyebyebyebyebyeeee love you!”

“Love you!”

One of the few positive traits of the capital is the wide acceptance of homosexuality.

Now, where to?

NEXT ->

[gallifreyan85]

Cup Runneth Over

pairing: mentor!Agatha x reader

summary: during your lessons, agatha likes to push. one day, she goes a bit too far.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆

Agatha’s basement was chilly. Even in the summer the walls and floors stayed cold, and it was the slow beginning of winter now. You sometimes wondered if that was because stone needed time to absorb heat or because of some magical barrier that separated the room from the rest of the world. Your attention was pulled away to what was in front of you by Agatha’s displeased voice, snapping you back to reality.

“I said concentrate.” she said, her expression a mix of frowning frustration.

She was standing in front of you, expectant, looking more annoyed by the minute, and the two of you had been down there for at least an hour and a half.

“Go again.” she said, so you rose your hands and tried, really, you did-- but the magic just wasn’t listening. It crackled, you felt it shoot through you, briefly, and then poof- nothing. Agatha sighed. Her hands dropped to her sides as she circled you, and you could see she was growing impatient. You didn’t like disappointing her, but today things just weren’t going your way. No matter how much you tried.

“Okay, this clearly isn’t working.” she muttered, stopping abruptly in front of you, “What are you doing, hm? Where’s your mind at? You’re supposed to be concentrating—”

“I am—” you tried, but she just laughed.

“Oh, you are? If this is what you call concentration then I don’t want to know what it looks like when you’re distracted. Go again.”

“Agatha-”

“Again. Now.”

You shifted your feet, rose your hands, let them linger above the old tome in front of you, a single writing quill on top of the darkened covers. And it did not budge. You held your breath, tried again, focused on it--

Nothing. Not an inch of movement.

Agatha chuckled from beside you. It wasn’t happy, a sort of mocking, desperate, I-should-be-giving-up-on-you chuckle. It made your insides hurt a little. You kept your hands in front of you, still trying, trying--

Still nothing.

“If you can’t even move a single feather how do you think you’re going to break a real binding spell, hm?”

You sighed. But when you lowered your hands, Agatha tsked. You looked up.

“What?”

“What do you think you’re doing? We’re not done here. Let’s go, come on. Again.”

You almost groaned.

You were tired. Cold. Standing here for almost two hours, not feeling the tips of your fingers, trying to make a dammed feather move from being bound to a damn book. And she was right.

Of course she was. If you couldn’t do this then how on earth would you ever break yourself out of a spell if someone tried to bind you?

“I can’t do this.” you said finally, “I need a break.”

Agatha looked at you, her blue eyes narrowed. “A break?” she echoed, her voice raising an octave, “Oh, you want a break? You think your captors will give you one, hmm? You think they’ll be all nice to you and say ohh, pumpkin, here’s something warm for you to drink—” you felt a twinge of hurt at the nickname used mockingly, “here, rest for a moment, get some sleep then try again. No—”

You tried to interject but she went on, now talking heatedly.

“You won’t get a break if you’re in trouble, pet. You’ll only get more tired, more hurt, and the more you wait-- the more your chances of survival go down. Now suck it up and get back to it.”

You stared at her, unmoving for a moment.

She glanced away, back around the room, and added, lowly,

“And be grateful that I’m letting you practice on something as easy as this. A true lesson would be binding your hands together and watching you try to break yourself free.”

“This isn’t easy—”

“It’s not supposed to be easy! You think you can learn anything from me giving you pretty spells to practice on? No. You gotta do the real work.”

“But you just said it was—”

“Don’t talk back to me. Try again.”

“No—”

“Again. Now, pet. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

You huffed, now feeling just as frustrated as she looked, and slowly rose your hands again. Your fingers trembled slightly, your breathing shallow. You concentrated. Tried. Thought. The magic was there, thrumming through your blood, you felt it move down your arms, through your wrists, your fingers, and then--

It stopped.

You closed your eyes. Lowered your hands. You could already hear Agatha talking to you in the background, briskly asking what you thought you were doing, that this was supposed to be a quick lesson, not two hours wasted of her time, of your time, and you tried to block out her voice, the reprimands, the constant flow of words that made you feel even worse but they just kept coming--

“Two hours—”

And coming.

“--the simplest spell, and you can’t even—”

And coming.

“Hopeless--”

“Stop,” you tried, your voice coming out quiet.

You weren’t even sure she’d heard you. She just kept talking at you, again and again, and--

“Agatha, just stop it—I need a moment--”

“You need to toughen up, dear. You think the world is gonna wait for you? Give you a moment to collect yourself? Well think again—”

“No, I just—”

“Honestly, sometimes I wonder why I’m even doing this.”

And that was the bit broke you. Pushed you over the edge you'd been teetering on for the past half hour.

You stopped, let your hands fall back down, head bowed in defeat as you felt the first of your tears gather in your eyes. You’d been holding them back, not wanting to cry out of frustration, not wanting to give up, but it seemed you couldn’t anymore.

“Fine.” you made out, not liking the way your voice did an odd sort of wobble,

“T-then don’t. Find someone else to mentor. You’re r-right. I’m hopeless.”

And you sat down, crumpled into the nearest chair, let your face fall into your hands, and cried.

Agatha stared.

For almost a minute there was silence, apart from the sound of your hitched breaths, uneven breathing and muffled sobs. You wondered, in the back of your mind, if you had this coming. You hadn’t been doing as well as you usually did in the past few weeks. Maybe it was the stress, or the outside cold, or the onslaught of foreign words and symbols and objects and spells that the two of you had stared to cover, but it had finally gotten to you. Half of you was expecting her to straight up leave when you started crying-- you could already hear her practiced grumbling in your head as she made her way upstairs, but surprisingly, that didn’t happen.

If you’d been looking up you would have seen the barrage of emotions that crossed her face when you first sat down, the confusion, the reluctance, the surprise. She sighed softly, letting her shoulders slump. Most of her anger dissipated at the first sign of your tears, and she was starting to feel bad.

Her. Feeling guilty.

She didn’t like that.

She hated that.

But somehow, begrudgingly, she hated the image of seeing you so sad, crying into your hands, more. She frowned.

“Stop crying.”

You of course, did not.

She groaned internally. “You can’t get all weepy every time someone raises their voice at you.”

Nothing. Just more quiet sniffles from you and the occasional whimper.

She didn’t know how to approach. She wasn’t good at this, the comforting, the coddling. But she didn’t want to be like her mother--Her hand gingerly settled onto your shoulder.

She sighed.

Long.

Like this was painful for her.

“Pet…”

You didn’t look up. Didn’t show any indication that you’d even heard her, so she tried again, a little softer this time.

“Sweetheart, don’t cry. I didn’t—” she paused. Cursed herself for a moment. “I didn’t mean that. You… you aren’t hopeless.”

You gave a sort of strangled sob in response.

Sighing, she kneeled down in front of you—kneeled, and gently tilted your head up, pulling your hands away from your face. Her heart twisted at the sight of your tear-streaked face, your watery eyes.

“Oh, hun…” she whispered. “Look at me. You aren’t hopeless. You think I’d let you stick around if you were? Waste my time on you if I thought you couldn’t do it?”

“M’ stupid.” the words left you before you could stop them. Something in her burned.

Agatha’s eyes darkened, her tone serious.

“No. Don’t let me hear you say that again. Ever. You are not stupid.”

You sniffled. “But I keep doing it wrong.”

Agatha stayed quiet.

Gods help her, she really wasn’t good at this. What does one say to a crying student? But you weren’t just that. Of course not.

“Listen, hun…. You’re… You just need some more practice, okay?”

You gave a reluctant nod.

“And I wasn’t trying to make you cry, darling, I just want- I need you to know that in the real world, it’s not like this. When someone attacks you they don’t give you time to breathe. You need to keep that in mind.”

Another sniffle. “I k-know. I just don’t think I can… not right now. I’m sorry.” you mumbled tentatively. Agatha studied you for a moment. She looked into your eyes, trying to think of a way to make you feel better without completely ruining her reputation. You somehow always managed to make her say or do something ridiculously soft.

She sighed. Softer this time. Not in anger, but resignation.

“Come on.” she said, aiming to get up.

She offered you her hand, and you stared at it, unsure.

“I’m trying to be nice here, pet. Don’t make me use magic to get you upstairs.”

“You’re not…mad at me?”

She chuckled, a half scoff.

“Mad? I’m frustrated maybe, that you keep forcing me act all-- feely-- but no, I’m not mad.”

And before she could stand up you took her hand.

But you didn’t get up.

You slid off the chair and onto the floor with her, pressing you face into her shoulder and holding on tight. She stilled.

“Great. And now you’re—” her voice was gruff but she didn’t push you away. “I don’t do hugs.”

You clung on tighter.

“I’m sorry I didn’t do it right.” You mumbled.

Her hand, previously above you, hovering uncertainly, settled onto the small of your back. And in contrast to her words her touch was soft. Gentle. Like a mother’s warm embrace. You melted into it. Closed your eyes. Let yourself relax.

She let herself slowly rub your back. “You know, pet…” she started softly, “Magic doesn’t just require power.”

You listened, feeling your tears slow, your soft sobs turning into quiet sniffles.

“Real magic, one that works the way you want it to, it requires knowledge. Training. Understanding what you’re doing. And you… you have potential.”

You stilled at that. She thought that? That you--

“I do?” you murmured, and she angled her head down a little, a knowing smirk ghosting across her features.

“Oh, you think I just let anyone into my home, and teach them magic, hm?”

“I-- well no, but-”

“But nothing, darling. You have potential. I can feel it in you. It’s strong, powerful, simmering beneath the surface. What you need to do is learn to channel it. You have to be the one controlling it, not the other way round.”

You sniffled. Wiped your eyes. She glanced away, still holding you close, and murmured,

“You know, it took me years to figure out teleportation.”

You frowned a little. Looked up.

“Really?”

She laughed, a quiet, soft laugh, a hint of something resembling self-deprecation there.

“I know what you’re thinking, but yes. Even someone as amazing as me can struggle with magic. It’s not easy. If you’re doing it right it probably isn’t.”

“So how did you do it?”

“A lot of failed attempts and knocking into things. It wasn’t a fun time.”

You felt a smile tugging at your lips. She gently flicked your head, a scoff ready on her lips.

“Don’t laugh at me, pet. And if you tell anyone—”

“I know. I know. You’ll do something I won’t like.”

“Exactly.” she said back, but her voice held a hint of warmth that hadn’t been present before.

She adjusted her arms a little better around you, and you ducked your head.

“We’ll take a break, since it seems you need one.” she said, “But just ten minutes, you hear me? And then we’re going back at it again.”

Your heart sank a little. You didn’t want her to yell at you again.

“Agatha?”

“Yes?”

“Can you… be a bit nicer this time?”

She smirked. “What, this isn’t nice enough for you? Do you know what I’d be doing if you were someone else, pet? This would not be happening and they’d be looking for a new teacher.”

You looked down, but she tilted your head back up towards her, warm fingers gently touching your cheek.

“But not me.” you murmured.

You needed to hear it. Some reassurance, a rare thing from her, but still…

“No.” she said softly. “Not you. You’re… different.”

“Special?” you smiled faintly, hopeful.

“I wouldn’t go that far, but yes. Maybe. Just don’t think you can get used to this.” she said, “Got it?”

“Got it.”

She shot you a brief smile. “Good. Now about those pathetic attempts you called trying, that’s not the right way to cast a spell. It’s not the right way to cast anything.”

“Can you show me one more time?”

You were hesitant, but to your surprise she nodded quickly, and extended her hand.

“Give me your hand, dear.”

You did.

She took it lightly, guiding your movements gently, positioning your fingers in the right way.

“There. And now…” she leaned down to whisper in your ear, softly, quietly. “Focus. Feel it. Don’t think about your hands, think about the outcome. See it in your mind--”

Her hand, still on yours, guided your movements gently.

The feather moved the slightest bit.

You gasped in genuine excitement. Agatha rolled her eyes.

“Don’t get all giggly on me now, pet. Keep at it. C’mon.”

You focused. Pictured it floating away from the book covers, unbound, gliding through the air at your command. Maybe it was Agatha’s hand top of your own, or your thoughts going too fast, but--

It wasn’t as graceful as you’d imagined. It just flopped, rather violently to one side, and the tip of the quill dug itself into the wood of the table, pointing upwards like a tiny knife-- stuck.

Agatha tilted her head in consideration.

“Not very sophisticated,” she drawled, her hand leaving yours, “but it’s something.”

You exhaled, relieved, feeling a bit more hopeful now.

“Can we take that break now?” you smiled sheepishly.

Agatha rolled her eyes, but she was already on her feet, coat swishing and halfway to the stairs.

“Come, pet.” she said, disappearing out of view into the living room.

You followed. Hurried after her. Settled in the kitchen, and made yourself a cup of tea. She didn’t tell you anything else, nothing sweet or kind or hardly reassuring as her words could be, but you caught her watching you from the corner of her eye as she studied some book in the living room. So what if those supposed ten minutes turned into twenty, and you came back down with another mug of hot tea, and a plate of cookies?

She watched you in silence, that schooled aloofness back on her face, as you slid the plate towards her, a shy grin on your lips. She looked down at it. Back at you. Completely disinterested.

When your smile began to falter, she took one off the plate, but into it, and huffed, shaking her head.

“Don’t think this counts as a bribe, pet. I’m still gonna make you do it over again until you get it right.” But there was an unmistakable grin on her face that you simply couldn’t miss. You took another sip of your tea, shoved half a biscuit into your mouth, and stood up to try again.

A/n: Hellooo. Thank you for reading. This scene has been stuck in my mind for a long time and I just didn't have the will to write it out, finally did. For all you new followers (💜) I don't usually post fics this often but AAA has really jogged me back into the writing mood so I'm making the most out of it before my new semester starts, or, trying to. The title is from the song Cup Runneth Over by Kiki Rockwell. I just feel like all her music has this witchy vibe so I thought I'd use it. Also feel free to say if this is too long, I try to keep my fics between 1-3k words. Love y'all!! <3

[the-winter-spider]

Yours, Always | Part Two

Steve x reader, Bucky x reader AU

Word Count: 5.5k

Warnings: Angst, guilt,

A/N: ANOTHA ONE

ALSO, i realized that it maybe be confusing cuz after the flashback it jumps right into the reaction after the very first letter. So keep that in mind! It just jumps right where the last part left off.

ALSO, im not good a math okay, so my years may be off but its fiction and thats okay LOL <3

Masterpost

--------

The sun hangs low in the sky, staining everything in shades of gold and amber. The air is thick with the scent of cut grass and pavement baked too hot under the July heat.

It’s your last summer together before everything changes.

You don’t know it yet.

But maybe you should have.

“Hurry up, slowpoke,” Bucky calls over his shoulder, grinning like he’s got the whole world in his back pocket.

You roll your eyes but pick up the pace, your converse slapping against the pavement. “I’m literally right behind you, Barnes. Where are we even going?”

“You ask too many questions.” He flashes you that infuriatingly charming smirk, the one that always gets him out of trouble, the one that always gets you into trouble, the one that makes it impossible to stay mad at him. The one that makes your stomach flip.

You ignore that part. You’ve been ignoring it for years.

Bucky leads you through the side streets, weaving between familiar houses, past old fences you used to climb, past the gas station where you once dared him to steal a pack of gum (he did, but he went back five minutes later and confessed, turning so red the cashier took pity and let him go).

It’s your town. Your world. And you’ve never known it without him. You never thought you ever would.

He stops suddenly, turning toward you, his eyes bright with something mischievous. “Do you trust me?”

You scoff. “That depends. Am I gonna get arrested?”

“Unlikely.”

“Am I gonna get in trouble?”

“Not unless you rat me out.”

“Bucky..”

“Y/N.” His voice is warm, teasing, his hands already reaching for yours.

And you let him take them. Because of course you do. Because Bucky Barnes has never needed to ask you twice.

He pulls you toward the old train bridge at the edge of town. The one you’re absolutely not supposed to be on. But then again there are so many things the two of you weren’t supposed to do yet you always seem to do.

You hesitate at the base, glancing up at the rusted beams, the way the wooden planks stretch across the water, worn and splintered with age. “You’re insane Buck, especially if you think I’m walking across that.”

Bucky tilts his head, considering. Then, he grins. “Okay, princess. Guess I’ll have to carry you.”

Before you can react, he lunges.

“Bucky, don’t you dare—”

Too late.

You shriek as he throws you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing, his laughter ringing out as you flail uselessly against his back.

“Bucky! Put me down, you asshole!”

“Nah,” he says casually, already stepping onto the bridge, completely unaffected by your struggling. “You said you weren’t walking, so I’m taking matters into my own hands.”

“I will literally murder you.”

“You’re all talk, sweetheart.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice, feel the way his muscles shift beneath you as he carries you like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Like you don’t make him nervous. Like he hasn’t spent years wanting more.

The wind catches your hair as you cross the halfway point, the scent of sun-warmed wood and river water filling your lungs. It should be terrifying, but it’s not.

Because Bucky has never dropped you before.

Because Bucky has never let you fall.

When he finally sets you down on the other side, you punch his arm, hard.

“You suck.”

“You love me.”

You freeze.

Just for a second.

The words hang there, suspended between you, caught in the heat of the afternoon. Bucky’s grin falters just barely, something unspoken flickering behind his eyes.

Then, before you can say anything, he nudges you with his shoulder, smirking again.

“Admit it, it was fun.”

You cross your arms, pretending to be unimpressed. “You’re lucky I don’t throw you into the river.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling now, too.

And Bucky sees it.

Bucky always sees it.

He leans back on his elbows, watching you with that lazy, knowing expression, the one that makes it impossible to look.

“You know,” he says after a moment, voice softer now, “we won’t always have this.”

The words shouldn’t sting.

But they do.

You swallow. “Even when we're in the city for college, I’m sure we'll get into trouble” You nudge him.

Bucky’s grin is easy, effortless. The kind that should put you at ease.

But it doesn’t. Because something is off.

It’s in the way he nods, a little too quickly. The way he doesn’t meet your eyes. The way he keeps talking, like if he fills the silence fast enough, you won’t notice the weight in the air.

“You’re right,” he says, flashing a lopsided smirk “I’m sure we will, especially when we’re legal and can finally drink in the big city bars!” He nudges your knee with his, playful, teasing.

But you see it now.

Something tugs at the back of your mind, an itch you can’t scratch, a feeling you don’t have a name for yet.

Bucky has never been good at keeping secrets from you.

And right now? He’s keeping something.

“Bucky.”

He knows that tone. He finally looks at you, eyebrows raised, trying to act innocent. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

You narrow your eyes. He’s good, but not that good. “You’re acting weird.”

“Weird?” He lets out a too-loud laugh, leaning back on his hands. “Me? No way.”

“Yeah, you.” You tilt your head, studying him. “Since when do you avoid eye contact with me?”

“I—” He stops, blinks, then forces himself to meet your gaze.

And for a second, it works. For a second, he looks like your Bucky again, the one you’ve known since you were kids, the one who never lied to you, the one who always told you everything.

But then, just as quickly, it’s gone.

His grin is back, bright, charming, distracting. “Sorry, I was just thinking about how much trouble we’re gonna get into. I mean, you…big city girl? You’re gonna get us kicked out of half the bars in Manhattan.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Me? You’re the one who can’t stay out of trouble for more than five minutes.”

“Exactly. And that’s why we’re gonna run that city, sweetheart.” He winks, nudging you again, pushing the conversation away, pushing the truth further down.

And you let him.

Because he’s Bucky, and because you trust him, and because the alternative doesn’t even cross your mind.

Because right now, the future is still something bright and far away.

Because right now, you still believe he’s coming with you.

Because right now, you don’t know that in just a few weeks, you’ll find out the truth.

That he’s not coming to New York with you.

That he’s leaving.

That he’s already enlisted, and that he’s known for weeks.

But tonight? Tonight, he still just looks like Bucky.

And so you shove the uneasy feeling down, shove the doubt into the back of your mind, and smile. “Damn right, Barnes. We’re gonna run that city.”

And he smiles back.

Like it’s not a lie.

Like he’s not breaking his own heart just by sitting here, letting you believe in a future that doesn’t exist.

----

Your chest tightens, your throat burning as your fingers tighten around the letter. The memory surfaces like a tidal wave, dragging you under.

The lake. The way the moon shined onto the water making the water look silver. The way he looked at you that night, and how you ignored the way your stomach flipped because you were afraid.

You never told him you wanted to kiss him, too. That you hoped he finally would. Your hands shake as you fold the letter, shoving it back into the box as if that will somehow make the memories disappear.

But they don’t. They cling to you, whispering reminders of something unfinished. Your hands shake as you hold the letter. All the memories and moments you spent years trying to forget come rushing back.

Because now, you remember the sound of your laugh that night. You remember the sound of his, the way he lifted his hands to push back his hair, you remember the dimple in his chin, the way the moon made his eyes look like a galaxy.

And you remember exactly what it felt like to want him.

The weight of the first letter lingers in your chest long after you set it back inside the box. But you don’t stop. You can’t stop.

Your fingers tremble as they skim over the stack of envelopes, worn with time and creased at the edges. There are so many. More than you ever remembered.

Bucky had written to you every chance he got.

And you had never written back. You were so mad at him, so hurt that you let it get the best of you. You were so selfish. The hatred you had for yourself that Steve and your therapist had helped you try to come to terms with was overwhelming now.

You swallow hard, guilt pressing into your ribs as you pick another one at random, unfolding the paper carefully. His handwriting is rushed but still his, the same messy script that used to scribble notes in the margins of your school notebooks, the same handwriting that once wrote your name on his arm in marker when you were kids, just because he thought it was funny.

You take a deep breath and begin to read.

Y/N,

I don’t even know how to start this. I keep writing these, keep sending them out into the void, hoping, praying, that maybe one day, you’ll send something back. That I’ll see your handwriting again, hear your voice in the words you write. But I don’t even know if you’re reading them. Maybe you toss them straight in the trash. Maybe you don’t even open them. Maybe you’ve moved on.

And if you have…I don’t blame you.

I was a coward, Y/N. I should’ve told you the second I knew. I should’ve sat you down, looked you in the eyes, and told you that I wasn’t going to New York with you. That I was leaving for something else entirely. That I was walking away from the future we had been planning since we were kids. But I couldn’t. Because I was selfish.

I wanted one last summer. One last stretch of time where you still looked at me the way you always had, where you still laughed with me like nothing was changing. I didn’t want to see the look in your eyes when I told you the truth. I didn’t want to see the hurt, the betrayal, the anger. I didn’t want to see you look at me like I was already gone. And then, when the day came, when I had to leave, you wouldn’t even look at me at all.

I still see it, you know. The way your hands were shaking when you realized what I’d done. The way your voice broke when you asked me how long I had known. The way your eyes burned when you said you hated me.

I deserved it. God, Y/N, I deserved it.

But if I could take it all back, if I could do it differently, you gotta know I would.

I would have told you the moment I knew. I would have let you scream at me, cry, throw things, tell me I was an idiot. I would have let you say all the things I know you never got the chance to say.

I just wanted more time. And now? Time is all I have. I don’t know how to describe what it’s like here. I don’t know how to put it into words that don’t sound too small.

The days stretch on forever, but the nights are worse. Out here, there’s no quiet, but somehow, it still feels empty. The air smells like sand and metal, and sometimes I forget what grass feels like. Sometimes I forget what home feels like. Sometimes I think about the sound of your laugh and wonder if I even remember it right.

I try to, though. I try.

I think about the Fourth of July, how we ran wild through the carnival like we had the whole world ahead of us. I think about every moment I spent with you and how I took it all for granted.

I would give anything to go back. To one more late-night drive with the windows down. To one more summer afternoon with you, barefoot on the pavement. To one more chance, to fix this.

But I can’t. And that’s my burden to carry.

I just need you to know, I never meant to hurt you. Not for a second. Not in a million years.

I’m coming home, Y/N. I don’t know when, but I am. And when I do, I hope to God that you’ll still be there.

Yours, Always

Bucky.

Your breath is unsteady by the time you finish.

He knew. He knew what it did to you when you found out, when you had pulled up to his house and saw him in uniform, stuffing the last of his things into the trunk of his car, the sun catching on the name stitched into his chest.

--

“Barnes!”

Your voice was sharp, cutting through the thick summer air like a blade. The sound echoed down the quiet street, but you didn’t care who heard.

The moment you saw him, his duffel bag packed, his uniform crisp and foreign on his body, the light from the porch catching on the name stitched over his chest, you knew.

Your stomach plummeted, your hands shaking as you slammed the car door so hard it rattled in its frame.He turned at the sound, his face pale, his blue eyes wide with something that looked an awful lot like guilt.

“How long?” Your voice cracked, but you didn’t care. You stormed up the driveway, the pavement hot beneath your feet, rage and heartbreak tangling together in your throat, making it impossible to breathe.

You shoved him, hard. “How long have you known?”

Bucky swallowed, but the regret was already pooling in his eyes, written in every tense line of his body. He already knew this was unforgivable. “Since the beginning of summer.”

It was like the air had been sucked out of the world. Like the ground had been ripped out from under you. Like everything inside you had just….shattered. “You were never coming with me, were you?”

His throat bobbed. “Y/N—”

“You let me believe—” Your breath hitched, the betrayal hitting like a gut punch, knocking the wind out of you.

You shook your head, vision blurring with hot, angry tears. “I hate you.” The words felt like glass in your throat. Sharp. Final. True.

“Please don’t do this.” Bucky’s voice was raw, cracking under the weight of it. His hand curled into a fist at his side before he forced it open again, reaching for you like he could still fix this. “Please, Y/N.”

You laughed, a bitter, broken sound. “I hate you, James. Don’t talk to me ever again!” Your voice was shaking, but it didn’t matter. “How could you? Were you even going to say goodbye?”

“Of course I was.” His voice was quiet but firm, his jaw clenched so tight it looked painful. He took a step forward, his hand still outstretched, desperate.

You slapped it away.

“So all I was gonna get was a five-minute goodbye? Is that all I am to you?” Your breath came in shallow, uneven bursts, your heart pounding so hard it hurt. “And then you’d be gone? And you thought I’d be okay with that?”

His mouth opened.

But nothing came out.

His own tears had begun to fall, tracing silent tracks down his cheeks, his shoulders shaking with the weight of the words he never got to say.

You let out a broken scoff, shaking your head. “I never want to see you again, Bucky Barnes.”

It was a death sentence.

A final, jagged cut between you.

“I hate you.”

And then, before you could take it back, before you could fall apart completely, you turned, yanked open the car door, and drove.

You didn’t look in the rearview mirror.

You couldn’t.

Because if you had, you would’ve seen Bucky standing there in the driveway, hands curled into fists at his sides, shoulders shaking, his face twisted in grief, in regret, in something too broken to name.

And you would’ve seen the truth in his eyes

That he hated himself more than you ever could.

---

It was a lie. You had never hated him. But it still came out like the truth.

You blink rapidly, forcing yourself back to the present before the memory can suffocate you completely.

You dig through the box, pulling out another letter.

Y/N,

It’s been a year. One whole year since I left. Since I saw you. Since I heard your voice.

I wonder if you’d even recognize me now. I don’t feel like the same kid who stood in my driveway, watching you drive away, feeling like I had just made the worst mistake of my life.

Maybe that’s what growing up is. Maybe it’s just a series of choices you can’t take back.

I hope you’re okay. No, scratch that…I hope you’re thriving. I hope college is everything you dreamed it would be, that you’re out there owning that big city like you were always meant to. I hope you’ve made a million new friends, ones who love you the way you deserve to be loved. Ones who get to see you smile every day, who get to hear your laugh, the one that always sounded like summer, like freedom, like home.

I hope you’re happy. God, I hope you’re happy.

Things are… different here. Hard, yeah, but I guess I always knew they would be. The days are long, and the nights stretch on even longer. Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I swear I can still hear the sound of gunfire, even when it’s quiet.

But I met a guy, Sam. He’s from D.C, used to be a college athlete before all this. He reminds me of you, actually…smart-ass, full of life, always running his mouth. I think you’d like him.

He keeps me sane.

He makes me laugh when I don’t think I have it in me. He gives me shit when I start brooding (you’d probably get along real well in that department). And when things get bad, when the weight of this place starts pressing too hard, he reminds me that there’s still something on the other side of this.

That we’ll get home. And when I do?

God, Y/N, I have so many plans.

I’ve been making a list. A real one. Sam thinks I’m insane, but I don’t care.

I know it’s stupid, but I keep thinking about how I promised you I’d take you to all the best spots in the city. And yeah, I messed up, I should’ve been there with you from the start. (I hope one day you understand why I had to do this) But I’m not breaking this promise.

So when I get back?

We’re doing it all.

We’re gonna eat at every street vendor we can find, even the shady ones that are probably a bad idea. We’re gonna get drunk at that little jazz club I found in some travel magazine (I bet you’re so pissed I did research). We’re gonna ride the subway at midnight, just to see the kind of weird shit that happens.

And I swear, by the end of it, you’ll be a pro at navigating that city. I don’t know how long I’ll be here. But I know where I’m going when I come home.

Don’t forget me, please

Yours, Always

Bucky

Your throat closes. You press your lips together, trying to contain the sob that threatens to break loose.

You wish you got to tell him that you did read every letter and you did wait. You even continued to wait even when he was declared MIA because you knew you would never, could never love anyone the way you loved him.

And then Bucky never came home. And then you found a different love in Steve.

You reach for another letter, your hands shaking, your eyes already burning.

Y/N,

I think about you every night. I wonder if you think about me, too.

Do you remember the time we got caught in the rain, walking back from the lake before senior year? You were shivering so bad, your teeth were chattering, and you kept cursing at the sky like it was personally out to get you.

I gave you my hoodie, and you made some smartass comment about how it smelled like sweat and cheap cologne, but you still wrapped yourself up in it.

You never gave it back. I was wondering if you still have it?

It’s okay if you do or don't. But it did look better on you, anyway.

I miss you.

Yours, Always

Bucky.

You remember that day.

The storm had come out of nowhere, drenching both of you before you could even think about running for shelter. Your shoes had sunk into the mud, and Bucky had laughed when you nearly wiped out.

“You think this is funny?” you had snapped, water dripping from your hair into your eyes.

“A little bit, yeah.”

And then he had pulled off his hoodie, tugging it over your head before you could protest.

“It smells like you,” you had muttered, tucking your hands into the sleeves.

“Yeah?” Bucky had grinned. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

And it wasn’t.

You don’t know how much time passes as you sit there staring at the box of letters.

You don’t realize you’re sobbing until you go to pull out another letter and a tear splashes onto the envelope. It's the final one he wrote before he was declared missing in action.

The one you still haven’t opened.

Your hands tremble as you pick it up, fingers ghosting over the edges. The envelope is slightly bent, the paper inside still sealed.

You can’t open it.

Instead, you clutch it to your chest, tucking it into the inside pocket of your coat like you’re protecting it.

That’s when your fingers brush against something else at the bottom of the box.

Photos.

Your breath catches as you pull them out, one by one.

Bucky, standing in the summer sunlight, grinning at you like he always did.

Bucky, lounging in the bed of his old truck, his arm slung lazily behind his head.

Bucky, the last day you ever saw him, his Mom had sent it to you at some point, he was wearing his uniform, his bag slung over his shoulder, a look in his eyes that still haunts you.

You cover your mouth with your hand, your shoulders shaking as the sobs rip through you.

Because in that last photo, he had smiled.

Like he wasn’t afraid.

Like he truly believed he was coming back to you.

But he never did. He was only eighteen.

It had been ten years since you last saw him. Eight since his last letter. Six since he was officially declared MIA.

You rock forward, curling into yourself, grief pressing heavy against your ribs, swallowing you whole.

The walls seem to be inching closer, the air thick and suffocating, pressing down on your chest as you clutch the last unopened letter in your coat pocket like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth.

Your breath is uneven, shallow. Your eyes burn from the flood of emotions you’ve been holding back for years.

Then, your phone rings.

The sharp sound cuts through the silence, jolting you back to reality. You flinch, your fingers fumbling as you dig it out of your bag. The screen glows in the dim light, but your vision is blurred, and you barely register the name before swiping to answer.

“Hey,” you say, your voice hoarse, barely there.

“Hey, baby,” Steve’s voice is warm, familiar, grounding. The sound of it alone makes your throat tighten even more. “My mom took Lily out for an early dinner. Thought I’d check in on you.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, exhaling slowly. You try to steady yourself, try to push down the weight in your chest. “That’s lovely,” you murmur, forcing yourself to sound normal. But your voice wavers.

And Steve notices. He always does. His voice softens. “How are you holding up?”

You hesitate. You could lie. You could brush it off, tell him you’re fine, tell him you just got lost in some old memories but that you’re okay.

But the words don’t come. Instead, a small, broken noise escapes your throat, and suddenly, the dam bursts. “I was horrible,” you whisper, your fingers gripping the fabric of your sweater like it might hold you together.

There’s a beat of silence on the other end. “What?” Steve asks, his voice gentle, careful, like he knows you’re seconds away from breaking.

You suck in a shaky breath. “I never wrote him back.” The confession falls out of you, raw and trembling. “Not once. He wrote me all the time, for two years… and I never…God, I was so selfish. I was so fucking stubborn. He was out there, and I could’ve lost him at any second and then I did.”

Your voice cracks. You press a trembling hand to your forehead, as if you can somehow push the guilt back inside. “I thought—” You stop, choking on the words.

Steve waits. He always waits.

You force yourself to keep going. “I thought ignoring his letters would hurt him the way he hurt me. I thought it would make me feel better. But it didn’t. It never did. And now he’s gone, and I never told him…why wouldn’t I just write him back, Stevie?”

You squeeze your eyes shut as the sob rips through you, shaking your entire body.

“Hey, hey—” Steve’s voice comes through the speaker, soothing, steady, but there’s a slight edge to it now. Worry.

You hear him move, the rustling of fabric, the sound of him shifting, like he wants to physically be there but doesn’t know how to close the distance.

“Baby, listen to me.” His voice is firm but so, so soft. “You were hurting, okay? You didn’t do it to be cruel. You didn’t do it because you didn’t love him. You did it because you were in pain.”

You shake your head, but he keeps going.

“You were trying to protect yourself the only way you knew how. It wasn’t fair, and maybe it wasn’t right, but that doesn’t mean you were horrible. It means you were human.”

A sharp breath shudders through you.

“But—”

“No ‘but,’ Y/N.” His voice tightens, like he won’t let you argue. “You think he didn’t know you were hurting too? You think he didn’t know that you you still loved him? You were best friends baby, he knew.”

Tears stream down your face.

“I don’t know,” you whisper. “I don’t know, Stevie.”

Steve exhales, and when he speaks again, it’s even softer, like a secret meant just for you. “I do.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, a fresh wave of emotion clawing up your throat.

“I keep thinking about it,” you murmur after a long pause. “All the time I wasted. All the letters I could’ve sent. Even just one…one letter to tell him that I still cared, that I didn’t really hate him. That I was just—”

“Hurting,” Steve finishes for you.

Your chest tightens. “Yeah.”

There’s another beat of silence. But it’s not empty. It’s full—with love, with understanding, with all the ways Steve has held you up without ever asking for anything in return.

“You’re allowed to feel this,” he says after a moment. “But don’t punish yourself for it, baby. You were a kid. You were heartbroken. And no matter what you think you did wrong, it doesn’t change the fact that you loved him. That’s what matters.”

You sniffle, wiping at your cheeks. “I don’t deserve you,” you whisper.

Steve lets out a soft chuckle, but it’s thick with emotion. “Yeah, you do.”

You take a shaky breath, trying to pull yourself back together, but it feels impossible.

“Do you want me to come down?” he asks suddenly, and you can hear the earnestness in his voice, the way he would drop everything in a second if you asked. “Just say the word, and I’ll be there, baby.”

God.

You almost say yes. You almost beg him to get in the car, to hold you, to pull you out of this grief that’s swallowing you whole.

But instead, you shake your head.

“No… no, its okay, this, this felt good to get out.”

Steve pauses, like he’s measuring your words, making sure you mean them. “Okay. But I’ll stay on the phone as long as you need.”

You smile weakly, touched beyond words. “I think I just need a shower. I’ll text you after, okay?”

Steve hesitates, like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t. He just exhales softly. “Okay, “I love you.”

Your heart clenches. “I love you too.”

You end the call, letting the silence settle around you before standing on unsteady legs.

-

The shower is too hot. You don’t turn it down. You let the scalding water hit your skin, standing there with your forehead pressed against the cool tile, your hands braced against the wall. The steam curls around you, thick and suffocating, but you don’t move.

You don’t know how long you stay like that.

But when you finally step out, your skin is flushed red from the heat, and your fingers are trembling as you wrap yourself in a towel. And then, as you reach for your sweater, the old, worn one Bucky gave you. You can almost hear his voice, the memory sneaks up on you, curling around the edges of your mind before pulling you under completely.

And suddenly, you’re seventeen again.

“Jesus, Y/N.”

Bucky’s voice is tight, full of worry he’s trying to mask with frustration.

You wince as he dabs at the cut on your forehead, his touch careful but firm. You’re sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, your legs tucked up slightly as he crouches in front of you, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“It’s not that bad,” you mutter, but your voice is small.

Bucky snorts, his eyes flicking up to yours. “Not that bad? You’re bleeding all over the place, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re being dramatic.”

“You ran straight into a goddamn fence.”

“I tripped.”

“You tripped into a fence,” he corrects, shaking his head.

You huff, crossing your arms, but you don’t argue. Because he’s right.

You had been racing him down the street after a late-night run to the gas station, laughing so hard you could barely breathe. You weren’t paying attention, and before you knew it, your foot caught on something, and then…

BAM.

Forehead. Fence. Instant regret.

Bucky had freaked the hell out, dragging you inside before you could even register what had happened.

And now, here you are, half-heartedly pouting while he cleans you up, his expression still tense with worry.

“You really need to be more careful,” he murmurs, reaching for a bandage.

“You really need to stop acting like my mom.”

Bucky freezes. Then, his lips twitch.

“I’m offended.” He pulls back slightly, pressing a dramatic hand to his chest. “I am way better looking than your mom.”

Despite yourself, you laugh.

And just like that, his whole face softens.

His eyes stay locked on yours for a beat too long, his fingers lingering against your skin as he carefully smooths the bandage over your cut.

“There,” he says, voice quieter now. “All better.”

You don’t say anything. Because his hands are still on you. Because he’s looking at you like that.

Because suddenly, it’s way too quiet, and your heart is doing something weird in your chest.

Bucky must realize it too, because he clears his throat, pulling away quickly.

“I, uh—” He rubs the back of his neck, suddenly looking a little nervous. “You should probably get some rest.”

You nod. “Yeah. Good idea.”

He stands up, but he doesn’t move right away.

Instead, he lingers in the doorway, his fingers gripping the frame like he wants to say something else.

You don’t know what. And maybe it’s better that way.

--

It’s a memory so vivid, so sharp, that it makes your chest ache.

You open your eyes, staring at the same bathroom, now empty. The steam clings to it, just like it had back then, but there’s no Bucky here now. Just you. Alone.

But the ache in your chest lingers.

You look down at the sweater in your hands. It’s old now, a little stretched out, but it still smells like him.

Like something you lost but never really let go of.

You swallow hard, slipping it over your head before heading downstairs.

And even though you don’t say his name, he’s still there, in your hands, in your skin, in the places where he never truly really left.

[cosmowgyral]

"Lover's Contract: A night of immoral deeds"

▪︎ Nica Schwartz

This is a fan translation so please don't expect it to be 100% accurate. Creative liberties have been taken.

Since Nica is not yet out in the EN server, there might be terms that will turn out different than what I have used here when he is finally released. All content belongs to Cybird. Reblogs are appreciated. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1

Nica: Lover’s club has three rules.

Nica: One, never tell each other’s secrets.

Nica: Two, actively consider any proposal for an affair, even if it’s abnormal.

Nica: Three, if either of you gets a new lover, end the relationship.

Nica: What do you think? It sounds fun.

I lowered my eyes and sighed, unlike Nica, who had the corners of his mouth curled in laughter.

(Why did it have to come to this….)

A few hours back-----

As I crouched down in front of the flower bed and looked at the flowers, a shadow obstructed my field of vision.

Nica: What are you doing here?

Kate: Nica?

He was looking down at me, and didn’t somehow seem like his usual carefree self.

(He seems a bit grumpy…..)

He pursed his lips and looked at me with a dissatisfied expression.

Kate: Did something happen?

Nica: Oh yes, listen Robin.

Nica: I had the worst day today; a bird pooped on my clothes and then I stepped on fallen food.

Nica: On top of that, I was accused by a stranger and almost got punched.

Nica, who has been plagued by continuous misfortunes, tried to remove the bird poop from his clothes.

Wait a second, did he just say he was about to be punched by a stranger?

Nica: The misunderstanding was cleared but…..

The man who was about to hit him had mistakenly thought that Nica was his wife’s lover.

Nica had stopped in front of the house where his wife's lover resided.

Nica: So, when he was waiting to ambush the guy, I happened to stop there and he mistook me for him.   

It seems the man’s wife hadn’t been home for almost a week---.

(That’s actually a bit sad…..)

Seeing him with his arms crossed, looking thoroughly displeased made me feel sorry for him.  

Kate: How about doing something fun to relax?

Kate: I can go out with you if you’re okay with it.

Fortunately, he smiled at me.

Nica: Well, there is a place I want to go with you.

Kate: Where is it?

Perhaps he is feeling a little better now because there was a shift in his expression.

Nica’s lips slowly curved into a smile.

Nica: Love. People. Club. Fun.

He uttered some strange words.

The lover’s club is a club where you can spend time with your lover in secret.

It is apparently held only at night in a certain mansion as a place for people to spend an immoral night indulging in pleasure.

The man who attempted to hit Nica is now at his wit's end because it appears that his wife also frequents the club----.

Nica: So I thought I’d step in and lend a hand.

He leaned closer to me, his eyes sparkling.

Nica: Hey Robin, let’s sneak in together and find the man’s wife.

Kate: Umm….

Seeing that I was not showing any enthusiasm, his shoulders visibly slumped.

Nica: You were the one who said you’d join me for a change of pace.

Nica: I was really happy….but it seems like you don’t want to go with me…

(Oh cmon!)

Kate: Okay, but I’ll come back as soon as we’re done finding his wife!

Nica: As expected of the Robin, you get things done quickly.

And then, Nica gave me a broad smile----.

Nica: So from now on, you are my lover.

(back to the present)

(When I asked him to relax a bit, I never imagined that I would become his lover and sneak into a club with him.…)

Nica took out a photo from his pocket.

Nica: This is his wife. Her lover is a young man about the same age as us.

Nica: Apparently they’re known as the Queen and the Prince in the club. How funny.

This woman known as ‘Queen’ possessed an alluring aura, although it was unclear how old she was.

 Nica: Once we get hold of the woman, we hand her over to her husband. That’s our mission.

Kate: Okay, I understand…but why did you decide to cooperate with the man, Nica?

I asked him the question because I couldn't figure out why he would cooperate with a man who had nearly punched him.

Nica: Robin, we forged a bond of friendship between us men.

Nica: We were two unfortunate men, so we decided to help each other out.

He didn’t give me a proper reason.

(Knowing Nica, I doubt he’ll want to help out with only good intentions….)

I look at him suspiciously, unable to believe that a man who loved money so much, would cooperate without a compensation.

Nica: While we’re on the topic, let’s decide on a setting.

Nica: Wouldn’t it be okay if you were the wife of a company’s president and I was an employee working at your husband’s company?

Kate: But you look like the one with more money.

He appears much wealthier than I do because of all those pricey accessories he is wearing.

Suddenly, he sat down next to me, and began running his fingers through my hair.

Nica: I would want you to dress me up as your lover.

The lips that were resting on the ends of my hair make a soft sound.

Nica: Because I want to prove that I belong to you.

My heart started racing as I was stunned by the sudden kiss.

Then, my eyes met Nica’s.

Nica: Don’t be surprised by something like this, we’re lovers.

His captivating smile enthralled me, but then I gasped when the carriage came to a quick stop.

Nica: Looks like we arrived, Robin. Are you ready?

He held out his arm in front of me, and gave me a look that suggested I accept it.

I nodded slightly and wrapped my arm around his as instructed.

Nica: Well then, shall we indulge in a one night’s forbidden affair?

That endearing voice marked the beginning of a nightlong love affair.

[Masterlist] [Chapter2]

[borkunlimited]

Take Your Time, Miss Deer (Sylus x Reader) - Ch. 5

In a tailor shop tucked in the calmer side of the N109 zone is a little room where all clothes of many different designs come together under the delicate hands of an unassuming deer living in the den of all sorts of beasts and sitting on them is the dragon who wears your clothes.

Your many interactions with Skye, Mr. Sylus’ messenger or-

-Sylus is waiting for you to finally figure out he is playing his own messenger.

A Deer Hybrid! Reader x Dragon Hybrid! Sylus Fic

Tags: Sylus x Reader, Hybrid AU, Suggestive Themes, Fluff, Predator/Prey, Injury, Blood, Guns

Chapter Summary: He had pushed against all odds, defying every word they described him. If you let him kiss your wounds, he hopes you will kiss his real name in return.

Author's Note: Rereading Beastars in my spare time made me understand why people tend to wait for a series to finish even if it takes YEARS. Anyways, I am also catching up on Ancient Magus Bride as well. Really inspired me to draw better. Will I draw art for this series? Maybe?

Trigger Warning: Injury, Blood, Guns

AO3

Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch.4 / Ch. 5

5: My Dearest, Frustrated

A walk usually helps you clear your head.

There are a few things you missed about the place that you used to live with your father. When the sewing machine refuses to cooperate and your fingers are beginning to tremble from hand stitching delicate fabrics, you always find your feet carrying you around Bloomshore District.

It is one of the only few places in the country where humans and hybrids can co-exist but even then, it still has its fair share of problems hidden beneath the idyllic place, subtle words and looks laced from mostly humans who believes you owe it to them that they see you as civilized.

Unfortunately, a short walk is one of the many privileges you have to let go when you move here in the N109 zone.

Today, everything is slowly becoming frustrating.

A slight pressure from your foot will have the sewing machine run too fast, out of control, and you are getting tired of ripping the seams of the same stitch too many times just to repeat the same mistake.

If you are not too careful, you might actually end up starting all over again because you have already stretched the expensive fabric too much.

Your father is very wise in accepting requests and even when you are fully booked for every month, he makes sure you have enough on your plate that you still have breathing space and keeps the business afloat.

Still, there are cases that clients often go straight to you to ask for favors.

Just like that sweet baker.

A sheep hybrid, a former close neighbor who also moved with you and your father here, asked you personally if you can prioritize her order. She was hesitant at first, saying that you can turn her down if it is a bit too much but you don’t mind, especially when it is her and her husband’s wedding anniversary and the offer of strawberry shortcake in return was something you can't resist.

It was supposed to be easy.

Then, the needle of the sewing machine hit the zipper, the sound was too loud as it thud harshly against the same spot and you panicked, stepping on the pedal too hard.

No.

No.

No!

No amount of ripping the seams would salvage this fabric now.

You wanted to cry but the sound of your frustrated scream remained deep in your chest and your lips trembled.

This is the only thing you are good at. You can’t fail at this. This is what feeds you and your father, what keeps the roof above your heads, one late order can affect the reputation of this shop and then you have to go back-

You don’t want to go back.

Mpehisto tilts its head at you, its optics zooming in to see the pinpricks of tears on the corner of your eyes and notices you are biting your bottom lip too hard.

It immediately pieced together that you are clearly upset so it did what it usually does to comfort you.

It does the dance.

Yes, that dance.

The steps are fairly simple.

Three little hops (Right, left, center. It should go in that order!), a twirl with its wings spread wide and then ends with its tail wagging, a dramatic bow.

Usually, that makes you clap at its performance and giggle softly.

Yet, you did not react at all when it tried to do the ‘silly dance’ as you called it in front of you just now.

What’s wrong? 

Why aren’t you laughing? 

Did it not do the twirl well enough?

Did it not practice enough?

“You should go home, Daisy,” you said quietly.

But it doesn’t want to go. This is exactly why its master sends it here after all.

To look after you, to listen to you. 

It is your confidant as much as it is to its master.

Daisy only stared back at you and you sighed, standing up and then opening the window wider.

“Come on, Daisy,” you beckoned, trying hard not to sound curt but failing miserably, “I am sure your nest needs a crow.”

It seemed to hesitate at first, flapping towards your windowsill and if crows can frown, Mephisto certainly did when the kiss you gave on top of its head was too forced.

The mechanical crow gave you one last look before flying away and there is only one thing running in its mind after it sent Sylus its data-

-If it can’t comfort you, then its master should surely know what to do.

────────────────────

There are people who are as stubborn as a mule.

It has been a terribly long day and Sylus’ initial plans of visiting you have already been delayed by an hour. 

An hour.

He has interacted with different kinds of people, humans and hybrids alike, but this one, this particular human takes the crown as the most annoying business partner Sylus had dealt with.

“These firearms are overpriced,” the human tried to haggle with him and Sylus has to commend this nuisance for not even trembling on his presence.

Such is the pride of every human, he supposed, the weakest among the bunch always think they are more superior to the strongest hybrid.

“The prices are non-negotiable,” he replied coldly, his eyes narrowed towards the human who is examining the firearms too many times and he is stopping himself from rolling his eyes because the human clearly thinks they are fake, “They are high-end models. Do you want them or not?”

This dragon is harder to bully than the rest. Most hybrids would cower to any demands laid down by a human but there is always that one hybrid among the rest who does not back down, even with threats.

You would have expected a rare hybrid would value his life more and concede just to survive but no, not this beast.

What does this beast call himself again? 

Right, Sylus. 

The hybrid who had built this city that is now crawling with his fellow abominations.

The brute must have been so lonely that he worked tooth and nail so that he carved out his own empire with his own subjects.

Of course, the human did his research ahead and who would have thought, this thing feared even by his kind actually had a heart.

These beasts run their mouths so much that he heard that Sylus over here is doting over a deer hybrid.

He stooped so low that of all the hybrids he could pick from, he chose a docile deer.

A complete opposite of him.

Now the human can’t help but wonder.

Is that poor deer Sylus has chosen his emergency ration or a feast for a special day?

“I do, but inflating your prices would not be too good for your business, don’t you think?”, the human asked.

This insolent human is so amusing, isn’t he?

“You’re not in any position to lecture me on how I should run my business,” Sylus answered, a subtle hint of anger creeping in his face.

This negotiation should have clearly ended earlier but Sylus still has half a mind to be at least cordial to these imbeciles whether he likes it or not, the last thing he wants is for the police to start sniffing again after he had paid them a hefty sum.

Sylus didn’t bother to know their names and he can hear the human whisper with his companions. 

These people. 

Barging here, demanding for quality goods, and then suddenly doubt their authenticity? Maybe they shouldn’t even be here.

He took a sip from his glass, the whisky burning on his throat when a certain weight pressed down on his left shoulder.

Mephisto?

His mechanical crow let out a caw.

How odd. 

His companion is basically glued to you at this point. Isn’t this one supposed to be hanging around you at this hour?

Did something happen? No, he had set up security alarms around your shop, he would have known if something or someone triggered it.

Sylus frowned at Mephisto, not caring if he was in the middle of business and his crow projected a hologram in front of him, just small enough for his eyes and the volume low.

“Go home, Daisy.”

No wonder why Mephisto is here.

You are clearly upset over something and oh, Sylus will certainly drop everything he is doing when he sees those pinpricks of tears in the corner of your eyes. 

His precious deer does not get easily upset, always patient and the look of frustration is a foreign expression Sylus had never seen before.

Whoever made you cry should certainly wish they had a plot already reserved in the cemetery.

“Deal’s off,” Sylus said, immediately standing up and his tail flicking in annoyance.

This conversation had already run past its course anyways and he had more pressing matters to attend to than listening to a human haggle with him until he gave his wares for free. Unbelievable.

“What?! You're leaving? You can’t just walk away-”

“Watch me.”

“You’re going to regret this, Sylus!”

The exit to the warehouse slammed shut and it was clear to everyone inside that no exchange was going to happen.

Sylus knows he could go look for another customer. There will always be another human or another hybrid who is willing to pay the price he had set.

The threats thrown by the human faded into white noise and the only thought running in his mind is that he needs to get to your shop as soon as he can. The human can go on and on about putting his head on a silver platter and even then, he could hardly care when he eats those words for breakfast.

His business can wait.

He had to wipe away those tears first.

The dark thread wind against the empty bobbin, your foot stepping on the pedal to refill it. After Daisy left, you have set aside the dress for now and have decided to work on Mr. Sylus’ shirt.

Sewing his clothes has become a regular task for you and because of that you don’t have to look at his measurements anymore because you already have it memorized.

Even when it is such a warm, sunny day here in the N109 zone, today is not your day from the looks of it but you are still struggling to accept that fact, pushing yourself to just work on something, anything so that you have at least progress.

Just one shirt. Anything. The fabrics have to come together and take a new shape today.

As much as you love random visits from your clients, you really hope none of them would come inside your studio. Not today because you are very close. Very close to snapping because the threads are refusing to listen to you, the end of the thread of the bobbin now stuck.

Again.

Now you have to manually unwind it.

Again.

You let out a sharp inhale, removing your foot from the pedal while you slowly untangle the thread and your hands faltered when the door opened to reveal the person you specifically hope to not come over, your anger and frustration mixing together and now simmering under the surface.

“Hello, Skye,” you greeted, your voice slightly strained but you still gave Mr. Sylus’ messenger the best smile you have, even if it was slightly forced.

Sylus’ gaze moved up and down, checking for anything that might be out of place but aside from the usual mess of threads that hang on your antlers every time you work, you seemed fine.

Except, not just your usual cheerful self.

“Hello, sweetie,” he greeted you, taking quick strides until he was standing beside where you were sitting, “Everything alright?”

Of all times your favorite visitor has to come over, it has to be today where all you want is to be left alone but you don’t want to be rude, you know Skye must be busy, being Mr. Sylus’ messenger/bodyguard/boss henchman, but he still made an effort to go here so you just sighed in defeat, thinking you should still be at your best behavior.

“I am fine,” you replied but the answer came out on your mouth too clipped, the corner of your lips twitched slightly.

“Something’s bothering you, miss seamstress.”

“Nothing’s bothering me.”

“Always a terrible liar, sweetheart.”

“I am not,” you replied, closing your eyes briefly to reel in the irritation threatening to break the surface only for you to once again step too hard on the pedal, the needle you just replaced running diagonally across the fabric and you let out a yelp, the sharp object piercing your finger.

“Darling-”

You were able to pull back just in time, letting go of the pedal and cradling the injury close to your chest.

“Let me see,” Sylus kneeled in front of you, his heart racing when he saw you curling up on your chair in silent pain and sobbing quietly.

You shook your head at first, trying to calm yourself.

“Please, sweetheart.”

His voice was soft, close to a plea, as if he is coaxing you, the frightened deer to step closer, that he meant no harm.

“Let me see how bad it is,” he pressed further, his fingers wrapping around your wrist and tugging it gently, waiting for you to loosen up.

Hot tears stream on your face but you finally let him check your wound, blood slowly pouring out.

It is a nasty cut, the needle that pierced your skin is certainly sharp and brand new, but with a quick clean-up, your wound should heal before you even know it.

“Sweetie, this is a pretty deep cut,” Sylus said softly, wrapping your injured finger with his own white handkerchief, the blood staining the fabric but at least it would stop the flow while he looked for a first aid kit.

He stood up, thinking of stepping out to ask your father where you keep the medical supplies even if your father’s first assumption might be because he finally decided to pounce on you, that he had a moment of weakness and decided to have your finger as an appetizer.

“Skye.”

Sylus heard you call out his name, his false name, but he was so used to it that he immediately spun around before he could even turn the handle of your studio door.

“I keep the bandages in the washroom,” you said quietly, your eyes moving at the door to your right.

“I’ll be back in a moment, sweetie,” he told you and you watched him walk towards the direction of the washroom, your ears perking upon hearing him opening the cabinet doors.

Must there always be a wound for you to realize that you are letting your emotions ahead of you?

It is an innate survival instinct, aside from the antlers that you also lose during the winter, to keep your emotions at bay because your naturally docile kind has nothing to protect themselves aside from sticks and stones.

Better to lay low than alert unwanted company, better to stay still for a moment than forever.

You watched him kneel in front of you again, taking your hand with the injured finger and unwrapping the white handkerchief before setting it aside. There is nothing but focus on his gaze, no hint of the dilated pupils that predator hybrids have when they catch a scent of blood.

“I can take care of it,” you said quietly, trying to pull away your hand but he held on to it firmly.

Afraid. You are afraid to see the reality of this uncommon situation where you have grown to cherish one of the few hybrids in the N109 zone and prove everyone’s words right-

“Dragons eat their prey alive.”

-That he and you are indeed very, very different.

Your heart skipped a bit when he moved your finger closed to his lips and his gaze trained towards you, a permission. Even then, his eyes remained the same. The same crimson eyes that looked at you fondly every time you talk.

There is no hint of hunger, no hint of any desire to devour you.

For a moment, you and him are almost close to being humans, just two conscious beings.

“I am not going to hurt you.”

“You won’t?”

“I would never harm you.”

You nodded slowly, a yes, and he took your wounded finger towards his mouth, placing a soft kiss at your fingertip before licking the cut, his tongue warm.

Vigor. Most predator hybrids specifically go to the black market for this. For blood. Sylus refused to partake in it, mostly because he is already powerful in his own right and he refused to be dependent on such.

The words are true, it is incredibly potent, just one drop alone. Your skin is soft, your blood sweet yet call it sheer willpower because he is not going to let those primitive instincts kick in, even when his sharp canines beckons him for a little nip.

Just a small bite.

It was never hunger that drove his attraction to you.

It was companionship, a longing.

May this be the lying dragon’s proof to you of his undying devotion, likely the last of his kind, the lonely fiend, a lowly liar, liar, liar, undeserving of your affection but here he is, on his knees, silently begging for more and never in his waking days and fitful nights he had ever dreamt of even laying a finger to the deer who willingly stepped out of the blurry line of her paradise to his so she can have a better look at the monster wearing a false name hiding in the foliage of the dark forest.

Let this be his unspoken promise from him to you. 

Let his actions be witness that he is nothing but honest to the affections he had reserved just for you.

There was a moment of silence that settled between the two of you, Sylus focused on cleaning your cut and even when the taste of you lingered in his tongue, he had swore in himself to wash it off, to never succumb to its allure.

“I was bad at Daisy,” you said softly, guilty at how you treated your little assistant. It even did the silly dance to cheer you up but you just looked at it, never giving it praise that it deserves.

Were you that frustrated? You really hope your crow friend visits again soon so you can apologize.

“I am sure Daisy understands, miss seamstress,” Sylus replied, dabbing your wound with antiseptic. He already played the rest of the recording on his way here, witnessing your frustration.

“I was mean to you too,” you added, your voice softer that you are unsure if he even heard you.

But Sylus did not miss your quiet confession laced with guilt. It seems that you are never used to expressing your anger, how you opt to stray away instead of lashing out, your deer and human sides clashing on processing such.

“I know you didn’t mean it, sweetie,” he answered gently.

He isn’t foreign to this. How many times did he lash out when he was young? He doesn’t even choose his targets, his anger directed at either hybrid or human, anyone who is in front of him. The anger still remained, the anger of losing his sense of belonging but it became bearable to carry, the burden smaller now.

Time made him realize that even when he might be the last of his kind, he certainly is not the last hybrid.

“There you go. All better now, sweetheart.”

The heavy emotions lingering in the air slowly drift off, replaced by a certain understanding only the two of you have, a deal Sylus has sealed by pressing another kiss on your bandaged finger.

His little doe, a genius in her own right, having a rainy day. It was obvious based on the state of your working desk and what he saw that your materials are refusing to follow the instructions of their beautiful maestro, refusing to follow the beat she has set.

His knuckles traced the path of your tears, pressing his lips on them, kissing away the lingering frustration while your sobs slowly turned into quiet whimpers.

“How about I sing it away until you forget it even ever existed, hm?”

He didn’t wait for you to reply, his baritone voice filled the room, soft. The high and low notes seemed to tumble out of his lips with no sense of consistency that you finally cracked a smile when he finished.

“You have a very silly way of singing, Skye,” you pointed, stifling your giggle.

Oh so his mechanical crow’s dance that he programmed himself was labelled as a ‘silly dance’ and now you are calling his singing ‘silly’ as well? After the effort he put on that little song.

“It’s called ‘unique’, miss seamstress, not ‘silly’”, he playfully corrected you, pinching your cheek and he grinned further when that familiar cheerful smile was slowly returning on your adorable face.

“Can you do it again for me soon, Skye?”, you asked, “If you don’t mind?”

Ah, his little deer, becoming so bold in asking for favors. Back then, you used to be so hesitant because you were worried you might be imposing on him.

“I will sing for you day or night as often as you want me to.”

His reply seemed to perk you up, your tail wagging and you glanced at the ruined shirt you were sewing for Mr. Sylus. The frustration of not getting it right seemed to ebb away and now replaced with a new determination but perhaps, that energy is reserved for tomorrow once your head is clearer.

“Can you also tell Mr. Sylus I am not delayed on his requests?”, you asked again but this time, slightly hesitant, “I am still on track, I promise.”

“I will. You’re never anything but efficient, miss seamstress,” Sylus answered. He already knows you always meet your deadlines, that you are such a diligent tailor that knows the importance of each clothes you make to your client.

There will be a time this game of pretend shall come to an end and he had always looked forward to that day but for now, his identity does not matter much to him.

Right now, as long as he sees his beautiful deer, unharmed, then-

-Everything is right with the world.

────────────────────

“Are you sure you are alright?”

Your father asked you again but you don’t mind, nodding before you took a bite of the salad he prepared for dinner.

“Yes, I think I am just a little stressed lately,” you answered, fiddling with your fork.

“I mean with your visitor earlier,” your father said quietly and his eyes lingered at your finger wrapped with a red bandage.

He doesn’t exactly dislike Sylus, no, far from that. Only a few people hold a certain respect for the dragon hybrid who was kind enough to let people settle here and he is one of them. If anything, he is more than grateful for his support.

Yet, uttering his name out loud when he is not around, your father always thinks he is going to summon Sylus by accident, knowing the dragon is always listening, especially when it comes to you.

“Oh, yes, it was a very pleasant visit.”

“You can tell me anything, you know.”

“But I am,” you replied, slightly confused as you tilt your head at him. “Skye didn’t do anything bad.”

Skye.

He still doesn’t know why you address Sylus as such. Is it a nickname only you and your favorite visitor understand? Perhaps it is because Sylus never bothered to correct you.

Your father is more than aware you are a very terrible liar ever since you are a child. Your bluntness does not come across sarcasm but an observation, and even when you lie, there are always tell tale signs.

Yet, right now, you are completely honest that you find Sylus’ visits enjoyable and it is undeniable you two are becoming closer. How your scent clung on the dragon hybrid’s horns, how Sylus is staying longer than usual, and the recent development-

-That cut on your finger was tended by the man himself.

Perhaps his worries are for nothing, that Sylus indeed has genuine intentions.

Still, when you almost lose everything, any new change comes with doubt and uncertainty.

Your father just smiled, piling more food on your plate and his gaze moved behind your back, at the shelves where both of you kept the expensive china gifted to your shop by one of your clients, towards the little drawer where the keys are kept and-

-He hopes that the little package wrapped in old newspaper will forever remain unopened.

────────────────────

Luke and Kieran had to immediately cover their noses when they caught the scent of blood in the air.

Let the humans in white coats tinker with you long enough that you will be able to pick out which scent belongs to who and well, this new scent is particularly potent.

Their pupils dilated and they looked at each other, their hands trembling and dropping the sheep plushies they were working on.

It wasn’t the first time they smelled blood. It is a general scent in the N109 zone after all but this one, no, this one utterly horrified them.

No, it can’t be.

Soft cotton and wildflowers. Springtime. Soil thawing out after a long winter.

This is yours.

No, that’s not possible.

Boss is a dangerous man but he isn’t a damn animal but what if-

-The blood spilling from your neck staining the fabric, the tailor’s chalk on the wooden floor and your hand, lifeless and pale, reaching for it but only for you to never do. 

It was an image too much to bear.

Sylus barely even touched the handle to the double doors of the base when it opened wide, the twins immediately going after him.

“Boss, what did you do to her?!”, Luke yelled at his face, his knife immediately going after his throat.

There is only one thought running in their heads.

They will kill him, even if he is leagues stronger than both of them combined.

Kieran was quick, aiming for his abdomen but Sylus is quicker than these two.

Prior from taking them in, these two tried to end him before so it has been awhile when he has seen the twins with their hackles raised, their tails tucked between their legs, and yes, snarling at him.

“Back down. Now.”

“We trusted you!”

“And I trusted you two not to jump to conclusions.”

This little display made him realize he still has more to teach to these wolf cubs that just end up following him but he doesn’t blame them. 

Any predator hybrid who doesn’t keep themselves in check would always jump toward its source, conscience gone and natural instincts kicking in without them realizing it.

Incredibly potent. An irreversible addiction.

He pulled out the handkerchief and the twins’ immediately covered their noses with their hands, turning away and flinching from the object.

“She had an accident while working earlier,” Sylus explained, returning the cloth back to his pocket but even then, the two refused to put down their hands.

“Is Miss Deer alright?”, Kieran asked.

“It’s nothing serious,” Sylus assured the two.

The two still stepped further from him, as long as he had that handkerchief with him, there is no way they are coming near the boss, even if he orders them too.

It was too overwhelming. Every blood from a prey hybrid is a trigger for a century old trait that should have faded away. They don’t know how the boss does it, how he is awfully calm even when they are close to salivating just from the scent alone.

Detestable. Their bodies acting against their wills, close to forcing them to step closer.

“Boss, we have to go,” Kieran said weakly.

“Then go,” Sylus said and the two wasted not another minute, disappearing back at the base and away from that scent.

Sure he is a fiend.

But he is certain he isn’t a lunatic.

And he has a strong will, relentless.

Even if he has his first taste, he isn’t a man that will back down on his oath.

.

.

.

Afterall, he is as much a human as he is a dragon.

────────────────────

Author's Note: This was based on an experience where I actually did had this accident and boy, it hurt like hell HAHA

AO3

Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch.4 / Ch. 5

[flowery-mess]

a family of one

Pairing: frat boy Noah x female reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI! / mentions of alcohol and drugs / bad parent-kid relationship / mentions of cancer / shoving someone / slight sexual scene in the end / I think that's it, lmk if anything else

Words: 3,9k

Author's note: agh Noah❤️‍🩹 my heart beats for him I swear, grab your tissues and enjoy reading, let me know what you think✨

frat Noah masterlist

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Messages from Noah’s father throughout the last week:

“Hey son, do you have a minute to talk? I need a favor”

“Hey Noah, I need to talk to you”

“Hey man, pick up the phone it's important”

Noah never answered, he knew what the favor was. His father only contacts him when he needs money, but Noah doesn't have it in him to just block his number and cut him off. He usually never answers, until this text came through:

“Noah, I'm sick and I need your help”

It was Monday evening, Noah was home alone and didn't know what to do with this information.

He sat down, opened a bottle of whiskey and took a big gulp.

His father for him was only a failure, both of his parents were, but at least his mother cut him off completely. He never wished Noah a happy birthday, but when it was his birthday? 'Hey Noah, what do you say about birthday dinner tomorrow?' as if Noah would give a shit about his birthday. He made the mistake once, took his father for a dinner on his birthday, only to be the one that paid for it and to find all of the cash he had in his wallet was gone, probably stolen when he went to use the bathroom.

Noah's eyes scanned the text over and over, the word sick sticking out. Sick. What does he mean by that? He knows he shouldn’t care, but the small boy in him still feels weirdly sad about the idea of his father being sick.

“Sick? What do you mean?”

Noah texted back, then locked his phone and put it screen down on the table in front of him. He doesn’t want to talk with him, unless it’s really important.

His attention was on the street outside, watching people live their lives while he felt like his life is never going to change. Like his past will never leave him, it will haunt him forever. Abandoned by his parents, lost his grandparents, living alone in this empty apartment, desolate.

His phone buzzed with a new notification, but it took him a few minutes to get the courage to pick his phone and read it.

“Cancer, can we meet and talk?”

Noah let out a shaky breath he didn’t even know he was holding. Cancer. Does this mean he’s going to die and leave him completely too? Would it hurt Noah?

“I don’t wanna see you. What stage?”

“Son, please.”

“Son.” Noah read out loud with a laugh. Funny thing to call someone you left and use only for money.

“We either talk this way or not at all.”

Noah didn’t get another answer from the man that calls himself his father, so the only thing on his mind was if this was the last conversation he had with his father. He didn’t know if he was in the early stage where treatment still can help or if he has years, months or even days of his life.

—

“Hey, you’re not drinking tonight?” you slipped in the spot next to Noah, who looked not in the mood for anything or anyone tonight.

“No.” he didn’t even look at you and continued to stare into nothing.

“Are you okay?” you saw Noah out of a mood many times, but he was never this weird.

“Yes.” one word answers, great.

“Why don’t you go home if you’re not in the mood to be here? I don’t mind.” you didn’t know if he stayed there only because it was an unspoken rule that you two always leave together, that he makes sure you’re leaving safe, so if that was the case, you wanted him to know he doesn’t have to stay.

“I’m fine Ella.” he snapped, finally turning his head to look at you. He looked different, his eyes somehow empty, dark circles under them and his jaw showed a few days of unshaved stubble.

“You don’t look fine Noah.” you knew it was pointless to try to get a word out of him, but you tried.

“Don’t you have friends to drink and dance with?” his tone was unwelcoming, so without a word you stood up and left. You knew he wasn’t fine, but you’re not going to let him take it out on you, you only wanted to help him.

You found Molly and Clara and decided that if Noah isn’t going to apologize that you’re not leaving with him tonight. Not that he looked in the mood for sex, but lately you’ve been leaving with him and sleeping at his place even when you didn’t have sex.

The party was the same as every other week, so after more drinks with your friends you moved to the garden to play beer pong against boys from your class.

“Molly you’re so bad at this.” Clara groaned at Molly’s another attempt to throw the small orange ball into one of the red cups at the other side.

“Maybe it’s intentional, but you’ll never know.” and you would believe that. Molly wanted the drinks and look like the girl who needs help with throwing the balls, preferably with a guy behind her and his arms around her body.

“Ella? Hey Ella!” you heard someone shout your name, then you saw one of the fraternity boys wave at you.

“I’ll be right back.” you told the girls and started walking in the direction of a tall blonde guy, “Hi, do you need help with anything?”

“Yeah, have you seen Noah?”

“Last time I saw him in the living room.”

“He’s not there.” he left a sigh and looked around “do you think he left? He wouldn’t leave without you, right?” that made you roll your eyes.

“Listen, I don’t know where he is. The last time I saw him he was an ass, so maybe he went home.”

“There’s this guy asking for him, but I don’t wanna give him his address or something.”

“And how can I help you with that?” you were still pissed from earlier, but stopped yourself from being an ass, just like Noah, “I’m sorry, didn’t want to be rude. Do you know who that guy is? Have you tried calling Noah?”

“Yes, texted him too. Don’t know the guy, all he’s saying is he needs to talk to Noah.”

“Okay, I’ll come with you.”

You followed Ben, as you learned his name was, through the living room and then outside from the main entrance.

“Oh, there he is. Problem solved.” Ben said and stopped walking when he saw Noah and the guy already talking.

“Oh, great.” you said, but couldn’t help yourself and watch them for a minute. Ben left you there, saying he had to go back, but you didn’t mind.

There weren't many people in the front yard, so far it looked like no one noticed Noah and the mysterious guy outside of the property. You walked slowly towards them, you saw Noah’s back and you could tell from the way he stood he was uncomfortable.

As you made it closer to them, you could finally see the other guy. You didn’t recognize him, that made you wonder who he was.

Until you scanned his face and then it hit you. Same almond eyes like Noah’s, very similar hair color and he was just a few inches shorter than Noah. His father, it has to be, you thought.

You didn’t know what to do, if you should leave or stay there. Yeah Noah pissed you off, but from the little you knew about his past and saw his nervous body language, the anger you felt towards his actions from earlier was replaced with worry.

You stood still for a few minutes, watching them both throw their arms around and raise voices at each other, but not enough for you to hear what they’re talking about.

They didn’t notice you standing there, watching them, until they stopped talking and just glared at each other.

Noah’s father’s eyes met yours for a second, you looked away and tried to think of how to leave.

“Do you need anything?” he yelled in your direction, which caused Noah to turn around and notice you too.

You couldn’t figure out the look in his eyes, but it only confirmed that he wasn’t comfortable and like he was asking you to stay.

“Don’t talk to her.” Noah said to his dad, turning back to face him again. “If that’s all you wanted to tell me, you can leave now. We’re done.”

“Is this how you gonna treat me? Your dad?”

“You,” Noah lost it and grabbed his father by the collar of his t-shirt, “are not my dad.”

You knew Noah probably wouldn’t hurt him, but you still skipped the space between you and them and put your hand on his shoulder with silent “Don’t do something stupid Noah.”

He dropped his hands and you could feel his shoulders going up and down very quickly from his quick breathing.

“What’s going on?” you asked.

“I’m his dad, I’m sick and he won’t help me.” the man in his late 50’s told you, Noah stayed silent. He knew he doesn’t have to explain the situation to you, that you’re on his side.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Whatever you were talking about, I’m sure there is a better place to discuss it than a frat party. Don’t you think?”

“Alright, listen Noah I’m sorry for coming here. Maybe we could take this to your place and solve it out.”

“You’re not coming to my place.” Noah yelled out of frustration and people started to look.

“Noah,” you whispered enough for him to hear you, “everyone is watching, maybe it’s better to move this somewhere else.”

Without a word Noah turned around and started walking in the direction to his car. You were quick to follow and by the loud steps behind you, you were sure his father was right behind.

“You,” Noah turned around so quickly that you almost hit his chest, he pointed his finger at his father, “are not riding in my car. And you,” then his eyes looked down on you, “are staying here.”

“Noah-” you tried to speak but he interrupted you.

“I don’t want you anywhere near him, okay? Stay here.”

“And leave you to do something stupid? No.”

“Ella.”

“I’m coming with you. I can stay in the car or in your bedroom and I won’t listen, but I’m coming.”

He knew it was pointless to argue any more with you, so he just unlocked his car and you both got in.

“Does he know your address?” you asked him after neither of you asked his father if he has a way to get to Noah’s place.

“I don’t care.” Noah started the car and left the parking lot, you could see his father get in a cab and follow you.

There were a few minutes of silence before you spoke up.

“What’s going on Noah?” you slightly turned to the left to face him.

You could see his jaw locked in place, his knuckles turning white from the grip he had on the driving wheel.

“Talk to me, please.” you tried again.

“He was texting me for a few days about how we need to talk, I never replied until-” he swallowed and took a few seconds before giving you more information “until he texted me that he has cancer.”

“Oh Noah I’m so sorry.”

He rolled his eyes, he never wanted anyone to feel sorry for him.

“I told him I don’t wanna see him, that if he wants to talk, then do it through texts. But he showed up tonight. How the fuck did he even know where to find me?” he took his hands off the steering wheel and smashed his fists against it three times before he continued to talk, “I don’t wanna hear it. I don’t care. I know he just wants my money and even if he says it’s for a treatment I don’t believe him.”

You didn’t know what to say, you just let him talk and let out everything he needed before he had to face him again.

“And my mind just won’t shut off. All I can think about is how he’s still my father and I should help him, but I don’t want to. I can’t do it again, try and then just be left alone again.”

He was never this honest with you, not even the night when you were both drunk and he told you about his history. Now he was sober and sharing much more than you ever thought he would.

“You don’t have to help him if you don’t want to, okay? You don’t owe him anything. You can hear him out and then send him away. I’ll be there if you need me, I can walk him out so you don’t have to.” you reached to grip one of his hands into yours, squeezing him as a sign of support. You saw thousands of emotions behind his eyes and took his cheek in your other hand, gently rubbing your thumb up and down, “Okay?” you wanted to know that he heard what you said.

“Okay.” barely a whisper.

You kept his hand in your for the rest of the right, playing with his fingers.

When you reached his building you went to the garage parking lot and you saw his father get out of the cab and wait in front of the big building.

When Noah turned off his car, you two just stayed sitting there in silence until he spoke up.

“Let’s get this over with.”

“Wait.” you grabbed his arm and turned him to face you, “Whatever happens, stay calm and be the bigger person. I’ll be there if you need me, yeah?”

“Yeah.” you leaned over the console and gave him a small kiss on his lips, Noah cupped your cheek and rested his forehead on yours.

---

You met his father in the main lobby, going in a different elevator than him. Noah led you to his place in silence and his father followed.

When you entered the apartment Noah didn’t bother asking him if he wanted water or a coffee, he just sat behind the big table next to his kitchen counter and motioned for him to sit on the opposite side. You stood next to the counter, not sure if you should leave or not.

“Do you mind giving us privacy?” his father spoke to you and without any word you turned around and started walking in the direction of Noah’s bedroom.

“She’s staying.” Noah said in a firm voice.

“I’d appreciate it if it could be just the two of us.”

“And I’d appreciate it if you could leave. You choose.”

When the older man didn’t answer, you walked back to the kitchen area and stood there in silence.

“Talk.” Noah barked at his father.

“As I told you, I’m sick Noah. And I need your help.” it was weird hearing Noah’s name come from that man’s mouth, “This time I really need your help.”

“What cancer do you have?” Noah spoke.

“What?”

“You said you have cancer, what cancer?”

“The doctors are not sure-”

"Bullshit, how can they not be sure what cancer you have?”

“Listen son, I know I hurt you in the past and that I have not been the best father in the world, but we’re still family by blood, so you should help me.” Noah didn’t know which part of that sentence pissed him off more, but he started to lose his patience with the man in front of him.

“You never were my father. You never took care of me, I don’t have to take care of you.”

“You can’t remember the time I took care of you, we were a happy family. But you were too little to remember.”

“Well, it’s not my fault that you left before I could remember anything.”

“We had reasons why we left you with your grandparents.”

“Oh really, did drugs and alcohol get in the way of raising your kid?”

You were just now getting pieces of Noah’s childhood, your heart already hurting for him. You wanted to hug him and never let go.

“You don’t know anything.” his father was bold enough to speak to him like that, even though he was the one needing Noah’s help.

“And who’s fault is that?” Noah bit back.

“Listen, I need money and I know you have it. If you want me killed by the end of next week then stay being an arrogant prick and don’t help me, but I’ll tell them to go after you.”

“Them?” Noah and you were both confused, he said he was sick, didn’t he? “Who the fuck are them? You’re not sick right? You just made it up to get money from me.”

“Don’t know why I bothered with that, but don’t worry son, if I’m going down, you’re going with me.” he pointed his finger to Noah’s face, the last push Noah needed to stand up, leaving his chair to fall to the ground and grabbing his father by the collar again.

“Shut up, no more talking. Get your shit and leave my apartment.” he threw him back to his chair and waited for him to leave.

“Is this how you treat her too? I see you took something after me, you’re just like me.” that sentence was enough for you to step in and get this man out of Noah’s apartment, out of his life.

“That’s enough, you need to leave or I’m going to call the police.” you said, you tried to sound confident, but the shakiness in your voice betrayed you.

“Oh darling, you’re not scared of me are you?”

“Don’t talk to her.” Noah stepped between you and his father before he could get to you first.

“When you get her pregnant and have a little bastard just like you were, you’ll remember me. Noah, you and me, we are the same. You’ll find out.”

They were standing chest to chest, Noah looking down on him with a look that could kill. You saw Noah’s hands turn into fists by his side and you knew if his father is going to push a few more times, he’s going to lose it.

“You need to leave.” you spoke from behind Noah, gently pushing him to the side. “I’m serious, no one wants you here, so please, leave.”

“Who do you think you’re talking to?” he yelled in your face and before you could react, you felt his hands on your shoulders, pushing you away from him. You fell on the carpet next to Noah’s sofa, hitting your thigh against the coffee table.

“You fucker!” you heard Noah, then you stopped listening.

You suddenly felt sick from the situation, so you stayed laying on the carpet and just closed your eyes.

Him and Noah yelled at each other, you heard movements and only hoped they’re not fighting, until the main door closed and suddenly silence took over the apartment.

Noah stood by the door, not capable of moving or talking. He wanted to scream, at his father for being a dick, at you for standing up for him and putting yourself in danger, at himself for letting you come.

“Noah.” he heard your voice behind him, but still didn’t dare to turn around and face you. He was scared, scared that you were hurt, because of him.

“I’m sorry.” was all he managed to say.

You hugged him from behind, laying your head on his back and your hands on his tummy. He wasn’t good at talking and you didn’t expect him to talk about what just happened, you just wanted to hold him.

His head fell down and his breathing became quick, he was holding his tears in until he couldn’t. You felt the tear fall on your hand and then you heard silent sob.

“Oh baby, come here.” you turned his body so he was facing you, you could see the hurt in his red glassy eyes. You grabbed his head and laid it on your shoulder, Noah’s hands made their way around you. He held onto you like never before, he realized that somehow, you’re probably the first stable person in his life.

He cried and you let him. You led both of you towards his couch, still holding him.

You laid down with Noah on top of you. You were consumed by his weight, but you didn't mind at all.

You played with his hair while he laid on your chest, your fingers gently scraping his scalp to calm him down. His hand held onto you like his life depended on it, scared you’ll leave him too and he’ll be all alone. Again.

He cried until he felt like there were no more tears in his body, then he just laid on your chest, grateful for your presence.

“I’m sorry.” he finally managed to say it out loud, his voice hoarse from the crying.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for.” you whispered back. “Do you wanna talk about it?” you knew what his answer was going to be, but you wanted to try.

“Not now, please.”

“Okay, you don’t have to.” silence took over the room again, you continued playing with his hair and he absentmindedly started tracing his fingers on your skin. You were hiding from the world right now, but you could still hear life from outside. Cars, people talking, babies crying or dogs barking down on the busy street.

“Did he hurt you? Are you hurt?” Noah suddenly realized that his father pushed you and you fell. He lifted his head to scan over your face, looking for possible injuries.

“I’m okay, really.” maybe you were starting to feel a bruise forming on your thigh, but that didn’t matter right now.

“Are you sure? Did you hit your head?” Noah looked over your whole body, touched your head to make sure you’re whole and not hurt.

“Calm down Noah, I promise I’m okay.” you held his head and kissed his forehead.

“I’m sorry you had to be there.”

“Stop apologizing, and I asked to be there, so it’s not your fault. Okay?” you heard Noah’s mhm and you knew that that was the best agreement you’re going to get from him.

“Will you stay tonight?” his voice still low, you could hear the fear of you saying no in it.

“Yes.”

After a while you moved to the bathroom, had a shower together. Noah let you wash his hair and his body. You wanted to wash all of today off of him. He let you hug him, hold him, again, while the water was cascading down both of your bodies.

He kissed your shoulder, then your collar bone, then your neck, jaw and finally, your lips. Kissing him felt different, more emotional. You knew he was saying sorry through his kisses, so you let him. When you separated from the kiss, he grabbed your head with both of his hands. His fingers stroked your cheeks in a comfortable way until he said “I’m not in the mood for sex tonight, sorry.”

You had to hold a laugh in you, because you found it funny that he thought you expected sex after everything that just happened.

“Oh Noah, neither am I. I just want to cuddle you all night. Is that okay?” you rubbed your nose along his, leaving a small kiss just at the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah.”

So that’s how your night ended. Your bodies intertwined in Noah’s big bed, you held him until his breath evened out, then you fell asleep too. Before you did, you left a few kisses on his skin, whispering that he’s not alone and he’s not a desolate.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

This story is a work of fiction, with the plot and characters entirely made up. The appearance and name of the main male character are inspired by Noah Sebastian Davis, but the storyline bears no connection to the real person. Please do not steal or repost this work on other platforms without permission.

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[cacospirit]

The Coddled Griffon Case

Davrin: Hey Lucanis, do you… have a minute?

Lucanis: Oh, Davrin, I… sure 

Davrin: I know we haven’t… always seen eye to eye, like, maybe I called you an abomination…

Lucanis: You did, among other things

Davrin: …and maybe I suggested that we should kill you because you’re a demon…

Lucanis: You made a strong case for it. Several times. 

Davrin: …but at the end of the day, I think we are both men that can set our differences aside when it comes to doing what’s best for the team

Lucanis: Davrin… where are you going with this

Davrin: Look… someone has been sneaking Assan extra treats

Lucanis: what 

Davrin: I know, I know! It doesn’t seem like a big deal but… it’s not good for his training! We can’t have him think he can just cozy up to anyone and get rewarded for it

Lucanis: I… sure. I will take your word for it

Davrin: And look, I’m not trying to come after anyone with torch and pitchfork here, I just… need to know who it is, so we can discuss it, as adults

Lucanis: An admirable goal 

Davrin: Right? But the thing is… no one wants to admit to it! I know it’s not any of the ones sleeping at the back of lighthouse, it’s someone out here with us. And first I figured… if it was you I probably wouldn’t have noticed in the first place

Lucanis: I like to do things discretely, it’s true

Davrin: So I talked with everyone else, and we both know that Bellara and Harding can’t tell a lie to save their life, so… it has to be Neve! But talking to her is just pointless because she’s not giving away anything, she’s like a fortress!

Lucanis: She has a certain composure 

Davrin: So… I can’t really accuse her of anything without evidence, and I know she’s not dumb enough to let me catch her in the act, but… she probably wouldn’t be looking out for you 

Lucanis: You want me to spy on Neve for you?

Davrin: It sounds bad when you put it like that

Lucanis: …would you like to put it another way?

Davrin: I would like to do that yea, I just don’t know how to

Lucanis: I feel like that should tell you something 

Davrin: Lucanis... I know that you are an honorable man, that is willing to make the hard choices for the sake of family. And we here… at the Lighthouse… we are like a family. You, me, Assan… Neve, Rook…. even that weird crab-head ghost, we’re all in this together

Lucanis: ..The Caretaker? 

Davrin: Exactly! We should all strive to be the caretakers of each other’s problems 

Lucanis: You know what... sure 

Davrin: And I know Caterina taught you that sometimes you have to be tough one the ones you love if you want them to survive

Lucanis: I’m... not really sure that applies here

Davrin: I think it does. 

Lucanis: Well  

Davrin: And look, I’m no trying to tell you what do to here, because... I trust you to do the right thing. And I don’t want to influence your decision too much but… I’d owe you one, all right? I gotta go, but just… think about it ok? No pressure!

Lucanis: I don’t think… ! *sigh* 

Lucanis: Mierda… I need a cup of coffee after this

// 

Lucanis: The griffon has too much treats…. Has… everyone finally lost their minds… or have I finally lost my mind. 

Spite: You say it like it can’t be both 

Lucanis: Spite. Rhetorical question. We’ve talked about this. 

Neve: Hey Lucanis! Do you mind if I sit down, or am I interrupting something?

Lucanis: Oh I was just… you know what, never mind. Please, Neve, go ahead 

Neve: So Davrin finally caved in 

Lucanis: He… what?

Neve: Honestly, I love that for you. You’ve come so far in your friendship that he’s willing to trust you with his dirty work 

Lucanis: Neve I… I don’t know what you’re talking about

Neve: Of course you don't. But even if you didn't know what I say that I know I still know what you'd know from what I know that he knows 

Lucanis: Neve, please, I haven't had my coffee yet

Neve: Davrin’s been trying to figure out who’s been sneaking Assan extra treats, he knows it’s one of us out here in the courtyard, but out of all the people he’s talked to no one seems to know anything, isn’t that just curious

Lucanis: It’s not the word I’d use but sure 

Neve: Of course, Bel and Lace are as opaque with their intentions as a sheet of glass, and by all reason if it was you he probably wouldn’t have found out in the first place 

Lucanis: I’m glad my talents are getting widely recognized 

Neve: Which really only leaves me, and I can’t deny that I do make for pretty convincing prime suspect for this case

Lucanis: Someone gave snacks to a bird, I hardly think this should be called a case 

Neve: But as sure as he probably is that it’s me, he can’t come accusing me of anything without evidence, because that would make him look irrational, and we can’t have that.

Lucanis: Neve, there is not a single part of this that seems rational to me

Neve: He knows he’s not gonna catch me all by himself, so what can a lone warden do but rally his troupe. He needs eyes out here in the yard, and sure Lace would be pretty handy at the task, but she’d be oh so morally conflicted about it. And even if he managed to convince Bel she would still be pretty useless. Which leaves… you

Lucanis: I wish the only way I had been left, was out of this   

Neve: I just had to keep an eye out for when he’d inevitably come crawling to you. He got the right idea about talking to you when I’m not around, but… he wasn’t exactly discrete in the way he went about it. Sometimes the way you hide something reveals more about the thing you’re hiding than if you never tried to hide it in the first place, you know what I mean?

Lucanis: I don’t think I know what anything means anymore 

Neve: Now he can’t exactly give you a contract, because he’s above that, so he has to try to convince you the comradely way. Which means, right now you are conflicted about what to do

Lucanis: Neve I'm conflicted about what to think 

Neve: Must have felt great for him to finally overcome that hurdle, being able to ask you for help. But… he did take his sweet time with, guess he had to swallow a lot of pride to get there. Which is… really fortunate for me because it’s given me plenty of time to… indulge, in other things

Lucanis: I feel like I’m not going to like where this is going 

Neve: What was the name of supplier for your fancy coffee? Eligio Mancini? Lives at the upper end of the Treviso east district

Lucanis: Yes that’s… how did you.. 

Neve: Such a great product, or so I’ve been told, I'm not really privy to it. But as it happens I do know a Tevinter noble that is just crazy about the stuff, so naturally I just had to provide them a sample. And what would you know, they loved it. Probably so much that they’d buy out the entire stock… if I gave them the name of the supplier

Lucanis: Neve are you…

Neve: Am I what?

Lucanis: …are you blackmailing me?

Neve: Am I? I’m not playing the board, I’m just pointing out where the pieces are 

Lucanis: Maker help me…

Neve: Oh The Maker can’t save you from me, you know that

Lucanis: That is definitely sacrilege… but also not inaccurate 

Neve: Well, this has been… very informative Lucanis. I gotta go but please… don’t make any decision you will regret later

Lucanis: See you tonight?

Neve: Oh for sure, love you

Lucanis: Love you, bye

[itsaintmebabe]

the weight of survival

summary: after finally finding safety in jackson, the tension between joel and y/n reaches a breaking point when she insists on joining patrols. as their anger boils over, long-buried feelings surface—and neither of them can hold back any longer.

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

notes: let me know if you guys like it! i would love to take any requests you have too! <3

The gates of Jackson closed behind them with a heavy thud, and Y/N felt the weight of it in her chest. Safety. A word that felt almost foreign after so long on the road. Ellie was already ahead, taking in the sight of the bustling community, her excitement practically vibrating off her. Tommy greeted them warmly, and Maria offered them a place to stay, a chance to rest. But rest never sat well with Y/N.

Days passed, and while Joel seemed content settling into the rhythm of Jackson, Y/N couldn’t just stand by. She needed to help — needed to pull her weight. When she told Maria she wanted to go on patrols, Maria didn’t hesitate to sign her up. Joel, however, was less than pleased.

“You don’t need to do this,” he said one evening, his voice low but tight with frustration.

“I do,” Y/N answered, arms crossed as she faced him in the warm light of their shared house. “I can’t just sit around while everyone else puts their lives on the line.”

“Y/N, this ain’t the same as being on the road. There’s people here—trained people—who handle patrols. You don’t have to throw yourself into danger.”

“I’m not throwing myself into anything! I’m trying to help.”

Joel’s jaw tightened, and his eyes flashed with something she couldn’t quite place. “Help some other way.”

“Why? So you don’t have to worry?”

“Damn right,” he snapped, his voice rising before he caught himself. He took a breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was rough but quieter. “You don’t know what’s out there.”

“I know exactly what’s out there,” she said, her voice soft but steady. “We’ve both seen it.”

He didn’t say anything more, just turned away, shoulders stiff with the words he wouldn’t say.

The tension between them only grew over the next few days. Joel grew short with her, his patience thinning every time the subject of patrols came up. Ellie noticed, too.

“You two need to get your shit together,” she said one afternoon, flopping down onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. “The whole town can feel the weird vibes.”

“There’s no weird vibes,” Y/N muttered, but even she didn’t sound convinced.

One evening, Tommy pulled Y/N aside. “Look, I get it,” he said, his voice gentle. “You wanna help. And we appreciate it — we really do. But Joel… he’s been through a lot. You know that.”

“I know,” she said quietly. “But I’m not gonna sit around and do nothing.”

Tommy nodded slowly. “Just… try to talk to him. Before this blows up.”

But talking didn’t seem to help. Every time she brought it up, Joel shut down or snapped, and the frustration kept building until it felt like they were one spark away from an explosion.

The next morning, Y/N was at the stables, saddling up one of the horses when she heard heavy boots on the wooden planks behind her.

“You’re really goin’ through with this,” Joel’s voice came, rough and low, but there was a sharpness in it.

Y/N turned slowly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I told you I was.”

Joel stepped closer, his eyes dark. “You’re bein’ reckless.”

“I’m being useful.”

“This ain’t about bein’ useful!” His voice cracked, louder than she’d ever heard it. “You think this is some game? You think this is somethin’ you need to prove?”

“I’m not proving anything! I just—”

“You just what? You just wanna get yourself killed?!”

“Why do you even care?!” The words burst out before she could stop them, her own anger rising to match his.

“Because I—” He cut himself off, pacing away before spinning back toward her. His face was red, his fists clenched at his sides. “Because I can’t stand the thought of somethin’ happenin’ to you!” His voice broke, his hands flexing at his sides. “You think I don’t care? I care too damn much. More than I should. More than I can stand. And the idea of you not comin’ back—”

“Joel—”

“I wouldn’t survive it,” he finished, his voice raw. “You wanna know why I’m so damn angry? Because you matter, Y/N. More than I ever wanted you to.”

The air between them went still, the weight of his words settling heavily.

They stood there, breathing hard, eyes locked. Their faces were so close now that their noses almost brushed. Y/N could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin, see the pain and love warring in his eyes.

“Joel…” Her voice softened, her anger ebbing away as his words sank in.

“I lost too much already,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I can’t lose you, too.”

Y/N took two steps forward and pressed her lips to his, cutting off whatever else he was about to say. For a moment, he froze, but then his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her even closer like he’d been waiting for this as long as she had.

When they finally broke apart, his forehead rested against hers. “You’re still not goin’ on that patrol.”

She laughed softly. “We’ll see about that.”

In the end, they compromised — but not before Ellie found them and rolled her eyes with a dramatic, “Finally.”

Tommy and Maria noticed the change, too. Tommy smirked knowingly when he saw Joel’s hand brush against Y/N’s back as they walked through town. Maria just shook her head with an exasperated kind of fondness.

“Well, it’s about time,” she said with a smile.

That night, as they sat on the porch watching the sun dip below the horizon, Joel’s hand found hers.

“You still mad at me?” he asked quietly.

“A little,” she teased, squeezing his fingers. “But I get it.”

“I just… I can’t lose you,” he said again, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You won’t,” she promised.

And for the first time in a long time, they both believed it.

[pascaloverx]

RAGE

Author's note: if you like this little sample of the fanfic idea, kraven x reader. Interact with the story, so I can see if I continue or not. this chapter includes mature content. minors do not interact!!!

Summary: You are secretly Dmitri Smerdyakov's bodyguard, though over time, you've developed a friendship with him. However, you share a complicated past with his brother, Sergei Kravinoff. Now that Sergei is back in town, who knows where this will lead you?

PREVIEW

ONE (+18)

Sergei removes his shirt as you begin cleaning his wounds, ensuring they don’t get infected. His pained groans are like a beautiful melody to your ears.

"What brought you here? Aside from your undeniable talent for dragging your brother into trouble," you ask, noticing several bullet fragments lodged in his back.

Reaching for a specialized medical tweezer, you start extracting the shards. Sergei tenses, his body twitching under the sharp pain.

"Believe it or not, I came because I missed Dmitri," he mutters through gritted teeth, his voice strained yet oddly sincere. You can't see Sergei's face, but you can feel that he's hiding something. You know him too well to believe otherwise.

"No lies, Kravinoff. Tell me the real reason you're here, or I'll make you regret it," you say while pulling another bullet fragment from his back. He suddenly turns, catching your wrist in his grip. His touch is firm but not forceful.

"I missed the old times," Sergei murmurs, his hand sliding down your thigh before traveling up to your waist, pulling you closer.

"You’re trying to distract me so I’ll forget what I really want to know. That doesn’t work anymore," you reply, even as you find yourself leaning into his touch.

Sergei watches you with a smirk, clearly enjoying your attempt to resist. "Doesn’t seem like it’s not working," he whispers, his lips grazing your neck as his fingers toy with the fabric of your clothe near your neckline.

Your eyes meet his and is like fire meeting gasoline. His hands press against your chest with deliberate firmness, drawing a sharp gasp from you. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to regain control, but his touch burns through the fabric of your clothes, unraveling whatever resolve you had left.

His lips press against your neck, deep and deliberate, his teeth nearly grazing your skin. You grip his back tightly, your nails digging into his flesh, drawing a low groan from him. You can feel the warmth of his blood on your fingertips—your nails must have broken skin—but if Sergei is still the same, you know he’s reveling in the pain. His body has always been too resilient, turning him into someone who finds pleasure in just a little bit of suffering.

"Sergei, why are you here?" you murmur, pulling him closer, an insatiable urge building inside you—a craving to taste his lips.

"If I tell you," he breathes, trailing kisses upward, his mouth dangerously close to yours, "you’ll want to kill me."

You grip his face, your nails digging into his skin as you force him to look at you. "Does this have anything to do with your brother?" you growl, your teeth nearly grazing his cheek.

"I'm hunting someone—someone who had the nerve to use Dmitri to provoke me. I came to make sure he stays safe," Sergei admits, his tone carrying that infuriating certainty, as if he knew this would enrage you.

Your hand slides down to his throat, squeezing tightly. "You son of a bitch," you snarl. Sergei tilts his head back, his breath hitching—but not in fear. If anything, he seems to enjoy the pressure of your fingers around his neck. His hands grip your waist, yanking you onto his lap, pressing your bodies together. You could kill him. You should kill him. But instead, you release his throat, letting him gasp for air.

"I would never put my little brother in danger," Sergei rasps as soon as he can speak. Your hand flies toward his face, ready to slap him, but he catches your wrist mid-swing. Before you can react, he tugs you forward, his grip firm on the back of your neck. His lips crash against yours in a heated, desperate kiss—as if he’s trying to silence your fury, or maybe just redirect it.

As you are consuming each other in a fiery kiss, you take Sergei's hand and puts it over your panties. You press his fingers against your panties making it clear how wet you are. "I want you to feel how this night could have ended if you were a better man, but you're still the same pathetic guy who only thinks about himself," you say looking into Sergei's eyes as you abruptly move away from him. He seems immersed in your scent and your touch as he tries to understand what mistakes he keeps making.

You storm out of Dmitri’s apartment, leaving Sergei behind. You almost lost yourself again, entangled in his grasp, but you refuse to make the same mistake twice. Gritting your teeth, you get into your car and speed toward the venue where Dmitri should be finishing his performance.

There are security guards stationed at the entrance, but you’re too focused to acknowledge them. Your priority is making sure Dmitri is safe. As soon as you step inside, your eyes find him on stage, his presence radiant, as if the entire room brightens around him. He’s singing Fly Me to the Moon—the same song that was playing when you first met him.

"And now, this special song is for my favorite person," he announces, his voice filled with warmth as he plays the piano. He looks happy, at peace.

But then, you notice a disturbance near the stage. Something feels off. And of course, your weapon is still at Dmitri’s apartment. You’ll have to make do.

Your eyes scan the room quickly, and you spot a couple dining nearby. Without hesitation, you snatch the knife from the man’s hand and bolt toward the first suspect, driving the blade into his throat. Chaos erupts. Smoke fills the venue as screams echo around you.

People panic, scattering in all directions, but you keep your focus on Dmitri. He’s searching for you with wide, worried eyes, pushing through the confusion.

“Y/N!” Dmitri shouts, trying to reach you. But you don’t have time for distractions. Two more attackers rush toward you, and you brace yourself.

“Dmitri, get down!” you yell, dodging the first strike and countering with a swift move that takes out one of the assailants.

The smoke obscures your vision, making it harder to predict the next attack. When you finally reach Dmitri, he suddenly calls out— “Behind you!”

You react instantly, spinning around and using a defensive maneuver to block and counter. The force of the impact sends you crashing onto one of the tables. Your attacker lunges at you, but you wrap your legs around his torso, using the leverage to land a series of sharp, precise blows to his face. His movements grow sluggish under the assault.

As soon as he falters, you release your grip, shifting your weight to land a powerful kick to his legs, forcing him to his knees. Without hesitation, you grab hold of his head and snap his neck with a sharp, decisive motion.

The body drops. The room is silent. You turn to Dmitri—only to find him staring at you, frozen in shock. His face is pale, his expression unreadable. But his eyes, once filled with warmth, now hold something else entirely.

"Who are you?" Dmitri breathes, his voice barely above a whisper, as he looks at you like a stranger.