#“Well maybe YOU are wrong!” (Fray)

[momentokori]

@mayisgoingnuts thanks for the coloring pages💥

[pedgito]

𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒 | Joel Miller x reader

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summary | You've patched up Joel countless times before, but this is different.

author's note | i'm taking a little break to work through some series and pre-write but i needed to write a little fix it fic for my own well being. ANYWHO, if you're reading this, thank you <3 and thank you to @chaotic-mystery for the beta read, love you bitch

content warning | hurt/comfort, fix-it-fic, jackson!joel, s2ep2 spoilers, established relationship, medic!reader, wound tending, mentions of leg injury and some face injuries, old man joel using a cane, flirting, fluff, kissing, i'm going to go cry again

word count — 3.8k

He’s breathing. Alive.

You’ve patched up Joel countless times - cuts and gashes that were too far out of reach for him to handle on his own, a busted ankle from a construction project gone wrong, the occasional painkiller to help with his aching bones. He was a regular within the clinic, like most of the patrol team. And he was your favorite, which wasn’t a secret.

But, this was different.

Tommy - as hard as he tried, attempted to shelter you with the rest of Jackson’s women and children, but it was useless.

You spent the last hour patching up the towns wounded and helping lay to the rest some of the less fortunate, but brave people who had attempted to defend Jackson from the impending horde.

In the chaos of cleaning up bloodied bandages and used medical supplies, the front door to the clinic sounds, bells ringing out so deafening it makes your heart stop.

And the sound of Tommy’s panicked voice as he called out your name.

When you turn the corner to catch sight of him, it was Tommy and Jesse carrying a limp, sleeping Joel on a makeshift gurney and equally injured Ellie holding tight to her ribs as Dina and Maria supported her weight, your eyes widening in shock.

“Fuck—I—what happened?” you ask, immediately sliding the supplies off of the only semi-available operating table you had in the office - it used to be a veterinary clinic, but the town was making do with what they had.

“You save my goddamn brother,” Tommy demanded, his tone riddled with an emotional pain you couldn’t fathom, taking the order in stride as you nodded and put your own curiosity aside, slowly accessing the weight of the situation and surmising that this had been an ambush, more or less, “alright?”

You access his knee, jeans matted with blood around his festering wound, his leg tourniqueted by a belt that Tommy explains wasn’t there doing, rather the attackers. His pulse is steady as your fingers over his femoral artery once you’ve cut his jeans open further with the scissors.

“El—Ellie,” your voice shakes slightly, looking over your shoulder to catch her grimace as she hunched over further in pain, “she needs—”

“I’ve got her,” Maria assures you and Tommy, who was understandably only focused on Joel.

You don’t waste another second, working around Tommy on instinct while Jesse followed the girls to the back room, a gentle but reassuring hand on your shoulder as he passes by.

Your hands move gently over his wound, mind racing through every step of triage and trauma care as if your nerves hadn’t already been shot an hour ago. You didn’t know how many wounds you’ve treated today, but Joel’s was the worst—and unspeakably, the most important.

The wound is bad. Deep.

Frayed flesh around the spread of the bullet, a shotgun you can assume, already turning an angry red. The steps were simple, fortunately. You’ll have to clean it out, maybe even dig if the bullet fragments were lodged in deep. 

His face is a mosaic of bruises and dried blood, and he hasn’t stirred once.

That—more than the sight of the injury itself—makes something in your chest clench.

Tommy’s gripping the table tight, white knuckling as his jaw clenched in worry.

“Do I want to know?” you ask softly.

Tommy shakes his head slightly, “Ellie ain’t said much—jus’ know whatever the problem was, it isn’t one anymore.”

“He’s gonna need blood,” you explain to him as you work quietly but carefully on the wound, grateful that most of the issue was at the surface and that with enough time to heal and consistent check-ins, Joel would recover.

Undoubtedly with a limp, but you knew Joel—he’d manage.

The quiet is unsettling, though.

He should be fighting this. Groaning. Cursing. Something.

But he’s still.

Too still.

Tommy stays rooted in place like he’s afraid Joel will vanish if he lets go.

Part of you carries that fear, too.

With the attack on Jackson, everything seemed up in the air.

“I need you to keep your hand here,” you say firmly, guiding his hand to the artery in his leg, feeling the steady pulse underneath your fingertips. “Count the beats, focus. If it slows, weakens—don’t wait, tell me.”

Tommy nods, jaw still clenched tight.

He’s got blood dripping from a cut in his brow, covered in dirt and grime, streaks on his face from the tears he was shedding quietly, it was your only attempt to busy his mind.

You work diligently, more focused than you had been all evening.

Forceps clink against the metal tray as you dig out fragments, your breath hitching every time Joel twitches—barely, like his body’s fighting beneath layers of pain and unconsciousness.

You glance toward the IV stand that was taped to hell, barely holding on.

Just like everything else in Jackson at the moment – like Joel.

“I’m gonna flush the wound,” you murmur more to yourself than Tommy, gripping the saline syringe with steady hands. “Then I’ll stitch it. Antibiotics to be safe. He’ll need pain meds and I need to work on the cuts to his face, but I want his body to rest. We have morphine stored away, but I know Joel will probably refuse…”

Tommy doesn’t respond. Just keeps his hand pressed where you told him, eyes locked on Joel’s face like he’s willing him to wake.

“He still needs blood, Tommy,” you remind him, “but I don’t know his blood type.”

“I’m O-negative,” Tommy interjects.

“That works,” you assure him, nodding for him to sit as you grab the supplies to draw Tommy’s blood, unflinching as the needle slips into his vein.

It’s all rather quick, kneeling to hold the bag as it fills while Tommy stares at his brother, looking briefly over your shoulder to catch his breathing, a slow rise and fall.

“He’s gonna be alright,” you assure Tommy, “the worst outcome here is him complaining about having to use a cane, if it comes to that.

Quietly, you tend to the small head wound that Tommy has and he doesn’t even attempt to argue, eyes flickering to your briefly at the gesture, tilting his head up for better access.

You move efficiently, like muscle memory as you tape up his wound before transferring the blood and prepping the line for Joel. 

The line finds Joel’s vein without much resistance, and you secure it with shaking fingers, your breath held as the dark crimson slowly, mercifully begins to flow into his body.

“C’mon, Joel,” you whisper under your breath. “Not you.”

“He was in and out on the way here,” Tommy comments, holding the cotton ball to use the wound as he stands and you quickly return to him to bandage up and pressure the wound, “but now he’s just…still. That ain’t good,”

“It’s the body responding to the pain,” you remind him, “he’s clearly lost a lot of blood, his face is bruised—the important thing is he’s breathing and his pulse is good. Just…let me work on him. Go check on Ellie.”

Tommy hesitates, glancing back at Joel like his feet were already rooted permanently to the floor. Then his eyes shift to yours—tired, firm, unwavering—and he nods, finally stepping away. 

Just far enough to check on Ellie. 

Just long enough to breathe.

The second he’s gone, it’s just you and Joel.

–

The room feels colder without the presence of Tommy’s worry. 

You stitch slowly, methodically, carefully maneuvering around the skin until you are satisfied, constantly eyeing Joel to gauge a reaction, noticing some of his color had returned, hair damp with melted snow.

If he was awake he’d be grumbling and complaining and part of you hates how much you wanted to hear it as you bandage up his knee, assuring that bleeding was under control before you removed the belt on his upper thigh and grabbing a spare blanket to drape over his body as you move down to tend to his face, riddled with cuts and bruises.

You press a hand against his and pull it to his chest, resting gently against the fabric of his shirt. 

His palm is rough, calloused, and warm—thank god, still warm.

You clean the last of the blood from his face, wiping gently along the arc of his brow, around the corner of his eye that was slightly swollen. A bruise is blooming dark down the line of his jaw, but under it—his face is still familiar.

Still him.

After a stretch of time that feels like eternity, Maria and Tommy return to the front room of the clinic, looking fearful as their eyes land on Joel.

“He’s alright,” you assure them both, “he probably needed the rest, too.”

Tommy chuckles weakly at that, “I—we’re…we’re gonna go pick up Benji, but we’ll be back, alright?”

You nod in response, “I’m not leaving until he wakes up Tommy, I promised.”

“I know, kiddo,” Tommy says endearingly, approaching you with arms open slightly, enveloping you into a short hug that were few and far between, “Ellie’s asleep, too. Dina and Jesse are sticking around until she settles.”

The front door clicks shut behind Tommy and Maria, the heavy silence seeping back in soon after.

You don’t move far, bringing a stool to sit beside Joel.

The clinic is dim now, the lights softened by fucky wiring as the evening crept in.

You can hear Jesse’s and Dina’s muffled voice in the back—low and quiet—and the distant creak of the cot Ellie’s curled into. But here, in this room, it’s just you. 

And Joel, and the quiet hum of his breathing.

You reach up to brush a stray bit of hair from his temple, your hand pausing just above his skin.

“You scared the hell out of me,” you whisper. “If you were awake, I’d be screaming at you,”

And you know he’d only smile.

Joel doesn’t respond, but his breathing shifts. 

Not much—just enough to prove he’s still there, riding the edge of sleep and pain.

“You enjoy it, though. You always laugh, I know it’s pointless and that you’re just stubborn as all hell and I’m willing to put up with it,” you push the few strands of hair away from his face and sigh, “guess there’s a reason why you always ask for me.”

A few hours pass, the night creeping in slowly amongst the storm that roared outside.

You glance at his hand after a thorough check-up and redressing his wound for good measure, still resting palm-up where you’d placed it. Hesitant, your fingers slip into his, lacing slowly. 

You wait. No squeeze. 

But, the warmth is enough.

Then, a shift.

A low grunt, almost imperceptible.

Your breath catches. You look up sharply, eyes scanning his face. One eye twitches. His brow furrows just slightly.

“Joel?”

He doesn’t open his eyes, but his mouth moves.

“Ellie?” he asks weakly, squeezing your hand back.

Tears burn your eyes before you can stop them, relief flooding your chest in waves.

You squeeze his hand back again. Tight. “She’s okay—she’s good,” you whisper quickly, wiping your cheek with your sleeve, not that it helps.

Joel breathes out, like the tension’s finally releasing from somewhere deep inside his chest. 

You watch the slow rise and fall of him for a moment, just taking it in. Life.

Then his eyes crack open, albeit one is swollen, but hazy and bloodshot and focused on you.

His brows twitch as he looks at you.

“You cryin’?” he rasps, voice rough but teasing.

Even now, he teases you.

“You worried the hell out of me,” you tell him.

“Did I?” Joel asks genuinely, “M’sorry, darlin’.”

“Do you remember what happened?”

Joel grimaces and makes a soft noise, “S’all touch and go, right now. I’m really tired, that normal?”

“I gave you some painkillers,” you explain, “probably why.”

Joel looks around gingerly, noting the mess with an amused expression.

“Cleaned up real nice for me, didn’t you?”

“Sorry to disappoint,” you mutter dryly, shifting to adjust the blanket over him. “Next time, I’ll set up some mood lighting and put some music on for you.”

Joel groans low in his throat, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

“Nah. You singin’ for me would be good enough.”

You snort softly, “I don’t sing.”

“Shame,” he murmurs, barely audible, his eyes slipping closed again. “Bet it’d be real pretty, you got a pretty voice, know you’d sing pretty too.”

Your chest squeezes, caught somewhere between a laugh and a breath you can’t quite take.

“You’re losing it, old man.”

Joel smiles weakly.

“Maybe.”

A long pause and he speaks even soften.

“Still think you got a nice voice, though.”

–

You stay beside him. Even after he dozes back off, you don’t move—not far. Never quite letting go of his hand either. Just shift the stool closer and brace your elbow on the edge of the bed, chin tucked in your other hand. 

The storm outside has softened, now more wind than snow, rattling the windows with every gust.

You don’t realize you’ve nodded off until something shifts. A sound—low, grumbly.

“…you snore a little,” Joel rasps.

You straighten quickly and shake your head, blinking through a sleep haze as you answer him defiantly, “I do not, Miller.”

“Oh—you do, sweetheart,” Joel challenges, a subtle smirk playing at his face, staring at you through his swollen eye.

“Good to know you never stop being insufferable,” you tease him.

“Just like seein’ you laugh,” Joel admits before a silence grows, a look of subtle concern crossing his face, “How bad was it? The horde?”

“We’ve dealt with stuff like that before, maybe not at that level but it isn’t something we’re not prepared for. A couple didn’t make it, got bitten defending the watchtower—Jackson can always rebuild, we mourn, move on, you know? With you, s’different,”

Joel, for once, doesn’t know how to respond.

You see it then—that quiet, careful look he sometimes gives you when he thinks you're not watching. Like he’s cataloguing you. Not in some grand, poetic way. More like he’s memorizing how you look when you're safe. When he needs the reminder of it.

You’re too tired to do anything but meet it.

“I ain't goin' anywhere,” he says finally, voice rough but firm, “You can stop lookin’ at me like I’m about to flatline.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Joel smirks faintly. “You’ve been holdin’ my hand for a while,”

“Oh,” it started to feel like an extension of you, his touch, but you slowly attempted to retract.

“Don’t,” Joel tells you, gripping your hand tighter, shifting his head against the makeshift pillow underneath his head that you had made out of his jacket halfway through the night.

“Thanks for not givin’ up on me,” Joel says gently,

You glance over, unsure how to respond at first.

“You really think I would?”

“Dunno,” he says, voice low, “don’t really think I deserve the effort anymore from anyone…”

He trails off, but it hangs between you anyway. 

The way he says it—soft, raw—like the words snuck out before he could stop it.

You lean in slightly, brushing your thumb just once over the back of his hand.

“I’m not anyone, Joel.”

Joel looks at you again, his expression shifting.

His fingers curl around yours again. Warmer this time. Intentional.

“Five years I’ve known you—I’ve patched your ass up more times than I can count. I’ve had dinners with you, beers with you and your brother. This isn’t my attempt at gaining some good karma. I care about you just as much as the rest of this town.”

“You’re too good to me,” Joel says quietly.

–

Jackson rebuilds, but it takes time.

Eventually, you find out that the assailants were after Joel—but Jesse and Ellie had shown up at a crucial point in the ambush that saved Joel and Dina’s life, despite his extensive injuries.

And Joel, stubborn as he was, began to heal.

The first few weeks are slow, mostly bed-ridden - or office-ridden, leg propped up at his desk as he and Tommy planned out the rebuild process and you rounded your daily office visit to him for assurance that he was taking the antibiotics you had given him and checking on his wound.

It takes a few months, but he does get on his feet again.

He’s resilient, you’ll give him that. An injury that would take no less than six to eight months before the healing was done and Joel was already moving, though with some noticeable pain.

You spot him halfway down the main road on the first name where Jackson was finally starting to feel normal again, walking out of the Tipsy Bison with a pronounced limp.

You sigh to yourself, shifting the object under your arm and start down the road.

“Joel Miller.”

He doesn’t stop walking, but he flinches a little. 

He’s been avoiding you for a couple weeks now, knowing how insistent you had been about him using something to support his leg, just to give it a break once in a while.

“I will chase you down.”

He stops.

You close the distance, holding up the object in your hand.

“If you don’t use this, I’m following you everywhere, barring you from walking, and pushing you around in a wheelchair.”

He eyes the cane. Then your face. Then the cane again.

“Is that what I think it is?”

“It’s exactly what you think it is.”

He scowls. “I’m not usin’ a damn cane.”

“You’re still healing,” you tell him, “and if you care about my worries—you’ll use it.”

“That’s low,” Joel counters,

You had spent a week sanding down the cane to a smooth texture, rounding out the handle to something comfortable to grip, even polished it up. It was extravagant or crazy, but it was clearly made with love.

“Did you make it?” Joel asks curiously.

“Doesn’t matter,” You shrug.

Joel smirks at that. 

You had. He knows it.

He takes it wordlessly, wrapping his fingers around the handle and planting it into the ground.

He tests it out wordlessly, leaning his weight into it and only slightly annoyed at how it eases the weight on his injured leg, looking up at you sheepishly.

“So….should I say it now or?”

“Zip it,” Joel retorts with a faint playfulness, “it…helps, s’real nice of you, you know?”

You raise your brow. “You sayin’ I was right? Knowing you needed it?”

“Don’t push it.” Joel warns

“Say it.” you tease with a flirtatious smile that doesn’t go amiss.

Joel sighs, scratching at his jaw. “You were… not completely wrong.”

You beam, and he rolls his eyes, though the edge of his mouth quirks up.

After a beat, he taps the cane gently against the side of your boot.

“Walk with me?” he asks.

He didn’t even need to ask.

–

There wasn’t any indication of where you were walking to, but naturally you drift to your shared street, homes sitting on opposite sides of the street, but near enough that you were only a short walk away.

The cane clicks softly against the dirt road like a steady metronome to the quiet shuffle of your boots. His limp is pronounced, but less severe than it was a few weeks ago.

The streets are quieter these days. Jackson feels like it's exhaling after holding in a long overdue breath.

Joel walks with his shoulder close to yours. Not touching, but close enough that it would only take a shift. He’s never been one for words, not when the moment matters most—but his silence is full of meaning.

Or, maybe he is just savoring the peace.

“You really made this?” he asks again after a few paces, like he needs to be sure.

You nod shyly, hands shoving into your coat pockets.

He’s quiet for a while, but then, “It’s real thoughtful of you.”

“I was gonna carve your name into it, actually,” you joke, nudging him gently with your elbow, “but Tommy said that was a bad idea.”

Joel chuckles low under his breath. “He’d be right.”

Through your sudden shared laughter, your knuckles brush.

It’s nothing, but it feels like so much.

As you approach your houses, Joel turns to you.

“Do you need anything?” you ask him gently. “I can stop by later if you need some pain meds or anything? Or yell at you for not resting up at home like you should.”

Joel huffs, shaking his head. “Always lookin’ for a reason to yell at me, huh?”

“Only ‘cause you keep givin’ me so many,” you tease.

He looks at you for a long moment, eyes scanning your face in the too quiet dark.

“You stayed the whole night,” he says finally, like he’s been holding it in for a while.

“I told Tommy I wouldn’t leave until you woke up.”

Joel nods once. He shifts his weight on the cane, hesitating just slightly, before adding, “I heard you—talkin’ to me.”

“You did?” you ask, your voice quiet. “Well, that’s…embarrassing.”

Joel’s gaze drops to your hand lingering close to his—he hadn’t even realized he’d reached out until it was too late, his hand dwarfing your own in a gentle hold of your fingertips. 

It’s a small touch, but it grounds him.

You flinch slightly at the touch, feeling the heaviness of the moment

“You can let go,” he says, looking back up at you.

You smile faintly. “I don’t want to.”

Joel hums thoughtfully. “Seems I don’t want to either,”

And in that soft hum between houses, under the stars beginning to peek through the roaming clouds overhead, Joel leans in, his cane shifting a few inches behind you as he leans his weight into it to reach you, his lips pressing against yours in a quiet, tender moment of vulnerability under the dim street lights.

“Never got to thank you properly,” Joel admits.

“Is that your way of saying thank you?” you ask curiously.

“Can be,” Joel responds mischievously, a smirk tugging at his lips as you pull back to look at him.

“I think you can do better,” you challenge him, nose brushing against his own.

“You’re damn right,” he agrees, using his free hand to curve around the back of your neck as he pulls you in, stealing your breath away with the second press of his lips.

When he parts, you can’t help but giggle against him, an indescribable feeling tightening your chest.

“Yeah…that’s—” You breath stutters as you nod, “that’ll do.”

Joel chuckles softly, his thumb grazing your cheek.

“Good, ‘cause I got a lot of thankin’ to make up for.”

[0omillo0]

Angst/hurt to comfort. Where Lee Know struggles to show his emotions properly and snaps at the reader one day (maybe due to stress or just not feeling right or not fully understanding his strong emotions) but it’s just like, the worst day cause Y/N had gotten into a fight with family and had to leave the house. And like it’s middle of freezing winter and Lee Know snaps and makes them leave his place when they come over for comfort. I always love your fics, please keep up the great work and make sure you are eating well 🙏

Lee Know x gn! Reader

a/n: thank u for your request and your kind words <3 make sure you eat and drink as well!! xoxo sorry if this isn’t the best.. I’m kinda stressed these days.. hope you like it tho!

The night you came to his door, the cold winter air biting through your coat, your body trembling from more than just the frost, Lee Know hadn’t been ready for you. He was pacing his apartment, frustration simmering under his skin, suffocating him like thick smoke. The relentless rehearsals, the pressure to be perfect, the fatigue he couldn’t shake—it had left him frayed. His thoughts were a mess, and when the knock at the door echoed through his silent space, it felt like the last thing he could handle.

He swung the door open, too quickly. His face was pinched with exhaustion, his brows furrowed.

“Y/N?”

Your face was pale, your eyes red and glassy like you’d been crying. You tried to smile, but it wavered—so small, so fragile.

“Hey,” you whispered, gripping the strap of your bag as though it was the only thing keeping you steady. “Can I… can I stay here tonight? I—”

“Are you serious right now?” he cut you off, his tone sharp, biting. He knew it was too much the moment it left his mouth, but he couldn’t stop himself. “Y/N, I can’t deal with this. Not tonight.”

Your expression faltered, the faint hope in your eyes flickering out like a dying flame. “I… I just needed somewhere to go. I had a fight with my family, and—”

“And you came here? Do you think this is some kind of hotel or psychiatric center??” His words were curt, cruel in their dismissiveness. “Y/N, I’m barely holding it together as it is. You can’t just show up here whenever you need someone to fix things. Go to someone else.”

It felt like the air was sucked out of your lungs. For a moment, you just stared at him, your lip trembling, your breath uneven. You opened your mouth as if to say something, to explain yourself, but no words came. Instead, you swallowed hard, blinking back tears.

“Okay,” you said quietly, your voice so small it broke him a little. You didn’t say anything more—didn’t argue, didn’t beg. You just turned around and walked away.

The door clicked shut behind you, and the silence that followed was unbearable.

Lee Know stood there, frozen. The anger that had flared so brightly was gone now, leaving behind only regret and an unsettling weight in his chest.

An hour passed. The apartment felt suffocating, empty in all the wrong ways. He tried distracting himself—cleaning up, scrolling mindlessly through his phone—but all he could see was the look on your face when he pushed you away.

He picked up his phone, his fingers hovering over the screen before he typed a message.

LK: “Y/N… I’m sorry. Are you okay? Please let me know you’re safe.”

He waited. Nothing.

The clock ticked loudly, every minute stretching into an eternity. His unease turned into full-blown panic when he tried calling you and the call went straight to voicemail.

“Come on, Y/N,” he muttered under his breath, pacing again. His heartbeat was thundering in his ears. Where could you have gone? You’d said you had nowhere else. It was freezing outside, and the thought of you walking alone in the cold, crying, made his chest tighten painfully.

Without a second thought, he grabbed his coat and keys, practically bolting out the door.

He searched everywhere he could think of—first the places you loved, then the ones where you went when you needed space. The café was closed. The park was empty except for snowflakes drifting slowly to the ground. With each place he checked, the sick feeling in his stomach grew.

The streets were eerily quiet, the only sound the crunch of his boots in the snow. He wrapped his coat tighter around himself, the cold biting through layers, but it didn’t matter. All he could think about was finding you. Please, please be okay.

Finally, the bar. Your favorite. He didn’t think you’d be there, but when he pushed open the heavy door, the familiar hum of low music greeted him. His eyes scanned the room quickly, and then he saw you.

You were tucked into a corner booth, hunched over the table with your arms crossed protectively around yourself. A half-empty glass sat in front of you, condensation pooling on the surface. You were staring blankly at the window, tears slipping silently down your cheeks.

Lee Know’s chest felt like it might cave in. He approached you slowly, almost afraid to startle you.

“Y/N…”

You tensed at the sound of his voice, your shoulders curling inward. When you looked at him, your eyes were red and swollen, your expression torn between anger and sadness.

“What are you doing here?” Your voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

“I was looking for you,” he said softly, his voice cracking. “You weren’t answering your phone. I was worried.”

“You didn’t seem worried earlier.” The bitterness in your tone was like a slap, and it stopped him in his tracks.

He sank down into the seat across from you, his gaze fixed on you. “I messed up. I shouldn’t have said those things, and I shouldn’t have let you leave.”

You shook your head, your hands curling into fists. “Do you even understand what that felt like? I went to you because I had nowhere else, Minho. I thought—” Your voice broke, and you looked away. “I thought you cared about me… You’re just like anyone else. You make me feel just like anyone else does.”

Lee Know felt panic rising in his chest. He reached out across the table, his fingers brushing yours, but you pulled back slightly, just enough to make him freeze.

“Y/N, please don’t push me away.” His voice was uneven, desperate. “I care. I care so much it scares me sometimes, and I… I don’t know how to show it. I was frustrated, and I took it out on you. That was wrong. I know that. But believe me, I’ll never forgive myself for what I said to you.. I love you so much.”

You stared at him for a long moment, your tears silent now. Finally, you whispered, “You really hurt me.”

Those words hit him harder than any insult ever could. “I know,” he said, his voice trembling. “And I hate myself for it. Please… let me take you home. Let me fix this.”

You hesitated, searching his face for sincerity, and he held his breath. Finally, you nodded.

The walk back was quiet, the cold still biting, but this time he was close—close enough that you could feel his warmth. At one point, he stopped and unwrapped his scarf, gently draping it around your neck.

“You’re freezing,” he murmured, his fingers brushing your jaw.

“So are you.”

“It’s fine.” His voice softened. “As long as you’re okay.”

Back in his apartment, he made you tea, insisting you sit on the couch. When he sat beside you, he hesitated before reaching for your hand. This time, you let him.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t ever want you to feel like you can’t come to me. Even when I’m an idiot.”

You looked at him, and for the first time that night, you managed a faint smile. “You were an idiot.”

He huffed a soft laugh, relief softening his features. “I’ll do better. I promise.”

The room felt heavy, the silence between you louder than anything. His eyes were fixed on his hands for a moment before he finally looked up, his voice soft but steady.

“Y/N, I know I messed up… really badly. And I don’t know if anything I say can fix how I made you feel, but I need you to hear this.”

He paused, his throat tight, but he pushed through.

“I snapped at you when you needed me the most. You came to me, trusting me to be your safe place, and I turned you away. I was frustrated and overwhelmed, but that’s not an excuse. You didn’t deserve that.” He took a shaky breath. “The truth is, sometimes I don’t know how to deal with my own emotions, and I push people away because… because I’m scared I’ll let them down. But I did let you down. I let you walk out that door into the freezing night, and it’s been eating at me ever since. I’m so sorry for that.”

His voice cracked slightly as he continued, his gaze searching your face.

“You mean so much to me, Y/N. More than I know how to say, and that’s probably why I get it wrong sometimes. But I promise you… I’ll be better. I’ll try harder. I want to be the person you can turn to—always. I’ll never push you away again. I don’t care how bad of a day I’ve had, you’ll always come first.”

“I’m sorry for making you feel like you weren’t wanted. Because you are. You’re everything to me.”

The sincerity in his voice was so raw, so vulnerable, that it broke down the last bit of the walls you’d been holding up.

There was a beat of silence before he asked, almost shyly, “Can I… can I kiss you?”

You blinked up at him, surprised, but you nodded.

He leaned in slowly, his lips brushing yours—soft, careful, filled with quiet apology and all the things he struggled to say out loud. When he pulled back, he tugged you into his arms, holding you close.

“Don’t scare me like that again,” he murmured, his voice shaky as he buried his face in your hair.

“I won’t,” you whispered, curling into him as he wrapped a blanket around both of you.

And there, in the quiet warmth of his arms, you finally let yourself believe it. This was home.

taglist: @intartaruginha @hannamoon143 @inlovewithstraykids @whoa-jo @madirye062 @vixensss @emilyywhyy @halfwinterhalfuniverse @velvetmoonlght

[fumifooms]

Falin who cares too much and too little - analysis

Been stewing on Falin thoughts for a while, I know I have an interpetation on her that differs from many but I’m jumping into the fray. I think there’s a lot to be said about what we do see of Falin. This shorter Falin analysis I made is heavily encouraged prior reading. This analysis mainly explores her complex relationship with caring and so it’s sort of structured in two halves, with Faligon at the crux of it all.

Falin cares too little :

A lot of people assign Falin a people pleasing mindset and I… Don’t agree. We never see her care at all about people in her town or at the academy not liking her.

We do see her worrying about what people think of her… ONCE. And Laios comforted her, told her they didn’t matter and she should be proud of herself. She latched onto that hard. That’s why this scene was so important to be included during the dragon fight, relationship-defining; it’s always been them against the world. She grew to not care what others thought, to only focus on her close loved ones. No one else matters.

Laios’ words were her world. Her older brother who taught her how to feel comfortable with herself, who told her, you’re great, others are the ones in the wrong to not see that, I’ll always be with you, always be there for you. Older brother who always made great plans, who always knew more, who was better at wrestling to name the dogs, who she has always idolized. Laios who always spoke of traveling the world, to which she always said she wanted to follow. And she would, she’d follow him even if it meant leaving the academy and all she knew behind, she’d follow him to the ends of the world, and that’s what she did.

She didn’t care about showing to her classes or keeping up such appearances, she doesn’t even think of toning down her jumping into bushes when Marcille recoils, etc. She acts like an obedient pawn often, to her parent’s directives and then following Laios around no matter what he decides to do, but I don’t think the motivation is people pleasing, rather it’s being with & caring for her loved ones, and her go-with-the-flow attitude enhances the impression. Not that it’s as simple as that, mind you, but let’s talk about this for now.

Falin is perceived as selfless because we, the audience, have our perspectives revolving around the main people in her life (Laios, Marcille). They’re the ones she’s devoted to and people who care about her back a lot too, but to people like her classmates or the towspeople she probably must have seemed like someone who didn’t care about the people around her or her surroundings a lot, who just went on alone and did her own thing.

What matters to Falin? From what place does her kindness come from? Is a part of her keeping up appearances? And I think that’s the point, the horror of Faligon as well, that we can’t tell just how in control Falin the person is as the chimera (because we are shown that she’s in there, we just don’t know at what degree), that we don’t know her enough to be able to tell when she’s at her most genuine, her most raw. That even if you do settle on none of her being present as Faligon, we have to at least consider it, consider that she may be able to do something like this and have a part in it, brutal and uncaring. That even the lenses we see her through, the people who love her, may be unreliable.

And this is what’s very interesting about her too, she truly is so idealized by people around her as a saint. She’s so good and kind and caring to everyone etc etc etc. Laios, Toshiro and Marcille all see her as the paragon of goodness in the world. More cynical characters like Namari and Chilchuck have more layered opinions on her, the latter finding her somewhat unnerving because he can’t read her well. But then with that one flashback scene we see that… Her priorities are intensely focused on Laios and Marcille, she doesn’t care all that deeply about anyone other than them (+ maybe her parents). The rest of the party is in the same danger here but only Laios and Marcille who she’s speaking to get the special ,ention, and if they don’t cross her mind then of course she’d be ready to sacrifice strangers through a risky teleportation. That doesn’t make her not kind or caring!! Just that greater good isn’t exactly her priority. Any means is alright if the end result is her loved ones safe, it usually takes the form of healing and caring, but we see she’s ready to fight and make dangerous calls too. To me there’s this aspect to her that she isn’t as pure and magnanimous as everyone thinks she is, both in-world and interestingly enough meta wise as well, and there’s something interesting to that.

People pleasing implies a need to be liked, needs for the motivation to be that. A yes-man, etc. But if we analyze Falin, her general kind, smiling demeanor is more a matter of passivity I yhonk. Conflict avoidance is easier, so she’s friendly and hopefully things’ll be smooth sailing. It’s easy to be kind to classmates even if they act wary and rude if you don’t care about what they think either way. Of course she prefers good things happening to people over bad things, she is genuinely kind, but I think people tend to assign her a very grand altruistic way of life when to her the motivation is pretty self-centered. She doesn’t do what she does because she loves them, but because she loves them.

One situation that’s interesting to dig into for her way of thinking, and what I’m trying to get at, is Shuro’s proposal to her. I’ve seen people saying she hesitated because she didn’t feel comfortable saying no even though she wanted to, "I can’t say no, I don’t want to hurt him", something that sounds sensible and familiar, but it’s actually canon in the Adventurer’s Bible that the reverse was the case, that she didn’t feel comfortable saying yes. Because the offer was tempting, but it’d have been a loveless agreement on her end. And it makes sense she’d want to say yes too, like we see with the Toudens, marriage is very much a political strategical economical thing in their village, there’s even a bit on it on Laios’ Adventurer’s Bible profile about dowries, and both siblings were engaged very early. They lived poorly for a long time, it’s an enticing idea to marry rich, to have not only yours but your brother’s needs met forevermore easily, which at one point in their careers was their main worry and goal. Why shouldn’t she accept a life of leisure and wealth handed to her by a lovely friend?

So her hesitance was "yeah that’s convenient for me, but where it’s everything to him and heartfelt I’m able to be detached because I don’t care about it that much… Can I do that? I’m not reciprocating, not saying yes in the way that matters. Can I do that to him?" Very caring even though it’s not what you’d expect, isn’t it?

And central to my analysis, where I’m going with this is, I feel like that’s the thing with her character, that she doesn’t feel as strongly as she "should" sometimes, or feels a different way than she "should", or at least that she feels that way and others say she does. She didn’t mind suddenly leaving the academy, leaving Marcille behind and not seeing her for 4 years. She acted like it was no big deal that she sacrificed herself after getting resurrected after the red dragon fight. And in both those cases it upset the people around her greatly that she didn’t seem to get why it was such a big deal, didn’t seem to care about how they’d experienced her choices.

So it’s a tendency… And it’s not that she doesn’t care, it’s just that the way she measures what’s good for the ones she loves isn’t the same as what they themselves think it is (like Laios and Marcille not wanting to be apart from her). It’s an overt but quiet kind of care, it’s doing things like following them around and making sure they bathe and have a meal, even if that means she has to be dragged into misery too.

So yes she probably would know "not caring enough/the right way" is one of her perceived flaws, and that informs how she tries to handle her response to Shuro’s proposal. Her not wanting to accept like her first gut instinct, is because she’s thinking about reciprocity, about if it’d be right to go into this knowing that they have different priorities and she might not be able to keep up with the type and amount of emotions he wants/expects from her. And that’s a big part of her character isn’t it, having expectations pushed onto her. Her trying her best, but in her own way that may seem odd or even unfeeling. Not unlike when she exorcised the ghost as a kid too, unblinking and matter-of-factly, and not seeming to understand why people stared the way they did.

Even though she answered his proposal only post-canon, she’d been pondering it for a while even pre-canon and the Adventurer’s Bible explanation was released midstory, so I’m hesitant to assign her much growth about her hesitation and what I went on above, since she still didn’t react "right" with Laios after the red dragon fight (even if she apparently doesn’t remember sacrificing herself) and put herself in that situation in the first place. She hasn’t finished her arc on that flaw of hers is what I’m saying, she for sure still has it, but I certainly think her thoughts on Shuro’s proposal shows awareness, both of herself and social.

And awareness is a big analysis key word with Falin, especially here it can be hard not to conflate not caring with not knowing. How socially aware is she? It’s rather layered, because canonically she wasn’t aware of her ostracization in her hometown at all, and we’re not sure if she knew Shuro was interested in her before he proposed, but she generally seems more socially aware than Laios. She tags along on his caravan job to make sure he isn’t being mistreated (though doesn’t ask he get a salary), she catches social faux-pas more easily like in the genderbend magic mirror omake with Shuro, and interestingly enough she’s very good at empathizing with her parents and understanding their perspective. We see when she’s worried about Marcille coming that she does know about propriety and how appearances shape impressions. Being a chief’s daughter must at least have taught her a thing or two on that front.

She never stands up for herself, but when it comes to defending others she worries, strategizes and explains.

And this sort of understanding is part of why I think she’d notice the expectations pushed onto her like I was saying earlier, notice how she makes people feel when she’s careless. But if she changes anything about herself in response to noticing is for her to choose, and generally I think it’s a sort of inbetween of yes and no: that she becomes more complacent but also more reserved, complying but by hiding more of herself passively. She’s not sure wether to accept or reject Shuro’s proposal, doesn’t want to lead him on? She’ll just be taking a while to silently consider it, try to keep things as they are for the time being. The third, less conflicting option. She doesn’t feel heard by Marcille who keeps infantilizing her? Just bear with it. Retract yourself emotionally. Settle for it.

We see that when she was young she had a tendency to not read a room, and I think that’s here too. She doesn’t get why her nonchalance upset others but that doesn’t change that she doesn’t want them upset or hurt, so she tries, albeit in maybe a roundabout way. She always had a hard time deeply connecting with people, often keeping herself some amount of emotionally distant: erasing herself from the equation, from the two-way trade that relationships are and making it a onesided thing instead, where all their needs and emotions are directed towards her but she only lets out a bit of her own show. She takes everything upon her and deals with it and tries not to give others this same burden, though not on a conscious level, it’s just that she’s learned growing up that she doesn’t have much agency.

Like I went into with my analysis linked at the beginning, I think Falin is used to just taking what she can get and not asking for more, when it comes to social bonds. She’ll take spending time with her mother no matter what it is they do, she’ll follow Laios to the graveyards and stick by him even when he’s pushing her away (because he doesn’t want her borrowing his book or "No copying!" or such). Her father was always distant, cold and uncommunicative, her mother was considered sick from anxiety and the exorcism attempts were the main way they spent time together, at dinner tables there were only her and Laios. The dogs picked on her too even if she loved them— And so did the townspeople, maybe that being normal to her at home is why she didn’t notice the ostracization she suffered.

She’s always been the last to be asked about decisions or what she wants, never asked to play with at recess, neither her father or Laios asked before sending her to the academy or leaving the village. At home, in the hierarchy she was considered to be below the dogs by the dogs themselves, as someone they can disrespect. Dogs learn from example and behavior, so this means Falin must have been pushed around a lot, and that the family didn’t try hard to rectify the dogs’ misconception, likely worsened by Laios regularly wrestling with her as a competition.

So for example when Falin showed Marcille food, it was her way to implicitly ask to have lunch with her without voicing that question, without daring to take up space. Someone’s presence isn’t something you ask for, it’s something that’s bestowed upon you, you can follow them around but you can’t ask them to stay or to come with.

She’s used to her needs and wants not being listened to, so she’s learned to have less wants. Caring less about herself, caring less about other people beyond her safe zone, was a defense mechanism in part. She has a sense of learned helplessness too, like how when Marcille came to take her away from Laios, even though she didn’t want to leave with Marcille it felt so determined and unshakable to her that whatever Marcille decided Falin would have to comply with.

And still, it’s the "marrying you would be awfully convenient if it wasn’t that I’d feel guilty for not loving you back, the way you wanted me to when you proposed to me" and the "I don’t regret leaving the academy and leaving you behind without goodbyes but I’m sorry that you’re so much more upset about it than me". It’s the guilt of not loving people back the way they want to be, with the same intensity or fervor.

It’s the autism it’s the aroace of it all, it’s the emotional stunting and confusion but the pit in your stomach telling you you did something wrong again. The no object permanence even for people you love even for 4 years, it’s the feeling like you’re somehow at fault for someone having fallen for you and not knowing what to do with any of it. I’m not joking btw it isn’t uncommon for autistic people to not see their close friends for a long while, not having missed them all that much and for that to be really hurtful for the other if they notice/ask about it. "Hiii bestie! Oh umm you’re uh more emotional about this than I expected, hopefully you won’t feel alienated by me not feeling as intensely about it…"

So… Yeah. I think she thinks of things and relationships in a different way than most people, and beyond "good things happening to people is good" I don’t think she actually cares about people all that much. I’d argue that Laios shows more desire to connect with others and make relationships. And just like with Laios and his own issues with humans, that doesn’t mean her kindness is a lie or ungenuine or worthless! It just means that like, well it’s pretty straightforward really, she’s not all that social and doesn’t see casual bonds as meaning all that much and whatnot. She does want to see people happy, but it’s not as much like… A conviction or goal. She’s too laser focused on a select few people. "It’s not that they’re bad people, they just aren’t interested in humans."

And sometimes it feels like people get defensive about Falin in a meta way too, like if you ever so much as imply Marcille isn’t her whole world or that she isn’t the kindest soul out there then you’re saying she doesn’t care at all or she’s evil. And that’s actualy exactly the sort of vibe I wanted to get through with my analysis above here actually haha, that she does care and she is kind but it’s not in a way that’s quantified or understood in a way that makes people feel comfortable. In a way, that makes people feel insecure because they don’t have the same logic as her, don’t show love the same. And I think this is another stellar depiction of autism, of parts of it that feels unpalatable to many, if I’m making sense. The fandom idealizes her as well, which isn’t uncommon or surprising for the character embodying the trope of the perfect beloved to rescue.

And disclaimer, as I said in the tags I feel like the details of Falin are pretty vibe based when it comes to analysis, there’s absolutely a valid angle where she does super care about everyone always, feel free to disagree with me on the overarching angle of my analysis. There’s enough supporting evidence to tip the balance either way I think, and the reason I’ve chosen this angle is I feel it’s more compelling for the themes in Dunmeshi of idealization and being different, of desires vs wants, and because I think it neatly ties up Falin’s character arc as I’ll go over throughout the next section…

So.

Not feeling as much as she should. And……. Is this not Faligon pushed to the max?

You can’t tie down a dragon. As the chimera, she gets to just not care about everyone else and be on her merry way.

Part of it I think is finding comfort and freedom in the mindlessness, in not having the burden of feelings and connections and a consciousness (despite still ending up seeking those in a stranger, Thistle). Like when she’s dead in the purgatory as well, she gets to just… Hang around and do whatever. Similarly to when she played in the forest instead of going to class in her academy days. That’s what freedom and peace of mind looks like to her. Why she decides to roam post-canon, if only now with the goal to find herself instead, with her mind in tow and somewhere to go back home to.

There’s excellent analytic framing out there about how of course, Dungeon Meshi has a big theme of grief and letting go, and… Falin was always a symbol narratively, idealized by characters and often underconsidered by them despite their love. It was Falin’s choice to sacrifice herself for Laios, she thought it was worth it, knowing that it would be her end. Her resurrection and the process of it intertwining her soul with a dragon’s wasn’t done with her consent, and the subsequent opening it gave her to become a chimera puppet. She’s stripped of her agency consistently, and so… It’s very noteworthy that the final choice, of wether to go back to life or to stay dead, in that purgatory scene, was up to her. And she chooses life, but I do think about her in those fields and how at home she seemed there. Peaceful, by herself in a vast calm expanse she could explore, free.

Personally, I think freedom is Falin’s own subconscious selfish desire. And though to us becoming the chimera is obviously a shackle, I think it felt like freedom to her somewhat, too.

And if you think I’m going wildly off the rails here I want to talk about Laios’ wish of becoming a monster. And to be clear before getting into it, being mentally a monster is absolutely a big part of the appeal for Laios, it’s something that’s consistently referred to, something especially pointed out in the werewolf monster tidbit with Lycion. Right panel is from that, but left panel is from the extra with Izutsumi where Lycion talks about suppressing souls in a beastkin body, the human or the beast soul.

Finding comfort and freedom in being mindless, less sentient, less aware? While being unaware in her hometown might have saved Falin a lot of heartache although perhaps stunted her emotional growth, it’s always been Laios’ curse.

Actively, through his choices, he seeks to grow closer to people, to form deeper bonds, to understand and be undertood, but… On a deep seated level, what he desires is to leave humanity and civilization behind. He has an irrational hatred for humans, born from the trauma of ostracization, being different, being beaten up and rejected consistently through his life. Running away from problems is easier. He wants to be free from being a social animal from a social species who has deemed him the black sheep, he thinks it’d be simpler to just leave it all behind, people and his own humanity. At its core, to Laios becoming a monster is a power fantasy, a coping daydream of "if only I could be strong enough to never be hurt again, the power to destroy anything I want, the power to go somewhere better, if only it was possible for me to never feel hurt again. If only I could be someone, something, that can never be hurt". "If there’s someone you don’t like, you can gobble ‘em up in one bite. If you could fly, you’d be able to leave this village right now." It’s a childhood fantasy, from a deep sense of being misplaced and a desire to be able to stand fearless, thinly covering up resentment that Laios represses.

But you’ll notice, when the Winged Lion is enticing him in the last page, even now with his lifelong wish of becoming a monster on a silver plate, he still cares about his friends. He still has that sense of responsibility to his friends, doesn’t want to leave knowing they’ll be in danger and alone. The offer that his friends may be left unharmed is already good, but Laios also visibly flinches when the Winged Lion offers to specifically care after Marcille and rid her of her biggest fear. Laios’ care runs that deep. Not unlike with the succubus, he resists temptation until he gets reassured that everyone will be okay. But see, what he desires isn’t to stand alongside Marcille until her last days, it isn’t to stay and see how well his friends will live, it’s to go. It’s to leave. It’s to fly away, a monster both in body and mind. He wants to be free from caring here, wants to not have to worry about his friends, wants to just go do his own thing, but for that he needs to feel safe in the belief that said friends will be safe even without him being there to see it, because despite everything else he cares, he does. It’s again that dichotomy about caring and wishing you didn’t, or not caring and wishing you did.

In the end, it’s Falin who achieves that wish. Both by becoming a chimera during canon, and by going traveling post-canon. In the latter, being both free of human relationships as something chaining you while still being uplifted by them, by the knowledge that there are people out there you love and that love you. It’s a theme that can also be connected with Marcille, because she gets anxious over people she loves getting out of her sight, worrying they’ll get themselves killed, that time is passing while they’re away from her. But before she can get to the point where she can both have her freedom and being uplifted by her social bonds, regaining both her individuality and her connections, she has to get a taste of just one at a time. Before they can find balance in her life, she has to see what it’s like to have what she’s never had on its own. Unapologetic freedom, and power.

No one can blame you for not caring enough or caring right if you’re a fricking dragon!!!! You make the rules when you’re a beast and you can just… Fly away. From anywhere, from anything. And if a dog bites you you can just crush it. Instead of being pushed around by the dogs because you’re at the bottom of the hierarchy, you’re now at the top, the one with the power to be heard and do what you want without consequences.

I think she’s on autopilot. I think she’s on autopilot a lot of the time, even before being a chimera, and it’s partly why her will is so weak compared to regular dragons. (Again, read my shorter analysis.) It’s familiar to slip back into the role of following someone around unquestioningly. And that’s what is weaponized when she’s a chimera, that instinct she’s been nursing all her life to unconditionally support, defend and follow someone. Only now, that someone doesn’t matter in itself, only the symbol of it. She doesn’t mind, either way is fine. Her will is weak after all, because she’s trained it to take as little place as it could.

Falin cares too much

She spends all her time caring for Laios and Marcille alternating that none of her care and emotional energy is left for others, including herself. So she had to get relieved of all of that for a bit, becoming the chimera so she could reset and recenter and remember that she, too, indeed, is there and an important part of her own life.

So you’re probably seeing the duality I’m talking about here, Falin is very self-sacrificial but for specific people in ways that they often don’t recognize or appreciate. She cares but selectively, both in people, putting all her eggs in the same baskets, and in the ways she cares after them. She doesn’t care a lot, but when she does she cares a lot. Falin doesn't have a lot of earthly attachments, but when she does, they're her world.

In canon her arc, especially post-canon, is to grow beyond Marcille and Laios. Her caring for her close loved ones held her back from looking after her own self-fulfillment needs. And this is what I mean when I say she cares too much; she could gain from caring more about the world besides Laios and Marcille, both lands wise and people wise. She cares too little, but her arc centers her flaw around caring too much instead. Her pitfalls that Kui highlight over the course of the story, while of course her selflessness is appreciated for how she saved Laios and everyone, on a personal level is shown to be self-effacing and damaging. She’s undermined by Marcille, without the courage to voice her thoughts and wants, she would dedicate her whole life to Laios. And I mean, it’s text, in the response to Shuro’s proposal extra no less. And she’s so laser focused on her most loved people that she’s fine with being callous and risking others’ lives, even.

Post-canon, she needs to leave to find herself, away from them.

Herself. What if she wants to just be with herself for a while.

And this is me reaching but I feel like, not unlike Izutsumi who learns to feel this sense of never being alone, always having someone on your side what with having two souls, the dragon in her would make her consider herself more. She finds it easier to care after other people after all, and in the purgatory fields sequence she takes care to bring the bit of dragon left with her… Not unlike with Izutsumi, having two souls forces you to think about your identity and figure yourself out. Besides being this sort of duo now, where if she wants to care after herself she can channel it to that other side of her too… In meta dragons are symbols of greed, and I think the bit of dragon would push her to want more and listen more to her desires, primal and self-serving as they might be. The dragon soul which warped her human body with feathers and draconic features, her image of perfection marred, her weirdness externalized in a way that’s not palatable. But she doesn’t care, about if her appearance is palatable for most people, she hasn’t for a while now, and that’s great.

Notes & nuance

I’m struggling with the structure of this post, making my points organized, concise and strong at once. It’s difficult to make any statement without going "things are generally like this, but there’s this time that this contradicting thing happened too" or "it’s ambiguous enough that you should just follow my interpretation for the time of this analysis" haha, so this is the pit where I put all the stuff that wouldn’t fit well in other places but are interesting for Falin’s character. This section is pretty separate from the main thesis of the post, it’s just more Falin observations. The post has reached the 30 pics limit so I can’t just pull it up whenever it’s relevant but I really encourage scrolling up to read the stuff I highlighted in her Adventurer’s Bible profile if you haven’t already.

I think with the shy-looking loner type autistic kid archetype, and knowing she didn’t seem to mind others ostracizing her, it’s easy to lose sight of how she was by no means an unemotional child. In all the bits we see of her as a kid she’s bursting with energy and emotions. Canon confirms Laios leaving the village did affect her and make her lonely and she cried a lot, too. She may not be social in the traditional sense, but she was clingy with her brother, and she also never was all that shy about who she was, wearing her heart on her sleeve.And okay. Okay okay okay. Speaking of appearances. About what I said of her not caring about what people think of her, even seeming defiant with the caravan leader… There’s one istanxe of her caring actually, and it’s about how her face blushes easily. I remembered it as being because Laios’ said it and as I rambled Laios’ words are her world, but actually it’s ambiguous. It’s only Marcille imagining up this scenario where Laios says Falin looks weird because of it, there’s no evidence Laios said or thought that at any point. And on the other hand…

Her Adventurer’s Bible says: "5, Lovely Skin. She isn't particularly careful with it, but Falin's skin is fair and beautiful. Possibly as a result, her cheeks seem to flush easily. Marcille's always saying she's cute, and she secretly has a sizable complex about it." The phrasing makes me think the complex she has over her blushing might have developed because of Marcille more than Laios. "Marcille's always saying she's cute, and she secretly has a sizable complex about it." It could be related to how Marcille gets swept away and infantilizes her, calling her cute wanting her to wear cute feminine outfits etc. Again this feels like it relates to Falin’s struggle to be seen for who she is and what she wants to be seen as, her struggle to be recognized, having ideals and perspectives pushed onto her. Here Falin is insecure over her blushing implicitly because she doesn’t like being called cute over it, but that’s not how she wants people to see her. She doesn’t want Marcille to always see her as her 10 years old adorable friend. Like if your friend said you had puppy energy, it can be flattering, but it can also make you insecure.

Here’s a link to what I mentioned about her being uncomfortable wearing feminine outfits. It does seem to be more about comfort than the aesthetic perse, to me. Interestingly the shirt & shorts don’t seem like they show much more skin than her beach outfit, so maybe it’s more about the shirt and shorts being tight-fitting. Like the skirts and heels they feel stifling. Again a bit with themes of freedom and not wanting an aesthetic pushed onto her. So yes just to reiterate, I think this is more about self-affirmation and how her identity and self-image gets shown to others, rather than wishing to hide parts of her body like her blushing etc for people pleasing reasons. Makeup was a way for her to appear how she wants to and feel more confident. It was a way to take control over her own image. She didn’t keep doing it, the narrator stating the process to be ‘troublesome’. Ultimately she still prioritizes her comfort, and it was a lot of recurring efforts to go through.

And on the topic of appearances… A friend once asked me: "Does she really hide herself or not? I keep thinking about "falin is herself first and foremost" (in her Adventurer’s Bible profile) it’s just so. Hmmmmmmmm... I just keep seeing people say she hides her real self from people when I feel like the issue is more about her charitable traits straying too far into becoming flaws but people around her dont realize that..."

Imo the thing is, I don’t think she hides her identity, but I do think she suppresses her individuality for others’ sakes if that makes sense. In the way that only post-canon does she allows herself to go see what the world is like, but that’s not personality wise it’s needs and wants wise. And I do feel like that’s the closest interpretation of canon, she says it herself she doesn’t know what she wants because everything she’s done was always about Laios or Marcille, but she doesn’t change her demeanor or personality for others. But she *will*, like, not ask for things she wants directly, like sharing lunches with Marcille at the academy, she suppresses her wants, doesn’t ask things from people and doesn’t hope for more, hope for better. I don’t think we ever see her actively repress her personality, except like what, being more laidback than enthusiastic but I do feel like unlike Laios with her it’s less ‘appearing stoic to fit in more’ and more ‘yeah i’ll just chill until I’m needed or something activates my enthusiasm’. To which said friend quoted: "to feel like you belong you need to be useful. when you can’t be useful the next best thing is being convenient."

And speaking of passivity… I want to speculate about Shuro’s proposal some more. Shuro and her got along well though we don’t know how much, or how often they hung out, she even saved him from a nightmare. Why did she take so long answering Shuro’s proposal? Was it an effort to preserve or was she really just that conflicted? Procrastination probably yes, but what is the core motivation of itl Considering she ended up saying no to travel the world instead, I don’t think it was as simple as ‘she wanted to say yes for convenience’. Logically it’s what would have been best, but it’s not what she wanted for herself, but it was and still is hard for her to even know what she wants. Probably, since like she states it was a great offer and she doesn’t think she’ll get proposed to again, it’s that self-effacing tendency that yes it’d be convenient and logical, and that makes her want to say yes even if her spirit isn’t in it, because if it’s convenient then that’s more important than her feelings on the matter. Man also… Obviously Marcille is very vocal about how she shouldn’t get with Shuro, but imagine how Falin’s whole perspective on marriage must have felt when her only friend ever is a Romantic with a capital R who gushes about idealized romances and grand gestures and True Love and doing things with fully pure feelings all the time.

AND speaking of passivity!!! How much Falin is "there" as the chimera, just how much she’s master of her actions, is left ambiguous and intentionally so imo, but she’s for sure there & influencing the dragon’s action to some degree. Having a dragon’s foot on her in purgatory that keeps her from moving for sure visualizes how it must have been like, but there’s Falin calling out to her brother Laios, there’s the kind attentions towards Thistle that are so Falin-like, and most explicitly there’s the Adventurer’s Bible stating "Even after becoming a chimera, she has a soul that's as kind as ever", which I honestly dislike, a fantranslation puts it as "Even as the chimera, her caring nature remains" and either way to me it feels like confirmation that it’s her giving those berries to Thistle. Now, wether or not she has the mental capacity of a chicken or something closer to human Falin, no clue, there has to at least be some kind of mind bond between monsters and the dungeon lord, compelling or forcing them to go along with orders, or calling her to him in distress like with the fight on the first floor. But yes, it’s interesting to wonder what it is that a Falin, with her kind soul but without her human mind, would willingly do. On her profile, she’s described as Thistle’s guardian and servant. The power dynamic between the two are very interesting, I already went into how it might have felt like freedom to her while being fake so I’ll reign myself in and just mention it again. She’s still at the heel of someone, only now it’s someone who doesn’t care about her back. Going from being cared for so strongly that it’s suffocating and they would defy death and the world for you, to being devoted to someone who has not one feeling about you besides your utility as a paw . She has all this care to give and to focus onto others and he has none to send back to her and I think that’s part of it. In a way, being left with only her own feelings and a void, without expectations or feelings or ideals pushed onto her, it might have been soothing in itself, and eye opening. But yes the way I think of it, her care for Thistle isn’t unlike the care she gives the ghosts.

Interestingly, the care she extends for the ghosts is sending their soul to a peaceful death, freeing them, of life and any earthly attachment. Take that as you will with the themes of freedom and burden of life and mind, immortality and becoming a warped version of who you were, and such and such.

But going back on the topic of connections and bonds for a bit, I think academy days Falin & Marcille is super interesting bc we’ve never really see Falin form a connection besides with Marcille and even that is kept pretty ambiguous. When was the point that Falin started seeing Marcille as a friend and seeking her out? When was the "I’ll lay down my life for you" point? I’m so fascinated by how she wanted to share lunches with Marcille but never truly asked, only made little "hey want this? I found it isn’t it cool?" gestures of showing things to her… It’s the only way she knows to ask, or maybe it’s the only way she feels comfortable to. In all the scenes of young Falin and Marcille Falin seems comfortable in her friendship with Marcille, but at the same time… I think we see Falin at her most insecure around Marcille, because she really does care about Marcille and what she thinks of her so much, and while Marcille is a bit of an unstoppable force tornado style (affectionate) Falin is something of a doormat. I’d usually say showing her berries was her earnest way to connect and be like "Hey bestie look at this! :]" , but there’s a real possibility that she was self-conscious and holding herself back.

Friendship and Marcille! Involving Laios into this too but, again with the autism thing of not showing you care in ways that others understand, Marcille being very overtly affectionate and clingy was so so soo important… Marcille keeping on hanging out with Falin and caring after her, and being undeterred/unbothered by Falin not always seeming like she cares all that much back in the conventional way, as in Falin acts nonchalant and a bit like she didn’t mind wether she was there with her or not during her outings to the cave dungeon. Caring and being clingy and so affectionate despite that in such a classic Marcille way is soo needed, because so often people will get discouraged by say, their friend not keeping in contact regularly/well, seeming disaffected or as happy-go-lucky as ever even if you haven’t seen each other in a while or when they’re alone, and yes there’s potential for a strong friendship there but someone like Falin won’t be committed enough to reciprocating attention the same way… I hope I’m making sense but yes this angle in particular strongly correlates to autism. And the way Marcille always initiates physical affection, both Toudens being awkward about initiating touch because they don’t know if that’s allowed, if they’re going about the social interaction the right way, if they’re allowed to ask that out of someone…

Another fun observation to make is about the 4 years Falin and Marcille spent apart. Marcille despite being of a long-lived race treated these 4 years of separation with more gravity than Falin did. Falin brushed it off very dismissively to say the least. But then you remember that the amount of time Falin and Laios didn’t see each other after he left the village was 8 years. Double the years, double the time. And that reminder makes Falin’s actions so starkingly understandable. Of course she wouldn’t see 4 years of separation as a long time if 8 years of separation with her beloved brother is her point of comparison. Of course she’d see it as worth it to leave Marcille for 4 years if it meant ending those 8 years instead, especially if she was worried about him (the reason why she followed him into his caravan job).

A friend always says that while Falin is the center of Marcille’s world, Laios’ is at the center of Falin’s, and I tend to agree.

It’s fun to think of how her career dreams had always been shaped by Laios, even when they were kids. Of course there’s how traveling the world began as a dream they talked about and shared, but there’s how he reassures her by listing cool jobs she could do like traveling exorcist, etc. And then of course, she gave up on her magic academy and career path to follow him and do odd jobs, etc etc.

I should go into the violence of Faligon more tbh, because I think there’s an interesting parallel to how she has no problem wacking things with a mace, wether a ghost when she was a kid or a walking mushroom as an adult. Something that often surprises fans when they remember, I don’t really want to get into the whole " Falin hates violence and hates seeing people in pain to an intense degree. ‘If you die do it somewhere where I can’t see’ style’ interpretation, it has some weight but on the whole I don’t vibe with the theory she has a particular aversion to violence, she seems to be fine resorting to it as much as any other adventurer as long as it isn’t needlessly against ghosts. And Falin’s sudden mace hits are fun to me too because it’s not her becoming a berserker when the need arises as much as her becoming active because something she cares about is threatened, and that brings her out of her passivity from 99% of the rest of the time. Thistle included. Falin always could be violent, she just dislikes senseless carnage. The Shuro party vs chimera fight is a bit ambiguous on it, because you can argue she only attached after being provoked, presumably offscreen as well while the ninjas went off to fight the harpies. Falin becomes the most active when she needs to protect someone, she has no qualms doing whatever’s needed for that, wether it be leaving the academy & Marcille without notice no matter the consequences or what her parents think, or teleporting the party, etc.

I’m working on a post specifically pointing out all the differences between Falin and Laios, but yes I think both of them selfishly desire freedom in different yet similar ways. Falin’s dark secret is "Ethics and risks are optional if it means I can protect those I love" like the teleportation, and Laios’ is "Ethics and risks are optional if I can be free of all this bullshit" aka humanity aka his wish with the winged lion.

Conclusion

Flighted birds have hollow bones. With freedom and wings there comes risks and sacrifices.

Tldr: Falin doesn’t care all that much, she’s very go with the flow. For example if someone hates her she doesn’t really care because that’d require her caring about what they think of her in the first place, and she only cares about her loved ones. She smiles, but it’s more a state of being rather than out of active goodness: she’s canonically very genuinely kind, but it’s more out of a general want for pleasantness than active care itself. She’s passive, and softspoken because that’s just how she seems, but she has no problem hopping into bushes or getting heated if something calls to her enthusiasm or calls for action and a hit of the ol’ mace. Her loved ones needing tending or protective is what makes her go from passive to active. That familiar autopilot mode of making someone the center of her world and following their every move is what made her so easy to be controlled as the chimera, even ferociously defending him with her life. Faligon is most interesting to me with the theme of freedom. She’s shackled to Thistle and out of her mind, but there’s also a sense of empowerment and freedom from expectations and society. She spends all her time caring for Laios and Marcille alternating that none of her care and emotional energy is left for others, including herself. So she had to get relieved of all of that for a bit, becoming the chimera so she could reset and recenter and remember that she, too, indeed, is there and an important part of her own life. There’s a way of caring after others that can be selfish, not unlike Marcille being overly coddling and not listening to Falin. In Falin’s case, I think it was so selfless that it ended up looping back around to erasing her sense of self. In losing sight of herself, that devotion becoming neither quite selfish or selfless but a fact of life and a state of nature, muddled by its lack of direction.

She’s sooo used to never being able to ask things out of others, you get the crumbs of affection and approval that others offer to you unprompted and that’s it don’t hope for more don’t ask for more. (Also reflected in how she follows her loved ones around without complain or personal opinions and how she’s not willing to rock the boat and affirm herself in her relationships like with Marcille during canon)

Falin cares so much, so much and so laser focused on her few loved ones that it blinds her and she loses sight of everything else, she ends up neglecting herself and the rest of the world. As Kui puts it, Falin is herself first and foremost. She just had to remember the importance of that.

-

I see her as an enneagram 9, which can be surprisingly accurate and fun to research through the lense of Falin. Excerpt below from this book, but like my god, good way to put it

That’s it, ty for reading. Even if it’s a bit of a mess, hopefully you’ll have gained a thing or two from it. Falin is a character hard to pin down, but it is very gratifying when you find the way that the puzzle pieces fit together right for your own understanding of the story. Fantranslation of the shuro proposal comic by @/thatsmimi here.

Here’s my spotify playlist for her if you’d like

Sometimes love is about letting go, a lesson a lot of the cast needed to learn. Self-love’s important too, and just like with diets we need a healthy balance.

[bluemotifofsleep]

The Process of Elimination

kuroo tetsurou x reader

- for someone so smart, Kuroo can be unbelievably dense.

you’re supposed to be doing your chemistry homework.

“how about Kenma?”

instead, Kuroo is listing the boys volleyball club members because you’d asked if he thought any of them were boyfriend material.

“one time Kenma said i had the posture of a 14 year old gamer boy. that kind of threw me off from him.” Kuroo makes a pained look.

“yeah, that sounds like Kenma.”

you weren’t actually all that interested in the boys volleyball team to be honest, already coming up with a reason you’re not compatible before he’s even got their name out. you’ve spent enough time around Kuroo (and by extension, the team) to know that you only had eyes for one of them. you’d only asked about it hoping that maybe he would say-

“Lev? he’s tall. girls like tall guys, right?”

“ughhh. Lev is like a little brother.” you’re face is scrunched in something akin to disgust at the mention of the childish underclassman. “plus, he’s three years younger than me. do you think i’m some kind of pedophile?”

Kuroo rolls his eyes.

“well, if you’re only interested in third year players, that narrows down your options.” your heart starts beating faster at the inevitable conclusion you know will come from this.

yes, there’s only three third years. kai, Yaku, and-

“why are you asking about only team members anyways?” he’s turned to fully face you now, discarding his textbook and miscellaneous papers on his bedspread. you’ve noticed that for such a responsible person, Kuroo can be really unorganized.

you’ve been noticing a lot about him recently. like how his cheeks flush after an especially tiring match, or the way he tilts his head back and does a full belly laugh at something Kenma says, or the way his smile is a little crooked when it’s real, or how when he’s focusing really hard on a question in your shared homework his brows furrow just slightly, kind of like they are now. like you’re a question he needs to work tirelessly at until you’re answered.

“well, you probably know them best.”

he hums in thought.

“what about Yaku?”

you hum back and pretend to think about it, rolling the thought of it around in your head and looking at it at every angle. you’re not interested in Yaku. you know this, why doesn’t he? how can’t he see the truth that’s right in front of him? literally, right in front of him.

“Yaku’s a bit short, isn’t he?” you shut him down like you’ve shut down every other player Kuroo has mentioned, hoping that by the process of elimination he could come to a conclusion. Kuroo is good at math, right?

“so you’re looking for a tall, handsome, funny but not mean, smart, third year on the volleyball team.” he says and he looks at you like at you like you’re chemistry homework he’s just figured out.

your heart starts pounding faster, there’s only one person left. you know he’s come to the same conclusion that you have. your fingers are pulling nervously at his duvet, and your shoulders are drawn tight up to your ears.

“you like Kai?” he says it like an epiphany. your shoulders drop. for someone so smart, Kuroo can be unbelievably dense.

you’ve had it.

“urgh! no, you idiot! you, its you. i’ve liked you for months now! literally how have you not noticed? you’re making me feel like i picked the wrong person to help me with homework, because if you’re going to act stupid, i may as well just do it by myself.”

after your words, the silence is deafening. each individual tick from the clock on his bedside table sounds like a gunshot.

shit.

shit.

did you really just say all that?

Kuroo is looking at you like you’ve grown a second head. you scramble to say something, anything, to spare the last fraying pieces of your dignity, but your throat feels like it’s closed up.

“you like me?” he says it kind of like he repeats back your wrong answers on the practice sheet your working on, incredulous.

“um, yeah. maybe a little.” you’ve lost all the heat that came with your outburst. the air somehow feels prickly in his room, your arms breaking out in goosebumps.

you’d known that by initiating a conversation of this topic, he’d eventually find out. you just didn’t think he would look so shocked.

“you like me.” he repeats, and this time he’s got a furrow in his brow again. it sounds almost accusatory, like he thinks your lying to him. like the idea of you liking him is just so unfathomably weird, you have to be lying.

you’re instantly mad again.

“yeah, so what? what’s so bad about that?” your feelings are hurt, for sure. you didn’t necessarily expect him to reciprocate your feelings, but this outright dismissal of them is painful. “just reject me so we can finish this sheet and i can go home.”

he looks shocked suddenly, like you’ve slapped him across the face.

“no! that’s uh, that’s not what i meant.” and his words throw you off a bit. you’ve known Kuroo for a long time, and you’ve never heard him sputter so outright. he’s always been a fairly cool and collected guy, almost suave with his words, not easily caught off guard. right now, though, he looks as though you’ve taken the ground out from beneath his feet.

“but you- you really like me? like, actually?” the question repeated at you makes heat rise to your cheeks and you feel an embarrassing tickle at your nose, like you might cry.

“i’m leaving.” you start gathering your homework strewn across his bed.

“no, no! wait!” he grabs your wrist lightly, his hold on you loose. if you wanted to, you could pull away from him, but you don’t. as embarrassed as you are, the idea of leaving Kuroos bedroom and possibly never being invited back after your confession is heartbreaking. instead, you lean a tiny bit closer to him so his arm isn’t as strained, and you sit back down onto his plush mattress, ready to hear him out.

“i’m sorry. i was just surprised, is all.” and he sounds like he’s telling the truth. not disgusted, not alarmed, not disappointed, just surprised.

he’s facing you completely now, and he still hasn’t let go of your wrist, your skin tingling at the connection.

you try to sus him out from his expression alone, but the look on his face is hard to make sense of. he looks earnest, and he’s got a hard set to his brows. you’d almost say it looks determined. it reminds you of his face mid volleyball match, when he’s deciding how to get it right, when he’s calculating all of his moves. there’s a small blush on his cheeks, and it’s such an odd and out of place thing for kuroo, you almost wonder if you’re imagining it.

and then he’s leaning in and kissing the thought right out of your head.

you’ve read books before and heard girls gossiping about sparks flying and heat and electricity during a kiss, but this feels different. kissing Kuroo is like lifting off in a hot air balloon, your heart soaring above the clouds. it feels like floating, it feels like finally getting the right answer to a particularly hard chemistry question you’ve been working at for a while, it feels like watching the Nekoma volleyball team win a close match.

it feels like victory.

he finally pulls away after a while, both of you panting and red-cheeked, looking at each other with stars in your eyes. you can vaguely feel some of your homework being crunched under your hand that’s keeping you upright, but you can’t find it in your to care all that much. besides, if it gets ruined, that just means more time spent with Kuroo redoing all of it.

“i was just shocked, is all, about how convenient that is,” he’s slowly leaning back into you, and you can’t help the way you’re leaning in too, pulled together like magnets, like a positive and negative ion. “because i like you too.”

~

he’s such a dork. i’m in love with him.

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

hii, I‘ve already made two requests and you‘ve written them so so beautifully <33 Your work is really amazing and I think I would consider you one of my favorite blogs💞💞 I do have one more idea :)

Reader and Jason are in a relationship, yet they don’t know about his vigilante identity. Reader works the night shift as a barista.

One night, the café gets robbed during reader’s shift, but Jason isn’t there to take care of the robber since he went on patrol only later, meaning the GCPD is the first on the scene.

When Red Hood passes the café and see’s all the police lights, his heart drops. He comes to check up on reader, but they’re so shaken up that jason scares them.

It’s all fluffy in the end, and perhaps Red Hood reveals his identity 😚

Promises

Hi, nonnie! Thank you! ~1.8k words

There was a gun to your face about ten minutes ago. Well, it might have been ten minutes ago, you're not exactly sure how long it was now. The idea of time seemed to phase out when two masked robbers stormed into the little Café you worked at.

Who even robs a coffee shop? You had maybe thirty dollars in the till, everyone uses cards or just taps their phones anyway. That point didn't seem to get across to the men as they waved their pistols in your face and shot off rounds into the air.

You showed them the safe, and a few hundred dollars seemed to calm them down. They took the money, took your wallet and phone. But none of that stopped them from shoving you to the ground as they ran off. You just sat there– dazed, scared, and overwhelmed– until a patrol car from the GCPD and an ambulance rushed to park outside.

No one was hurt, maybe some bruises from being pushed around, but you and the two unfortunate people who wanted coffee half past midnight were more than a little shaken up.

You stumble through the questions the cops ask you and let the paramedics guide you to sit on the back of the ambulance. They drape a shock blanket over your shoulders as you murmur about needing to call your boyfriend.

Someone presses a hot drink into your hands, and you barely register the quiet conversations over this being the fourth small business to get robbed this week. Your eyes only leave the spot in the distance you're fixated on when gasps resonate throughout the air. Your gaze shifts up, and your breath leaves your lungs. Red Hood. Red Hood is stalking towards you like lives depend on it, avoiding the medics and cops that try to talk to him, to get his attention.

You're proud of the fact that you don't flinch when his gloved hand meets your face, carefully tilting your chin up to observe your face. His body is rigid, you can tell something's wrong even through the muddled, shocked state of your mind.

He's crowding over you, a barrier between you and the rest of Gotham. You know he's a vigilante, you know that he helps. But the moment frays the last of your nerves and tears fill your eyes.

You just want to go home. You just want to feel safe. You want your phone back and you want to call your boyfriend and have him make everything okay again.

Red Hod freezes and you can audibly hear his breath hitching. His fingers twitch against your skin before dropping, but he doesn't step away, "Sorry. I'm sorry– Did I– are you hurt?"

That only makes you want to cry harder. He's apologizing to you. This stranger hasn't done anything, but check if you're okay, and you're crying all because he looks big and a little scary. You shake your head, trying to find the words to apologize back, that you don't know why you're crying.

You shift back, even if there's no room to go anywhere. Your heart is pounding and you're scared even if you shouldn't be because there was a gun to your face and you could have died and the man that smells like gunpowder and leather can't fix that.

His head doesn't move, you know his eyes haven't left your face. You don't know why. He doesn't gain anything from lifting his hand to catch the tear that spills down your face. "You're okay. You're safe," he murmurs, steady and full of promise, "tell me what you need. Let me make it better." He says your name, says it softly and gently and damn near yearning.

"I need– I want my phone. I want to call you boyfriend," You answer shakily, blinking back the rest of your tears and trying to figure out why a vigilante knows your name.

His head turns, presumably looking for your phone, "Is it still inside the Café?"

You shake your head, voice heavy with emotion, "It– they stole it."

"They?" He questions, mask tilting back towards you.

"The robbers?" You answer weakly, Isn't that why he's here? To get information? To catch them?

His hand finally leaves your face, and you exhale softly in relief, "I'll take care of it."

He wavers in front of you. Another thing that doesn't make sense. You don't get another word out before he's disappeared into the shadows.

Your shoulders slump. You're so tired and so, so drained, and not even the hot drink in your hands is making you feel more in your body.

Someone calls your name. Jason. You stand up on shaky legs, nearly spilling the cup in an attempt to put it down quickly. Jason's here. You don't care why or how, but he's here. He has you wrapped up against his chest and face buried in your hair before the cops can even try to stop him.

He says your name over and over into your hair, and you try to ignore the way your tears stain his shirt. "I've got you, you're okay. You're okay, baby. Promise. I'm not gonna let anyone hurt you," he murmurs, arms tightening around you.

He feels safe. He smells like– he smells like leather and gunpowder. He's big and warm and a barrier between you and the rest of the world. And it all clicks.

"Let's get you home," he says softly, gently, so careful with a voice full of yearning and love. You recognize it. And you know.

Jason knows your shift ends in forty-seven minutes. But patrol has been slow tonight, and he's going to walk you home even if it wasn't. So why not show up a little early and keep you company? Spoiler seemed eager enough to cover his territory for a few hours, anyway.

He'll go back out after he sees you home safe and watches you fall asleep. Jason's idly trying to decide if you're going to be too tired to shower with him, when the flashing lights outside the Café catch his attention.

He thinks his heart might have stopped. He doesn't even think to call Oracle or text you, he just knows his feet hit the pavement and he's running.

There's only one ambulance, only one cop car. His eyes dart. Where are you. Where are you?

He's barreling towards you as soon as he finds you. He doesn't have a plan. Doesn't need one until he knows you're safe. "Move," he snaps at the medic that tries to stop him, never stopping his path towards you.

His hand is tilting your head up before he even considers the possibility that it's a bad idea, that he's just a stranger in a mask armed to the teeth with knives and guns.

He can't help himself. He needs to touch you, needs to ground himself and make sure you're not hurt. He doesn't manage to get his words out before you're tearing up.

Jason's heart breaks at the sight, bile rising in his throat. He removes his hand, even if every instinct he has goes against it. He thinks he chokes out an apology, but he's too busy looking at every inch of you for injuries.

You shake your head and a piece of his soul shatters. He reaches up to wipe your tears, as if he could do anything else, "You're okay. You're safe," he murmurs, and wills it to be true, "tell me what you need. Let me make it better." He wants it to be better. He wants your tears to stop and the tension to leave your body and the anxiety to disappear from your eyes.

"I need– I want my phone. I want to call you boyfriend," You answer, and he wants to drop to his knees when your voice shakes.

Your phone. He can do that. His eyes dart from you, looking for the familiar phone case, "Is it still inside the Café?"

"It– they stole it," You answer and his focus snaps back to you.

"They?" He questions, doing his best to keep the anger from dripping into his voice, to bite back the threats on his tongue for whoever scared you.

"The robbers?" You answer weakly. Robbers. Robbers. Robbers did this. He files that away for once you're home, once he knows you feel safe.

He pulls his hand from your face reluctantly, "I'll take care of it." Jason doesn't want to step away from you. All he really wants is to wrap you up against him and promise everything will be better. But you don't need Red Hood. You need Jason Todd.

He forces himself away from you, moves faster than he should, struggling to shed his armor and mask. He drops his guns to the roof, anything recognizable left in a pile for someone else to deal with.

He's back on the ground and rushing back to you. He says your name. You look up at him and he sees the relief flood your face.

Jason catches you when you step towards him, arms wrapping around you to keep you close.

He whispers promises against your skin, tightening his grip on you. He can feel you crying. It makes concern and anger and the overwhelming desire to protect you twists in his stomach, "Let's get you home."

Jason– Red Hood– talks to the police for you. Insists that there's no more questions for you to answer as he hooks his arm firmly around your waist. He guides you home. You barely process a word he says.

All you can really focus on, as you watch him unlock the apartment door, is that he's Red Hood. How did you miss it? Why didn't you know?

You feel disoriented. But Jason's perfect, exactly what you need in the moment. He doesn't ask you questions, doesn't press or make you move too fast as he helps you change. He nods and gets you water when you say you don't want to shower, that you're not hungry.

He lets you curl against his chest and he kisses the crown of your head when you finally crawl into bed, "I was scared," You admit quietly into his skin.

"They'll never scare you again," he promises. Your stomach swoops. It's the truth. You know it's fact. They'll never scare you again. They'll never scare anyone again. He'll make sure of it.

You fall asleep to his comforting whispers and vows, the feel of his fingers tracing your skin. When you wake up, he's still next to you, still holding you flush against him. Your wallet and phone sit on the nightstand next to your bed. Neither of you mention it as the sun begins to shine on the familiar leather jacket folded over your chair. Neither of you mention it, later, when the news reports that two bodies were found in Gotham Harbor.

[mangocurist]

hey so... @jumped-for-the-yaoi guess who spent their evening writing purple eggs and zam!!!!! im going to bed early now god im so cold

followup to my other zincewam (ls s6zam and uuwemmbu) tumblr fics (1) (2)

════════════════════════════════════════════════

There’s something about the way in Wemmbu’s stride that says he’s changed after the one week hiatus he’d taken from Unstable. 

Egg isn’t sure what to make of it at first— he’s no stranger to the way that Wemmbu works, after all. He doesn’t know if what happened to Wemmbu— who he met, because Wemmbu isn’t too subtle at the best of times and Egg knows that there’s someone he’s been messaging on and off, trying to plan some sort of subtle meetup off the server— is a good or a bad thing, and it just… rubs him the wrong way. After all, his friend is someone, who, despite his posturing and cocky disposition, is too kind for his own good. 

It has gotten him betrayed and used, over and over again, and Egg isn’t keen on seeing it happen one more time. 

So when Wemmbu tells him he wants to introduce him to someone, Egg— well. He can’t exactly be blamed for pulling a sword out the moment he notices Prince Zam arrive on the private server Wemmbu pulls them onto.

“Wait! Wait, wait wait, wait, no, Egg, put that down— Zam, shit, I’m so sorry, dude, I didn’t think he’d try to pull a sword on you—” Wemmbu looks to Zam, and for one horrible second, Egg almost thinks that he’s looking to her for some form of approval. He doesn’t know what he wants to do— lunge for her, maybe, try and slit his throat before Wemmbu can stop him, but before he can do any of that, Zam is shaking her head and waving his hands frantically, looking apologetically towards both of them. 

“Hey, hey, don’t worry about it! Seriously, I figured that would happen,” Zam smiles awkwardly, one hand fiddling with the frayed edges of his forest-green cloak. The other hand that clutches a bag at his side is metallic and overgrown with moss and vines seeping into its crevices, and it is… unfamiliar.

She’s different from the Zam Egg remembers, and yet, seeing him is just as anxiety-inducing, because it comes with more questions of will he betray Wemmbu again and how much more can he really take, from one person? 

(And Egg is— he’s a little afraid. He knows… he knows now, how close he could have been to becoming the same man he fears. He knows Wemmbu couldn’t take something like that again, can’t take another betrayal that will end with him left behind by yet another friend. So— he’s afraid. About what meeting Zam again means for them, but mostly, about what meeting her again means for Wemmbu.)

Zam continues speaking, “And, anyway, it’s totally justified, considering what your… uh, Zam, did. Um. I honestly expected worse! Like, I mean, if it was Mapicc, he’d probably have cleaved my head in half by now. So, like— don’t worry about it. Uh, and, I’m sorry for startling you, Eggchan. Can— can I call you that?”

Egg’s eye narrows. 

He… doesn’t trust her. If he’s being completely honest, he doesn’t think there’s even a single person out there who could trust Prince Zam, not after all the shit he’s pulled. But Wemmbu is standing in front of him, in a way that tells Egg he’s trying to shield them both from each other, because the only way he knows how to keep people safe is to put himself in the way of harm. 

So. Egg can’t hurt Zam, but that doesn’t mean that he can’t make sure that Zam won’t hurt Wemmbu.

“Egg is fine,” He tells Zam, noting with a critical eye the way that she practically deflates with relief when Egg gives him a stamp of approval. “You’re… forgiven. But, Wemmbu, dude— I thought you guys weren’t… you know. Um, cool with each other?”

Wemmbu turns to him with a sheepish expression. “Oh. Yeah, well, about that… um, Egg. So— how much do you know about, uh. Doppelgangers and stuff?”

Egg turns to look at him. “What— dude, what are you saying?”

Wemmbu scoffs as if he can’t believe Egg is even questioning this, which is, honestly, so stupid Egg doesn’t even have the words for it— because, like, come on. If it was Egg who was trying to reintroduce his abuser to Wemmbu, he’s sure this wouldn’t be a conversation that would have had to be had. “That’s not Zam. Or, well, not the Zam on Unstable, anyway. She’s… from, uh, this silly little place called Lifesteal. And it’s kinda where I’ve been for like, the last week or so.” 

Egg turns to Zam, who startles when he notices, before relaxing again. He squints at her, trying to pick out any details between Zam and the image he has in his mind of the man who had tormented his best friend for months on end. 

Zam’s hair falls loosely in small curls that frame his face, short and choppy as if cut by an inexperienced hand holding a dull blade— a far different cry from the tyrant prince who had gleefully blown up their little nation, not a single hair straying out of place of his picture-perfect braided bun. The clothes that this Zam wears are frayed and slightly ragged, and when Egg looks more closely, he can see what looks like burns and faded bloodstains dotting the hem of the green cloak wrapped around his shoulders. There’s even a pin of Wemmbu’s face on her cloak, which— okay. That’s… something he should probably ask about, too. 

He’s got the metallic arm, and a scar on the left side of her face, and— most notable of all— this Zam lacks the cruelty Egg remembers. 

It’s not enough to dissuade Egg from distrusting him. It definitely isn’t enough to make Egg feel comfortable with letting Zam hang around Wemmbu.

But it’s a start.

“Well,” Egg says, his voice as casual as he can keep it, “tell me about Lifesteal, then. Is that what gave you the metal arm and the scar?”

Zam’s eyes soften, and she shares a glance with Wemmbu, who— finally, thank God— moves aside and out of the way. Egg… well, he probably won’t stab Zam now, but it’s much nicer to be able to move freely without his best friend obstructing his way.

“Let’s go and take a seat before we talk about this. Say, how do you feel about fishing?”

[girliemattitude]

— -Restless night— -Dad!Matt— - New born era - —

The clock read 2:42 AM, but it might as well have been frozen in time. Emerie’s cries filled the room, relentless and piercing, her tiny body squirming in distress.

You had tried everything.

She wasn’t hungry—you had fed her an hour ago. Matt had changed her diaper twice just to be sure. You had rocked her, swaddled her, unswaddled her, walked her around the room, hummed, shushed, whispered sweet reassurances. Nothing worked.

Your arms ached as you bounced her gently, exhaustion weighing on every inch of your body. “Shhh, baby, please… Mommy’s right here.”

Nothing.

Matt was beside you, his elbows resting on his knees, rubbing his temples. His curls were a mess, his shirt wrinkled from Emmy gripping at it earlier. He looked just as drained as you felt, but when he reached for her, his hands were steady.

“Let me try,” he murmured.

You hesitated but let him, sighing as he took her from your arms. Your body immediately sagged against the bed, relief and guilt warring inside you.

Matt pressed Emmy against his chest, swaying gently. “Okay, baby girl,” he murmured. “What’s going on, huh? You just wanna keep us awake forever?”

She only cried harder.

Matt exhaled, rubbing her back. “Alright, let’s try something else.”

You watched as he walked toward the bathroom, flicked on the light, and turned on the sink. The soft rush of water filled the room. At first, Emmy’s cries stayed the same, but then they softened into hiccuping sobs.

Matt turned to you with a small, hopeful smile. “White noise?”

You let out a breath, rubbing your eyes. “Worth a shot.”

But just as quickly as she had calmed, Emmy let out another sharp cry, writhing in Matt’s arms.

“Okay. Not that,” he muttered.

You felt utterly helpless as he walked her back toward the bed, bouncing her as he went. “What if she’s uncomfortable?” you asked. “Maybe her tummy hurts?”

Matt sat down beside you, adjusting her position so she was lying belly-down along his forearm, her tiny head resting in the crook of his elbow. He rubbed slow circles on her back, bouncing his leg just slightly.

For a moment, it seemed to help. Emmy’s cries weakened, turning into little hiccups.

Your shoulders sagged in relief. “Oh, thank god.”

Then, as if to spite you, she let out another sharp wail.

Matt groaned, tipping his head back. “Alright, Emmy, you gotta give us something here, baby.”

You felt your own frustration bubble up, exhaustion making your nerves fray. “I don’t know what to do anymore,” you whispered, voice cracking.

Matt immediately looked at you, concern softening his tired expression. “Hey,” he murmured, shifting Emerie so he could reach for your hand. “We’ll figure it out.”

Tears burned at your eyes. “But what if something’s actually wrong?”

Matt gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “She’s not sick. No fever, no rash. She’s just…” He looked down at her. “She’s upset.”

You swallowed hard, leaning into him. As soon as you did, something changed.

The baby’s cries, though still loud, softened just a little.

Matt looked down at her, eyebrows raising. “Oh, you just wanted both of us, huh?”

You blinked, processing, then let out a breathless laugh. “Are you serious?”

Matt adjusted her slightly so she was still against his chest, but now you could reach her too. You placed your hand on her tiny back, rubbing slow, soothing circles.

Her cries turned into whimpers. Then sniffles.

Then—silence.

Matt looked at you, eyes wide. “No way.”

You both stayed completely still, afraid to breathe too hard and break whatever spell had just been cast.

Then, she let out a tiny sigh, her body fully relaxing against Matt’s chest.

Your lips parted. “We spent hours trying everything, and all she wanted was for us to sit together?”

Matt huffed a quiet laugh, tilting his head against yours. “She’s got expensive taste in comfort.

You let your head rest on his shoulder, your exhaustion finally winning. “I don’t even care. As long as she sleeps.”

Matt pulled the blanket over the three of you, his voice barely above a whisper. “We should sleep too.”

You hummed in agreement, already drifting, and as the room settled into quiet, you finally—finally—let yourself relax, knowing that even on the hardest nights, Matt would be right there with you.

[freedomfireflies]

Outlawed*

Summary: The fifth and final part to Knockout*

The one where Harry just wants to fight, and you just want to love him.

Word Count: 10k (folks...we made it!)

Content Warning: 18+, smut, blood, violence, brief use of a knife, pain kink, size kink

“Cherry?”

Instantly, your head lifts. The familiarly warm nickname sewing up the frayed seams of your heart and sending it into a tizzy.

However, instead of the handsome stranger you’ve come to miss, you find Owen. Eyebrow raised and expression curious.

With a quick clear of your throat, you pull your attention back. “What?”

“Cherry,” he repeats, nodding now toward the pastry in front of you. “Is it cherry tonight?”

You look down as well. “Oh, uh, yeah. Yup.”

“Hm.” His lips press together in thought. “I like the cherry. The way you make it, it’s…it’s sweet. But just a bit sour.”

“Yup...”

“It’s very good.”

“Thanks.”

His hands disappear into his pockets with a short nod of his head. “I know the customers really like it, too. Get comments about it all the time.”

“That’s good.”

“You could probably make it every night. If you wanted.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

There’s a bit of a tense lull now as you continue rolling the dough, and you notice Owen begin to shift just out of your peripheral. He doesn’t normally hover when you’re working, not unless he’s got something he’d like to talk about, and his lingering glances make your insides begin to itch.

So, you raise a brow, and look over. “Is something…wrong?”

“Hm? Oh, no. No, not at all,” he stammers. “I just…wanted to check in. See how you’re feeling.”

Curious, you straighten up.“Oh…why?”

“Well, I’ve just noticed how quiet you’ve been,” he explains. “And I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“Uh…yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. Just…trying to get my work done.”

He steps closer. “I noticed your friend hasn’t been coming around as much. The sullen one, with the dark clothes and broody temper?”

And despite everything else, you can’t help but smile at the memories. “Oh, yeah, well…I don’t think he’ll be coming by anymore. Don’t worry.”

“Ah.” A brief pause. “Is it because of Jesse?”

Instantly, you lean back, pulling the rolling pin away from the counter in surprise. “What?”

“Jesse. The other boy who was in here,” he says. “The tall, snobby one in the fancy clothes? Kind of annoying?”

“I…yeah.” Your lashes flutter. “I guess, I mean. They don’t really…get along. But…it’s probably my fault, too.”

He hums to himself almost contemplatively. “You’re not back with him, are you? The Jesse one?”

“Uh…no. Why?”

“I just…I don’t like him,” he sighs, arms crossing over his apron. “I think he’s trouble, and truth be told, you don’t always look that happy when he’s around.”

And you know he’s right, although you are a little surprised that he noticed. “Oh…well, no. No, not at all.”

“Good. Good.” He nods again. “Honestly, you can do a lot better than him, darling. Especially considering everything else he’s involved in.”

Now slightly more startled, your head tilts. “What do you mean?”

“Well…you know,” he begins, moving even closer before lowering his voice. “I don’t want to talk out of turn, and I certainly don’t want to scare you, but…I imagine you already know a little of what he really does, yeah?”

And even though you should know better than to answer, and even though you have Harry’s stern voice ringing in your ear not to trust him…you nod.

“Right, well…I know how much trouble that might put you in,” he continues. “And I know that with the fighting, and the betting, and the outsourcing…I’d hate to see you get dragged down with him—”

“Wait, what? What outsourcing?”

After a quick glance around the rather empty kitchen, Owen sighs, and murmurs, “Look, I don’t know everything, but a few months ago, he approached me with a proposal. He explained about the fights, and about the betting, and said that I’d be making easy money. That it was a guaranteed win because his fighter never lost.”

And suddenly, the image of Harry in that ring – night after night, hit after hit – paints itself across the forefront of your mind. You lose your breath, chest constricting with the thought of all the pain he endures at Jesse’s hand.

“And from what I could tell, he was taking the betting outside of the fights,” he explains. “I don’t know where or to how many other people, but he was pretty confident. And truth be told, I started to wonder if he’d maybe rigged it.”

“Rigged it? How?”

He shrugs. “I’m not really sure. Maybe he was paying the other fighter to lose or maybe he was paying his fighter extra to make sure he always won. Either way, I said no, and he took his business elsewhere. I think he was afraid of getting caught.”

And it makes sense. Every little detail clicking into place as you recall that night at the match. Jesse’s threat and his insistence on Harry’s win. Harry’s refusal not to play his game.

You straighten up. “Right.”

“Look, I just…I don’t want to see you get dragged down with him,” Owen finishes softly. “You’re a good kid, and he’s…you can do better. You can do a lot better than him, and I hope you know that.”

And you do now.

“Thanks,” you murmur before placing the rolling pin down. “I know this is a bit last minute, but is there any way I might be able to leave early today? I think I need to go find him.”

“Yeah. No problem.” He checks his watch. “Joshua’s supposed to be coming in soon. I could have him cover for you if you’d like to leave now.”

“Really? Would that be all right?”

“Sure. The pies probably won’t be as good as when you make ‘em, but…” He throws you a smile and you laugh. “Do what you need to do. And if you need any help, just give me a call, okay, darling?”

Nodding quickly, you wipe your hands down the front of your apron before ripping it off. “Of course. Thank you so much, I really appreciate it.”

“Anytime.”

You’re out the diner door in under two minutes, nearly sprinting to your car as you work out a plan.

You’re almost positive that outside betting goes against the league’s rules (although you wonder if an illegal, underground fighting society even has any rules at all). But especially if it means Jesse ends up making more money on each fight than anyone else actually involved. The fighters included.

And if Jesse truly doesn’t want anyone else to know, you might have just found your loophole. A way to get him out of the picture and still keep Harry safe. 

You aren’t sure where to start. Truth be told, you aren’t sure what you’ll even say. But perhaps you don’t have to say much. Perhaps you only need Jesse to know that you know, and he’ll take care of the rest.

You head for the one place you know he might be. Your heart aches to call Harry, but without an address, a last name, or a phone number, you don’t really have very many options. You can only hope that he’ll find you once this is all over.

When you finally make it into the darker part of town, your pulse begins to pound. Slamming against the sides of your ribcage as you pull up to the familiar building and park. Right beside the only other car in the lot.

It’s not until you step out that you realize who it is.

“Well, well, well,” Jesse calls with a devious smirk, exiting his vehicle as well. “What a surprise, sugarplum. Come to watch tonight’s big fight?”

You take in a brave breath and begin toward him. “No. I’m here to talk to you.”

His brow raises, but he seems relaxed. In fact, far too relaxed for your liking. “I see. And can I assume this has something to do with your little boytoy?”

“Not quite. But it does have to do with you.”

“Ah.” He grins to himself before dramatically gesturing toward the warehouse. “Then, by all means.” 

So, with a shallow exhale, you oblige, trailing after him and toward the front door just as you did the other night. It’s an eerie deja-vu.  

And perhaps you should feel a bit more nervous than you do, but deep down, you know him. You know that he’s lacking any real emotion or regret, and maybe, that might just give you an edge.

After typing in the passcode, he leads you inside. The once glorious space now dark and empty. Sporting nothing but the large boxing ring and the stunning chandelier.

“I’ve gotta be honest, sugarplum, I don’t know what you said to him…but it worked,” he begins as you both walk further into the room. “I’ve never seen him fight like that before.”

You purse your lips together in an effort to resist screaming at him. “Well, that’s what you wanted, right?”

“It is.” He stops near the ring and turns around, leaning on it as he studies you. “And I knew you’d come through.”

“Great. So, you’ll leave him alone now, right?”

“As long as he wins, sure.”

“You mean, as long as he makes you money.”

His arms cross now, and that smug expression makes you want to slug him. “As long as he does what he gets paid to do, then there won’t be a problem.”

“Right. And as long as you can keep outsourcing the bets.”

For the first time, he hesitates, that arrogant grin slipping ever-so-slightly as he raises his chin. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I stutter?” You step closer, and you notice him tense. “The money that you outsource to other bettors. The money that you make – that Harry makes you – on these fights every time he wins.”

His jaw ticks. “You don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“No? You wanna bet on that?”

And you don't think you've ever seen him so livid. Not even on his worst night when you were together, and your insides begin to wrench.

But before he can reply – before he can really do anything – a door opens. Allowing a rather bright stream of light into the warehouse as you and Jesse both reach up to shield your eyes.

And then...you see him.

Harry.

It takes him a moment to understand what he’s really looking at, but you catch the exact second he realizes. The way his face contorts and his fingers curl into his fist.

And you want to explain, want to take back everything you said and tell him the truth, but he’s already speaking up before you can.

“What the fuck is this?” he calls, and it’s so very angry. But he’s not talking to you.

He’s talking to Jesse.

Jesse merely rolls his shoulders back, attempting to settle back into his condescending façade. “Nothing that concerns you.”

“No?” He scoffs. It’s bitter and full of disdain. “Because anything you fucking say to her concerns me.”

Your heart skips.

Jesse, however, merely snorts to himself before glancing at you. “It’s a wonder you manage to get anything done on your own.”

Harry instantly strides closer, and you suddenly feel safer. Relieved to be near him again and desperate to feel him. To wrap yourself in his arms and never let go. To make things right. 

But not once does he look in your direction. Instead keeping his focus on the man near the mat as he approaches. “Don’t fucking speak to her that way,” he nearly growls. “In fact, don’t speak to her at all.”

“Or what, hm?” The haughty cadence is back. “Do you really think you have any power outside of this ring?”

“I think I can knock your fucking teeth down your throat anywhere I goddamn please.”

“How incredibly barbaric.” Jesse’s brow cocks upwards. “Is he like this when he fucks, too?”

This question is directed at you, and no sooner has it left his mouth does Harry suddenly surge forward, grab him by the collar, and slam him back into the ring.

You gasp – or maybe you scream – before Harry removes one hand in order to send it flying straight into Jesse’s nose.

Blood is everywhere. Dripping from Jesse’s mouth, smeared across Harry’s knuckles, splattered along the concrete floor.  

And you want to intervene. Want to do anything that might make you feel a little less useless, but Harry is delivering the second blow before you can decide.

“You fucking—” Punch. “—piece—” Punch. “—of shit.” Each comment is swimming in vile contempt, his expression livid and incensed. 

You’ve never seen him this outraged. Didn’t even know a person could hold this much resentment, but it sends chills down your spine.

“Harry,” you murmur, taking a tentative step closer. “Harry, wait—”

“After everything you’ve fucking taken from me,” he sneers in Jesse’s face, “you wanna take her, too?”

Jesse’s only response is to suck in a large gasp for air that becomes gargled by the blood in his throat, and you feel sick. 

“Harry,” you try again, grasping onto his other arm in an effort to tug him back. “Harry, wait, there’s another way—"

He brushes you off almost too easily. “And now—” Another hit, this time to Jesse’s stomach. “—you think she can save you? You think you can use her to get what you fucking want?”

He sends his busted knuckles straight into Jesse’s teeth, and your insides twist.

“Harry, stop,” you plead, yanking on him a bit harder. “I found another way, okay, please—”

“You fucking think…I’m gonna let you use her?” he seethes before pulling his arm back for the next hit. “You’re out of your goddamn mind—”

Without much thought, you suddenly rush around him, and place your hands on his chest. Wedging yourself between the two just before he can land the next strike to Jesse’s jaw.

It’s stupid and it’s impulsive and it’s rash, but it works. And it’s the only thing that seems to pull him back from that treacherous edge as his eyes find yours and his arm instantly drops. 

It’s the first time he’s looked at you in days, and you want to cry. Because he’s staring at you like he’s never seen you before. Void of any emotion or understanding except for the realization that he doesn’t want to hurt you.

“Harry,” you whisper, and his name cracks from your throat. “Harry, please, I…I found another way. Okay? He…you don’t have to do this—”

“I know. I want to,” he replies, still rather hostile.

“But I don’t want you to,” you argue. “Okay, I think we can get out of this. There’s a way to get him out—”

“I don’t want a way. I want to fucking kill him.”

“Harry, you…” You suck in a quick breath and move closer, nearly gluing yourself to his tense frame. “He’s outsourcing the bets. He’s stealing money from the fights, okay, and we can get him out.”

He looks surprised for all of a minute before the look suddenly vanishes and he attempts to brush you away. “I don’t care. He deserves this.”

“Harry,” you nearly gasp, “if you do this, they’ll kill you. Okay, and I can’t lose you. I won’t lose you—”

His features soften, although he still begins to push past you. “You’ll be all right—”

“Stop, just listen—"

“Cherry,” he warns now, “get out of the way.”

“Harry, please, don’t do this. You can’t do this—"

“I don’t care. Move—”

“Harry—”

“Cherry, move—”

“I love you.”

He stops. Seems to freeze right where he stands, but you barrel on. Clutching onto his dark, familiar hoodie as though trying to grab at his heart.

“I love you,” you repeat in a strained whisper. “I love you, and I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry I lied, I…I thought I was protecting you. I thought I was helping, or…or doing what was best, but it wasn’t – I wasn’t. I wasn’t, and I’m sorry.”

He says nothing. Blinks. Doesn’t move.

“And I love you.” You suck in a shaky breath as the tears fight their way to your waterline. “I love you so much it makes my chest hurt, and I can’t lose you, and…and please. Please don’t do this.”

And you’ve never felt so vulnerable or afraid. And not because of his silence, but because you’ve never loved anybody the way you love him. And you’ll understand if he no longer feels the same or if he’s changed his mind. If he wants to punish you for your lie or for your attempt to say it now.

Instead…he moves to rest his hands over yours. Keeping them over his heart before dipping down…and kissing you.

And it fixes everything. Absolutely everything. Because it’s perfect and familiar and so incredibly Harry.

And you’ve missed him.

You feel an arm slowly snaking around your lower stomach, and you begin to smirk against his lips before you realize who the arm really belongs to.

It yanks you back, ripping you away from the man you love until you’re cemented against Jesse’s chest.

Something cold and sharp is settled against your throat, and you take in a quick gasp for air. 

Harry attempts to remain calm as he’s forced to watch, but you can see the edges of his sanity coming loose. Jaw clenching, teeth gritting, brows furrowing. His shoulders are tense beneath his sweatshirt, his hands are balling into fists, and his head is cocking to the side like he’s debating whether or not to lunge.

Jesse merely laughs in your ear. “This is so fucking pathetic. And so goddamn cliché, sugarplum. Is this really what you want? Him?”

You squirm a bit in his hold, and Harry takes a brave step forward. But almost instantly, the blade of the knife begins to press further into the soft skin of your throat, immediately forcing Harry back with a dark scowl.

“Easy,” Jesse warns as you both go still. “Come on, now, I think you both know better than that.”

“Jess,” you pant, reaching for his wrist. “Jesse, please—”

“It’s so simple,” he continues, ignoring your attempt. “So fucking simple. Just win the match. Win the goddamn match and you get to go home."

“I don’t fucking care. Let her go,” Harry seethes. “This isn’t about her—”

“Except that it is.” Jesse’s smirk widens. “Of course it is. You wanted to leave to protect her, so you will stay to protect her. You made it about her, dear Harold. I’m only following your lead.”

Something shifts now in Harry’s expression, and it nearly ruins you. He looks…lost. So very lost and helpless. Like he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do without you.

Jesse presses his nose to the side of your cheek, and you feel the warm blood smear across your skin. “So, if you wanna take this away from me, then I have no problem returning the favor.”

The knife is pulled taut to the curve of your throat, and you hiss, making Harry’s face pale.

And when his eyes finally flitter to yours, you realize what you have to do.

“Harry,” you whisper, nodding once. Subtle enough to go unnoticed by the man behind you before you smile gently. “It’s okay.”

You’re not sure he truly understands, but you suppose it doesn’t matter. He will soon.

So, you slowly lift your arm until you can bend your elbow, only to send it flying straight back into Jesse’s stomach.

It’s not enough to really harm him. In fact, it’s hardly enough to even surprise him, but it does distract him just enough to loosen his grip on the knife. Giving you the room you need to spin around in his hold and deliver your fist to his face.

The shock of the blow seems to do more than the strike itself. But he goes stumbling back, nevertheless, and the moment his arm has dropped from your waist, Harry steps forward and rips the knife from his hand. 

Once it’s in his possession, he grabs onto your wrist, and wrangles you behind him.

“Don’t ever…” he begins, stepping closer until the tip of the sharp blade can rest just beneath Jesse’s jaw, “…put your fucking hands on her…again.”

Jesse says nothing. He merely stares through his swollen eyelids and bloodstained lashes. 

“You’re no longer Harry’s sponsor,” you add. “And you’re no longer a part of the league. Do whatever you have to do to get out. Or we’ll do it for you.”

Harry smirks, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him so smug.

When Jesse doesn’t answer, the weapon is nudged further into his bruised skin, forcing him to suck in a sharp breath as he finally grits, “Fine.”

Satisfied with his response, Harry lowers the knife, and steps back just far enough to let Jesse slip by. And the two of you watch as he stumbles toward the door without a single glance before disappearing into the parking lot.

Leaving you both behind.

The moment he’s gone, Harry turns to you, wraps his arms around your waist, and hoists you into the air. Keeping you snug in his embrace while you squeal and fling your arms around his neck for stability.

“Oh, that’s my fucking girl,” he nearly groans, and you laugh. “M’so goddamn proud of you, baby. Never seen something so fucking hot.”

You dip down until you can nuzzle your nose with his. “Well, I learned from the best.”

“Yeah? Good.” His grin nearly splits his face. “Can I please take you home now?”

And you nod so quickly, you’re nearly dizzy.

“Yes, please.”

“Okay, easy. Easy, sweet girl, deep breath. I’ve got you, yeah? Know it hurts, but it’ll be over soon.”

With a sharp exhale, you motion your head up and down, allowing Harry to pull your hand closer in order to continue dabbing the alcohol swab over the torn skin of your knuckles.

His tiny bathroom falls quiet as you sit on the edge of the sink. Him between your legs, attention trained on your bruise. And while the sensation is rather uncomfortable, you don’t think you’ve ever felt so cared for. So…fulfilled and secure.

And you realize, this is how you were always meant to feel. 

With him.

“It’s gonna sting for a bit, but I’m almost done,” he promises, eyes softening when he sees your pained wince. “You’re being so good for me, Cherry, I’m so proud of you.”

You pout and it makes him chuckle. “You made it look so easy.”

“S’cause it wasn’t my first time.” He reaches for the gauze. “And we already know how I feel about pain.”

With a smirk of your own, you jut your chin toward him. “Yeah? And how are you feeling now?”

“Now?” His expression is wicked as he now leans just close enough to ghost his lips over yours. “Now…I feel fucking insatiable.”

You waste no time kissing him. In succumbing to his games and his endless teasing. You kiss him, and you don’t care if that means he wins, because you’ve never needed anyone or anything more.

And he’s so entertained by your desperation. His own bandaged hand finding your cheek as you sigh against his tongue and settle into this moment of adoration. 

When he pulls back, you’re winded.

He goes back to work dressing your knuckles, wrapping the white gauze around and around until your torn skin is thoroughly protected.

And you watch him as he does this. As he sweeps his thumb gently along the ridges of your hand before bringing it to his mouth in order to leave yet another kiss.

“There,” he murmurs, trailing his lips across the fibers. “All better.”

It’s the most beautiful and romantic thing you think anyone has ever done for you, and your heart lodges in your throat. “Harry?”

“Hm?”

“…do you hate me?”

Surprised, he instantly straightens up and leans back. “What?”

“Do you…do you hate me? Because of what I did? What I said?” You attempt to ward off the influx of impending tears, but you can already feel the first one slipping free. “Do you think I’m a horrible person?”

His expression immediately drops as he reaches up to grasp onto your face once more. Thumbs brushing quickly along your warm skin as you sniffle. “Cherry…I could never hate you. Ever.”

“But maybe you should,” you whisper. “I hurt you, and I lied to you, and…and I don’t deserve you—”

“Baby,” he breathes, surging forward to press his forehead to yours in an effort to silence you. “Don’t ever fucking say that again, do you hear me? I know exactly why you did it, and I could never be mad at you for that. I was only hurt because I didn’t want to lose you. But you were only trying to protect me. I know that.”

“I said I didn’t love you,” you nearly croak. “I said I loved him. After everything you’ve done for me—”

“You had to,” he interrupts, and his understanding only hurts more. “Cherry, you had to. It was the only way, and I know that. I knew it then, too. You’ve only ever tried to protect me, and I wasn’t letting you.”

You grab onto his wrists and vow to never let go.

“And it’s not fair that you were put in that position,” he continues. “It’s not fair that you were forced to make that call, and it’s not fair that I dragged you into this. You were expected to choose between somebody you’ve known your entire life and somebody you just met. That’s not fair, and I never should have made you—”

“It wasn’t a choice,” you hiccup. “It was never a choice. It was always you.”

Those pretty pink lips pull back into the softest grin you’ve ever seen. “You were trying to save me, sweet girl. I know that, and I will never, ever hate you. I love you.”

I love you. The three best words you could ever hear, and your first sob wracks from your chest as you fling your arms around his neck to kiss him.

He kisses you back, but it’s soft. And sweet. And meant to convey exactly how he truly feels. 

And it works because this is all you’ve ever wanted. Just him, and this moment, and those three words.

“Easy,” he warns through a strained breath. “Baby, careful—”

“Please,” is all you pant. “Harry, please, I can’t…I can’t wait any longer, please.”

And he nearly coos with amusement as he nuzzles his nose under your jaw in order to paint more kisses along your throat. “Can’t wait, hm? But what if I want to make this special?”

“It is. Is special—”

“Cherry,” he chuckles, “it’s all right. M’not going anywhere. We don’t have to rush, all right? S’been a long day and I don’t expect anything—”

“But I do,” you huff. “I’m ready, I want to. You’ve made me wait long enough.”

He laughs a little louder now, leaning back in order to see you. “I’m just trying to take care of you, sweet girl. We didn’t wait this long to throw it away because of him. I want this to be good for you. I want you to be sure that this is really what you want.”

And you appreciate the sentiment more than you’ll ever be able to explain. But right now, there is only one true way you want to spend the rest of this horrid day.

So, you lift your leg and hook it around his hip, pulling him back between your thighs with a pleading look.

In turn, he smirks, fingers returning to your chin with a playful squeeze. “Thought I was the insatiable one.”

“We’ll take turns,” you exhale before surging forward to kiss him again. Capturing his lips between your own and savoring the feeling you never thought you’d feel again.

And you can see his resolve crumble. Can see the way his eyes fall shut, the way his chest rises and falls beneath his dark shirt, the way his hands grasp onto your waist to keep you close.

He’s hungry. Ravenous. Losing the fight before it even begins, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Because now – now – he can have you. He can give you exactly what you want, can be exactly who he wants to be for you.

“Where do you wanna be, baby?” he asks through teasing nips to your neck. “The bed? The couch? D’you wanna go back to your apartment? Might feel more comfortable for you—”

“No, I don’t care,” you interrupt anxiously. “I don’t care, I just want you.”

He grins against your throat. “My greedy girl,” he murmurs, and your stomach flips. “Let’s go to the bed, yeah? Wanna lay you out and see you.”

And you want nothing more than to let him.

Regretfully, he pulls his lips from your skin and steps away, and you feel like you might die without him. But he’s quick to remedy this by taking your hand in order to help you hop down from the sink. Leading you out of the bathroom and through his apartment toward the bedroom.

His apartment isn’t what you expected. Although, truth be told, you didn’t know what to expect. It’s a bit bigger than yours, but there’s something…empty about it. Hollow, almost. The furniture is scarce, the colors and décor are few and far between. It doesn’t even look like anybody lives here, something he pointed out the moment you entered.

“Hardly spend any time here,” he’d said as you glanced around. “S’just a place to sleep, really. It’s never really felt like a home…until you walked through the door.”

And it was wildly cheesy, and perhaps a bit lame, but it was everything. 

His bedroom doesn’t seem to be any different as he leads you inside. The walls are a dark grey, and his bedding is a similarly dark shade. He’s got one chair and one dresser. It’s quite clean, all things considered. No clothes lying on the floor or towels slung over the closet door. 

It’s so very…Harry.

“Sorry,” he mumbles as your eyes flicker about the room. “Know it’s not very romantic.”

But you merely grin as you shake your head and grasp onto his hand. “Are you kidding? It’s perfect.”

His brow cocks up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You drag him toward the mattress before plopping down rather contently. “It’s so you. And I love that.”

And he only smiles before chasing after you and wrangling you into his arms.

It’s a faster dance from there. His hands and lips are everywhere they can reach. Slipping up the backs of your legs, ghosting over the curve of your hips, pulling at the zipper on your dress.

You merely settle in his embrace and allow him to take whatever he’d like. To touch and kiss each lingering thought away until all you know is him.

He’s careful but practiced. Treating you with the same adoration and gentle precision as he always has. And you’re so very thankful to feel so safe in his arms. A kind of security you weren’t sure you’d ever find in a partner the way you have him.

With anyone else you’ve ever been with, sex has always been transactional. A means to an end. This thing that you do to get off and nothing more. And despite your submissive preferences, there have been times when you truly felt powerless to your partner. Simply…there. Until they decided they no longer needed you.

But Harry…

He looks at you like your body is sacred. Like he’s undeserving of being so close to you. Of getting to touch you, hold you, feel you. Completely in-tune to every noise you make and every flutter of your lashes. Constantly on guard for your enjoyment and consent so he never goes any further than you want him to.

But you know, undoubtedly, that no matter how far he goes…it’ll never be enough.

You want his everything. His all. Anything he’s willing to offer, and you imagine you feel about as grateful as he looks to be here with him like this. To witness this kind of tender reverence.

He settles onto his back and pulls you on top. Placing you in a straddle over his waist until he can gaze up at you. “You okay, Cherry?”

You nod quickly – breathlessly – before resting your hands on his chest to brace yourself. “Just excited.”

His smile is boyish and charming, showcasing that familiar dimple that makes your cheeks warm. “Good. Want you to be.” He rubs soft circles into your hip before his brows furrow. “Y’know what I just realized?”

“Hm?”

“I still don’t know your name.”

And despite it all…you laugh. “I’ll tell you on one condition.”

“Yeah? And what’s that?”

You smirk. “I still want to be your Cherry.”

He chuckles as he squeezes your sides and drags you closer. “Oh, baby,” he murmurs as you dip down to kiss him. “Always.”

With a soft smile, you trail your lips from his cheek to his ear, whispering the forbidden name almost timidly.

And to your surprise, he only grins wider. “That’s beautiful, sweet girl. S’perfect, too. Pretty name for a pretty girl.”

You feel the blood rush to your face as you bury your lips against his throat and gently tug at his skin. “Okay, all right.”

“I mean it,” he insists, palm slipping around the back of your neck to tug you back out. “Cherry, you’re beautiful. I don’t say it to say it. I look at you…and I feel like I can’t breathe.”

And maybe they are just words. Maybe they’re meant to make your insides twist and make your heart swoon. To be romantic and suave.

But you believe him. Because you can see in his eye just how much he means it. Can feel it in your stomach that he’s never been as honest as he is right now.

Further proving that everything in your life…has led you to him. Every decision, every regret, every mistake. It brought you right here, to this moment, in his arms. 

You don’t waste any time on replies or longing looks. You kiss him, and you resume this frantic dance, and you beg him to make things better. To ease this ache in your stomach as well as your heart.

So, he does.

Nimble fingers pull at the zipper along your side, loosening your uniform until he can guide it up and over your head. Only stopping once to whisper, “S’this okay, baby? Can I see you?”

You nod almost impatiently. “Yes, yeah. Whatever you want, promise.”

“Hm. Careful what you wish for, sweet girl,” he hums warningly. “Or I might just take you up on that.”

The moment your frame is revealed to him, he nearly groans. Allowing his hands to smooth up and down your shivering silhouette as you anxiously wait for more.

However, instead of allowing him the time to indulge in your body, you begin to tug at his sweatshirt. Silently requesting he reveal himself to you, too.

He smirks. “All right, hold on.”

He barely has a chance to sit up before you’re reaching for his hem in a desperate attempt to remove it. Making him chuckle as he grabs onto his collar before swiftly pulling it over his head. 

And you nearly sigh. Because he’s so ethereal to look at. Every ridge, and tattoo, and scar. The way he breathes, the way he flexes. You can’t help but reach for him, skimming your fingers down the dips and curves of his toned chest and stomach almost reverently as a breath catches in your throat.

And he lets you. Studying you closely while you study your hand. A moment of silence passing before he mumbles, “Baby?”

“Hm?”

He reaches up to tuck a bit of hair behind your ear. “M’gonna have to stretch you a bit before we start, okay? Don’t want to hurt you.”

“Okay,” you answer almost too quickly. “That’s fine. I’m not worried.”

He seems amused. “I know you’re not, but I am. You know I’d never want to hurt you. And I just want to make sure we go at a pace you’re comfortable with.”

There’s an odd sort of fluttering in your chest as you scoot closer and slip your fingers into the curls on his neck. Stroking his roots in an attempt to soothe him. “I’m okay with any pace as long as it’s you.”

“Promise?”

You nudge your nose against his. “Promise.”

Finally, he seems satisfied. “Okay, sweet girl. Then can you lay down for me?”

You’re on your back before he can even finish the question, attempting to intertwine your fingers with his and drag him along with you.

“Cherry,” he laughs again, and the sound is like music. An orchestra of joy and infatuation that you can feel all the way down in your toes. “Can’t be that greedy, can you?”

“I can,” you pant, hips bucking up as he reaches for the silk around your waist. “Just please…”

“Please,” he repeats thoughtfully, pulling his focus to the material he’s slipping down your legs. “You really are my sweet girl, hm?”

Another nod. “Mhm.”

“Guess I have made you wait, yeah?” He discards of the delicate panties before smoothing his palm up the inside of your thigh. “Made you sit and be good?”

“Harry…”

“And you have been,” he muses, ignoring your mewling. “Been so good for me. Think I need to show you how proud I am. And apologize for being so mean to you. For making you go so long without.”

He moves to settle between your parted legs, one hand beside your head to brace himself while the other travels down the expanse of your stomach. Calming the trembling skin and leaving goosebumps behind until he reaches what he’s looking for.

He looks at your face first. Examines your expression and the flutter of your lashes. Stilling just long enough to listen to you breathe. “It’s okay, Cher. I’ve got you.”

You run your fingers through his hair and smile. “I know.”

His thumb is the first thing that finds you. Ghosting gently over your clit and down in order to prepare you. Ease you into the sensation.

You take in a satisfied inhale that melts into a whimper and he grins.

Pushing through your folds, he slows when he finds your arousal. Glancing down to see it for himself. “So warm, baby. Missed this.”

“Missed you,” you nearly whine, and he seems pleased.

The tip of his digit pushes in just far enough to tease you but not enough to satiate you. Leaving a rather hollow feeling in your stomach the moment he pulls back out.

You just about slump into the mattress. “Harry…”

“M’just trying to be gentle,” he says. “And I wanna take my time. Wanna really feel you. Remember this moment.”

Your heart swells. “How oddly sentimental of you.”

He shrugs before pushing the finger back inside. “Maybe you just bring it out of me.”

Your back instantly arches from the bed when he reaches his knuckle. And the gratified look he wears seems to worsen this untamable ache.

“There you go,” he coos. “See? One’s not so bad.”

His pace is slow to begin. Torturous in a sense, but he knows that. He wants to work you up, make you squirm. Have your pleas falling from your tongue like water from the sky.

And of course it works, it always does. You weren’t sure what else you expected, but as he continues this steady rhythm, you feel your sanity slowly begin to come undone until you only have one choice.

“Harry…Harry, please, can’t…can’t—”

“What, sweet girl? Need more?”

Your head quickly motions up and down. “Please…”

“All right.” He pulls back before going again, this time with a stretch a bit more prominent. “Know you can handle two, yeah?”

And he’s right, you can, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t nearly ruin you to do so. Because while two is decidedly much better than one, it’s still not nearly enough. And more importantly, it’s not the one thing you really need.

You pull harder on his hair while you writhe beneath him. Eyelids growing heavy as the sound of his fingers driving into your pussy grows louder. “Harry, please—”

“Shh.” He dips down and trails his lips along your cheek. “Gotta let me do this, baby. Just a bit longer, yeah?”

“Can’t…can’t wait—”

“Yes, you can.” His tone is firm but kind. Encouraging. “Know you can. Let me make you feel good.”

He begins to go faster. Thrusting into your cunt until your pulse is racing at about the same speed. 

And he’s beautiful. He’s so goddamn beautiful, it makes you dizzy. Hovered over you on the bed, muscles flexing with each roll of his arm. There’s a soft glow behind his head from the light of his window, illuminating his curls like a halo.

It’s rather fitting, you realize. After all, he is your guardian angel.

“Breathe,” he instructs, kissing down the curve of your throat before finding your chest. “Almost done, yeah? Doing so good for me, look so pretty taking my fingers. Know you’re gonna be so beautiful taking my cock, hm?”

Again, he dangles the image right in front of you, only to take it away before it can fully render. “Har—”

“Shh,” he says again, mouthing at the swell of your breast that’s being pushed up out of your bra. “Gonna give you another. Want you to be still for me, okay?”

With a rather disappointed huff, you oblige, watching as he scoots back just far enough to get a better visual.

Three fingers brings you to the gates of heaven. As does that look in his eye when he sees the way your pussy stretches around the larger digits. 

You can quite literally see the groan leave his body as he stares at you, lips parting in mesmerized bliss.

“You okay?” he manages to ask through a strained exhale.

“Yes,” you pant. “Can take more, I promise.”

“More, hm?”

“Yes…yes, please…”

He only hums.

Seconds go by before you’re gasping for air. Nails scraping down his scalp in desperation as he works you open. He’s incredibly focused, proud of the work he’s doing, and of the way your body bends to his will.

“There we go,” he praises softly. “Just like that. So fucking wet, sweet girl. Know it must ache.”

“It does…it does, Harry, please—”

“Got an itch you can’t scratch, yeah? Need me to reach it for you. Need me to fix it.”

“Please…”

“Almost, baby, almost.” 

You feel the fourth begin to push in and you suck in a sharp breath.

He stops. “It’s okay,” he murmurs soothingly. “Gonna take me like a good girl. Already doing so good, just a little more. Relax for me.”

You do your best to obey, allowing your limbs to fall limp beside you, despite the tightening of the coil in your stomach.

Even still, it works just enough to allow him more room. Slipping in the added digit until you see stars.

The pumping is loud and driven. Truly an exercise in restraint – for both of you – as the pace begins to quicken and the noises begin to increase.

Then, he brings his other hand into play, and brushes his thumb over your clit.

And you don’t mean to – you didn’t even realize you were so close – but you cum suddenly and with a rather lewd moan that makes his eyelids flutter.

“There,” he whispers, as though entranced. “There we go, good fucking girl.”

You can’t seem to get enough air in your lungs as you come down. And Harry chooses not to help as he finally removes both hands…and begins to pull you apart.

He exposes your clit to the colder air in order to dip down and ghost his mouth across the top. Releasing a warmer breath that sends chills straight down to your toes, making you squirm rather violently.

“Har…Har—” you gasp, fisting the blanket below. “Please, can’t…can’t—”

“Just wanna look at it,” he says simply. “S’so pretty—”

“Harry,” you whimper, writhing beneath his hold. “Harry, this is mean.”

“Mean, hm?” He smirks now and you want to die. “Well, I don’t wanna be mean, baby. Wanna be good for you, just like you are for me.”

You choose to take this as a sign to continue, sitting up just enough to reach for his belt and begin to tug it undone.

He laughs now, glancing down at your frantic fumbling with a knowing grin. “Cherry—”

“No,” you huff. “No, it’s my turn.”

To your surprise, he only hums. “Go ahead, then.”

You do, yanking the belt through each loop before tossing it aside and moving for his zipper. You don’t imagine you’ve ever worked so fast or so hard for something (specifically a cock) in your life.

The moment he’s able to wrangle his dark jeans down his legs, you’re dragging him back down. Ignoring his protests and his reminder that he still has one article of clothing left.

Instead, you work on ridding yourself of your own, unhooking your bra and tossing it into the same pile as his boxers.

And now, as you both settle into your nakedness together, every imperfection on display, you realize you’ve never been more content. Because baring your heart to him was far more vulnerable than baring your skin.

And because this is where you were always meant to be.

“Okay, baby, m’gonna start slow,” he repeats yet again, and you nod. “Just tell me if you want me to stop or slow down, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nearly whine. “I will, I swear.”

“Good. And…shit, a condom, do you…do you have a preference—”

“Pill,” you pant. “I’m on the pill, just go.”

“Are you su—”

“Yes, please. I need to feel you, Harry, please…please.”

“Okay, all right.” He takes hold of your hips and positions you where he wants you before settling between your thighs. “Deep breath, okay? Just keep your eyes on me, I’ve got you.”

Another nod – quicker, more frenzied.

He takes hold of his cock and your eyes nearly roll back. It looks so beautiful in his hand. Just as stunning as you remember, and even though you never imagined you’d find one so appealing, your mouth seems to water.

Your leg hooks around his hip, subtly urging him closer, and he obliges. Giving himself a tug or two before gently trailing the tip down your aching cunt.

He moves up and down to collect a bit of your arousal before he finds your hole and slowly begins to push inside. Sinking in about half an inch before checking with you.

You nearly scream. “It’s okay. It’s okay, keep going.”

“Are you su—”

“Yes.”

His mouth curls up into a knowing grin as he continues. Allowing his cock to slip even further into your waiting pussy while your walls slowly stretch open to accommodate him.

And you’re hardly afforded the chance to enjoy this newer sensation before he suddenly dips down to kiss you. Perhaps an attempt at distraction, although it’s hardly needed. Because now you aren’t sure what to focus on, what feeling to indulge in. From his lips, to his cock, to the way your stomach nearly caves in on itself. 

“Fucking shit, baby,” he groans against your tongue. “Shit, you’re so tight…feels so good—”

“I know,” you agree. “God, please don’t stop—”

“No. Never.” He sinks in a bit further and you dig your teeth into his bottom lip. “M’almost there, you still all right?”

“Yes…yeah, I’m perfect. Perfect, promise—”

“That’s my girl,” he nearly seethes before he suddenly drives forward, sheathing himself all the way.

You both still the moment he’s fully inside, his face now disappearing into your shoulder as though to brace himself.

And you wrap your arms around his shoulders in a desperate attempt not to let go. Allowing your body the time it needs to understand this new intrusion and find pleasure with it.

When it finally happens, the stars align.

“Okay,” you pant, gently scratching at his back to garner his attention. “Okay, go.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. Need more, Har, please.”

He pulls his hips back and the whimper you release is almost feral. But it seems to do wonders for him, because his expression twists into something desperate, and you feel your chest implode.

He settles into a soft, slow pace. In and out, in and out, in synchronicity with your eager pants for more.

And there’s too much happening all at once. Too much to watch, too much to take pleasure in. 

The curls that drip down his forehead, the way his body looks as it connects with yours, the feel of his mouth going down your chest.

He’s everywhere all at once and somehow, it’s still not enough.

“Taste so fucking good,” he mumbles, seemingly to himself. “Could taste you forever.”

He takes your tit into his mouth, tongue flicking at the pebbled skin before nipping at it gently.

You keen, arching from the bed until you nearly knock into him. “Har—”

He hums around your nipple, and you almost cry with frustration and pleasure.

Everything feels slow. Almost too slow but there’s something tender there. He’s not trying to fuck you, he’s trying to feel you. To mold your body to his and it’s rather effective. Because the way you crave him feels like heaven and hell all in the same second. 

“Harry,” you whisper, practically deranged as you drag your hands down his chest. Nails tracing patterns down the tattoos across his abdomen. “Please…”

The noise he makes in response to your scratching is almost animalistic in nature, and you nearly flinch as you quickly lower your arms. Upset to have caused him any pain.

“No,” he groans, lifting up to nudge his nose under your jaw. “No, don’t stop. Keep going.”

“What?”

“Keep…shit—” His rhythm falters and you can almost feel the way his dick seems to twitch. “Keep going, s’okay. Want you to scratch me. Want you to hurt me, baby.”

And somehow, this reminder of his pain kink feels almost like a blessing. “Yeah?”

He nods faintly before attempting to resume his pace, and you happily take the lead.

Your fingers hesitantly return to his broad torso. Delicately tracing the muscles as they roll beneath your touch until you gingerly begin to press in. The sharp edge of your nails dancing across the expanse of his already torn skin.

In turn, he releases a strained noise that becomes lost beneath the grateful kisses to your collarbone. And you realize how much he truly enjoys it.

He gives you complete control of his body, of his pleasure. Because the harder you scratch at his scars, the more urgent his thrusts become. Until the sounds echoing around the room begin to echo between your ears. And the slapping of his hips into yours is inescapable.

“Feels so good, Har,” you nearly cry, lifting up just enough to kiss him quickly. “You’re so good to me. Always.”

“Shit.” His eyes about roll back before there’s a sharp snap of his cock into your eager cunt. “Always gonna take care of you. Promise—”

“I know,” you sigh. “I know, I love you.”

You say it now, and suddenly, everything changes.

It doesn’t matter if he’s heard you say it before or if he already knows because the look in his eye nearly guts you. 

He’s so…happy. So incredibly happy and endlessly enchanted that he begins to grin. “You love me,” he repeats. Not a question.

You smile as well, and the sentiment seems to explode out of you. “I love you.”

And it’s perfect, this moment. This connection of two bodies and two souls into one. The way you stumbled through the dark until you found each other, and it makes sense. Everything makes sense now with him. Clarity in the truest form.

“I love you,” he echoes, and he means it. You can feel it in every thrust, every syllable, every brush of his lips against yours. “I fucking love you, Cherry—”

“Please,” you gasp, leg dropping to the bed while your arms follow suit. “Har, please—”

“Gonna cum for me again?” He begins to go faster, chasing after your orgasm. “Let me feel you around my cock, sweet girl, come on. Already feel so good—”

“Can’t…can’t—”

“Can’t what, hm? Can’t hold it?” It’s almost sadistic the way he speaks, but you know he’s merely enamored. “I know. I know, it’s okay. You can cum for me, don’t have to wait. Promise I won’t be mad.”

You aren’t sure what you’re about to do, all you know is that you never want this feeling to end. This moment, this security. You just want to touch him, and look at him, and taste him for the rest of your life. 

He interrupts your silence as a request for something more, and he offers it in the form of his dominance.

He takes hold of your wrist and hoists it above your head, pinning it to the mattress before settling his weight atop your chest. Trapping you beneath him until you have no other choice but to indulge in everything he has to give.

And you do.

“Sweet little cunt is all mine, isn’t it?” he purrs, teeth nipping below your ear as his fingers intertwine with yours. Holding your hand as he keeps it caged to the bed. “Spent all this time just waiting for me, didn’t you?”

“Yes…yes, fuck, Harry—”

“You were so patient. So good.” He’s growing more determined – sloppy – and your head begins to spin. “God, but you just needed me, yeah? Needed me to make it better—”

“Better,” you repeat almost mindlessly.

“Needed me to erase him—”

“Please—”

“Leave my mark. My fucking mark—”

“Harry—”

“You were never his,” he grits, and you aren’t sure who he’s really trying to convince. “You were never fucking his, you were always mine. And he knew it—”

“Shit, I can’t…can’t—"

His other thumb moves for your clit and you feel tears fill your eyes. “Yes, you can. Know you can, baby, and you will. Always do so good for me, gonna take my cum, aren’t you—”

There’s a strain on your muscles from the way they’re being stretched above your head, but you realize there’s something satisfying about the subtle pull. And when it’s coupled with a firm pinch of the sensitive nerves between the rough pads of his fingers, you start to lose it.

“There – shit – there you go,” he inhales, glancing over your face before watching the way his cock slips in and out of your pussy. Dripping in your arousal and smearing across your thighs. “Take me, just like that. Feels so fucking good, sweet girl, keep going…keep—”

You cry out and writhe helplessly beneath him. Pulling your arms from out of his hold in order to sling them around his neck and cement yourself to his chest.

And you have no choice but to succumb to the pleasure before you feel him follow.

“Fuck—” He surges forward, burying himself in you completely, moans melting into your feverish skin as you cling to each other. “Shit…I love you. I really fucking love you, Cherry.”

You smile lazily before bringing his mouth to yours. “I love you, too.”

He kisses you. All through the moment and then some. Until the sun has disappeared and the moon has been hung between the stars.

And you know that you have never been happier than you are in this moment, right now.

Just you, and him, and a pussy full of cum.

“Darling, we've got some at table six, could you go check on ‘em?”

With a quick nod of your head, you readjust your apron, and grab the notepad Owen is sliding toward you before slipping from the kitchen. 

You find the eager customers waiting just beside the counter and take their order with a charming grin and a promise to slip them some leftover pie.

The diner isn’t too busy tonight, and you’re grateful. Now that you’re on dessert duty, you spend a majority of your shifts working on new recipes and finalizing the specials for the coming week.

Truth be told, you rather enjoy this new task. It keeps your mind occupied and your thoughts from drifting.

And baking is your happy place. Your sense of calm amidst a sea of uncertainty, almost rivaling your own true source of serenity.

Harry.

Once you’ve returned to the kitchen, you sneak a glance at the clock. 12:06 A.M. He should be here soon. Probably tired. Perhaps a bit stressed. Hopefully no worse for wear than usual.

Fight nights always tend to leave you on edge. You know he’s more than capable of taking care of himself, but you can’t help but worry. It’s what you do best.

Still, you’re happy for him. Because while pies are your happy place, the boxing ring is his. He’s only ever wanted to fight – to make money, channel his anger into something good. And perhaps it’s not a sustainable lifestyle, but for right now, it’s what he wants to do.

And you respect his choice. You’ll respect any choice he makes, as long as he’s the one making it. Instead of it being made for him.

Besides, without Jesse there, you find that Harry tends to have a lot more fun. He leaves the fights with a busted lip but a bright smile, and it makes your heart swell until it feels as though there’s no more room in your chest.

Last you heard, Jesse left town. Harry refused to tell you what really went down at the club once the other members found out, but you decided that was probably for the best. No matter what fond memories you still have of your childhood friend, he’s not who he used to be. And you won’t ever be able to change that.

But for the first time in a long time…you’re okay with that.

The clock continues to tick the seconds away, and with each passing one, you grow a tad more anxious. Your guardian angel is late. At least by a few minutes, and you scurry about the diner as your thoughts race about a mile a moment.

And then, just as you’re readjusting the cake stands and tidying up the dessert display, you see it.

Your not-so-strange stranger is here.

He’s sitting in his favorite booth, fifth one down from the first row, directly next to the window.

He’s got his usual hoodie pulled over his head, obscuring any view of his face. His clothes are dark and seem to cover nearly every inch of his skin. His knuckles are wrapped in that familiar, white gauze, and are stained with streaks of red.

But he’s looking down. Staring at the menu on the table as though he doesn’t order the exact same thing every time.

And you grin wider than you have all day.

“Hi, Cherry,” he calls the moment his head lifts, allowing you a better look at his stunningly damaged face as you scurry closer. “Missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” you nearly giggle, slipping off your apron before sliding into the seat across from him. “How was it?”

“Easy,” he snorts, but there’s a sparkle in his eye. “And I have good news.”

“Oh?”

“M’off for the next few days. Thought you could come over…and not leave.”

You laugh as you reach across the table to take his hand in yours. “I like the sound of that.”

“Yeah? Good.” He glances down at your interlocked fingers almost fondly. “Hey, you know what I just realized?”

“What?”

Now, a mischievous expression begins to form. “I never introduced myself.”

And for some reason…you can’t help but laugh.

“So,” he begins, rather charmingly as he raises your hand in order to shake it formally, “hi.”

And you really fucking love him.

“I’m Harry Styles.”

I CAN'T BELIEVE WE'RE AT THE END!! This has been such a fun story, and SUCH a wild ride that I feel very lucky to have gotten to take with so many incredibly wonderful people!!

Thank you so much to everyone who's followed along and left the nicest comments or notes!! I cannot tell you what it means to me!!

Harry and Cherry will def be back for extras soon, but until then...I love you 🥹♥️ Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Previous Part:

~ Uppercut*

~ Full Knockout Masterlist

~ Main Masterlist

Amazing divider by @firefly-graphics! 💞

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @swiftmendeshoran @straightontilmornin @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282 @lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics @0nlythrowharrybeaux @hannahdressedasabanana @dylanobandposts21 @butdaddyilovehim-hs @lovebittenbyevans @caynonmoondreams @percysaidnever @prettydelilah @ripesinner @fairytale07 @hannah9921 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @buckybarnessimpp @lomlhstyles @be-with-me-so-happily @daphnesutton @ribbonknives @stylesfever @slutforcoffein @harringtonhundreds @kaybee87 @youcan-nolonger-run @tobesocoldasyou @cherryshouse @harryscowgirl @mypolicemanharryyy @snwells @cherryluvhobi @becauseheartsgetbroken-hs @kittenhere @nominsgirl @lovrave @laelamarley

[lunarnightt]

Not a spring chicken :: Hayden Christensen x Fem! reader

Summery :: Hayden, your much older boyfriend, feels like he fails you when he doesn't get you to come during sex and your playful teasing doesn't make it any better so no Hayden has to prove he's still a spring chicken.

CW :: Smut! Minors dni! multiple orgasms, age gap relationship, mentions of self-pleasure, oral(fem! receiving), PinV, unprotected sex, soft dom! Hayden, slight porn with a plot, Hayden being the best boyfriend ever ofc.

Authors note :: If you're reading this, then that means this has left my drafts. I hope you all enjoy. Also, since this one is actually leaving my drafts, consider this my first smut ever to be posted here!

Word Count :: 5,003

Hayden had been quiet all day.

Not cold. Not distant. Just… quieter than usual — that introspective kind of quiet that came when he was in his head too much, and not enough in the moment. You knew why. You’d been teasing him for days now — playful jabs about that one time he came too soon, didn’t finish you off, and hadn’t stopped apologizing since.

You hadn’t meant to get under his skin. Well… okay, maybe just a little.

It was the height of summer — air thick, heavy, clinging. You were curled up on the couch in too-small shorts and an oversized tee, legs stretched out near the fan. Hayden sat beside you, shirt clinging to his sweat-damp chest, mindlessly scrolling on his phone — though the tension in his jaw said his mind was anywhere but relaxed.

He hated feeling like he’d disappointed you. Hated it more than he let on. Hayden had always been the type to put your pleasure first — always careful, always slow and intentional, always watching you with those stormy eyes, making sure he read every breath, every sound, every shift in your body.

And that one time? It stuck with him more than it did you. You joked, sure — but he carried it like it meant something bigger.

“Such a shame,” you murmured, smirking without turning your head. “Still haven’t proven me wrong.”

You felt his gaze before you saw it. That slow, heavy kind of look — the kind that made your skin heat more than the sun ever could.

He didn’t say anything right away. Just let the silence stretch for a beat too long before finally speaking, voice low, husky, and a little frayed at the edges. “…Are you trying to challenge me?”

You turned, kneeling on the couch beside him, a playful grin tugging at your lips as you leaned closer. “Maybe. What’s the matter? Scared you’re not a spring chicken anymore?”

That was it.

His hand came up to your chin — not rough, but firm, deliberate — and pulled you into a kiss that knocked the air out of your lungs. It was messy, deep, and so full of quiet desperation it made your whole body ache. A sound slipped from his throat, low and raw, and you swore you felt it everywhere.

He wasn’t holding back this time.

His hand found yours, guiding it between his legs, letting you feel exactly what you did to him — how wrong your teasing was, how much you still had a hold on him.

“Feel that?” he murmured against your throat, lips brushing soft skin as he kissed his way down. “This is what you do to me.”

Another kiss. A soft bite to your delicate skin that had you squeezing your legs together.

“You think I don’t want you all the damn time?” he breathed, his voice rasping low like he hated admitting it out loud — like it made him vulnerable somehow. “You drive me crazy, sweetheart.”

And you did. You were the most beautiful thing to him and your body just drove him even more crazy plus with your bratty attitude thrown on top of it.

You moaned softly and cupped your hand around his bulge, softly rubbing it which made him whimper.

And you did.

You drove him insane — always had. But it wasn’t just the curve of your body, the way your skin felt under his fingertips, or the softness of your mouth against his. It was the attitude. That fire. The way you looked at him like you knew exactly what kind of effect you had on him… and still pushed every button you could find.

Hayden’s breath hitched as your hand moved slowly over him, cupping him through the fabric of his jeans with a soft, deliberate touch that sent a full-body shiver down his spine.

A low whimper escaped him — quiet, desperate, and completely unguarded.

His eyes fluttered shut for a second, and when they opened again, there was something different in them — a softness, but darker around the edges. Desire layered beneath admiration, and something else too… something like need.

“You have no idea,” he whispered, his voice nearly broken from how much he felt it, “what you do to me.”

You smiled — slow and wicked — but he leaned in before you could answer, pressing his forehead to yours.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he murmured, his thumb brushing your cheek like he needed to memorize the way you felt. “And you know it. You know exactly how to ruin me, don’t you?”

You didn’t deny it. Not when his voice shook like that. Not when your teasing had gotten him so far gone he looked like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to worship you or completely fall apart in your hands.

His fingers slid under your shirt — slow, reverent — as if asking for permission he already had. He kissed you again, this time slower, deeper, but no less intense. It was a kiss that said I need you. I still want to prove myself. I still want you to feel everything.

And he would. Not just to prove a point — but because nothing else mattered to him the way you did.

You gasped softly when your back hit the cushions, your body already tingling with the heat of his mouth against your skin.

Hayden pulled your shirt over your head with an almost impatient gentleness, tossing it aside without ever taking his eyes off you. And then he was on you — kissing down your neck, tracing the hollow of your collarbone with his tongue, leaving slow, aching heat in his wake.

By the time he reached your chest, you were already arching toward him, needing more — but he stayed steady, deliberate, lips soft against the curve of your breast before wrapping around your nipple.

A soft cry slipped from you.

God, he was so focused. Like you were the only thing in the world that existed in that moment. No distractions. No hesitations. Just Hayden — completely wrapped up in the way your breath caught and the way your hips shifted under him.

When he finally pulled away, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your stomach, your hands twitched at your sides, desperate to touch him, to pull him closer — something.

But he was taking his time.

Teasing you.

Punishing you — sweetly, slowly — for the days of merciless teasing you’d given him.

"Hayden..." you whined, voice trembling as he paused at the waistband of your shorts, pressing soft kisses to the sensitive skin just above your hips. "Please don't tease me..."

And he laughed — not mean, not mocking — but low and breathy, like the sound vibrated right from his chest.

"But you've been teasing me for the past four days, sweetheart," he said, gaze lifting to meet yours. His voice was deep, rough at the edges, but his eyes… they were soft. So full of want it made your stomach flutter.

You opened your mouth to respond, but he leaned in again, brushing his lips along the inside of your thigh, making your breath stutter.

“I think you can wait a little longer, mhm?”

God, that smug softness in his tone was torture.

The kind of tone that said he wasn’t just going to make you pay — he was going to make you feel every second of it. And when he finally slid your shorts down, it was slow. Intimate. Like unwrapping something sacred.

Because that’s how he saw you. Sacred. Always had

Hayden’s lips trailed higher, slow and deliberate, his breath ghosting over your inner thigh as he let your leg fall naturally over his shoulder. His stubble grazed against your skin, and the sensation made you shiver — anticipation buzzing low in your stomach.

He kissed the sensitive spot just beside where you needed him most, tongue flicking out to taste your skin, and you couldn’t help the way your back arched, hips shifting restlessly beneath him.

You heard him chuckle — quiet, low, and maddeningly soft.

“I haven’t even barely touched you,” he murmured, voice rough and dripping with heat, “and you’re already soaking wet.”

Your face flushed, breath catching in your throat as his fingers brushed the edge of your panties. His eyes never left your face — not for a second — as he slid the thin fabric to the side and leaned in.

Then finally — finally — his tongue dragged a slow, teasing stripe up your core, and it felt like your whole body lit up.

A moan slipped past your lips, involuntary, and he smiled against you.

But it wasn’t cocky. It was reverent. Like he was proud of what he could do to you — proud that you trusted him with this, with all of you.

He didn’t rush.

Every kiss, every flick of his tongue, was patient and deliberate like he wanted to savor you, make up for every second you’d teased him — and then some. His hands held your hips steady, fingers digging in just enough to ground you as he worked you open, slow and focused, like worship.

Like you were the only thing that had ever mattered.

When Hayden ate you out, it was like you were seeing god. every single time your eyes would roll to the back of your head, legs would be shaking so violently before finally you reached that peak. then he would keep going, making you beg for him to stop but also for him not to.

Hayden swore when he was younger, he didn't care about that sort of stuff and never took the time to actually focus on it but now that he's older, god he became amazingly well at it which made you believe he was lying.

You were a moaning mess, your hands fisting the couch cushions underneath you as he went from soft licks and then to fucking you with his tongue. You whimpered, your head falling back before you felt him press a finger inside you.

If you weren't already moaning loud before then you were sure you were now because not only was he fingering you but he was licking and sucking on your clit.

When Hayden ate you out, it was like you were seeing god — every single time.

Your eyes would roll back, your thighs trembling uncontrollably around his head, and your voice would break into desperate moans that filled the room. He always watched you through it all — dark eyes locked on your face like it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

And when you finally hit that high, shaking and breathless, begging him through gasped pleas and twitching hips—he didn’t stop.

That was the part that broke you.

He’d keep going, tongue relentless, lips dragging over your swollen clit as if he hadn’t just pulled the soul from your body. You’d cry out — beg him to stop, beg him not to — and he’d laugh softly against you, low and wrecked, like he lived for the contradiction in your voice.

When Hayden was younger, he never paid much attention to this. Sex had been simpler — less about the details, more about release. But now?

Now, he was older. And with age came patience. Intent.

Now, he needed to see you like this — undone and shaking because of him. He swore he wasn’t this good before, but the way you clutched the couch cushions, the way your body writhed beneath him, had you thinking he was lying.

Because god, he was good.

Your whimpers spilled out uncontrollably as he flicked his tongue from slow, reverent licks to deep, focused thrusts — fucking you with his mouth like he had something to prove. And maybe he did.

Your head fell back, lips parted in a broken moan — and then you felt him press a finger into you. Smooth. Precise. Curling just right.

And if you thought you were loud before...

Now, you were screaming for him.

Because not only was he fingering you — steady, deep, just enough stretch to make your toes curl — but his mouth was back on your clit, sucking gently, tongue teasing as if he wanted to drive you straight into insanity.

“You’re doing so good for me, baby,” he murmured between licks, voice dark and reverent, his breath hot against you. “Let go. I’ve got you.”

That’s what did it.

That final flick of his tongue, the way his fingers curled just right, the sound of his voice telling you he had you — it all snapped together in your chest and then crashed down in a tidal wave of pleasure.

You moaned his name, loud and desperate, as the orgasm tore through you, your back arching, legs shaking uncontrollably around his shoulders while he didn’t stop.

He held you there. Rode it out with you. Pushed you through every aftershock until your body finally gave out, collapsing into the cushions with a gasp.

Sweat clung to your skin, your thighs twitching from the overstimulation, and your chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow breaths. You were limp, dazed, totally at his mercy — and he knew it.

Hayden hovered over you, his eyes dark and full of something wild, something hungry — but still, his touch was soft.

When he reached for your panties, your hips barely lifted.

So he didn’t ask again.

Instead, he hooked his fingers into the thin fabric — and with one firm tug — ripped them in half, tossing the ruined lace to the floor like it didn’t matter at all.

Because right now? All he cared about was you.

Hayden stripped quickly, breath uneven as he pulled off his shirt and boxers — until he was fully bare above you. His cock sprang free, flushed deep red at the tip and already leaking, hard as stone and throbbing with need.

But it was the sight of you — flushed, panting, still glowing from your release — that made him groan low in his throat.

“God, sweetheart…” he whispered, his voice thick, almost hoarse, as he reached out and cradled your cheek. His thumb stroked your skin with the same tenderness he always held for you, even when his body was practically vibrating with need.

He leaned in and kissed you — quick, but full of heat — before pulling back just enough to breathe, “You’re so beautiful like this…" His eyes flicked down your body, drinking you in. Every inch. Every tremble. Every soft, open breath.

“All tuckered out,” he murmured, “but I really wanna show you how much of a spring chicken I still am.”

Then he smiled — that rare, sly smile that only came out when he was about to completely ruin you.

“Spread your legs for me, baby.” His voice dropped an octave — and it wasn’t a request.

You slowly parted your legs for him, your body still trembling, your breath shallow — but the way he looked at you, like you were the most delicate, beautiful thing he’d ever seen, made you feel safe.

Hayden moved over you, gently guiding one of your legs up and hooking it over his hip. His hands were big and warm as they steadied your thigh, grounding you. Then he dipped down, brushing his lips against your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth — soft, reverent kisses meant to calm, to remind you he was here with you.

“You good, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly, but laced with care.

You nodded, breath catching in your throat.

Because Hayden wasn’t just big — he was the biggest you’d ever had. Thick, long, with that perfect curve that always stole your breath before it gave it back in moans. The stretch was something you never fully got used to — that sweet sting that came with every time he pushed inside you, slow and deep, made you feel split open in the best way.

He lined himself up at your entrance, eyes flicking to yours one last time as if asking silently, you sure?

And then — slowly, carefully — he pressed forward.

You gasped, your mouth parting as inch by inch, he pushed into your tight heat, his cock stretching you open with an ache that made your toes curl. He was being so gentle, his hand gripping your thigh as he whispered soft things under his breath — things you couldn’t even catch through the haze, but you felt them in the way he kissed your shoulder, your neck, your lips again.

A deep groan rumbled in his chest as he sank deeper. “Fuck… you feel so good. So damn tight.”

You whimpered, your nails digging into his back as he bottomed out, the tip of his cock pressing deep, perfectly, before he stilled — letting you adjust, just like he always did.

He remembered the first time. How your eyes had welled with tears, how he thought he hurt you. But you’d clung to him, told him to keep going, and the second he did…

You were wrecked for him.

Just like now.

Your walls squeezed him like a vice, so wet, so warm it made his head spin. He buried his face in your neck, groaning low as he finally settled fully inside you, his hips flush against yours.

“God, baby…” he murmured, his voice barely a breath. “You take me so good. Always do.”

And even though your body was still buzzing from before, you could already feel the build starting again.

Hayden started to move — slow at first, pulling out just enough to feel the drag, then pushing back in with that same deep pressure that made your breath catch in your throat.

You moaned softly, your arms wrapping around his broad shoulders, nails raking up his back in long, deliberate strokes. The tension in his muscles twitched under your touch, and when your nails dug in just a little deeper—

He hissed.

Not in pain. In pleasure.

He loved when you left marks. Loved when your body responded to him so instinctively, when you couldn't help but grab, scratch, hold on like your body was trying to claim his.

“Yeah… yes, baby,” he groaned, voice raspy as his pace began to build.

Each thrust was a little faster now, deeper, the wet sound of your bodies meeting filling the room along with your moans. Hayden shifted, one hand reaching back to grip the arm of the couch for leverage, his biceps flexing as he used it to drive into you harder — smoother.

“Just like that, sweetheart,” he muttered, panting as he buried himself deep, again and again, his voice thick and strained with need.

Your name spilled from his lips like a prayer between low, broken moans.

He loved watching your face — the way your eyes fluttered shut, your lips parted, every breath you took syncing with the rhythm of his thrusts. Your body clung to him like it never wanted to let go, your heat pulsing around him every time he drove in.

“God, you feel unreal,” he groaned, his forehead dropping to yours as his rhythm faltered for just a second, overwhelmed by how tight, how perfect you were.

“Look at me, baby.” His voice was firm but soft, commanding but tender.

“Let me see those pretty eyes while I fuck you.”

You moaned loudly, his name tumbling from your lips like a mantra as he drove harder and faster, his movements becoming a blur of urgency and desire.

The couch creaked beneath you, shifting with the force of his thrusts. It felt like everything around you was moving — the room, the air, the very essence of the world outside faded into nothing. All that mattered was him and how deep he was burying himself inside you.

But even the thought of how much you’d hate cleaning this up later flickered out as quickly as it came. Because every thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure through you, and the way Hayden was using his body, guiding yours, was mesmerizing.

He pressed your leg further down against the couch, forcing you to spread open for him even more, every inch of you exposed and vulnerable. The sensation was electric, your skin tingling with every push and pull.

“Fuck—Hayden, please,” you whimpered, voice trembling and breathless. But you had no idea what you were begging for; all you knew was the fire he was igniting inside you, how good it felt, how desperately you craved more.

His name fell from your lips again, softer this time, a plea wrapped in a moan, and it sent a shiver down his spine. You could hear the way he was breathing — harsh and uneven, like he was barely holding onto control as he thrusted deeper.

“Just like that, baby,” he murmured, his voice low and thick, pressing kisses against your ear and down your neck, whispering sweet nothings that made your heart race. “You’re doing so good for me. So fucking perfect.”

His words washed over you, and with each thrust, it felt like he was pouring his love into you — every inch, every movement, every whisper.

The pleasure coiled tightly in your core, building and building, pushing you toward the edge. You could feel the heat rising, the pressure mounting, as he lost himself in you, and you lost yourself in him.

“Don’t hold back,” he breathed against your skin, the warmth of his breath igniting the fire within you. “Let it go, baby. I’ve got you.”

You nodded, eyes fluttering open to meet his gaze, filled with that beautiful mix of love and desire. He was everything you needed, and in that moment, you knew there was no one else you wanted.

You whimpered, arms wrapping tightly around his neck as you held on to him, feeling your legs shake beneath you. That familiar coil of pleasure built up deep inside, growing tighter and tighter, and you could feel it threatening to burst free.

“I’m close…” you managed to whisper, voice breathy and trembling, and the sound made him chuckle lowly, the vibrations sending shivers down your spine.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he moaned, the rhythm of his thrusts deepening as he sought out that spongy spot inside you — the one he knew would push you over the edge. Each powerful thrust hit just right, making your whole body quiver in response.

“Come for me, baby,” he urged, his breath ragged, filled with a desperate kind of need that mirrored your own.

His words were the last spark you needed. The heat pooled in your core ignited, that familiar wave crashing over you as your body tightened around him, muscles clenching as you fell apart.

“Oh god, Hayden!” you cried out, the pleasure washing over you like a tidal wave, overwhelming and all-consuming. You could feel every inch of him as he filled you, stretching you perfectly, and with every thrust, he sent you spiraling deeper into ecstasy.

Hayden groaned, the sound deep and primal as he felt you clench around him, the way your body responded to his movements. “That’s it, baby, just like that,” he encouraged, his own pleasure climbing as he lost himself in you, every thrust matched with the rhythm of your release.

You were a beautiful mess beneath him, eyes half-closed, face flushed, and he couldn’t look away. He watched you come undone, heart racing with a mix of love and lust that left him breathless.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he whispered, burying himself deeper as he rode out your orgasm, driving you both to that point of bliss you’d been longing for.

You felt him twitching inside you, the rhythm of his thrusts growing sloppier, more frantic as he neared his own release. You could sense the tension radiating off him, the way his breath hitched against your neck, and you wrapped your arms tighter around him, grounding both of you in this beautiful moment.

“It’s okay, baby,” you whispered, fingers tangling in his hair, stroking gently as his head buried deeper between your neck and shoulder, savoring every second.

“Please… please come in me,” you begged, and those words were like a switch flipping. They ignited something primal within him — something that made his eyes darken with lust and his body surge with urgency.

“God,” he groaned, and just like that, he picked up his thrusts, driving into you harder, deeper, fueled by the thought of filling you, of seeing you swollen with his child one day. The very idea sent a wave of heat through him, pushing him closer to the edge.

The connection between you two intensified as he pounded into you, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the room, mixed with your moans and gasps. Every thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body, and you could feel the heat pooling in your core again, rising to meet his urgency.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so good,” he panted, his voice thick with desperation and need. “I’m right there… don’t stop, don’t hold back!”

And with every word, every thrust, the tension built higher and higher, spiraling out of control until you were both teetering on the brink.

“Come for me, Hayden,” you urged, your voice a breathy whisper as you locked your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. “I want to feel you.”

That was all it took.

With a primal growl, he surged forward, his body shuddering as he finally let go. “Oh, fuck!” he cried out, thrusting hard as he filled you completely, warmth spreading through you as you both surrendered to that blissful peak together.

You felt it wash over you, a wave of pleasure that mixed with his, leaving you both breathless, wrapped in each other as the world faded away.

The two of you lay there on the couch for a few minutes, breathless, bodies tangled in each other’s warmth, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. The room was quiet, save for the soft sound of your hearts beating in sync, trying to catch their breath.

Hayden didn’t move right away, letting the silence settle between you both. His forehead rested gently against yours, and he could feel your chest rising and falling beneath him, every breath a reminder of how close you were, how completely you had connected.

Finally, he pulled his head away from your shoulder, his eyes searching yours for that fleeting moment of vulnerability. Then, as if drawn by some magnetic force, he captured your lips in a deep but gentle kiss, soft and full of love. His lips were tender against yours, tasting of the shared moments, the heat of the passion that had just taken place, but now it was all about the love between you.

Slowly, he pulled himself out of you, his hand still trailing over your sides as he did. It was slow, deliberate, like he didn’t want to let go of you just yet.

“I love you so much…” he whispered against your lips, his voice quiet and sincere, a perfect contrast to the intensity of earlier. His hands traced up and down your sides, fingers brushing lightly against your skin, as if reminding himself that you were right there with him.

You looked up at him, eyes meeting his with that same intense love, your heart pounding, your own feelings a mirror of his. Every word, every action between you two, spoke volumes about how much you truly meant to one another. It wasn’t just about the heat of the moment — it was about something deeper, something that connected you both in a way nothing else ever could.

“I love you too,” you replied softly, your voice thick with emotion. “So much.”

And in that moment, the world outside seemed to disappear. It was just the two of you, wrapped in the warmth of each other’s arms, letting the silence speak the words that neither of you needed to say.

After a few more minutes of lying together in comfortable silence, you heard Hayden start softly laughing, the sound light and carefree, which made you lift an eyebrow in confusion.

“What?” you asked softly, the smile on your lips unable to hide your curiosity.

Hayden pushed himself up, locking eyes with you, and cupped your cheeks in his large hands. He gazed at you with that familiar gentle smile, his expression warm and sincere. Then, without warning, he placed a soft kiss on your lips before pulling away just enough to speak.

“I’m not a spring chicken now, huh?” he asked with a teasing grin, his eyes sparkling as if he knew exactly how to push your buttons.

You rolled your eyes playfully, a smirk forming on your lips. “Screw you, asshole,” you shot back, and his grin only widened, making him shake his head in mock disbelief.

“You’re a piece of work, you know that?” Hayden chuckled, his voice thick with affection. But before you could retort, he suddenly scooped you up in his arms with surprising strength, causing you to squeal loudly in surprise.

“Hayden!” you laughed, your hands instinctively clutching him as he began walking through the house, your body still a little wobbly from earlier.

He smirked, his pace slow and confident. “I think one more round will do the trick, what do you say?” His tone was playful but with a certain promise, making your heart race in anticipation.

Before you could respond, Hayden effortlessly tossed you onto the bed with a gentle yet deliberate motion, causing you to land with a soft bounce. You blinked up at him, a mixture of surprise and amusement written across your face as you tried to catch your breath.

Let’s just say, Hayden definitely proved he was still a spring chicken.

Author's note :: I know I already did one of these but I am seriously proud of my work on this one! I hope you guys liked it and sorry if it's bad!

[tinkaaabutt]

Blue hair—Jinx

Synopsis for Blue hair:

Jinx has always felt like two people trapped in one body—the ghost of Powder lingering beneath the chaos of who she’s become. One night, in the quiet of her workshop, she turns to cutting her iconic blue hair in an attempt to sever ties with the past she can’t escape. When you walk in, you find her mid-breakdown, scissors in hand and surrounded by shattered remnants of herself.

Through raw vulnerability, shared confessions, and careful understanding, you help Jinx confront the pain she’s been burying and the pieces of her identity she’s been trying to destroy. Together, you begin the difficult journey of acceptance and rebuilding, one strand at a time.

A story of hurt, healing, and learning to hold the broken pieces without cutting yourself in the process.

trigger warning- self h@rm themes, mental health struggles , trauma references, emotional vulnerability,

Inspired by “Blue Hair” by TV Girl

The door to her workshop was cracked open, and even from the hallway, you could hear the erratic clinking of metal and the hiss of frustration. Jinx always worked late—her projects were endless—but something about tonight felt different. Wrong.

When you pushed the door open, the first thing you noticed was the mess. Not the usual clutter of tools and blueprints, but chaos—shards of broken glass scattered like jagged confessions, overturned boxes spilling bolts and screws across the floor. And there, sitting in the middle of it all, was Jinx.

Her long blue braids hung loose around her, tangled and frayed. A pair of scissors rested in her hand, their blade trembling as her knuckles whitened around the handle.

“Jinx?” you called softly.

Her head snapped up, and for a moment, her wide eyes were pure panic. She looked at you like you’d caught her mid-crime, like you weren’t supposed to see her like this.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice sharp but fragile, like glass about to shatter.

You stepped inside, careful not to disturb the broken pieces on the ground. “I was looking for you.”

“Well, you found me,” she said, her tone bitter. “Now go.”

You didn’t. Instead, you crouched down in front of her, your eyes flicking between the scissors in her hand and the uneven chunks missing from her hair. “Jinx… what’s going on?”

She laughed, a sound so hollow it made your chest ache. “What’s going on?” she repeated mockingly. “What does it look like? I’m reinventing myself.”

“By cutting your hair?”

“Why not?” she snapped, her grip on the scissors tightening. “It’s stupid, right? But maybe if I chop enough of it off, I’ll stop feeling like—” She cut herself off, her voice cracking.

“Like what?” you pressed gently.

“Like her.”

The word hung heavy in the air, and you didn’t need to ask who she meant. Powder. The girl she used to be, the girl who haunted her every thought.

Jinx dropped the scissors, her hands flying to her head as she tugged at the remaining strands of her hair. “She’s still in there,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I can feel her. Crying, messing everything up. She won’t shut up, no matter what I do.”

You reached out, your hand hesitating before brushing against hers. “Jinx, stop. Please.”

Her hands stilled, but her chest heaved like she was fighting to keep the storm inside her from spilling out. “I thought if I cut it, I’d feel… different. Less like her. Less like—” She broke off, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Less like you’re falling apart,” you finished for her.

Her eyes snapped open, locking onto yours. For a moment, she looked so small, so scared. “How do you know?”

“Because I’ve felt it too,” you admitted, your voice soft. “That need to do something, anything, to make the pain feel… real. To make it stop eating you alive from the inside out.”

Jinx stared at you, her usual bravado stripped away. “Did it work?”

You shook your head. “Not the way I thought it would.”

The room fell silent, save for the faint hum of her machines in the background. You reached for the scissors on the floor, setting them aside before gently taking her hands in yours. Her fingers were cold, her grip weak.

“It doesn’t matter how short you cut your hair, Jinx,” you said softly. “You can’t erase her. But maybe… you don’t have to.”

Her brow furrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re not just Powder or Jinx. You’re both. You’re all the pieces, even the broken ones.”

She shook her head, pulling her hands away. “I can’t be her. I can’t.”

“You don’t have to be,” you said. “But you don’t have to destroy her, either.”

Jinx let out a shaky breath, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“You don’t have to do it alone,” you said, your voice steady. “I’m here. For every piece of you, Jinx. The messy ones, the sharp ones, all of it.”

Her gaze softened, and for the first time, her walls seemed to crack. “You don’t know what you’re signing up for,” she said, a weak attempt at humor.

“I do,” you replied, your dimples showing as you smiled gently. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Jinx’s lips quirked up, just barely, before she looked down at the strands of blue scattered around her. “Guess I really screwed this up, huh?”

You laughed lightly. “Yeah, but we’ll fix it. Together.”

And as you reached for a brush, guiding her to sit still while you worked to even out the jagged edges, Jinx let herself lean into your presence. For the first time in a long while, she felt like maybe—just maybe—she could stop running from the pieces of herself and start putting them back together.

[momentokori]

Freaks

"Her name is Ophelia!"

"I love you but keep that thing ten feet away from me."

[eclipseberrycake]

Poly! MoonBerryCake x Reader Pt. 14

AN: THIS IS OUR 300 FOLLOWER SPECIAL WOOOOO

Anyway, I should've GUESSED this would've won but raceway put in a good fight. For those who voted for it, dw the finale is coming. Eventually. ( I don't even have a draft yet can't lie) How have we come this far you guys?

I also wanna talk about the requests rq (You're not in trouble don't worry).

HOW ARE YALL SO GOOD AT THIS? There are some MBC Requests in there in like omg??? And there's a boxten and Finn request? Like...Guys please...I can't simp for the entire cast but yall are EATINNGGG

Also whoever called me peg boy? Im coming for you. Im gonna touch you. /lh

Part One -> Part Two -> Part Three -> Part Four -> Part Five -> Part Six -> Part Six 1/2 -> Part Seven -> Part Eight -> Part Nine -> Part Nine 1/2 -> Part Ten -> Part Eleven -> Part Twelve -> Part Thirteen

Warning: :) Angst, verbal fighting, one-sided attraction

☁ The way I had to reread part 13 to see where I left off omgg.

☁ So, from what I've read (Like it's not my own universe), the team left off on a good spot! Which leaves me, as the write, in a not good spot, because how could i ruin them?

☁ Easily.

☁ Things were...tense, admittedly. It had been a few weeks since you went to the boys with your concerns about your own state of health. Slowly, there were improvements with their involvement, especially in regards to spotting Astro.

☁ In fact, you would say you were practically better then ever. Cosmo was an ever present reminder of your progress and how far you've come, always with a soft reminder to be gentle to yourself. Sprout has been more than forgiving when it comes to helping you with your stamina, explaining all the ways he upkeeps his own, giving you little treats to keep you going when it seems you're reaching a breaking point. Astro as well does his own part, at first making his presence noticeable and easily spotted, before slowly re-integrating his normal ways into the mix, re-training your instincts to spot him and recognize his magic signature. There's never a time when he's not encouraging you, or proving that there's nothing wrong with missing him every once in a while as he scares the other toons shitless.

☁ You, personally. thought that everything had gone stagnant, which was appreciated. After being turned, and then the upspike in the Teagan Terror Saga, as you and Cosmo have gone about calling it in between giggles and finally getting Bobette and Rudie back, things had been hectic and you were thankful for a few easy days.

☁ Or, you thought they'd be easy, but lately you aren't sure. Since you're moment a few weeks ago, you had begun to notice...more. Maybe it's since you were tired of being the center of attention- whether it be you were a twisted, freshly returned, or stumbling with your recovery- or because the quiet let you think, but you begun to notice.

☁ You knew Cosmo himself was observant. He knew and watched, and probably spotted things far before it even appeared on your radar, but there was one thing he struggled with. He could notice when an individual was struggling, but he sometimes failed to notice when the relationship between people begun to fray.

☁ Alternatively, that's where you thrived. You knew Rodger and Teagan was destructive from the beginning, and you knew Glisten and Rodger was little more than a fling from Rodger's end. Teagan and Shrimpo immediately made alarm bells ring in your head. Each and every relationship in Gardenview was neatly filed in your own little filing case of information, with new variable weighed in and monitored under your careful watch.

☁ You were sure this one was no different, however, it most likely took longer to spot due to the sheer personal stakes in it.

☁ You'd been on the internet, you've read to joking comments asking if "partners are voted off like in survival". Joking to them, yes, unfortunately, you had very little alternative should that be the case. Your relationships were fine. You and Sprout still shared early morning kisses in the light of the sunrise peaking through the kitchen windows. You and Astro still had your milk and cookies check in every couple of days, just talking and talking until fatigue made your eyelids drop. And you knew you and Cosmo were as solid as ever, introducing a new hobby to try just last week for you two to bond over.

☁ You knew Cosmo's were fine as well. He continuously talked to you about new developments or something either Sprout or Astro said that made him laugh, or in the very least he thought was clever. While you knew it had been a minute since you all had gotten together in a group setting outside of runs, neither you nor Cosmo really suspected a problem.

☁ Which may have been your initial mistake. Because it wasn't you, and it wasn't Cosmo that was struggling. No, it was Sprout and Astro. Something that started so small, you really wouldn't have picked up on it until you overheard a conversation between some of the other toons.

☁ You try not to make eavesdropping a habit, but sometimes you can't help yourself, moreso as you've been trying to make yourself, a familiar face, more available for Bobette and Rudie to find some form of comfort in, even if it's just surface level.

☁ And, it's not like Teagan and Vee were quiet. No, they always talked with a boisterous volume that was probably higher than it needed to be, echoing around the high ceilings of Gardenview.

☁ You knew that most of the female presenting/identifying toons had what they like to call a "girls night" every now and then, but you'd only been invited a few times as you quickly discovered that it was nothing more than gossip and petty backhanded compliments disguised as advice. You'd much rather spend the night with your boys than listening to Scraps hiss something at Tisha while painting your nails and pretending the dig, while not intended to hurt you, still stung.

☁ That being said, they're not quiet and they don't try to be. You hear the quiet little digs at those not there, the attempted mumbles of other theories or relationship hypothesis', but what stops you is the sudden mention of Astro's names.

☁ You know Astro missed Dandy, and you know they still talked every now and then. It wasn't your absolute favorite thing ever, admittedly, and sometimes you wished Astro would look at not only your perspective, but everyone else's as well. Constantly being in contact with the toon responsible for all of this was a choice, but before Dandy was the perpetrator, he was a friend. He had likes, dislikes, opinions further than anything capitalistic, and you knew he and Astro were close.

☁ And if it made the celestial happy, then that was what mattered to you. You'd bite your tongue and keep your spire at bay, snapping at anyone who had anything to say about it. Astro didn't have the most...titanium spine, but you had no problem stepping in and up for him.

☁ But when it came to Sprout? You hesitated. The group were discussing how you, Cosmo and Sprout must've felt about Astro's relationship with Dandy, giggling over the alleged tensions over it.

☁ You swallowed at this, rearing up to step in before it got out of hand before Rudie was waving you down and bashfully asking about where to find the kitchen.

☁ The most important thing was that it was on your radar now. Something you could spot and look for now. You even mentioned it to Cosmo as well, asking if he'd noticed anything. He hadn't, but you knew he'd be looking for it now as well.

☁ It's like a picture book where you're meant to find something in particular. At first glance, with no objective, you'd scan right over it. but now, as you analyze every single interaction happening before you, you spot so many things that you hadn't previously.

☁ You begin to wonder if any of you actually like each other, or put up with each other due to circumstances. The disgusting amount of boundary pushing is alarming and the way the others talk to each other makes your fur bristle now that you focus on it. Especially Astro.

☁ Most conversations center around his role as a celestial, but not what you'd expect. You nearly get into it with Boxten who refuses to elaborate on what he wishes to dream about, but still glares in Astro's general direction. Connie blatantly admits that she spies on the poor moon and Gigi has stolen from him. Predictably, Teagan's own words are accusatory and snotty, telling him he needs to make up his mind while Shrimpo screams at him to shut up. Those two you don't let slide, getting up in their faces and demanding the respect your partner deserves.

☁ Surprisingly, Vee is beside you as well and a good person to talk to. You ask her about previous interactions and realize there's a bit of a pattern as well.

☁ And then there's Sprout. You watch him and Vee talk, the latter doing it on behalf of you admittedly, and he immediately shuts the conversation down the second it turns to the relationship between Astro and Dandy.

☁ The entire situations takes up so much of your attention you very rarely focus on much else, even during runs. There's so much going through your head, that you move through the motions almost mindlessly, picking up supplies, distracting without much hassle. It gives your body something to do while your mind runs through the new information and files it away accordingly.

☁ So when Dandy's fingers suddenly wrap around your wrist as you reach for bandage, it's like you're doused in cold water and thrust back into the current situation. You blink, eyes darting to the pale fingers curled around you, gentle, but still demanding of your attention. He's watching you, eyes shining in the bright fluorescent lights. Your other hand is still wrapped around the tapes needed to pay for the med.

☁ Cosmo is behind you, stuffing his own newly acquired bandage into his apron pocket, eyes immediately locked onto where Dandy is holding you. He's tense, poised to intervene.

☁ Sprout is immediately moving to stand behind you, remind you he's there as support, but he's stopped by one of Astro's blue hands catching his shoulder. You just barely catch the flash of hurt in Sprout's face before he schools his features and levels his stance, angling so Astro's no longer touching him.

☁ This makes Astro himself frown further but he retracts his hand back into his cloak, watching you carefully. You can't see him fully, not from where you're too focused on Dandy in front of you.

☁ You can't bring yourself to look away, but you wordlessly pray one of them backs you up. You don't have the mindset needed to deal with him, and while you normally don't need any support, this time it would be greatly appreciated.

☁ Still, you would play the game. Swallowing tightly, your eyes met Dandy's, flexing the arms in your muscles. "Dandicus." You mutter, feeling the name slide of your tongue like wet cement.

☁ He hums at this, squinting just a bit. "So many thoughts in your pretty little head." He purrs, and it makes goosebump ride up your skin. Something rotten burns in your gut and this time, you dare a glance back at your boys. Sprout goes to step forward again, but Astro grabs the back of his sweater this time, eyes practically pleading with the berry to cool down. Sprout can't hide the anger in his face nearly as quick as he did last time.

☁ Cosmo is quick to step in instead, remaining a wordless support in the face of someone as unpredictable as Dandy.

☁ "...I don't know what you mean." Is what comes from your mouth, putting the tapes back and deciding to go without the bandage if it means getting you out of this conversation faster.

☁ "Nonsense. Come now, what's distracting my favorite distractor?" The hand tightens just a bit, and you bite your tongue to keep from wincing. "I'm your favorite? Don't go breaking Pebble's heart like that."

☁ Dandy laughs at this and the sound is reminiscent of your nightmares. "Oh, barring Pebble then." The grin he gives you makes you frown, stepping one of your feet back far enough it knocks against Cosmo's.

☁ The simple action makes Dandy's hand tighten further against your flesh, and now you know there will be a bruise. You give a testing tug back to retrieve your arm back, but the action seems to anger him and before anyone can stop him, Dandy is yanking you so close you can feel his breath on your cheeks, making your gut drop to your ass.

☁ His eyes flare red and you're reminded all too much of the day of the outbreak. "Don't make me do something I'd regret, darling," He sneers, his other hand trailing a claw along the underside of your jaw. "I'd hate to have to break you."

☁ You close your eyes before Dandy is suddenly stumbling back which stuns him into letting go of your arm. You immediately scramble back, tripping coincidentally over Cosmo's foot and landing on your ass as your chest heaves watching Dandy blink and catch the tapes. His eyes never stray from you though. They watch you the entire time even as his booth begins to sink and the sides fold over to lock him below.

☁ However, the elevator begins to rise and your thrust back into the moment all over again, eyes darting over to the lever to send the elevator back to the lobby. Sprout's hand is locked over it, sending it back, but you can't focus on the strain against his knuckles or the quiver in his wrist. No, you're watching his eyes lock onto where Dandy normally comes from, frantic and...nervous.

☁ Cosmo helps you up and you recognize the look on his face. It's the same one he had when you and Teagan got into it. He knows a fight is arising on the horizon, only there's an added layer of calculations there, wondering if he can act fast enough to defuse it. You're not even sure there is a way to defuse it.

☁ Astro refuses to look at any of you, looking alarmingly pale as he tightens the hold on his cloak, looking to the side instead.

☁ You feel nauseous as the elevator docks and Sprout immediately stalks out and towards the direction of your room, with the rest of you following. His leafy tail gives a whip behind him as he practically throws the door open, yanking his scarf off and tossing it to the side. He begins to pace, the way he normally does when he doesn't know what else to do, and you scurry to the bed. Cosmo follows, watching you grab Astro's pillow and hold it to your chest before burrowing into him.

☁ Astro is the last to come into the room, closing the door much more softly then it was opened. He doesn't stray far from it, leaning against it like it was his own version of a safe haven. The thought stings, but you're too busy watching Sprout and Astro to think further on it.

☁ "What was that." Is what Sprout settles on, stopping the furthest point away from Astro in his pacing track. One of his hands rub the area between his eyes as he sounds exhausted, but frustrated no less.

☁ Astro swallows at this, looking to the side before taking a breath. "I...Understand that-"

☁ "Do you? Do you understand?" Sprout whips around so fast his tail thwaps against the bed frame and you and Cosmo wince at the sound. "Because I don't think you do."

☁ "I do understand that what just happened was unacceptable-" Astro tries again, but Sprout seems to have either found his footing, or lost the fucks needed to care about holding his tongue as the berry is quick to cut in once more.

☁ "And yet, you excused it." Sprout snarled. "Not just excused it, but you stopped me from intervening. I'm sure if you were closer, you would've stopped Cosmo too!"

☁ Astro looks like he sucked something sour at the accusation, his lower arms falling from where he uses them keep his cloak shut. They're balled tightly in his cloak, knuckles turned white from the frustrations of it all. "We have no idea what Dandy is capable of. We can't act irrationally when it comes to him or else we put not just ourselves, but them at risk as well." He gestures to where you and Cosmo are seated, as if you two aren't privy to this very argument.

☁ "So letting Dandy manhandle them is better?!" Sprout scoffs like Astro just said the sky was polka-dotted. "I believe any reaction I deem worthy of that situation is far from irrational. If anything, what you pulled back there was irrational!"

☁ "I was being irrational?! Because I wouldn't let you go off again just for Y/N to pay the consequences?!" Astro's heated at this point, his normally calm demeanor melting away as he stomps a foot forward.

☁ You, like a rational, reasonable adult, hide in your pillow and Cosmo, heart hurting at the sight before you but not knowing where or how to step in.

☁ "Oh, is that the reason you're giving?! Because I have another thought as to why you stopped me." Sprout steps forward as well, pointing at Astro before continuing to close in on Astro. "I think you hated having to chose between Dandy and us at last. And I think I know who you chose."

☁ "I didn't chose anyone over another. There should be no question over who I'd chose-"

☁ "But there is! There is question, at least from me! Because you know what that just proved to me?!" Sprout's eyes are glossy now and you cling to Cosmo, who returns the hold. Even Astro looks like he's near tears, just barely holding it in against the accusations thrown his way. But Sprout's not finished. "It proved to me that even after everything, you'll still pick him. I can forgive the ichor operation, I can forgive the bleeding us dry for a chance to survive, I can forgive all of that to an extent, but Astro..." Sprout's words turn pleading at this point and the first tear drips down his cheek. "He had his hands on Y/N. He had one of us, and you still were willing to give him a chance. How many chances are you willing to give him before something irreparable happens? What if it happens to me, or Cosmo, or Y/N? Then what?"

☁ Astro swallows at this and his head bows for a second, shoulders heaving before he snaps his head up. "He doesn't have anyone else-"

☁ Sprout guffaws at this, like he both can't believe Astro actually said that and knew that's exactly what he was gonna say. "And why do you think that is?! Ichor be damned, Astro, do you know what the others think about this-!?"

☁ " I KNOW." The sudden sharp uprise in volume shocks you and Cosmo both as all three of you (Sprout included) immediately snap to look at Astro. His cloak is loosely hanging of his lower too arms with hands that are practically frantic in keeping it tethered to his form, his upper hands too busy yanking at his fur and hat. "I know what they all say. Do not mistake my silence for ignorance. That's an insult to my own intelligence and awareness. But I also am all too aware of the alternatives. Do you think I like pretending I don't notice it all? The ichor, the machines, the fucking twisteds?! Do you think I like hearing the whispers about me when they think I don't notice? Or seeing how they see me in their own unconscious?! Because I don't."

☁ There are tears streaming down his face and your heart absolutely shatters at the sight, but he's on a roll and refuses to give it up. "I see everyone's dreams, Sprout. Not limited to yours, or theirs, or even the others, but everyone's. Dandy included. I see what even the most polluted ichor cannot hide. Beneath all that he's still him. You may not have known him as long, but I did." Astro throws a hand up, and his hat nearly falls. "You don't blame Y/N for what Ciara did, do you?! Or Cosmo for what he did as a twisted?! I'm not excusing what Dandy did, believe me, if it were up to me I would've plucked him, petal by fucking petal right then and there, but I also how batshit fucking insane he can be. Look at Blu and Oakley, for heaven's sake, he switched our abilities."

☁ Astro takes a final breath before deflating. "I couldn't risk any of us, especially since we were trapped in that elevator with him. If we had acted to rashly, he would've snapped and that scares me more than anything. I never would've let him push further than the arm thing, which in hindsight, I agree, I shouldn't have stopped you, but I knew I could stop him discreetly. How do you think he fell?" One of his star shards whirs beside his head before it takes his cloak and sets it on the corner of the bed.

☁ "I'm sorry, Sprout. Regardless if I never intended for it be questioned who I would chose, that is what happened, and for that I apologize. I would chose you all, every single time. No question or hesitation." His eyes shine with a determination you've very rarely seen from the celestial, blinking when it turns to focus on you. "And I apologize to you, Y/N. I realize you must've felt unsafe and betrayed when I didn't let Sprout closer. I just..." He struggles to find his footing for a second. "I wished to mitigate the damage Dandy was capable of causing."

☁ You frown at the level of upset in his voice. "Oh, Astro, I knew you'd never let anything actually happen." You struggle for a second, suddenly thrust into the argument. "Astro, you know you don't have to take this burden alone though, right?"

☁ This makes the celestial blink in disbelief. "Unless you can suddenly enter dreams-"

☁ "No, no, that's not what they mean." Cosmo shakes his head. "It's more with...everyone else. It's not fair for you to hold this entire burden on what could happen. If this friendship you have is damaging, you don't need to keep it for our sake."

☁ You nod at this. "Exactly. I'm pretty tough believe it or not. I don't want you hurting yourself just to placate his temper tantrum." You pause, looking over at Sprout. He's wiping his eyes, all fire from earlier died out and smothered. You see it all for what he was. He was terrified of what just happened and didn't know how else to express it.

☁ "You guys always go on about me being more careful, but I think in return we all have to be a bit more...trusting of each other." You shrug. "We're thinking creatures, we make mistakes. What's important is that we learn from them and each other." You nod over at Sprout. "Even if some of us approach the issues less then gracefully."

☁ Sprout scoffs, but there's no venom. Just as he opens his mouth though, he squeaks as Astro wrapped all four arms around the berry, squeezing him tightly. Sprout squirms, but eventually relents. "You made me cry, you....dumb moon."

☁ "I'm sorry."

☁ "Next time we need a signal if you're going to use your freaky stars."

☁ "I-...We'll make one."

☁ Finally, after a moment, Sprout's own arms wrap around Astro and hold him tight. The image makes you smile, lowering Astro's pillow- which you had been clutching like a lifeline- and leaning onto Cosmo.

☁ Your heart thrums in content happiness at the feeling of everything slowly falling into place once more.

☁ Sitting up behind you, Cosmo stretches before rolling his shoulders. "Good, we all kiss and made up. How do you guys feel about a date night?"

☁ The suddenness of it all makes Astro guffaw before Sprout is laughing, shaking his head even if he remains wrapped in Astro's arms. "That...That sounds perfect honestly."

☁ For now, Dandy is another issue for another day.

AN: All interactions written about between the other toons and the MBC crew are based on their canon interactions. Like, they all lowkey seem like they hate each other? Is that just me? IDK if I'm looking too much into it, but just reading through Astro's made me sad, because Boxten's? Teagan's? Like my poor baby and he's always apologizing for everything :((( Someone give him a hug :((

[daryldove]

The Sinful, The Guilty

incubus!daryl x fem!reader

monster fucking, size difference, stomach bulge, happy halloween!

summary: you get more than you bargained for when stumbling across a spooky basement in a seemingly abandoned cabin. 2.3k

It's an unnecessarily humid day, and although you had planned on covering lots of ground, you can't muster the willpower to bother. Now you're deep in the woods, trying to improve your mediocre hunting skills. You can't even remember the last time you ate fresh meat. But you're also already exhausted. It's too hot, the bugs are relentless, and it seems like a storm is brewing, so you decide to only walk as much as you can handle while searching for shelter.

Cabins this far out were few and far between, but as one appears through the trees after hours of walking, you decide maybe things aren't so bad after all. The interior is dusty and musty, but it's a better shelter than you've had ages. And you can't exactly afford to be picky. A small cot sits in one corner across from a cold fireplace. Lucky, after all.

You spend the next few minutes getting settled, spreading your belongings around, already taking advantage of having such a secluded, safe feeling place to call home for a bit. That's when you suddenly trip over something protruding from under the frayed rug. Which fucking hurts. You start rolling over the worn material, ready to give whatever inanimate object a piece of your damn mind, only to stare wide eyes once you expose a boarded up trapdoor. Immediately, it has you feeling somewhat queasy.

It takes an hour, your knife, and more energy than you'd like to admit to finally pry all the boards off. You hesitate, for the first time despite all the work it took, as an eerie feeling washes over you. This is creepily suspicious; maybe you should mind your own business. In fact, being inside the cabin at all suddenly feels… off. You sit back on your heels, biting your lip anxiously as you stare down at the latch. Just as the idea of leaving grows appealing, light rain starts echoing against the wood roof. Fuck. Okay, well… Guess you're stuck here, and you're absolutely not sleeping without knowing what's hiding underneath. With growing hesitation, you unclip the latch and open the trapdoor.

After dropping from the ladder, you shine your torch over the dark room. It's damp and stagnant inside, and mostly empty except for what appears to be a shrine on the opposite wall. Your gaze sweeps over various items, herbs, bottles, and books before noticing the faded pentacle drawn in chalk. Unintelligible symbols are written around the outside. Some freaky religious shrine wasn't exactly what you expected, although you suppose it's better than a rotting corpse.

You reach over to pick up a weathered book resting over the star, a small, broken cross resting underneath clinks at the movement. The text in the book is in another language you don't understand, seemingly different from the markings on the floor. Despite the initial creepiness, there's something oddly sad about it all. You can't help but wonder what occurred here—was this done after the world fell? An attempt at seeking answers or protection? You place the book down with a heavy sigh and a heavy heart.

The storm has picked up by the time you ascend the ladder. Dark clouds blanket the woods around you. You gaze around the cabin, something in the stale air feels like it's changed, like time has stopped. It's probably just paranoia, but you can't shake the feeling. The rain pours down harder, as if it's trying to soothe you, and you close the trapdoor with a thud.

No, something is definitely wrong. Your eyes flick around the dark cabin, a shiver creeping up your spine. You force it back down, but the feeling of someone watching you remains. The deep shadows of the room have you patting around for your flashlight, but it's not where you left it.

You practically jump out of your skin as lightning cracks overhead, briefly illuminating the tall, winged figure standing in the corner.

What the fuck.

You freeze momentarily before scrambling for your dagger, a habit the apocalypse built into you, only to remember you left it in your damn bag. The glowing outline of whoever—whatever—stains your vision, only disorienting you more.

You lunge for where you think you tossed your bag earlier, desperate for the comforting weight of your blade, but creature must realise what you're doing. A strong grip yanks you back by the ankle, dragging you along the rough floor until it has you pinned underneath its broad body. Pure terror rakes your body, your eyes wide and frantic. It's too dark to see any features on the dark mass above.

“I ain't gonna hurt ya.” The deep voice comes as another surprise, but you're not exacly reassured by it. You aren't sure how long you lay there, panting, until its hold on you eventually loosens. The moment it does, you crawl back until you hit the wall. Your flashlight bumps against your foot, and you snatch it up, quickly shining it towards the creature.

He's… surprisingly human-looking, aside from the horns poking through his hair, black wings stretching behind him, and the long, thin tail. He flinches at the bright light, still slouched on the floor. Then you notice something else, the fact he's completely naked. Breathing suddenly feels difficult again as you have to force your eyes to stay above his waistline because Jesus Christ...

“What are you?” There's a noticeable shake in your voice as you ask. The winged man just looks a little irritated, and if you're purposely bothering him with stupid questions.

“Stop pointing that thing at me,” he ignores your inquiry as he squints.

“Not until you tell me.” You can't help feeling proud about not letting your voice shake this time. Although he hasn't hurt you yet, you still feel on edge.

He just scoffs like you're an idiot. “An incubus, darlin’. You brought me here, remember?” A what? You what?

Your eyes scan over him again, inspecting his inhuman aspects as if trying to confirm. Did you hit your head? Wait, obviously this has something to do with that creepy shrine. There was likely a reason it was boarded up; seems like you found it. Your eyes fall lower, not even really processing where you're looking until you notice him smirking in your peripheral. A blush crawls onto your cheeks; that was not your intention, regardless of whatever this demon guy thinks. “Stop.”

“I ain't done anythin’.” He looks so smug at your unease, your gut coils at the sight—with anxiety, but maybe something else, too.

“You're looking at me like you wanna eat me,” his smirk widening makes you regret ever opening your mouth, “what do you even want?”

“What do I want? You summoned me here.”

“I don't know anything about that, okay?” It's getting increasingly more difficult to keep your eye level appropriate. With the initial fear simmering, you can actually take in how attractive he is—which maybe is a given considering he's a literal sex demon.

“Well that's obvious, haven't had a human pass through in a while. I'm pretty hungry.” You can see the truth to his claim, something sinister swirling within his irises. He chuckles as you get lost in them for a second.

“I don't... I'm not…” You don't even know what to do or say next, torn between the urge to flee and being frozen in place. For now you focus on getting to your feet. “Okay. Shit, fuck, okay… Do you have a name?”

The incubus raises an eyebrow but nods, “Daryl.” Less biblical than you were expecting, but you return his nod. You attempt to reassure yourself; this situation didn't have to be weird or dangerous. But once you close your eyes to take a deep breath, Daryl is nowhere to be seen once you reopen them. Your heart drops into your stomach again as you stumble forward a few steps. Were you actually hallucinating? Maybe you really fell down the ladder and received a nasty head wound. Right as you place the flashlight hesitantly on the table, an arm snakes around your waist, pulling you back into a broad, muscular chest. Your breath hitches, and you tense as one of Daryl's hands firmly grips your chin.

You don't even realise you're whimpering quietly in fear until he shushes you. One of his fingers slides between your lips to rest against your tongue. “Fuck… I'm so hungry,” his voice is a raspy whisper against your ear. “Can ya be a good little girl for me?” Despite your unease, you feel yourself throb at the words. Not that you're to blame. He is an incubus, after all. Nothing wrong with giving in, you tell yourself.

The feeling of his cock pressing against your back makes you bite down slightly on his finger. This was kinda fucked up, if you thought about it for too long. But you were already tempted to throw caution to the wind. Maybe it's curiosity, frustration after being pent up for so long, or maybe he's got some crazy demon powers. Did you even care? His finger presses more firmly against your tongue as his free hand trails upwards, tugging and tearing at your top until he exposes your chest. His tail curls around your thigh, trapping you close. The way his thumb rubs and pinches at your nipples makes you squirm instinctively as his hips grind against yours. He continues until you're aching, desperate for any amount of friction, your knuckles turning white with how hard you're clutching the table in front of you.

Eventually, he removes his finger from your mouth, stepping back only long enough to yank your pants down. He drags the moistened finger over your clit, chuckling gruffly as you buck up against his hand. A strangled gasp escapes your mouth. “Yeah, baby girl, ya like that?” He presses himself against your back again, this time sliding his dick between your squeezed, wet thighs. His length presses hotly against your cunt, and you can practically feel him throbbing against you.

You feel any remaining hesitance crumble, giving way to complete desperation as Daryl fucks your thighs. He's massive, bigger than any human you'd seen. Right as you feel your orgasm building, he pulls away again to drag you towards the small cot in the corner. You nearly trip trying to kick off your pants completely on the way. The incubus practically throws you onto the bed, immediately climbing over you to capture your lips in a messy, heated kiss.

His taste is enchanting, distracting you until you feel the head of his dick push into your entrance. You reluctantly pull away with a whine at the stretch. “W-Wai..t,” but he doesn't stop, only pushing in further as he holds your chin. “I got ya, baby girl.” Your head falls back as he thrusts deeper, pulling drawn out moans from your lips. He grabs your wrist, guiding your hand to your stomach. Your confusion dissipates to disbelief as you feel the outline of his length press against your palm with each thrust. You're surprised you don't come right then and there. “H-Holy shit,” you barely manage to pant out.

“Takin’ it so well, it's like ya made for me,” the incubus grunts out. He buries his head into your neck, his fangs dragging shyly across your sensitive skin, as if he's holding back from hurting you. His grip on your hips is firm, dragging you down in time with his thrusts as they grow rougher. Your own hands slide up his body, exploring his strong chest and large biceps. His horns intrigue you, curiously wrapping your hands around them like they're handles. Daryl grunts in pleasure, pushing against you even more. He holds you down, fucking you hard until you're squeezing around him and coming with a yell. A deep, satisfied sigh leaves your lips as he pulls away. Your body already feels weak from the effort.

Before you can relax fully, a hot wetness slides up your folds. “Daryl!” Your voice quivers with sensitivity. You struggle to sit up on your elbows to look where his head is buried between your thighs. His tongue is precise, lapping up your juices and circling around your clit with practised perfection. It seems he's larger than a human in every aspect. He presses kisses up your stomach to your chest, long tongue sliding over your nipple before reaching your mouth. “Ya taste so good,” he whispers against your lips. Your eyes flutter shut, fingers roaming over his wide shoulders as he kisses you.

His strong arms flip you over without warning, pressing your face into the pillow as he shoves back inside you with a grunt. The cot shakes with force as he ruts against you, his chest pressing against your back. You feel caged, completely at this monster's mercy, and it's the hottest thing you've ever experienced. His wings fall around you like some kind of dark waterfall, and his tail snakes up to press against your clit. And fuck, if it isn't the most intense pleasure you've felt in your life—it's overwhelming. Daryl angles deeper, harder, and your mind completely blanks. His fingers slide into your mouth again, holding your jaw open as he fucks with animalistic thrusts. You come so hard the room spins.

Then you jolt awake, not even remembering falling asleep. The cabin is empty, void of any sign of the incubus. Your eyes scan the room as you struggle to sit up. Every inch of your body aches. An acute tiredness spreading through your limbs. As you glance down at your nakedness, at least you can be sure what happened wasn't your imagination.

[llumetrii]

Soft Spot | Miguel x Reader

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Spider-Woman!Reader

Summary: Miguel fixes your dimensional travel watch.

Word count: 1800

A/N: This is the most random writing piece lol but I do want to write more stuff that kind of progresses this story without making it a whole fic. Like each part can be read on its own but it's still connected. Basically just very low effort because I just want to write the scenes I want without having to do filler :)

The busy atmosphere in the hallways of the Spider Society slowly dwindled as you carried on toward your destination. It was always quiet near the top of the building—where Miguel's lab was located. Most people stayed away from the general area, opting to socialize in the other sectors where the training rooms or the cafeteria was. But you had a problem that needed fixing, and only Miguel could do it.

The interface of your dimensional travel watch had been glitching for the past two days. Every time you navigated to message someone or select a dimension to travel to, the pixels would annoyingly spasm. You had messaged Miguel about the problem, and he arranged to have you meet him in his lab today so he could fix it as soon as possible. Luckily, the device hadn’t been broken enough to send you to the wrong dimensions when portal traveling, but that didn’t mean you weren’t highly paranoid that it would.

So, here you were, on your way to Miguel's lab. The clean, tiled hallway was empty and quiet by the time you arrived at the large sliding door to the lab.

As soon as you stepped up to the door, a familiar, golden figure blipped into existence in front of you. The mini holographic woman hovering in the air fixed her heart shaped glasses on her nose as she peered down at you. "Y/N." She greeted with a smile. "I'll let the boss know you're here."

You barely had time to give her a polite smile in return before she disappeared. A few seconds later, the door in front of you slid open with a soft hiss.

You stepped into the dim room full of half-built tech and glass cases of materials from other dimensions. A low, electronic hum filled your ears as you followed the path that led to the much larger room that Miguel worked in. The golden glow of his numerous screens rimmed his tall, muscular form as he turned to face you atop his platform. He watched you step onto it.

"Hey." You said to break the silence. Your voice echoed a bit within the spacious room. "Thanks for taking the time to fix my watch."

He looked down at you. "Of course I would fix it. Can’t risk using a broken device that deals with dimensional travel." He responded. His voice sounded more quiet than it usually was, less firm.

Now that you were closer, you could see how he looked at you, the usual furrow in his brow relaxed and the stern set of his mouth having loosened. He looked…softer, gentle. An expression you didn’t see on his face often when he looked at others.

He’s definitely softer around you. One of your friends had said not long ago. You had just shook your head and laughed at the time. It didn’t make sense anyway. It’s not like you were that close with him—not like he was with Peter B. Parker. You just did your job like anyone else, catching anomalies on missions and helping to train new spider-people if needed. But your friends had pointed out that he listened to you more than anyone else, that his full attention seemed to set on you like you had the most important things to say, even if you were just making a joke about a Green Goblin variant looking like he swiped a cheap mask from Spirit Halloween.

You weren’t sure why he would act differently around you of all people, but you did know that you worked surprisingly well with him when the two of you ended up on the same missions. You listened and worked with his instruction unlike some other spider people that jumped into the fray with their own plan in mind. 

So maybe that was why he apparently took a liking to you as your friends claimed. You lended an ear to him, so he was just more inclined to do the same for you.

He held out a hand, the bright red palm of his suit facing upward in a silent request for your watch. You unclasped your watch from your wrist and set it in his palm, watching as he stepped to his chair at his desk and sat down.

"This shouldn't take long." He said as he pulled open some hidden drawers and retrieved a couple tools that looked unfamiliar to you. His world was certainly more advanced than yours.

You watched him quietly work. His eyes narrowed in concentration, his eyebrows pushing low as he opened up your watch to tinker with the tiny components inside. He even had Lyla pull up some screens of the code so he could have an eye on every working detail within the watch.

Seeing him work in such focus, hunched over your watch on his desk, made a smile creep onto your lips. He was clearly in his element, the evidence of such skill littered about in the shadows of his lab.

You had overheard a while back that he helped engineer technology for his city, Nueva York, over the years. But you knew he didn't have much time to work on such things while he kept watch on the multiverse. He barely had any time to himself for that matter.

He tapped on the screens, scrolling through the numerous lines of code and reading information. "Just gonna run some tests and it should be fixed." He said without looking up at you.

You nodded. He had fixed your watch much quicker than you had anticipated. Though you shouldn’t have been surprised. He had created a device that enabled travel between dimensions for goodness sake, a device that had been compacted to the size of a watch, the very thing he was fixing. "All right, thank you." You murmured.

As soon as the words left your mouth, a pain like a bolt of lightning slashed through your whole body. Colors shot across your vision and gravity left your senses for a split second before it came wheeling back like a punch to your gut.

You stumbled and gasped, blinking hard through the lingering spots in your vision and finding Miguel suddenly in front of you. His hands quickly steadied you at your elbows, the warm grip keeping you grounded, and his face took on the most shock and concern you've ever seen on him. It almost alarmed you much more than you already were.

"You okay?" He asked. His gaze snapped down to your hands without waiting for your answer, and something in the sight of them made him spit a curse. He whirled away from you to reach his desk and snatch an object up in his hand, quickly returning to you.

He took your hand in his—a little roughly—and slipped on a 'day-pass' wristband, one typically given to people who didn't have watches. To keep them from glitching in a dimension that wasn't theirs.

You realized that was exactly what had happened to you.

Your lungs deflated from the breath that had lodged in your throat. "I've never glitched before." You muttered, thinking back to the sensation that had raced over your arms and down your spine. It had felt like your skin was pulling apart, and you grimaced at the phantom feeling your mind conjured up.

Miguel was still holding onto you, giving your forearms a slight squeeze. You looked up at him to meet his gaze of frowning concern. "You okay now?" He asked again.

"Yeah, I'm fine—now." You studied the wristband on your wrist and Miguel's hands fell away from you. "I completely forgot that taking off my watch might do that."

"I meant to give you the wristband earlier." Miguel admitted, releasing a tense sigh. He stepped back and reached for his chair, carefully lowering himself back down like he was prepared to spring to his feet if you happened to glitch again. "I apologize."

You clasped your hand over the wristband on your wrist, feeling the smooth exterior in the curve of your palm. "It's all right. Though it's definitely not something I'd want to feel again." You chuckled weakly.

"Yeah." He said as he looked at you. His eyes trailed down your form and crawled back up in a way that made you feel like a small speck under a microscope. You weren't sure what he was thinking in that moment, but your eyes flickered away, unable to hold up under his scrutinizing gaze.

"Yeah, it's not fun." He added in a more controlled tone as he turned away from you to focus back on your watch.

He resumed the tests he was running while you stood quietly nearby. You glanced down at your wristband, feeling curious. "How do these things work anyway? Like, how do they keep us from glitching?"

"The watches?" He looked up at you. "Well, they read the molecular tone of the dimension, and then apply a temporary overlay to the molecular structure of your body so the dimension doesn't read your signature as alien and try to expel it."

You squinted slightly as your brain lagged behind in the explanation, but it luckily caught up. "Okay.”

He continued, resuming work on your watch as he spoke. "That's why the dimensions are labeled with different numbers. They're just the molecular tone level. A foreign body in another dimension is more likely to glitch if its original tone level has a greater difference from the tone of the dimension they're standing in."

"So that's why I glitched pretty fast." You contemplated out loud. "Because my earth number is a lot different than yours."

"Yes, it's dependant on the difference in tone." He clarified. He started closing down the holo screens that he had been using to fix your watch, and he set his tools aside. "All right, your watch is good now." He turned in his chair to hold out the device.

"Thank you." You took the watch from his hand, feeling his eyes on you as you pulled off the wristband and placed the watch on your wrist. You tapped on the screen to see the familiar golden interface pop up, now free of glitches. Your lips curved in soft relief. No more worrying about getting stuck in another dimension.

Miguel stood from his chair, his height dwarfing yours as always. "You can message me if there are any other problems." He said.

"I will. Thank you again." You smiled up at him.

His face softened once again as he looked down at you, and his lips twitched up at one corner in return.

Warmth fluttered in your chest at the rare sight, and your smile widened. That same warmth in your chest lingered even after you left his lab with your fixed watch. Maybe your friends were right. Maybe Miguel did have a little soft spot for you.

[underskz]

➪ LET'S SEE WHO HURTS THE OTHER MORE

➪ seo changbin x cisfem!reader ✩ w.c 3.2k (➪ cheater!choi yeonjun x same reader) — NSFW ✩ 18+ minors dni —

✰ NON-IDOL AU

pov: sick of your boyfriend's lies and infidelity, you've finally decided on your parting gift to both him and yourself...in the form of one of his best friends.

note: uhh i rlly can't explain myself on this one,, i've been listening to too many sad songs and my brain said write a cheating revenge plot fic and write it now >:) so here i am uhhh, going for it... sorry yeonjun ! (i'm not rlly that sorry lmao) also has anyone else noticed that i keep writing for 99s idols,,, even tho they’re not my biases… anywayz the title is from war by keshi lol

warnings: CHEATING like all around everyone's a cheater (except changbin but he's willingly sleeping w his bestie's gf so...), and isn't reader entitled to this 100% valid crash out ?? (i'm kidding...or am i???), toxic relationship, toxic behavior, unsafe sex (no condoms), spit (and a dream) as lube, bad language, slight manipulation from reader but changbin lets it happen lmao (might be a lil into it even), yeonjun is the worst in this….but it’s for the plot!!! i swear !!!!, open/ambiguous ending, excessive use of ellipses bc im dramatic :)

“I’m sorry.”

At least Changbin has the decency to look ashamed, the guilt of covering up for his friend’s transgressions clearly having eaten away at him. He keeps his head low, intent on pretending one of the cracks on the kitchen tiles requires all his attention. 

For a moment you consider throwing him out, screaming at him to never come back and to tell Yeonjun to fuck himself into the next century. 

There’s a part of you that wants to blame Changbin, because if he was gonna turn around and confess Yeonjun’s infidelity anyway, why didn’t he stop him? 

Instead you inhale slowly, exhaling as evenly as you possibly can and swallow down the venom building on the tip of your tongue.

“It’s okay, Bin.” And his head finally snaps up, shocked by your lack of surprise and borderline disinterest. Again you swallow back any scathing comments, a certain numbness swirls through your chest as a dull throbbing in the back of your skull threatens a headache.

“W-What?” He dares to meet your eyes for a second before pinning his gaze somewhere over your shoulder.

“I know, I mean I’ve known. And I know it wasn’t a one time thing.” You sigh, and a part of you wishes that your boyfriend hadn’t trapped his friends in his lies as well. 

“You knew Yeonjun was…” He clears his throat harshly.

“Cheating? Yeah, and I guess he hasn't really considered stopping, or at least being subtle about it. And after all those fights and promises to change..I don’t even know what I see in him.” It’s the truth, still unsure why you’ve bothered plodding along in this relationship after catching Yeonjun stepping out on you almost four months ago. 

You had found him in the alleyway of a club after he drunkenly called begging for you to come pick him up, only to see him wrapped up in a disgusting lip lock with some other woman with his hands shamelessly wandering. 

He hadn’t even apologized, just mumbled over and over again about how he was so drunk, how he thought it was you. At the time you chose to believe it, at the time you still loved him.

But now it’s different, now you’re left wondering how much more you can take, or why you can’t just end it.

Maybe it’s a fear of loneliness, or the pains of having to untangle your life from his after spending almost four years tying them together. Whatever it is, the strings have finally begun to fray, and the last remnants of that naive thought of him changing disappeared the moment Changbin stepped foot into your apartment with that kicked puppy look to him.

And now here you are, staring at your boyfriend’s proclaimed “ride or die”, in all honesty if you were to expect any of Yeonjun’s friends to fess up to the man’s wrongs for him, Changbin wouldn’t have been your first guess. He might be principled and righteous to a fault, but this is a man who would help Yeonjun hide a body no questions asked; morals be damned. 

You wonder what the tipping point was, wonder what Yeonjun could’ve done this time around that made Changbin force himself to make that choice. 

“How long?” You purse your lips, because even then you had doubted it was the first time, Yeonjun’s lies losing their efficacy somewhere between the third and fourth time you caught him fabricating his whereabouts— and who he was with.

“Um, well.” His eyes begin darting around once more. 

“The least you can do is be honest with me…he hasn’t been.” You cross your arms in a poor attempt of trying to brace yourself for whatever Changbin will say. Though your feelings for Yeonjun are practically nonexistent at this point, it wouldn’t make finding out more about his betrayal hurt any less.

“I think the first time was, ah well, it was…” You watch as he clenches and unclenches his fist, clearly conflicted, the morally righteous side barely able to push past his fierce loyalty to his friend. 

“Changbin, please.” You sigh, teeth digging into your bottom lip while making your eyes wide just so they’ll begin to water. If Changbin needs you to look like the heartbroken girlfriend to find his voice then so be it.

“Last year, when you were back visiting family…Wooyoung had this party and…”

His words seem to fade away, whisking through one ear and out the other. A year, an entire year of him lying to your face. You feel sick, used up and disgusted at the way you’ve been played like a damn fiddle. Like you’ve meant nothing to him and that all those years you spent in love with him— completely wasted.

Your knees start to buckle, a weak and nauseating feeling twisting in your stomach and Changbin in all his gentlemanly glory quickly catches you, dragging you into a tight hug.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I should’ve said something earlier.” His voice cracks, as if he’s the one who’s so despicably wronged you, and you could laugh. It shouldn't be Changbin here with his arms around you, apologizing like his life depends on it. "I-Is there anything I can do?"

It's said so softly you almost don't catch it, and the thought that bursts into your head is so sudden —and rather devious— that it almost doesn't feel like yours. You decide to blame Yeonjun for whatever happens next.

Because there’s a lot that Changbin can do.

"Just...keep holding me." The words come out shakier than you expected, thankful for how tightly he’s holding you, keeping you from falling apart completely. You try to breath slowly, deep inhales and exhales that fill your senses with Changbin’s cologne, the warmth radiating off of him soothing your nerves.

"Yeah, uh, okay...yeah I can do that." He inhales sharply. "Do you wanna sit?"

"Sure." The affirmation coming out as a defeated sigh. And carefully, as if he knows you'll shatter at any moment— he guides you to the couch, letting you sit before settling beside you and slinging an arm around your shoulders.

You let your head fall back, resting upon a firm bicep as you try to make sense of the last few minutes. You consider your options, debating on just how far you’re willing to go in the name of revenge. 

It's not fair to drag Changbin further into this, not when Yeonjun has already done a fine job of testing his friend's moral compass— but at the same time the man has been complicit in these lies for a year, looking you in the eyes and laughing with you as if there was nothing amiss. Maybe Yeonjun wasn't the only one who needed to suffer consequences.

But if anything, in some twisted way, this could be a reward for Changbin’s honesty, a thank you and even a favor done for you as a proper apology.

So you inch closer, moving until you're practically seated in Changbin's lap while you wrap your arms around his waist and bury your face into the crook of his neck, stilling as he stiffens in your hold. 

For a moment you wonder if you moved too fast. But not even a second later he relaxes, tightening the arm that's already around your shoulders and bringing up his other to run his hand comfortingly up and down your back. 

You let yourself melt into him, a tight coil in your chest starting to unravel. It's concerning how safe you feel, seated in the lap of your cheating boyfriend's best friend, maybe your sense of right and wrong and love and affection has been all screwed up courtesy of one Choi Yeonjun.

Yet you’re only allowed to revel in this moment for what feels like only a few minutes, too distracted by the warmth to even think of your next move, of how far you'll go.

Changbin starts to shift under you, his hands retracting and you can't help the needy whine that sounds in your throat. You could care less if it sounds desperate, you're vulnerable after all.

"Bin please, you said you'd hold me."

"I should go." His voice is hoarse, and you pull back just enough to see his eyes darting back between you and the door. "Didn't you say Yeonjun was coming by later?"

"I said he might." And Yeonjun said he would, but you doubted it, these days his promises fell through more often than not. "Who knows anymore, he's probably fucking some other bitch or looking for one." 

He frowns at that, and you're unsure if it's your harshness or disappointment over the fact you're most likely right.

"It's just that, I don't think...we should…I should go." He makes a weak attempt to push you off of him, stopping the moment you grab his wrists.

"But I don't want you to." Immediately releasing your hold on him, his hands hover, unsure of whether or not to drop them or to continue holding you.

"Yeonjun is, he's still my friend..." Changbin says carefully.

"And I'm not?" It's not like the two of you met because of Yeonjun, in fact you met Yeonjun through Changbin and a few other mutual friends back during university. But maybe that's what was making him so unsure, the social repercussions. The risk of everything falling apart as if Yeonjun didn’t create this. "I mean...I guess if you really wanna go Bin, I won't...force you to stay."

And slowly you let your eyes crawl up, peering through your lashes as you worry your bottom lip with your teeth before soothing it with your tongue. With a sharp inhale he follows the movement with his eyes, one of his hands thoughtlessly landing on your thigh. 

"We shouldn't." His fingers tighten for half a second, eyes darkening by a fraction. 

"Shouldn't what? We're not doing anything?" You lean in closer, and closer, until your lips are a measly inch away from each other. "Unless you think we should be?" 

He swears under his breath, your name following closely before he seals his lips against yours. And maybe a touch too desperately you scramble to rearrange yourself in his lap, moving until you're straddling his thick thighs and gripping onto his muscled shoulders.

"This is, it’s wrong?" There’s a strain in his words; but it’s barely a question, and one posed more for himself than you.

"You're comforting me, you're being a good friend and comforting me." You drag your lips across his jaw, trying not to grin as he tightly grips at your hips. "I'm hurting, make me feel better?"

"Are you sure?" You meet his gaze, the intention of not wanting to take advantage of your supposed vulnerable state clear in his eyes, because Changbin is (to some degree) a decent man.

"I need you." You keep your voice low, running your hands down his chest before dragging one up to run your fingers through his hair. "Please?"

You tilt your head, watching as he swallows down whatever reservations he has. He looks over you carefully, leaving you to try to not squirm under an unfamiliar intensity in his eyes.

"Fuck, okay yeah I've got you." His fingers slip under the hem of your shirt, a gravelly tone overtaking his words. “I’ll make you feel better, the best.” 

And maybe he’s thought about it before, whether it was before you and Yeonjun started your (now regrettable) relationship, or if this was something he had been holding close, a secret that would’ve torn him and Yeonjun’s friendship apart– maybe it’s why he barely put up a fight. 

His lips are back on yours, still tentative and a little stiff but you didn’t mind, if anything your ministrations are a mirror image. Unlike some people, you’ve been loyal in your relationship and the nerves of kissing someone new after all this time was beginning to ricochet through your body, your heartbeat turning into a frantic staccato.

“Bin.” You rasp, not sure what you’re trying to say or maybe ask.

“I told you, I’ve got you.” He tugs off his hoodie then shirt before pulling off yours, goosebumps chasing after where his hands trail along your exposed skin. He manages to make quick work of your clothes, stopping you from helping in any way and allowing you to admire the way his muscles jump and move as he undresses you.

He keeps you in his lap, now stripped bare while he sits in his gray sweats with a less than conspicuous tent forming in them. You feel your mouth dry with anticipation, with nerves.

“Kiss me.” And he obeys, licking into your mouth eagerly, whatever hesitation held before long gone. It’s easy falling into Changbin’s ministrations, soothing in a way you can’t explain, and most of all, thrilling to be so craved. 

You press yourself against him, unable to stifle the shiver at the sensation of heated skin against heated skin, delighting in the way he kneads his calloused fingers up your thighs. Your mind races with anticipation, trying not to let the fact it’s been weeks, maybe closer to months since you’ve gotten any action.

Before you can even register it, he’s pushing you away, maneuvering you until your back is against his chest and your legs are forced to fall apart as they land on either side of his.

“Better this way.” He grunts, a hand coming up to cup at your breast while the other drags up your inner thigh. 

“Changbin.” You snake a hand back until you're gripping the back of his head, dragging him forward enough to catch his bottom lip with your teeth. “Hurry.”

Mercifully he wastes no time, bringing thick fingers up to your mouth and obediently your lips fall open. Pinning your gaze to his you make a show of flattening your tongue against his digits and dragging the muscle upwards oh so slowly. 

“Fucking, you-”

He interrupts himself, lips diving forward to meet yours, his tongue shoving into your mouth with reckless abandon. He swallows down each and every little moan and whine he draws out of you.

But with far more finesse his fingers press against your entrance, deftly circling and coaxing. At long last, he presses a single digit inside of you, slowly yet insistent; he’s surprisingly attentive, waiting for and listening to each demand of your body as he explores you so languidly.

“Faster, faster.” You’re not above begging, not here and definitely not now, bucking your hips to try and make him hear your pleas.

His other arm snakes around your waist, tightening just enough to keep you flush against him and barely able to move. 

“Let me take care of you.” He chases the words with a peck to your cheek and It’s startlingly nice, the words and affection almost unfamiliar. Maybe your relationship has long since fizzled out, unable to remember the last time someone had been this gentle and mindful during sex.

If you didn’t know better you’d think Changbin might be in love with you.

The thought melts away the moment he pushes two of his fingers into you, gasping at the sudden stretch but thankful for him picking up the pace.

You feel like putty in his hands, enjoying the tension in your shoulders being replaced by that telltale tension deep in your belly. Each drag of his fingers has you melting further into him, letting yourself be consumed as you sigh his name. 

Annoyingly he retracts his fingers, placating the whine in your throat with a quick kiss to your pulsepoint. He helps you shift in his lap, until you’re facing each other once more and you’re left trying not to melt under his fiery gaze.

Your eyes flutter down his chest, until you’re looking directly at the now blatant tent in his sweats. You bite back a groan.

“Oh.” You move to straddle him properly, adjusting so there’s just enough room between your bodies that you can hook your fingers into the waistband of his pants and with a little assistance you manage to free his cock from the cotton confines.

You hook your nails into the meat of his shoulder, grinning when he winces as your other hand comes down to press his cock against your dripping cunt. 

“Shit, hold on, condom?” He looks a little sad to ask, likely annoyed by the extra step.

“No, m’clean I got tested…haven’t even, oh!” He nips at your throat. “…Haven’t let him touch me, you?”

“I’m good.” And you trust him, despite it all you don’t mind trusting Changbin. Besides, there’s plenty of things you’re regretting right now, what’s another for down the road? Though you highly doubt you’ll regret anything and everything Changbin could do to you.

“C’mon then pretty, ride me.” He brings his hands under the backs of your thighs, offering support but making no move to help you any further.

You tease your hole against the head of his cock, tongue caught between your teeth as you slowly begin to sink down. A stifling heat starts to curl through you, searing through your limbs and cutting across your face and building a sweat across your brow.

“Fuck! You’re so fuckin’ big, ah!” And maybe while Yeonjun beats Changbin out in length, he can’t begin to compare in girth.

The moment you’re fully seated on his cock you take a second to come to terms with the fact you're being split in two, the thickness unprecedented and dizzying and it takes every fiber of your being to not cum immediately. You squeeze your eyes shut, the hand settled on his shoulder tightening until your knuckles go white. 

Changbin takes this as an invitation to pepper kisses along your chest, letting his teeth graze along your shoulder and tongue dance across your throat. You find yourself relaxing under his attention, embarrassingly soothed in a few measly seconds by his lips against your skin. 

“Sexy.” He has the audacity to wink at you, and a weak chuckle escapes you as you wiggle your hips just enough to force a choked moan out of the both of you.

But it’s enough to have you brace yourself, not wanting to waste anymore time, hands coming down to grip at his solid forearms to bring yourself up an inch and sink back down. It sends a shock up your spine and you repeat the motion, again and again. 

You gather your energy, testing your leg strength today and properly starting to bounce on his cock, letting wanton moans and desperate whines fall freely from your lips.

“S’good, so damn good for me.” He grinds out. “You like fucking me more? Huh?”

You're hypnotized by the look in his eyes, always fascinated by the way that Changbin has always been candid with his emotions, how easy he can be to read when he puts down his shields. And now you have a front row view to a smoldering lust burning bright in those brown eyes, leaving you to wonder if it’s always been there. 

“Yes, yes, yes.” You tug at his arms, silently begging for more, until his hands move to grip at your waist. “It’s better, better with y-you, Bin.”

“He’s so damn stupid, you’re so fuckin’ perfect, baby.” Ruthlessly he quickens the pace, forcing you towards the edge. Your vision starts to go a little fuzzy, that unmistakable tightness coiling in your belly becoming almost unbearable. 

“O-Oh fuck, Changbin!” Pleasure tears through you, a few borderline painful steps past mindblowing and you wonder if you passed out for a second. 

Faintly you hear the telltale click of the front door opening.