#HES WORKING IT OUT but its HARD to DO SO when again. their identities are tied together. it's a chen yi-ai di tangle | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chickenkurage · 2 days ago

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“A strange man has appeared…. Who is he?” (The Alan Association Fanfiction)

Summary: It is Author’s first day in this household, and it turns out he has a penchant for opening random doors. Weirdly, one leads to a large library that no one has ever seen yet.

*~*

Author: Reality Warped Alan

Oji: Farmer Alan

Vee: Teen Alan

Kit: Cursor Alan - "The Fallen"

Keeper: Cursor Alan - "The Original"

*~*

The Author’s room was on the third floor. The climb up was tedious, with nothing to make the journey interesting or less exhausting. The stairs were plain, offering no relief or distraction, but he didn’t mind much. It wasn’t particularly hard for him, just dull.

The staircase to the second floor was adjacent to the one leading to the third. Wasting no time, he bounded up the steps, eager to reach his destination.

Kit had mentioned that he could design his own room, simply by wishing for and imagining how he wanted it to look. However, until he made up his mind, Kit warned that his room would remain bare—a blank slate waiting for inspiration.

“Phew,” the Author huffed, pausing at the top of the stairs. He stood in front of what he assumed was his room, catching his breath.

He rubbed the back of his neck, a little unsure. Maybe he should ask for help from someone like Feathers or Oji? Though both of them seemed intimidating, he thought they might have better ideas for designing a room. As for himself, he wasn’t exactly the creative type. His usual approach to decorating was to let his clutter do the work.

With a deep breath, he pushed the door open.

“Ah… Kit wasn’t kidding,” he muttered to himself, looking around the space. It was completely empty—just four blank walls and a single window where sunlight poured in harshly, unfiltered by curtains or blinds.

The room was warm, and he left the door open as he stepped inside. It wasn’t particularly small—it could fit a table, maybe a bookcase—but it was painfully plain. He stood in the center, rubbing his chin in thought. He wasn’t great at room design; that was usually his wife’s domain. Honestly, it felt a little strange to have a room all to himself, without her.

He sighed, scratching his head. There were three other doors nearby, likely rooms for the other Alans in the house. Shutting his door quietly, he shuffled toward the stairs, intending to leave, until something caught his eye: another staircase.

He blinked. Was that there before?

Author hesitated, staring at the unfamiliar staircase. He was certain it hadn't been there earlier. He would have noticed it—he was sure of that.

Curiosity tugging at him, he ascended the stairs cautiously. At the top, he found four more doors. He guessed these were unoccupied rooms, prepared in case more Alans joined the house. The thought was strange. Did the house expand itself? Maybe the appearance of a fourth floor was automatic once the third was full. It was bizarre, especially considering how small the house looked from the outside. Inside, it was larger than a mansion—a feat that had to be some kind of spatial magic.

The doors on this floor were blank, unlike the personalized doors on the third floor, which had changed to match their occupants. He cracked one open and peeked inside. As expected, it was a blank slate, identical to his own room. Closing it again, he moved to the next door, repeating the process.

That was when he noticed something odd: one door was different. It was worn and weathered, its surface rough and scratched, as if it had been there for ages.

Was someone using this room?

His curiosity flared. He knew he shouldn’t, but he had already peeked into the other rooms, so what was one more? Besides, the others weren’t around to scold him. Reassuring himself, he reached for the handle.

“Don’t mind me,” he murmured to no one in particular, cracking the door open.

Immediately, the scent of old paper and ink hit his nose. He wrinkled it, sneezing from the dust. The smell was thick and aged, almost oppressive, and for a moment, he considered shutting the door again.

“How rude. Sneezing in my library without even excusing yourself. Is this how humans behave these days?”

The bored voice startled him. He froze, his hand still on the door as he processed the words. Slowly, he pushed the door wider.

The room beyond was enormous—far larger than should have been possible. Towering bookshelves lined the walls, filled with ancient tomes. The air felt heavy, oppressive, as if it were saturated with knowledge. The dark red rug beneath his feet was soft and luxurious, muffling his footsteps. Books were scattered across the floor, as though someone had plucked them from the shelves and abandoned them mid-task.

“Are you going to stand there gawking all day?” The voice came again, sharper this time.

Author’s gaze flicked to the center of the room, where a large chair and desk sat. Seated in the chair was a man. One leg was propped up, the other curled beneath him in a casual posture. A book rested in his hand, though his face was partially obscured by something strange—wing-like appendages, folded across his eyes. They looked like they were attached to his head, yet somehow didn’t hinder his ability to see.

The door slammed shut behind him with a loud bang, making him jump.

“Curious,” the man mused, lowering his book onto the desk. He smiled faintly, amused. “You managed to enter my room.”

The stacks of books on the desk teetered precariously, as if the gentlest breeze could send them tumbling.

Author stared at the man, taking in his appearance. His hair was white with streaks of gray, his clothing reminiscent of ancient Greek garments. His expression was calm, almost blank, but there was something unnerving about his easy smile.

“You must be a Knowledge Seeker,” the man said, tilting his head as Author cautiously stepped closer.

Was this… another version of him? Author couldn’t remember Kit ever mentioning a character with wings sprouting from the sides of their head. The sight was strange, almost surreal.

“I don’t know what you mean. I just… found this place,” Author murmured, his voice uneven as his eyes darted around the room. His gaze fell on the large window behind the winged man. Golden light streamed through it, casting a warm, almost heavenly glow over the figure. It gave him an ethereal, godlike presence—one that made Author’s stomach twist with unease.

A fleeting thought struck him, one that sent a chill down his spine: Was this a version of him? A god-like version?

But no, that didn’t make sense. Kit had told him about Ascent—told him how in his world he’s some kind of self imposed god. But somehow Author feels like this man is different from the one Kit talks of.

The winged man hummed, breaking the silence. “Don’t overthink it, Knowledge Keeper. It wouldn’t do me any good if you splattered your brain all over my precious books.”

The tone was teasing, but Author couldn’t help the shiver that ran down his spine. There was something unsettling about the way the man’s words slithered into his ears, like a velvet threat wrapped in silk.

“Are you joking?” Author asked, his voice trembling slightly.

The man’s lips curved into a smile, but it wasn’t reassuring. In fact, it made Author feel even less safe. “Unless you’d prefer to make a mess of my table, I suggest you see yourself out.” With a snap of his fingers, the door creaked open behind Author, the sound echoing in the quiet room. The abruptness of it made him flinch.

Still, there was something he needed to know before he left. Steeling himself, Author raised a hand. “Wait—I still have a question.”

The man paused, lowering the hand he had raised to dismiss him. His expression was bored, almost impatient. “Very well, go on.”

“Are you… uh… are you some kind of version of me?” Author asked hesitantly, his voice wavering.

The man tilted his head, as if considering the question carefully. “I am,” he said finally.

Author’s jaw dropped. “You—you are? But I’ve never even heard of you before! Kit never told me about you!” His voice rose in astonishment.

The man’s frown deepened. “Hn. Is that what he calls himself? Kit?” he asked, his tone sharp with disdain. Author nodded quickly, unsure how else to respond.

“Well,” the man said, his lips curling into a blank, unsettling smile. “I suppose you could say I’m… a version of him. The version of him before he turned into that.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Author said, still baffled. “So you’re saying you’re Kit? But you’re also… not Kit?”

The man gave a dry chuckle, the sound devoid of warmth. “Perhaps you are smarter than you look,” he said. “Call me The Knowledge Keeper, or just Keeper if you prefer. I am tasked with guarding the knowledge of your destiny.” He gestured toward the towering bookshelves that lined the room. Author followed the motion, his gaze sweeping over the shelves. Were those… were those books about him?

His life? His thoughts? His choices? Were they all written down somewhere in this room?

“You cannot read them,” Keeper said sharply, cutting through Author’s thoughts as if he’d plucked them right from his head. Author pouted, crossing his arms. “Well, it was worth a shot,” he muttered.

Keeper didn’t respond, already turning his attention back to the book in his hand. His head dipped slightly, the wing appendages framing his face and blocking Author’s view of his eyes. How was he even reading like that? The question lingered in Author’s mind, but he didn’t dare ask it aloud.

“Well… I suppose I should go now,” Author said, stepping back toward the door. His voice was quieter this time, subdued by the lingering discomfort of the encounter.

Keeper barely acknowledged him. “If you have more questions, you know where to find me,” he drawled, flipping a page in his book.

With that, the door shut behind Author, leaving him alone in the dimly lit hallway. For a moment, he just stood there, his heart pounding in his chest. The encounter felt unreal, like a dream.

The sound of stomping footsteps echoed from the staircase nearby, snapping him out of his daze.

*~*

Strangely enough, he meets Keeper once more. It happens about a week later, when he returns to the house. This time, as he steps inside, Author catches sight of Oji in the kitchen, busy baking something. The warm, inviting aroma of cookies wafts through the air.

“Oh? Author! It’s good to see you again,” Oji says, glancing over his shoulder as he notices the other man. “I’m sorry I couldn’t properly welcome you last time.”

Caught off guard, Author blinks in surprise before managing a sheepish smile. “Oh, it’s fine! Haha… Are you baking right now?” he asks, leaning slightly to peer over the taller man’s shoulder.

“I am,” Oji hums in response, his voice calm and steady as he continues working. “If you’d like, you can stay for a little while. I’m almost done here. Besides, I heard the others are planning to drop by soon to talk about a beach day.”

“Beach day?” Author repeats, his curiosity piqued.

The idea of a beach day stirs something nostalgic in him. It’s been years since he last visited the shore—probably when he was nine or ten. Yet, doubt creeps in. How could they even plan a beach day when there’s no beach anywhere nearby?

“Yeah,” Oji replies, glancing at him briefly. “Nothing’s set in stone yet, but… who knows? If it happens, it could be fun. Anyway, you can take a seat in the living room if you’d like.” He pauses before adding, “Oh, by the way, did you need help setting up your room? I remember you mentioned working on it the last time you were here.”

At this, Author feels his cheeks grow warm. He rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment. Honestly, he’s been procrastinating about it, putting off decorating or organizing. There’s a part of him that’s tempted to just wish for a bed, toss it in the middle of the room, and call it a day.

“Something wrong?” Oji tilts his head slightly, his brow furrowed in mild concern.

“Uh! No, no, it’s fine!” Author blurts out, waving his hand awkwardly. “Actually, I’ve already managed to fix my room up!” The words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop them. A blatant lie.

Oji raises an eyebrow, clearly surprised. “Is that so? Huh… Funny, because I could’ve sworn Vee mentioned that your room was still completely bare the last time he saw it.”

Author forces a laugh, though it comes out strained. Curse that tiny, overly curious version of him for poking around uninvited! This must be his karma for sneaking into their rooms to satisfy his own curiosity.

“Oh, well, that was a while ago,” he says hastily, waving off the comment. “I managed to fix it all up when you guys weren’t around.”

Oji nods slowly, his expression shifting to one of approval. “That’s good to hear. The others are always asking me for help with their rooms. It’s nice to see a version of myself that’s completely independent.”

The comment makes Author inwardly cringe. The lie feels heavier now, weighing down on him. He knows he should just come clean and admit the truth: his room is still completely empty. But the words stick in his throat.

“Uh, sorry to butt in, but I think I’m just going to head to my room and rest,” Author says quickly, desperate to escape the conversation.

Oji blinks before offering an apologetic smile. “Oh, of course. Forgive me for keeping you here. Go ahead.”

With a nod of thanks, Author turns and heads for the stairs, trying to appear calm and composed. But as soon as he reaches the second floor and is out of sight, he breaks into a sprint, rushing up to his room.

When he finally reaches his door, he pauses to catch his breath, hand hovering over the doorknob. Just as he’s about to open it, the door begins to change.

Instead of the blank, empty room he had expected, he was met with the sprawling library he had seen a week ago. The towering shelves were crammed with books of all shapes and sizes, their spines gleaming faintly in the dim, golden light. The central table and chair were now empty, but Keeper stood, reaching for a book.

As the door clicked shut behind him, Author froze, his eyes widening. Keeper turned leisurely, holding the book in his hand, only to notice the stunned figure standing below. A slow, knowing smile spread across his face.

“Oh? It seems like you need some help,” Keeper drawled, lowering his hand as though the act of retrieving the book had already been forgotten the moment Author stepped into the room.

“I—what, how—” Author sputtered, pointing an accusatory finger in Keeper’s direction. “You were supposed to be on the fourth floor!”

Keeper’s smile remained as he crossed his arms and tilted his head ever so slightly. “Logic doesn’t exist here. I think your question is no longer relevant.”

If Author could blush, he would have. But his cheeks still burned as Keeper’s gaze lingered on him, sharp and unrelenting. “That’s—Still! This is my room! Or… it’s supposed to be,” he trailed off, his earlier confidence quickly unraveling. The door behind him, he realized, had already closed, as if sealing his fate.

Keeper hummed thoughtfully, his tone almost teasing. “My library tends to… switch places with other rooms.”

Author stared at him, incredulous. “Why does it have to be my room?” he almost whined, his voice tinged with frustration.

Keeper didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he walked over to the table, his movements slow and deliberate, before settling into the chair. He raised a leg and draped his arm lazily over it, his posture exuding a casual dominance.

With a sigh, Author trudged toward the table, his shoulders slumping.

“You must need my help,” eaning back inKeeper said, l the chair as if the conclusion was obvious. “After all, I wouldn’t appear here otherwise.”

“Is that how it works?” Author asked, raising an eyebrow, his tone skeptical.

Keeper’s lips quirked into a small, enigmatic smile, and he shrugged. “Who knows? The other Alans who’ve wandered into my library never see what you do. They’re shown their worst fears—knowledge they’ve been desperate to uncover but too afraid to face. But you…”.

“ —You seem to seek something more.”

Author frowned, his confusion evident. “I don’t really get that. I just wanted to add a bed to my room,” he muttered, the words tumbling out almost defensively.

Keeper tilted his head, considering him for a moment. “Perhaps,” he said slowly, “you need a book on interior design.”

Author’s eyes widened, lighting up with a childlike excitement. “Do you have one?!”

Keeper raised his hand lazily, and a book flew off one of the shelves, gliding through the air until it landed neatly in his palm. He extended it towards Author, who snatched it eagerly.

“Oh my god, thank you!” Author exclaimed, nearly bouncing on his feet, the enthusiasm spilling out before he could stop himself. But then he paused, realizing Keeper was watching him with that same small, empty smile.

“I do hope that helps,” Keeper said smoothly. “My library has more to offer than just tips on interior design, though. In fact, I’ve shared its knowledge with countless cursors and stick figures before. Perhaps it’s time to add a human to that list.”

“I don’t know—I'm pretty old to be taught like a kid,” Author snorts, a nervous chuckle slipping through his words.

Keeper hums thoughtfully, his gaze flickering toward the endless shelves of tomes and scrolls. “Knowledge is not bound by age,” he says, his tone calm yet tinged with amusement. “Though I understand your hesitation. Humans, Stick Figures—your lifespans are much shorter than those of Cursors. It’s natural to feel the weight of time pressing down on you.”

“You know,” Author interrupts, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, “you’re throwing out so much plot and lore about your universe that I kinda wish I could actually understand it.” His voice is wistful, almost sheepish, but Keeper only chuckles softly in response.

“Is that what you call it? Plot?” Keeper’s voice was sprinkled with faint amusement as he snaps his fingers, as though struck by a sudden thought. “One’s story… yes, I suppose it could be considered a plot.”

Author winces, realizing too late how his words might’ve sounded. He hadn’t meant to trivialize anything, but sometimes his tongue ran ahead of his brain, throwing out words that didn’t quite hit the mark. “I didn’t mean to be insensitive,” he says hurriedly, clutching the book he’s holding tightly to his chest. His voice carries a note of apology, earnest and unguarded.

But Keeper merely waves a lazy hand, dismissing the notion entirely. “Insensitive? Don’t make me laugh,” he says, his tone light but his eyes carrying a glimmer of bemusement.

The words don’t exactly put Author at ease, and his brows furrow as he watches Keeper rise from his chair. The man—Cursor? moves gracefully, making his way toward a pile of ancient scrolls stacked precariously on the floor. With a practiced hand, he unrolls one and begins to read its contents, the faint sound of parchment crackling breaking the silence.

“It’s weird,” Author says after a moment, stepping closer. “I’ve seen you twice now. Is it a coincidence?”

Keeper turns to him, his gaze calm yet piercing, as though weighing the question carefully before answering. “Nothing is a coincidence,” he replies simply. “There is always a reason why certain things happen, Author.”

Author blinks, unsure how to respond, but Keeper doesn’t leave him much room to dwell. Rolling up the scroll with a flick of his wrist, the Cursor rests it back on the pile before turning fully to address him. “Perhaps,” Keeper begins, his voice taking on a more deliberate tone, “if you are so curious to learn more about yourself, you could become my student. It’s been a while since I’ve taken one under my wing.”

Author hesitates, his stomach twisting at the thought. “Ah… I’ll think about it,” he says, wincing slightly at his own lack of confidence.

Keeper, however, seems unfazed. He waves a hand lazily, as though dismissing the need for urgency. “Take your time,” he says, reclining back into his chair. “A hundred years is just a breeze for me.”

#TheAlanAssociation #alan becker #ava #ava au #animator vs animation #animation vs animator #fanfiction #Spongey'sFic

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casualavocados · 10 months ago

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You look better this way. What way? Nothing. I couldn't get a hold of you for days. Did you work undercover in the school and help Zherui investigate?

KISEKI: DEAR TO ME Ep. 08

#kiseki: dear to me #kisekiedit #kdtm #kiseki dear to me #chen yi x ai di #ai di x chen yi #nat chen #chen bowen #louis chiang #chiang tien #jiang dian #userspring #uservid #userspicy #pdribs #userrain #userjjessi #*cajedit #*gif #'what do you care?' first of all. THE JAW CLENCH. second of all. chen yi why do you care?#he doesnt have to explain because he and ai di have been by each other's sides their whole lives #its impossible to put into words Why Chen Yi Cares bc their identities their whole beings are intrinsically tied together #and him sternly reminding ai di of that by only saying ai di's name....good stuff #cuz. huh. its almost like chen yi waking up and ai di Not Being There is his worst nightmare #what if we made that a plot point! a h a #HES WORKING IT OUT but its HARD to DO SO when again. their identities are tied together. it's a chen yi-ai di tangle #& while chen yi knows there are things ai di doesnt tell him he doesnt know the root feelings bc ai di hides them so well #ai di NEEDED to show his True vulnerable face to chen yi...he needed to sleep with him and he needed to cry #& leaving again (only days after this scene! (which was bc chen yi drunk-kissed him!)) was the final snap inside chen yi to make him SEE #the real ai di that'd been there all along. (while ai di used prison as another excuse to avoid him & the vulnerability he'd just exposed)

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moonlit-tulip · 24 days ago

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It's often noted, in discussions of the Death Note anime, that it's much weaker than the manga in its rendition of post-timeskip events partly for pacing reasons: the pre-timeskip parts of the anime adapt ~6.5 manga-volumes in 25 episodes, while the post-timeskip parts adapt ~5.5 in 12 episodes, so a lot more important detail-work is lost and the whole thing ends up feeling kind of perfunctory.

Much less often noted as far as I've seen, but nonetheless also true, is that the Death Note anime removes some important characterization-nuance from Light, starting right near the beginning, whose presence elevates the manga to be substantially better than the anime even before the time-skip.

In particular: the Death Note manga is, at its core, a tragedy in classic "character who has everything falls into ruin due to a fatal personal flaw" style. Light is a brilliant student who, in the future ahead of him, has the potential to do practically whatever he wants. He's driven to ruin by the fatal flaw of unwillingness to admit, either to others or to himself, when he's made a mistake. This flaw is an essential piece of his characterization, in the manga. And the anime pretty much entirely skips over it.

As portrayed in the manga, Light's decision to become Kira—which ultimately leads to his downfall—is made in the following way. First, he finds the Death Note, and is led by morbid curiosity to write a name in it, killing someone. Then, still not really believing it, he kills a second person too. At which point it hits him that he's killed two people. And at that point, after a viscerally-horrified breakdown about what he's done, the inability to admit mistakes kicks in, and he proceeds to rewrite his own value-system such that it yields the result that killing those people was actually okay, and in fact morally good. Because the alternative would be for him to acknowledge himself as having made a terrible mistake, and that, more than anything else, is something he's unwilling to do if he can see any other option at all. And then, having convinced himself that those two murders were good, he proceeds to reason that, if they were good, then doing more like them is good; and thus he becomes Kira, leading eventually, far down the line, to his ruin. The anime, by contrast, substantially deemphasizes this flaw of his, portraying him as much more calmly put-together through that series of events and thus making him come across as having been tempted in becoming-Kira-ward directions all along.

Similarly, in the anime, when Light leaks a bunch of information to L about his identity by using non-public information acquired via police channels, he declares that actually this was deliberate as a means of baiting L out so he can kill him, and the anime presents this declaration pretty uncritically. The manga, by contrast, presents it as an extension of that same character-flaw: Light is unwilling to admit to having actually just straightforwardly messed up, and therefore makes up a new plan to view himself to have been following-all-along, thus leading him to take more risks in his game against L going forward and thus, once again, helping him along the path to ruin.

Et cetera.

Compared with the manga, then, the anime's version of Light's characterization ends up less interesting. And, moreover, it introduces a plot hole, when the Yotsuba arc comes around! It makes it much less clear why an amnesiac Light would be so straightforwardly aligned against Kira. In the manga, this is pretty clear: a Light who never killed anyone wouldn't have rewritten his values to consider killing people to be good, and therefore would look at Kira as straightforwardly evil. And, in fact, his amnesiac self has trouble taking the possibility of his having been Kira previously, even as the evidence starts building up, because becoming Kira would be a mistake according to his value-system of the moment, and this leaves him having a very hard time contemplating the possibility of its having in fact happened! Whereas the anime, by deemphasizing Light's big flaw, makes his amnesiac-self's differences from the way he is for most of the story up to that point come across as much more out-of-nowhere, much less narratively well-founded.

So, overall, the people who talk about the Death Note manga as superior to the anime specifically post-timeskip strike me as somewhat understating things. The manga is superior to the anime pre-timeskip, too, via that extra layer of characterization and a resulting improvement both in character-interestingness and in plot-coherence. And thus I consider the manga to be very much the definitive version of Death Note from start to finish, despite the anime's relatively-higher popularity.

#Archive #Death Note #Analysis #there was a gap of about a decade between when i first watched the death note anime and when i first read the death note manga #(the me of ~2011-2012 when i first watched the anime was bad at recognizing characters / following action / etc. in black-and-white comics #and thus impaired in her manga-reading abilities in general)#but i'm glad i finally got around to reading the manga eventually #even if it did take me a while #(to be clear: i read it in 2022; this post isn't downstream of having recently read the manga)#(just of having recently been thinking idly about it and thus remembering this as an infodump-possibly-worth-posting)

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goddamnitmahtin · 3 months ago

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Jason is a Teenage Dad Part 3

The following month after Jason came home with Danny was…. a lot of work to say the least. There were so many things to do now that there were 2 more kids in the house than there used to be and Bruce was not used to acclimating to more than one kid at a time. Last time there was a buffer. On top of that, there were all of the legal and social responsibilities that came with Danny and Tim.

Bruce was able to get Tim’s paperwork squared away pretty easily since the police and CPS were both a joke and didn’t really even look at it before approving it. Which was funny since the adoption papers were written on his Batcomputer since he didn’t feel like going out to pick up a real one. It was identical to a real one though.

Tim was doing well and seemed to be fitting into the household smoothly from what Bruce could tell. Maybe his old life wasn’t so different from his new one. He also did well at his first gala as a Wayne. He didn’t cause nearly as much trouble as Dick used to. He didn’t hang from a single chandelier.

Jason and Danny on the other hand… well Jason was trying his best. And Bruce could tell that he had grown attached to Danny. Which was why he didn’t tell him he was doing a background check on the child to see if he had anywhere to go. If they had someone’s kid and didn’t give him back, Gordon would be on his ass about it.

Bruce couldn’t find anything on the kid. Nothing. He thought he may have found a relative in Amity Park as he found a photo of a boy in a public record year book that looked a lot like him but when he tried to reach out to the family, they denied having lost a child around 3.

After that, Bruce reluctantly looked into the logistics of Jason becoming Danny’s legal guardian. He would have preferred if Danny became Bruce’s ward until Jason turned 18 so he could legally adopt him with much less hassle but Jason didn’t like that idea when he talked to him about it. So Bruce had to figure how to sidestep and loophole his way into becoming a grandpa. It’s been exhausting so far.

Although Bruce was having a bit of a struggle with the changes going on in his home, he wasn’t having as hard of a time as Danny. That kid was definitely in some sort of traumatic situation before Jason found him. He was often hiding or running when he wasn’t clinging onto Jason like a life preserver. So far he hadn’t had any major scares due to Jason being oddly in tune with what to avoid.

The part that was the most stressful though? Explaining to Commissioner Gordon why he had the Joker’s head in his house. No body. Just the head. He explained that one of his kids found the head and brought it home. It wasn’t a lie but he wasn’t going to tell him the exact truth either. He was already lying about the fact that Jason died. The public was under the impression that it was just some joke the Joker pulled and he never actually killed Robin.

Bruce and Jason had covered it up by telling people that because of the whole fiasco Robin was taking a break from the field until it blew over. Although he wasn’t really sure how Jason was going to return to being Robin. Danny never left his side. Not to mention he didn’t really seem interested in it like he was before. Which… was fine. Once word got out that the Joker was dead, the public was pretty 50/50 about Robin. Half saying he was a hero for “killing” him and the other half worried about the ethic implications.

Bruce was going to have to talk to Jason about this more. It wasn’t like Bruce hadn’t fought alone before. He knew how. It was just significantly easier if he had some help. And he was NOT going to call Clark every time something happened. Of course he was never going to force Jason to do it. Infact, Bruce was relieved that Jason might actually want to live a normal childhood. Well as normal is it can be raising a child.

At least the household was finding its own routine again. Everyone was getting used to each other and Alfred was estatic that there were more mouths to feed claiming that he would “not have to hold back my cooking prowess now that I can make dishes meant for many people, Master Wayne!”

This morning, Alfred had outdone himself making a breakfast buffet of sorts that they could all grab from. Bruce got himself a plate and grabbed a little bit of everything. He always enjoyed trying Alfred’s food and he saw some things he didn’t recognize so he grabbed those.

Bruce sat down at the table and watched as the others in the house slowly peeled in. First was Jason who grabbed some toast and promptly left again since Danny often had nightmares and tended to freak out if Jason wasn’t there when he woke up.

Then it was Tim. He watched the boy make himself a plate and begin to eat silently. Bruce hated that. During the first two weeks or so of Tim living there, he thought that was just his personality. Very quiet, avoiding attention until necessary. But then he noticed that Tim commented about being used to being overlooked for “more important things” and it made Bruce’s blood boil to think that was how he was treated.

Bruce could tell that Tim hadn’t lied about that fact. He showed every sign of someone who wasn’t used to even being perceived while in the same room unless he was “needed.” Bruce was working to try and correct that since he knew how lonely a life that was.

“Hey Tim, your awfully quiet this morning. I assume you’ve found yourself a little mystery?” Bruce said, hoping to coax the kid into talking about whatever was on his mind. He had found that this strategy worked more times than not since he loved to talk about his interests.

As always, Tim looked surprised that he was being spoken to at all. Bruce hated that. He was going to make sure this kid knew he deserved attention.

“Uh yeah actually. I noticed that…” Tim began to animatedly talk about how Batman’s fighting style was significantly different when there was no one else around compared to when he had a Robin with him and that he found it fascinating that despite being able to more freely fight without worry of an ally being injured causing more efficient takedowns when it came to combat with a large number of goons, he also seemed to have a slower time with deductive reasoning without another person to bounce off of or talk to, leading to higher risk of civilian loss when it came to certain rogues like Joker or Riddler.

Bruce wasn’t dumb. He had started to suspect that Tim knew he was Batman two weeks ago. He didn’t make that fact subtle. Tim had been very much making sure that every opportunity he had to talk, he was talking about Batman. And he often had very interesting things to say that Bruce actually took to note. Tim wasn’t afraid of being honest about the shortcomings of the dark knight.

The thing was though about Tim’s current subject of fighting style and efficiency, was that he was right. Bruce did have a harder time with unplanned things when it came to taking down rogues. Fighting wasn’t a problem. He knew how to fight alone and he had done it before. But the ability to think on his feet without a person to bounce off of or use in his plans was much harder to do after not having to do it for years.

Bruce hated to admit it but… Tim had a valuable mind that would be perfect for a Robin. If he were to ever want to do that. Which knowing Bruce’s track record when it came to adopted kids…. he probably would. He just don’t know if he wanted to put another kid in danger. He didn’t have any proper training like Dick or Jason. And Jason literally died recently so the reality of what being Robin meant was really looming over Bruce’s mind right now.

Tim’s unapologetic and devastatingly accurate analysis of Batman was only interrupted when Jason reemerged with a newly awake Danny, still rubbing his eyes in his arms.

“Morning Danny,” Bruce said.

Danny scanned the room cautiously and after only seeing the people he was used to, he visibly relaxed, “Morning Grand-B. Morning Tim.”

Jason smiled, putting Danny down and telling him to pick a seat so he could make him a plate. Bruce knew this was a good sign that Danny’s morning didn’t start horribly wrong. No nightmares.

While at first they had a hard time getting Danny to feel safe enough to play or explore or even let go of Jason’s hand, they had made great progress and now as long as Jason was in the room, Danny was able to walk around on his own without as much fear and Bruce was glad to see that he was improving. However the whole Grand-B thing was something that Bruce hadn’t expected. But no doubt that was Jason’s influence.

Danny crawled onto a chair and looked at all the food cautiously as he did every morning. He stared at it for a moment as if looking for something as he did every morning. When he didn’t find anything, he smiled and agreed to eat. As he did every morning. Bruce didn’t know what trauma this kid had that made him distrust food that he didn’t watch get made but he did know that at least he didn’t have to worry about that anymore.

Jason made Danny a plate and poured himself some coffee. Bruce would have said something about it being bad for him to drink it at his age but the last time he did, Jason very dramatically pointed out that other things could kill him faster than coffee. Like the Joker. With a crowbar. It also didn’t help that he learned that Tim also drank obscene amounts of coffee. Bruce learned to pick his battles on that one.

“Hey Tim, how’d your first gala go? I heard you dissed some CEO for embezzlement,” Jason said casually while sipping his coffee. He didn’t look it, but Bruce knew Jason thought it was hilarious.

Tim shrugged, “I just pointed out that according to public record he should have had enough money to pay his employees way better than he does. He’s the one who assumed I thought he was embezzling. Which he is by the way. I did the math and tracked his personal purchases a while back,” Tim said matter of factly.

Bruce wanted to be surprised but from what he had learned and seen from Tim since their meeting, he was crazy smart and had an eye for inconsistencies. A little detective in his own right.

“Daddy are we still going to the observatory tonight?” Danny asked, his plate already cleared of food.

Bruce watched as Jason went into dad mode. It was off putting the first few times he had watched it happen but by now Bruce was getting used to this new side of Jason.

“Of course my little star,” the 15 year old said as he helped Danny clean up the very little food Danny had gotten on himself while eating, “Daddy doesn’t have much homework today so we can go extra early. Are you excited?”

“Yeah!” little Danny exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air. This was going to be Danny’s first time out of the manor since moving in. Jason had picked the observatory since not many people went there and Danny really loved space. Bruce hoped that everything went well so Danny wouldn’t be scared of going out again in the future.

Bruce continued eating after Jason and Danny left to get ready for the day. While at first he hadn’t quite liked the idea of Jason transferring his studies to homeschooling, he seemed to be adapting to it well and it gave him more time with Danny to take care of him and help him when he panicked. To be honest… Bruce was very proud of Jason for the Dad he seemed to be becoming.

…

Sam and Tucker knew that it was bad news when the GIW shipped off in their trucks with Danny inside. They knew their friend was probably fucked. But they had hope. Except… that was 7 months ago. And last month the SCP Foundation came through Amity and cleaned up after the GIW who were apparently stealing their SCPs. Sam and Tucker had mentioned that their friend was taken and the foundation said that they would reach out if they found him. Apparently SCPs that were considered not dangerous were allowed to do normal human things like have friends. Who knew. Except that call never came.

At this point the two of them didn’t really know what to do. They didn’t want to believe that Danny was fully dead because he would have come to see them. But they also knew that if the SCP Foundation didn’t find him then the GIW didn’t have him anymore either. But if no one had him, why hadn’t he come home?

They were at a loss until Tucker came across an old text in the Smithsonian online library. It was a list of summoning spells and circles for different being types or certain beings themselves if they were powerful enough. Maybe they could just… summon Danny home?

At first they looked into the ghosts summoning spells but it seemed to be fairly unstable and there was no way to guarantee that the results would be what they wanted so they kept looking until they found a sigil for the Ghost King. The circle and and incantation were well thought out and the entire ritual seemed to be pretty straight forward. Maybe the Ghost King knew where Danny was? Since he was half ghost and all…

So the next thing they knew, Sam and Tucker were in an abandoned shed a few miles out of town drawing a summoning circle on the floor. Tucker did most of the outline work and Sam tackled the sigil that had to be drawn in the center. They took their time with it so it would come out right.

According to the book, some sort of sacrifice had to be made but ii said that it could be literally anything as long as it held value to you. Sam had suggested she bring something from her house but Tucker insisted that the only thing they probably had that was important enough to them both that they had was his PDA. So…. Tucker very sadly set it down inside the circle.

Then they began the chanting. Sam lit the candles the way the instructions described. Tucker followed the hand motions exactly.

Instantly, the circle began to glow as the summoning began to work. They watched as it got brighter and brighter, the green emanating from the portal that opened in the ground filled the entire space. And then… a figure appeared on a massive throne, adorned in a bellowing cape of stars and a crown of ice.

“I am the Ghost King, hi how are you doing? Just throwing it out there before we get started, I’m not into the whole mass destruction thing so don’t ask me to end the world. Oh hey! Sam and Tucker!”

Sam and Tucker were shocked to see Danny in front of them in full on ghost mode. But he looked different. Felt different. More powerful and maybe slightly older? Not the 15 year old they went to school with.

“Danny?” Sam said, frozen in shock.

They watched as Ghost King Danny squinted his eyes at them for a moment before realization seemed to hit him, “Oh you aren’t my Sam and Tucker. Hey Clocky, what universe is this?”

A post it note appeared in the air next to Danny. He plucked it out of the air and read it before saying, “Ohhh that makes sense okay.”

Tucker spoke up this time, “Danny… what’s going on?”

Danny smiled, “Ah well in the universe I’m from, I became the Ghost King. But since the Ghost King is a being of the Infinite Realms, I’m the Ghost King for all universes, not just mine. I am Danny, just not your universe’s Danny.”

Sam and Tucker felt a wave of disappointment wash over them. It was great that Danny from another universe got all powerful and stuff but it was still disheartening that it wasn’t their Danny in the circle.

“Soo… what’s up? People don’t really summon the Ghost King unless crazy shit is going down,” Ghost King Danny said, leaning forward on his throne.

Sam and Tucker explained everything, from the GIW to the SCP Foundation to their Danny never returning. Alive or dead.

“Huh… weird. Well he’s not dead. If an alternate me died I would have seen the paperwork,” the kingly version of their friend said while thinking. Then a tired look appeared on his face as if he had remembered something and it was something quite annoying.

“Clocky… what did you do?” he asked the air. Another post it note appeared. Danny read the note. Then let out a large sigh.

“You two ever heard of Gotham?”

Part 2 Part 4

#dc x dp #batfam #danny phantom x dc #dc x dp crossover #dcxdp #dad jason #toddler danny #deaged danny #dead joker #jason is a teenage dad

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er1nne · 5 months ago

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interviewing drew for queer (do not copy or plagarize, original work)

The buzz of the red carpet was a living thing, pulsing with life as cameras flashed and excited voices carried over the barricades. You adjusted the hem of your pants again, smoothing it over your hips even though it didn’t need it. It was instinct, a way to channel the energy that simmered just beneath your skin. The red carpet was alive with energy, a sea of lights, cameras, and glamour that seemed to stretch endlessly into the night. You stood at your designated spot, microphone in hand, scanning the line of arriving guests with practiced ease. This wasn’t your first premiere, but tonight felt charged with a different kind of anticipation.

You glanced at the crowd gathered just beyond the velvet ropes. Fans pressed against the barricades, their phones out, waving signs and shouting names. Somewhere behind you, another journalist was calling for their next interviewee, their voice competing with the noise of the evening.

You swallowed, shifting your weight from one foot to the other as you waited for your next interview. Your grip tightened on the microphone, the smooth surface cool against your palm. You’d done this countless times before, but tonight was different. This wasn’t just any film premiere—it was Queer.

The buzz around the project had been relentless. Raw, intimate, and deeply personal, it had stirred emotions before a single frame had even been released. And now, you were moments away from speaking with one of its stars. Drew Starkey.

You glanced down at your shoes, adjusting your stance and mentally rehearsing your questions one last time. You were prepared. You always were. But there was something about him—something about the way he carried himself, about the way he seemed to pull everyone’s attention with such ease—that made your nerves feel sharper tonight.

When you looked up again, there he was.

He moved through the crowd with an effortless grace, his tall frame cutting a striking figure under the bright lights. The black suit he wore was simple but impeccably tailored, fitting him like it had been made for this moment. His hair was perfectly tousled, the kind of artful mess that looked casual but probably wasn’t.

And then his eyes found yours, they locked on you like a spotlight, and for a moment, the noise of the red carpet seemed to fade. The corners of his mouth lifted into a small, easy smile, and before you could fully process it, he was in front of you.

“Hi, Drew,” you greeted, your voice steady despite the way your heart was racing. “Welcome. How does it feel to be here tonight?”

His smile widened as he slid his hands into his pockets, his posture relaxed but not careless. “It feels… surreal,” he said, his voice warm and measured. “Exciting, overwhelming, maybe a little nerve-wracking.”

His voice was low and even, carrying a weight that made you lean in slightly.

“Nerve-wracking?” You raised a brow, tilting your head slightly. “I find that hard to believe.”

“That’s the trick,” he replied, leaning in just slightly. His voice dropped, soft enough that only you could hear over the noise around you. “Pretend you’re calm long enough, and eventually, people start to believe it.”

“That’s a powerful way to put it,” you said. “Queer has been described as raw, vulnerable, and deeply human. What drew you to this project?”

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as though searching for the right words. “It’s a story that matters,” he said finally. “It’s not just about one experience—it’s about the universal truths that connect all of us. Identity, love, loss, finding your place in the world. It’s messy, and it’s beautiful, and it’s real.”

The way he spoke, so deliberate and thoughtful, made your chest tighten. This wasn’t just another press soundbite—it was personal.

“And your character,” you pressed gently, “what was it like stepping into his shoes?”

Drew’s lips twitched into a faint smile, but there was something introspective in his expression. “Challenging,” he admitted. “And not just because of the emotional depth. It forced me to confront parts of myself I hadn’t looked at in a while. That’s what great stories do—they reflect you back at yourself.”

You nodded, his words resonating in a way you hadn’t expected. The noise of the red carpet faded further as the world seemed to shrink to just the two of you.

“What do you hope audiences take away from it?”

He exhaled softly, his shoulders relaxing as he considered your question. “I hope they see themselves in it,” he said. “Even in the parts that feel uncomfortable. Especially in those parts. Because that’s where growth happens.”

The sincerity in his voice sent a ripple through you, and for a moment, you forgot the cameras, the crowd, the lights. It was just Drew, standing in front of you, baring a part of himself that felt achingly human. As he spoke, his hand gestured lightly, and for a moment, his fingers hovered near yours—close enough that you felt the faintest hint of warmth.

“That’s beautifully said,” you replied, your voice softer now.

His eyes held yours for a beat longer, and then his smile returned, lighter this time. “Thanks. You’re making this way too easy, by the way.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Easy?”

“For me,” he clarified, his grin widening. “I usually have to work harder for good questions.”

You laughed, the sound breaking the tension in your chest. “Well, you’re welcome, I guess.”

As the interview wrapped up, he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “By the way, you’re good at this.”

The words sent a flicker of warmth through you, and you barely managed a reply before he was gone, disappearing into the next wave of flashing cameras. The warmth of his compliment lingered long after he pulled away, his grin softening as he straightened and offered you a small wave before heading to the next reporter.

Later, as you replayed the conversation in your head, the memory of his gaze lingered most. It wasn’t the kind of look meant to charm or deflect, but one that seemed genuinely curious, as though he were studying you in a way that felt both disarming and personal. The faint warmth of his compliment echoed in your mind, and though you tried to shake it off as professional politeness, a part of you couldn’t ignore the quiet connection you’d felt in that moment. It wasn’t just another interview—it felt like something more.

AN: i can't wait to see queer! love drew to pieces

#drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x you #xreader #x reader #୨୧ written by erin ୨୧ #writtenbyerin #🎀 ‧₊˚ ⋅ er1nne #drew x you #drew starkey fic #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey fluff

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hotchner-edu · 10 months ago

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Pickpocket (Drabble) | Aaron Hotchner

Synopsis: You find something rather interesting in Aaron's pant pocket when you go to do laundry.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Warnings: fluff, sneaky reader

You were fiddling with the sleeves of the sweater you were wearing, a navy quarter zip-up you stole from Aaron eons ago.

Just an hour before, you were getting ready to do the laundry, sorting out the clothes in the laundry basket and making sure the pockets were empty. As you were checking on a pair of Aaron's work pants, your fingers brushed against a compact object that had you freezing on the spot.

The nagging curiosity in your head had you slowly pulling the object out from the pocket, and you nearly dropped his pants to the floor when you saw the black ring box peeking back at you.

Aaron was at work, so you had time to compose yourself and think through what you wanted to do next. You decided not to open the box and to just stuff it back into the pant pocket.

Ultimately, you decided to be oblivious to your findings, even momentarily convincing yourself there wasn't a ring in there but something else.

To be even less conspicuous, you undid all your hard work and stuff all the clothes back into the laundry basket, delaying the wash. You decide to busy yourself by cleaning the house— mopping, vacuuming, dusting, cooking, organizing, then reorganizing.

Aaron unceremoniously arrives home two hours earlier than his usual time when he's not on long trips away, practically pulling the front door off its hinges.

You pad toward him with a frown of concern, watching as he takes off his shoes and tries to hurry down the hall before noticing you.

"Honey..." he says breathlessly, searching your face for something.

Your frown deepens and you instinctively reach toward him. "Aaron? You're home early. Is something wrong?"

His hands find your sides as he pulls you closer. "No, no... just finished early is all." Which you knew to be a bold faced lie because his work was neverending. "How was your day?" He asks carefully.

"Busy. Just cleaned up around the house." You sigh tiredly, omitting your earlier findings. Kissing him softly, you peer at him curiously. "But why are you in such a rush?"

Aaron's shoulders tense a little again. "Do you happen to know where my work pants are?"

"Aaron, they're all identical and you have like six of them." You joke and chuckle, realizing why he was panicking now.

He gives a weak smile and squeezes your waist a little, eyebrows still furrowed in stress. "The ones I wore earlier this week on Tuesday."

You let out a false gasp of realization and sigh. "They're probably in the laundry basket. I was going to do the laundry today, but I completely got swamped with cleaning the house." You lie smoothly, plastering on a disappointed frown for good measure.

Aaron nearly sags in relief as he smiles at you. "Don't worry about it, honey. I just forgot an important business card in the pocket. I'll go put the laundry in the wash right now."

Smiling fondly, you bring him down for a loving kiss. "You're the best. I haven't had dinner yet, so I can warm some up and we can eat together."

He nods and kisses your nose. "Sounds great. I'll only be a moment." He gives your ass a little pinch before he's walking off toward the laundry room.

As you start walking toward the kitchen, he turns around again and beams at you with a boyish grin. "Oh, and honey? I love you."

Yeah, what he doesn't know won't kill him.

And a mere two weeks later, you're a teary-faced mess as he's down on one knee in front you, nervously proclaiming his love for you again and staring up at you in devotion.

You very nearly get whiplash from how quickly you nod, hand clasped over your mouth.

As he sweeps you into his arms after your fervent acceptance to his proposal, you get a glimpse of the glittering rock on your finger as you cup his cheek to kiss him.

Luckily, the ring stayed as a surprise since you never opened the box.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotch x reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds aaron #criminal minds aaron imagine #aaron hotch imagine

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aetherraeys · 1 month ago

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bloodmoon pt2

(part 1)

remus lupid x vampire!reader ⊹ 11.9k

cw ⟢ swearing, harrassment, men being vile, blood, detailed description of pain, friends to lovers, slowish burn, biting, suggestive at the end

a/n: not proofread x SORRY THIS ACTUALLY TOOK DAYS IVE BEEN TRYING TO MAKE IT LESS THAT 12WC!! i hope you enjoy ,,, slightly obsessed with vampire!reader now.

“Finally realised she’s not the devil incarnate, have you, Moony?”

Its as though Sirius just physically couldn’t stop himself, everyone else had been ignoring it for weeks—the skeptically raised eyebrows changing into almost knowing looks. They’d all been silently watching.

Him and you, you and him.

How essentially overnight, Remus had become one of the people he used to openly scoff at, roll his eyes as if they’d fallen into some sort of trap that was only obvious to him. To his friends shock and relief, their dear old Moony, was not as immune to you as he’d made out to be.

Now, if anything, it seemed that he was more affected than anyone else, walking you from the slytherin common room, to the great hall, and back again—visiting you multiple times a day when you were working in the hospital wing. The complete 180 in the way he reacts to you, a sigh of relief when he sees you enter the room, rather than the erking gut reaction he had before.

And even as discrete as Remus has tried to be, he was unable to escape Lily’s watchful eye—having caught glimpses of a few Bloodsuckers rolling a round in the bottom of his bag.

It literally wasn’t even as secret as this point.

But, apparently unbeknownst to Sirius and Sirius alone, there had been an unspoken agreement: do not acknowledge it. Which explained why, the moment the words left his mouth, the entire table fell into a stunned silence.

A silence Sirius was still exactly one beat behind.

The ghost of a smirk still playing on his lips, Sirius barely had time to register James’ foot swinging under the table before—

“Ow! Bloody—fuck—” He doubled over, forehead colliding with the hard wood of the table.

By the time he pried his eyes open from the sharp sting of pain, everyone was staring at him with identical looks of disbelief, as if he were the idiot in the situation.

Raising his hands in surrender, he huffed, utterly perplexed by the turn of events.

“What?! So we’re all just supposed to act like it’s normal that one minute he hates her and the next he’s so far up her arse he could whisper in her ear?!”

At the very least, Sirius expected someone to back him up. James, maybe, because he was always on about Remus being a hypocrite. Or Marlene , who at least had the good sense to find humor in all of this.

But no.

Instead, James pinched the bridge of his nose like he was battling a migraine, Marlene muttered something that sounded suspiciously like for Merlin’s sake, Black, and Lily was just avoiding eye contact altogether, suddenly very interested in buttering her toast.

And Remus—Remus just sighed. That slow, patient sigh that meant he was this close to losing his temper, but he was doing that thing where he convinced himself he was above it.

“Pads,” he said, voice clipped, “I swear to God—”

“No, no, sorry,” Sirius cut in, straightening up despite the throbbing ache in his shin. “Am I the only one who remembers how you used to look at her like she’d burst into flames if you kept staring? How you’d turn green when she walked in the room?”

Across from him, James let out a sharp, incredulous breath. “Are you actually daft?”

Sirius just ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

He looked to Lily, hoping for a shred of backup, but the traitor was still focused on her toast. He turned to Marlene, but she just gave him a wide-eyed look that screamed drop it, Black.

He turned back to Remus, who was now very pointedly stirring his tea, as though pretending he wasn’t the center of attention would make Sirius forget the absolute insanity happening right in front of him.

“I hated her?” Remus repeated blandly, finally looking up. “That’s a bit dramatic.”

Sirius let out a laugh. Loud, disbelieving, scandalized.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he mocked. “What would you call it, then? Casual disdain? Deep-rooted, undiagnosed allergic reaction? Because I distinctly remember you not being able to stand within a three-foot radius of her without looking like you were about to be sick.”

At that, Remus’ jaw ticked. It was barely there, the kind of reaction only someone who knew him well would notice. But Sirius did notice, and so did James, and it was definitely why James suddenly went stiff beside him.

A beat of silence.

Before he could go off—before the tightness in his jaw and the twitch in his fingers could escalate into something actual. Just as the inevitable explosion was about to happen, Sirius bracing himself for the verbal annihilation that was surely coming—there was a sudden shift in the room.

You walked into the Great Hall, oblivious to the absolute war zone you were unknowingly interrupting.

Just barely brushing past him as you made your way to your seat, as always, Pandora on one arm, lolly in your mouth—as normal as ever.

It was nothing. Just a fleeting moment. The soft whoosh of your robes as you passed behind Remus, your fingers lightly skimming the back of his chair in a casual, absentminded way. Barely even a touch.

But it was immediate.

Remus’ shoulders relaxed. His hand, which had been clenched into a tight fist against his thigh, uncurled. The sharpness in his jaw eased, the tension around his mouth smoothing into something effortless.

He didn’t even turn his head. Didn’t watch as you crossed the hall to your usual table, settling in without a second thought.

But Sirius saw it all.

He saw the way Remus exhaled, slow and steady. Saw the way his fingers twitched slightly—like maybe they wanted to follow where you’d been. Saw the way, without even realizing it, Remus tracked your presence out of the corner of his eye before returning to his tea like nothing had happened.

Sirius gawked.

“You have got to be kidding me.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but the disbelief in it was palpable.

James cleared his throat, poorly disguising a smirk as he reached for the pumpkin juice.

“Pads,” he said, in a tone that was dangerously close to condescending, “I’d drop it if I were you.”

Sirius snapped his head toward him, scandalized.

“Did you see that?” Voice whispered, eyes gesturing wildly at Remus, who was now painfully composed, stirring his tea with the patience of a saint. “She brushed past him, and suddenly he’s a bloody monk! He was about to rip my head off, and now look at him—he’s practically floating.”

James just shrugged, taking a sip from his goblet. “Yeah, mate,” he whispered still, far too amused. Only mouthing his next words, in hopes to not break the peace—“We know.”

Remus quite literally looked as though he’d reached enlightenment, comfortable in letting himself ignore everything else around him.

He didn’t think it was weird how, as of late, his mind often wondered to you.

It seemed only natural really, you were more affected by him because of his condition, and he was more affected by you. Guessing that this was how everyone felt this whole time, drawn to you all the time—presence undeniably addicting.

Yeah. It made sense to him. A perfectly reasonable explanation.

That’s why he felt absolutely no way about having found himself in the hospital wing, yet again. Clearly once he’d been sucked into your orbit, there was no escaping—completely unavoidable, not that Remus was complaining.

You could smell him from a mile away, not even turning away from your station—

"Hello, Remus," you mused, setting down a tray of fresh bandages. "What is it this time?"

Remus hummed, glancing down at his hands like he needed to double-check. "Not sure yet. Give me a moment, I'll think of something."

Even during the hustle and bustle of the hospital wing, multitasking as he perched on the edge of an empty bed, silently observing your movements.

You were good company.

That was all the reason he needed.

All that mattered was the way the steady hum of your presence started to settled something deep in his bones, the way the corners of your mouth twitched in quiet amusement whenever your eyes caught his—half-exasperated, half-knowing.

Rolling your eyes, but there was no real bite to it. "You do know this isn’t a common room, right?"

Remus exhaled a slow breath, something curling warm and weightless in his chest. "Strange," he said, tilting his head. "Feels like one."

You gave him a look, but he could tell from the slight twitch of your lips that you were trying not to smile. "Unbelievable," you muttered, shaking your head. "Well, since you're so comfortable, you might as well make yourself useful."

Remus raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

You turned away, reaching for the large pile of freshly folded bedding, before handing it to him. “Put these on top of the cabinet in the corner, since you’re clearly in no rush to leave."

He took the pile without hesitation, fingers brushing against yours in a way that sent something sharp and fleeting through him—odd, but not unpleasant. Not anything worth thinking about.

"Mm. Of course." Using his height to his advantage, placing them with ease. As much as he wanted to trail after you as you moved around the ward, he’d already been told—several times—that if he wished to stay, he needed to stay out of the way.

Even if he wanted to help it, he couldn’t. There was a pull to you, a presence that drew in attention in ways both subtle and impossible to ignore.

As much as it was special—it’s not something unique to him, at least. You had that effect on everyone.

Rather unfortunately actually.

Not everyone who was drawn to you, was quite as pleasant as Remus. You had a feeling he would come, saunter in—unbelievable high and mighty, friends trailing behind him.

Remus was still sitting on the empty bed, reading, as you packed up the last few things—only fifteen minutes left before the end of your shift. That’s why he was waiting, having fallen into the habit of walking you back to the common room—supposedly because ‘company wouldn’t hurt’.

The sharp inhale that left your lips had him sitting up straight immediately—alert.

“You okay?” Already walking over to where you stood, face twisted into an expression of concern, you simply shook your head—mumbling “Yes”.

Still training your gaze downwards, eyes almost twitching and lips pressed into a thin line. Then he heard them, not too far from the entrance—obnoxiously loud, howling laughter accompanying.

A clear grimance was stuck on your face now, placing a hand on his chest as you finally raised your eyes from the tray of empty vials you’d been sorting.

“Let me handle this, okay?” Voice suddenly hushed, hand lightly pushing him to sit in the far corner, out of sight. He didn’t protest, walking backwards in the direction you motioned him, despite the look of confusion, only asking—

“What? What’s the matter—“

You cut him off completely, practically pleading while you backed away to close him into the bay, brows knit high.

“Just promise you’ll stay here? Please?”

When he finally nodded, you shut the curtains behind you, taking in a final deep breath before plastering the most polite smile you could muster on your face.

It made you want to physically shrink into yourself, the arrogant, smug smirk his lips curled into when he saw you—as jarring as ever.

Avery.

Closely followed by Malfoy and Mulciber. Pathetic really, the lot of them. Walking around as if they were Heaven’s gift to earth, like they graced the presence of everyone they’d met. Fragile, weak men, who so clearly took pleasure in the discomfort they caused others.

So self-important and big headed that they can’t fathom the idea of rejection.

Because you had, in fact, rejected him.

But Avery was relentless—so used to being the one doing the discarding, so accustomed to having others scramble for his approval—he’d not taken it well.

You had tried patience. You had tried politeness. But it was becoming increasingly clear that neither would get you very far.

He leaned against the nearest bedframe, all mock ease and arrogance, his lips twisting into a grin that sent a fresh wave of repulsion through your stomach, setting uncomfortably beneath your ribs.

"Merlin, love," he drawled, letting his gaze drag down your figure, lingering far too long in places that made the surface of your skin crawl. "You really shouldn't be wasting your time in a place like this." He tutted, shaking his head in exaggerated pity. "What a shame—a pretty thing like you, running around cleaning up after other people's messes. Bet you could be doing something much more...suitable for a girl like you."

Malfoy and Mulciber chuckled under their breath, the former nudging Avery's shoulder as if egging him on.

"Shame she's not taking any applicants," Mulciber added with a grin. "Not officially, anyway."

Spine becoming taut, you didn’t even try hide the way your expression visibly distorted into disgusted frown.

Avery’s grin widened, his tone dropping into something lower, more vile. "Come on, sweetheart. I know you’ve got better things to do than play nursemaid to a bunch of useless sods," he said, stepping forward. "That uniform—" He whistled, dragging his eyes over you like you were something to be had. "Merlin—makes a man wonder, doesn't it?"

Roughly dropping the empty vial he’d been fiddling with back into the tray—"Bet you'd be a real treat with a bit less of it on."

The pressure in your jaw from the clench sent sharp pangs through your skull, stomach twisting.

"Shame, though," Avery continued, completely ignoring your stiffened posture, "a bird like you, wasting away in a place like this when you could be spending your time with someone who can show you a good one, a real man."

"Yeah?" you deadpanned. "Where would I find one of those?"

Mulciber let out an obnoxious bark of laughter, while Avery's smirk wavered for the briefest moment before he recovered.

"Feisty," he mused, tilting his head, eyes glinting with something nasty and superior. "I like that."

Knuckles white, fingers numb—you were sure your nails had drawn blood from their harsh digging into your palms.

"But let’s be honest, love," Avery continued, stepping even closer, his voice taking a somewhat conspiratorial cadance. "A girl like you—" He clicked his tongue. "I know what you really are. You act all high and mighty, like you’re better than us. But I reckon if I just—" He reached out toward you, fingers brushing against the fabric of your sleeve. "Pushed a little, you’d fold like the rest of them."

That was it.

"Right," you said, voice cold and even. "If you haven't got anything wrong with you, feel free to leave. I've already given you my answer." Snatching your arm away from him as though he was something filthy—purposefully dusting off where his fingers had been with a loud, “ugh,”

It was painfully silent, and for a moment Avery didn’t move.

His smirk vanished.

Its replacing expression, something ugly, almost unhinged—filled with malice, his nostrils flared as your words, your viseral reaction set in.

"Right," he sneered, stepping even closer, until there was barely a breath between you. "Of course. Because you think you're too good for me, don’t you?"

You stood your ground, not moving an inch—but the fury radiating from him was palpable.

"Don’t you?" he repeated, louder this time, his chest rising and falling in quick succession, puffed out as if to make you cower before him.

A dramatic sigh passed your lips, head rolling over your shoulders—when you looked back at him, an almost devious smirk played on your lips and with a condescending, feigned sympathetic coo, you responded.

“Yeah…I do.”

And that’s what really did it.

Avery’s lips curled into something vicious, eyes narrowing.

"It would be real unfortunate if something happened to that pretty little face of yours," he murmured, voice mockingly sweet but dripping with spite, his finger suddenly reaching up—so light, so deceptively gentle as he brushed a loose strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear. You began physically recoling away from his touch, but his fingers gripped the bottom of your jaw—holding you in place, "Seeing as that’s all you really have."

A hand clamped down over his wrist.

It happened so fast—one moment, Avery was inches from you, the next, he was yanked back, spun around so fast that his head barely caught up before he was staring at the broad chest of someone towering over him.

Remus.

He wasn’t angry.

No—anger was too simple, too small.

He was seething.

His grip on Avery’s wrist was bruising, his knuckles white with the pressure. His expression, usually so composed, so calm, was something terrifyingly unreadable.

"You’re a sick bastard, you know that?" Remus finally said, voice eerily smooth—so quiet it sent a shiver of something primal down everyone’s spine.

“Pestering a girl who’s already rejected you, and when that doesn’t work, you threaten her? Because your fragile ego couldn’t stomach the idea of her not wanting you?”

Avery sneered, yanking his arm, but Remus didn’t let go. If anything, his grip tightened.

“You’re a sick little boy with nothing to offer,” Remus continued, slow and deliberate, his voice dripping with disgust.

“I mean, it’s no wonder no one wants you—you’re a pathetic excuse for a human being.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Avery’s face turned red—not just with fury, but humiliation. His eyes flickered to Malfoy and Mulciber, both of whom had stepped back ever so slightly, watching with careful amusement, not stepping in. The muscles in Avery’s jaw ticked. His free hand twitched, curling into a fist.

Remus didn’t so much as blink.

The cracking, whining sound of the hospital wing doors is all that was heard.

“What on earth is all this commotion?!”

Madam Pomfrey’s sharp voice cut through the ward, almost bouncing—echoing violently off the walls, her stern expression making even Malfoy stand a little straighter. She narrowed her eyes, gaze flicking between each of you before they landed on Avery.

Yanking his arm from Remus’ grasp, stepping back with a sneer.

"If you’re not sick, you’ve got no business being here," she snapped. "Out—the lot of you!"

Avery was still enraged, but he knew better than to argue.

"Disgraceful," Madam Pomfrey muttered under her breath as she turned to you, her hand coming onto you shoulder with a soft pat. "You’re dismissed for the evening, dear. Go on and get some rest."

You exhaled slowly through your nose, lips still pursed into a thin line, nodding.

But just as you turned to leave, Avery leaned in just close enough for only you to hear, voice low and dark.

"You’ll regret this," he murmured.

Then, with one last glare at Remus, he turned on his heel and stalked out, Malfoy and Mulciber following close behind.

You still hadn’t moved from behind your station, lost in deep thought, goosebumps still raised on your neck from Avery’s vile touch—the blood beneath your skin felt warm, too warm and buzzing with something you’d only describe as fury.

Gaze still fixed on an unimportant spot of the floor, the agitation seemed to only swell, invasive—inevitable, its just that you couldn’t believe it.

The audacity, the nerve, and on top of that; you let him get to you, knowing he relishes in the rise, knowing—

Warmth and a gentle hand, ghosting over your spine is what broke your chain of thought, you could still feel the skin of your cheeks internally burning. If it was anyone else, you would have flinched away, but, it was Remus.

He didn’t say anything at first, just let his hand settle lightly against the small of your back, grounding. You finally took the steps to remove your dressings, hanging them by the doors—still warmed by the heat radiating from his palm.

A silent question, a quiet offering of comfort.

You exhaled, long and slow, willing away the leftover tension still coiled in your muscles. It didn’t work. Barely having made it half way through the walk to the common room, almost trudging to a stop—footsteps getting heavier the further you walked.

“That was—” You stopped yourself, shaking your head as a humorless huff left your lips. “Unbelievable.”

Remus’ fingers twitched against your back, the only sign of the anger still simmering beneath his composed exterior.

“I’m sorry you had to deal with that, you didn’t deserve it,” His voice was even, comforting but still slightly strained, turning the last corner before reaching the dungeon, he pressed further—“You know that, right?”

Pausing outside the common room door, you nodded, rolling your shoulders as if that would shake off the lingering filth Avery had left in his wake.

“I know,” you muttered. “Doesn’t make it feel any less disgusting.”

Remus didn’t respond right away, and when he did, it wasn’t with words. Instead, his hand slipped from its place on your back, pulling you in lightly by your wrists towards him. Engulfing you completely, arms firmly wrapped out you, anchoring—when you lifted your head to look at him, he was already looking down at you. Eyes swimming with sympathy and unspoken words of compassion that just escaped him.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you murmured, searching his face. “Step in like that.”

The way his brows furrowed made it seem as though the thought had never even occurred to him.

“Of course, I did.” The answer was simple, final, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

And to him, it was.

You studied his face for a little while longer, the look in his eyes so unbareably fond, it had the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end—you forced yourself to look away shaking your head, the ghost of a smile twitching at the corners of your lips.

Just the glimpse of your smile had a small twinge of pride blooming in Remus’ chest—unable to avoid the way his lips mirrored yours, forming a crooked one. Having felt the tension in your shoulders melt away, the way you comfortably tilted your head up at him again—a soft, sincere “Thank you,” resting in the air between you, he allowed himself to relax.

Ever so slowly, reluctantly, you were putting space between you, arm trailing down his as you walked backwards towards to door, drawing out the seconds so you could absorb his warmth just that bit longer.

“You don’t have to thank me,”

Still basking in the lasting grip of his hand on yours, arms stretching out and away from both your bodies, inching painstakingly back—”I know,”—the words were soft, airy—fingertips just barely connecting now, eyes locked with his.

The heavy sound and creeking of the door, is all that hung between you for a few long moments, both still savouring the last whisps of skin on skin—until your back was pressed against the door, a lazy smile spread across you lips, breathing out—”Goodnight, Remus,” before finally disappearing behind the cold metal.

Not even moments after you were out of his sight, he sighed, almost dreamily—fingertips still buzzing from your touch, he ran a hand through his already messy hair, letting it drag down the side of his face. Settling on his lips, still stretched into a cheesy grin as he started his walk back to his common room.

After that day, Remus somehow found a way to make sure you were rarely alone, always with you on your shifts, putting imperative effort into essentially escorting you around the castle—its not that he thought you couldn’t handle yourself.

It was that Avery was notoriously cruel and twisted on his own, but with the added encouragement of his entourage, and the burning desire Remus knew he had to defend his bruised ego.

It felt necessary to him.

He’d been so thorough, that even as the full moon came and went—Lily had coincidentally taken the time to join you before the end of your shift, grabbing dinner in the great hall every night that Remus was away. You were almost never alone.

Almost.

To and from classes, it became a bit harder to ensure you had company. But quite frankly you weren’t convinced it was necessary at all. It’s not just that you weren’t particularly fond of people taking time out of their day to get you from point A to point B.

It’s that you didn’t even believe Avery was actually going to do anything, it had been almost two weeks and he still had yet to utter a single word to you. Apart from the occassional glare from across the great hall—Avery’s little threat had been relatively harmless.

You didn’t even grant him the satisfaction of acknowledgement as you walked by him and his friends while they sat on a bench in the courtyard. And even as another snide and vulgar remark reached your ears, you continued to where you needed to—completely unfazed.

Though, it did make the grip you had on your textbooks, that tad bit tighter. Taking in a deep breath, you told yourself—you’re above it, you’re better than them.

It seemed that Avery was a bit of an opportunist, waiting for the right time to jab at you, waiting until you were alone.

One after the other, they hopped off the bench—trailing after you, the scuff of boots against the dry ground, the low murmurs of laughter that sent a wave of irritation down your spine. It was calculated—deliberate, the sun was low, casting long shadows across the courtyard—students milled about in the distance, not too many, just enough.

“Going somewhere, sweetheart?” Avery’s voice was deceptively light, laced with the same condescension that it dripped the last time. “You’ve been awfully rude, you know. Ignoring me like that.”

You sighed through your nose, forcing your steps to remain even—you’re above it, you’re better than them.

A presence at your side. Another just behind. You were surrounded, their shadows stretching long under the fading sunlight.

“I’m busy, Avery—don’t you have a stone to kick or something.”

His smirk twitched, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw his fingers flex like he was resisting the urge to grab you. “You know,” he said, voice all mock thoughtfulness, “I wasn’t going to let you get away with what happened in the hospital wing.”

That made you stop.

The words dug under your skin, prickling, burning, unrelenting—you turned sharply, finally looking him in the eye.

Avery smiled, slow and victorious, relishing in the reaction.

“That’s more like it,” he murmured, taking a deliberate step closer.

The urge to wipe that smug, entitled look off his face clawed at your insides.

“Oh, so that’s what this is about?” you said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You think you’re being gracious, do you? Letting me ‘get away with it’? What, so I’m supposed to thank you for your mercy?”

Avery’s smirk twisted.

“Wouldn’t kill you to show a little gratitude,” he mused, eyes flicking down your body with a slow, assessing gaze had you fighting every urge to not simply swing at him. “You’ve been walking around here like you’re above people. You ought to be taught a lesson.”

He took a step closer, a sick, dread beginning to pool in the pits of your stomach, fingers twitching for your wand—you’re above it, you’re better than them.

“That uniform of yours,” he murmured, tilting his head like he was considering something. “You have to know what it does, don’t you? Little skirt, all dolled up like you’re just begging for attention.”

Eyes darkened with something vile.

“Though I suppose you’re already getting plenty of attention, aren’t you?” he sneered. “Flitting around in that little thing, acting all innocent, when we both know what you are.”

He leaned in slightly, just enough to make it invasive.

“Lupin have you playing nurse, is that it? Bet he just loves having you at his bedside, don’t you, sweetheart?” His voice dropped lower. “Bet you wouldn’t even have to ask to get on your knees for him.”

You’d finally had enough, completely disgarding your textbooks to the floor as your shoved him back aggressively. The heated argument erupting in no time—vexed and roaring, “All this bitching because one girl doesn’t want you—pathetic!” You almost didn’t recognise your own voice, shrill, abrupt, nasty.

Words violent and clashing against his, boiling and sharp, insults spewing, slicing through the once peaceful air of the courtyard. A few heads turned, a few onlookers slowing their steps as the tension grew thick, simmering with something electric, something dangerous.

It was the principle, you refused to back down.

Refused to let him win.

And when the venom on your tongue reached its peak, when you could no longer stand the sight of his smug, entitled face—taking a step back, face twisted and scrunched into a look a revolt, while you surveyed him. Eyes scanning from head to toe, you let out a loud, bellowing incredulous laugh before spitting, “You’re not even worth it, Avery. Infact, you’re a waste of time and good air,”

Then you turned away.

Disregarding—dismissed him like he was nothing.

The sharp crack of an insult, a curse from Avery’s lips, venomous and unchecked.

And that was when it happened.

You heard the whisper of fabric, the flick of a wrist—the fizzling hiss of magic.

The moment was barely a fraction of a second, having put just enough space between you, there was time—you’d be quick enough to deflect it—the hex. Every instinct, every reflex kicking and screaming to do so, to move, fight back before it hit you.

But—there were just too many people.

Too many bodies standing in your proximity, too many possible targets, too much risk of having someone else caught in the crossfire. Enough time to deflect, not enough to redirect—you’d have no control over where it would go, you didn’t even hear the curse he muttered, no chance of knowing what it could do, no control of who it could hit.

So you made a choice, bracing yourself, every muscle of your being constricting, becoming taut.

You took it—biting into your lip as the awful, searing burn of the spell made contact with your back, the impact making you seize up even further, hurtling forwards, upwards.

The world around you blurred, spun—then—

Stone.

A sickening crack as the side of your body collided with the hard stone of the courtyard walls, ribs taking the brunt of the impact, before you bounced off it, gravity pulling you down. Slamming against the firm ground with a dull thud.

At some point, Regulus has caught sight of the commotion and was already running to the great hall in search for his brother—who would without a doubt be with Remus.

Pain exploded through your side, agonising, blooming mercilessly with every breath, every slight movement. The sharp stinging throb of your ribs, your lungs burning as the weight of every inhale pressed against the bones—each one more of a struggle than the last.

Curling in to yourself, hand desperately clutching at your side—eyes squeezed shut, the world sounded so distant, muffled, the first thing you register was the silence—all you could feel was the small shards of grass brushing against the side of your cheek with each shaking tremble of your body.

Then, a second later—murmurs. A ripple of shocked voices.

A small crowd had formed, hesitant, concerned, a voice was so close but so far away you wouldn’t make it out over the gurgling, rushing sound that floated between your ears—instictively raising a hand, a signal—stay away.

Barely hearing the sharp gasp from somewhere in the distance—the sound of loud panicked footsteps—running. Unsure of how much time you’d spent laying there—only disturbed by the way the footsteps made your body shake as they got closer, you couldn’t bring yourself to acknowledge the desperate calls of what you thought might have been your name.

Hand coming into contact with something hard and hot—trying to push it away, it was all too much and you were still—the pain of movement so overbearing. Pushing through the crowd, his heart rested firmly in the pits of his stomach at the sight of you—fragile, just a small mass of robes, folded into yourself.

Eerily similar to that morning two moons ago.

He scooped you up quickly, despite the weak and pitiful protest that left your lips, the heartbeat that was now pressed close to your ear was mildly soothing—familiar.

Remus.

Each one of his rushed jolting strides made the stabbing pain in your side more noticeable, and though the voices blurred and blended into eachother, you could make out three, maybe four other sets of rushed footsteps behind you.

A mild, faintly sweet smell of anti-bacterial filled your nostrils, the hospital wing. Even in his panic, you could recognise the overly catious, gentle way Remus set you down on bed—still pained whimpers spilled from your lips, once again curling in on yourself.

Pomfrey’s voice was sharp and alarmed, bringing you ever so slighty back into the room, she was telling, no asking something, and Regulus’ voice chimed in.

“It was Avery, he hexed her while her back was turned—coward.”

You could feel the heat of Remus’ hand on your back, trying to sooth you, calm the injured groans that you couldn’t hold in. And as Pomfrey’s gentle hand came to move yours from their desperate grasp on your side, you squirmed away—cracking an eye open as another wave a pain radiated through your body.

She shushed you, voiced becoming more tender and quiet—”You have to let me see, dear,”

Slowly, reluctantly, you withdrew your hands, breaths becoming more shallow with each moment, and as she lifted the hem of your shirt, revealing your skin, a chorus of horrified gasps sounded around you.

Your side adorned with dark splotches of red and black and blue surrounding the area, streaking up your side in cruel, uneven smears. The skin was swollen, raised in places where the bone had set wrong—a clear distorted, raised bump peaking at the side. Flinching sharply at the prodding touch Pomfrey pressed into you, hands gripping the sides of the bed in restraint.

“Oh dear,” The grave tone in which she spoke did not give Remus the sense of comfort he was looking for, brows knit high on his forehead, and like the others, gaze transfixed on the huge blossoming mark on your side.

She turned in a flurry of motion, disappearing behind the curtain only to reappear moments later, her expression unreadable but urgent.

They waited anxiously to be in the know. Barely minutes had passes since your arrival, and a sobering silence had already hung in the ward, the only audible sound was you.

The laboured, heaves and cries you struggled to contain.

No one spoke.

Lily and James stood stiffly at the foot of the bed, their worried eyes darting between you and Pomfrey. Regulus was deathly still, his lips pressed into a tight line.

Finally, after multiple rounds to and from the cabinet Pomfrey, took the first of three vials and put a few drops of the cloudy white liquid under your tongue, doing the same with a few more drops from a vial with green liquid—it must have been foul tasting from the way your body stiffened with a small retch. With a deep breath, she announced to them—

"This is nasty business," she said, voice low, steady. "I’ll need you to hold her down."

Remus’ head snapped up.

"What?"

His hand had come up to your head, stoking the hair that had stuck to your face away—sweat prickling at your hairline.

Pomfrey didn’t hesitate.

“She has a broke rib, it’s healing in the wrong position,” her hands her already moving to press against the swelling at your side, even as you twisted in agony, she continued,

“I need to re-break the bone.”

Eyes nearly popped out of his head, heartbeat ringing loud in his ears—though still not loud enough to drown out the constant shallowed, wheezes that left you, littered with moans of distress that got weaker as the seconds passed—your lungs struggled to fill with enough air to support your voice.

Re-break the bone.

It sounded so clinical, so matter-of-fact, so detached from the reality of what it actually meant.

Your breaths were coming too shallow, too fast, your vision slightly spotting at the edges. The sharp, stabbing ache in your ribs with each inhale made it impossible to breathe properly. Every tiny movement sent daggers through your body, the weight of it all crushing.

“But she’s still awake,” James whispered mostly to himself, soft, quiet—but everyone still heard.

The words rattled around in your skull, sinking past layers of pain and exhaustion, now, you were panicking, hand frantically clawing up Remus’ forearm.

“We don’t have time to wait for a sleeping potion to work, it’s already healing as we speak.”

Your vision was blurry, but you could feel Remus’ hand against your forehead, could hear the barely restrained emotion in his voice.

“Shhh, it’ll be over soon,” What else could he have said?

There was nothing he could do.

Nothing anyone could do but hold you down and watch.

It needed to be done, you understood that, but it didn’t make your next words any easier to say, every syllable a struggle against your fractured ribs, “Do it now—,”

Pomfrey nodded.

James and Regulus hesitated for only a second before stepping forward, grim-faced, exchanging silent glances before reaching for you.

James’ hands found your shoulders, firm but careful, his grip like iron. Regulus settled by your legs, a single hand pressed against your thigh, his face etched with a deep frown—your pain so clear, so raw he couldn’t look at you. Lily hovered just beside him, her fingers twitching at her sides, as if resisting the urge to reach for you herself.

And then there was Remus.

His hands were steady, one gripping yours tightly, the other resting against your head, his thumb brushing against your temple in slow, comforting strokes, feeling truly tormented—harsh wrinkles between his brows as he winced with you. Dreading the idea that you will now know of a pain so awful and familiar to him.

Pomfrey took a deep breath—"On three."

Your own breath caught by the lump in your throat.

"One.”

Gripping on Remus tighter, gaze fearful as it fell on him.

"Two."

Your body tensed, finally screwing your eyes shut, forcing the brewing tears out the corners, instinctively bracing—

"Three."

The crack was sickening.

But the sound that followed was much much worse.

Your jaw slacked releasing a truly blood-curdling, tortured, harrowing, an ear-splitting scream—it ripped through your throat, hoarse and choked, resonating through the ward with an echo.

A pain unlike anything you’d ever known exploded through your side, hot and sharp, rattling up your spine and everywhere. It felt like being torn in half, deep and intense. Your body tried to arch away, escape the splittering agony that set every nerve on fire, but James held you down, gritting his teeth as you thrashed weakly against him.

Only able to focus on the reorganising of bones at your side, the low grinding and shifting sound you heard from within yourself.

A fresh wave of agony struck—white-hot and blinding—and suddenly, you weren’t sure how much longer you could stay awake, head lolling in clear delirium, vision blurring, blackening at the edges, sob ridden whimpers and hiccups still tumbling out between wheezes, your grasp on Remus faltering.

Your vision tunneled, black at the edges, fading—

"Stay with me, y/n,” he whispered, voice raw—wrecked, laced with something aching. "You’re okay."

You didn’t believe him.

The slow and gentle soothing, lulling stroke of his palms over your hair matched the pattern his fingertips ghosted over your hand, fingers intertwined—he held your hand close, pressed to his chest as if letting you go would mean losing you completely.

Still reeling from the pain, nerve endings on fire, all you could muster the strength to produce was one word, weak and unsteady—”Remus?”

Pomfrey worked quickly again, pressing another vial to your lips, the taste barely registering past the burning in your chest—applying a large bandage coated in medicinal ointment to your side. Remus took the small towel by the bedside, softly dabbing off the beads of sweat that remained on your forehead—

"Breathe, love," he murmured, voice soft as silk, but no less urgent. "In through your nose, out through your mouth."

Your lungs shuddered—staggering at the effort, the air thick, heavy, impossible to take in. But you tried. The worst of it dwindled away, not gone, not by a long shot—but enough for the unbearable pressure to settle into something dull, something that no longer consumed everything.

Your body went slack.

Regulus let out a long, slow breath.

James loosened his grip, rubbing a hand over his face.

And Remus—His legs almost gave out beneath him, barely able to swallow the lump in his throat as he took a deep breath for the first time in what felt like forever, and he leaned in closer—the idea of continued space between you was basphemous.

No one spoke.

For a long moment, the only sound in the ward was the shallow, uneven rhythm of your breaths.

"It will heal properly now," she said, her voice more gentle than before, but edged with a small tinge of relief, “I slowed her healing, so the pain will linger for a few days. She’ll need rest.”

Then she was gone, disappearing behind the curtain, leaving the rest of them standing around your bed, and Remus—he only stared at you, his thumb still absentmindedly tracing the back of your hand, eyes running over your exhausted figure, eyes clearly heavy with the grueling after effects of your ordeal.

A long silence stretched between you.

Letting out a slow, jagged, painful inhale, tongue darting out to wet your dry lips to no avail—it was hushed and raw, “Water,”

Remus all but scrambled to get the small metal cup by the bedside, gently slipping a hand under your neck to tilt your head forward—helping you take a few sips. The others all just watch the scene unfolding infront of them, the comfortable way you leaned into Remus’ touch, the unnecessarily fond and tender look in his eyes as he instinctively dotes on you. How his hand trailed back to yours, drawn in to it like a magnet.

Lily couldn’t help the small knowing smile that twitched onto her lips.

Then, the heavy wooden doors of the hospital wing slammed open abrupty with a force that rattled the glass vials on Pomfrey’s shelves.

Everyone’s heads snapped up.

Sirius stood in the entrance, his chest rising and falling with sharp, heavy breaths, his knuckles raw and split. His robes were disheveled, streaked with dirt and something darker, something red. And in his grasp, dragged by the scruff of his collar, was none other than Avery.

Or, at least, what was left of him.

Avery was battered—face swollen, a deep gash running from his cheekbone down to his jaw, lip split so severely that blood had seeped into his teeth. His robes were torn, dirt and grime smeared across the fabric, and his wand—his precious, useless wand—was nowhere to be seen.

Sirius took a few steps forward, his grip tight on Avery’s collar, until they were just a few paces away from your cot.

And with a sharp jerk, he threw Avery to the floor.

The Slytherin crumpled like a ragdoll, landing in a heap at the foot of your bed, groaning as his battered body hit the stone.

Pomfrey gasped, hand flying to her chest.

"What on earth—"

But Sirius wasn’t listening.

He stood over Avery, hands curling into fists at his sides, his entire body still taut with adrenaline. For a long, stretched-out moment, he simply stared at the boy on the ground, nostrils flaring with every furious breath, as if daring him to move. Then, voice low and seething, Sirius asked,

"Haven’t you have something to say?"

The room was silent.

Avery coughed, his body shuddering with the effort.

Straining yourself to move further up the bed—you watched with everyone, every breath rattling in your lungs, eyes dark and cold.

Avery hesitated for a second too long, and Sirius moved—a single, sharp step forward, hands twitching, still ready to rip him apart.

"Alright!" Avery wheezed, flinching back. "Alright!"

The silence stretched thick.

"I did it—I hexed her!"

The words came out weak, broken, almost panicked—pathetic.

Sirius said nothing, only raised a brow, unimpressed.

Avery swallowed hard, shifting painfully on the floor.

"I’m sorry."

There it was.

Sirius still didn’t speak, just watched him, waiting—the digust dripping off of the scrowl that sat on his face.

"He—" Avery’s voice cracked, shaking violently as he forced himself to continue, "—he didn’t do anything to me. I just…" His throat bobbed, his entire face twisted in humiliation. "I just walked into the Whomping Willow."

James was grinning now, shaking his head in mock pity. "Wow. That’s just—" he let out a low whistle, "—real unlucky, mate."

Sirius smirked, slow and dangerous.

But Remus wasn’t smiling.

He was staring at Avery, his face unreadable, his grip on your hand still firm but not tight. He hadn’t said a single word since Sirius arrived, hadn’t moved a muscle—just watching.

Sirius took a deep breath, exhaling sharply as he rolled out his shoulders, like he was only just calming down from whatever happened before he’d stormed into the ward.

Then, crouching down so he was eye level with Avery, he grinned.

"You should consider yourself lucky," he mused, voice dangerously casual, "because if it were up to him?" He tilted his head, nodding over to Remus, smile sharp and positively wolfish. "You wouldn’t be conscious right now."

Avery’s entire body shuddered.

Sirius only chuckled darkly, clapping him on the shoulder—hard enough to make him flinch.

“Off with you now, before Remus decides to be less forgiving,”

Avery swallowed thickly, glancing toward the matron—who, while still clearly appalled, had her arms rigidly crossed but was making no move to defend him. Slowly, painfully, he pushed himself off the floor, every movement making him wince. And then—without another word—he turned and limped toward the exit, humiliated beyond belief.

The moment the doors shut behind him, a collective breath was released.

Remus turned his attention back to you, the anger that previously blazed in his eyes melting away in seconds, another smaller, more comfortable silence lulled over the ward. Sirius turning, and as he took the last few steps toward your bed, looking you up and down, taking in the way you were still clutching weakly at your ribs, holding onto Remus, he let out a breath, asking—

"You alright?"

The very corners of your lips curled, twitching up every so slightly as you huffed out a choked snicker, and though it was cut off by a sharp hiss—you were clearly amused. Letting your head fall back tiredly with—”I’m alright, much better now,”

Pomfrey slipped through the curtains again, and while she changed the small now sweat ridden towel by your bed, refilling the water, she said—

"I assume I don’t need to tell any of you to let her sleep."

She eyed the group pointedly.

James had the decency to look sheepish. Lily nodded. Regulus said nothing, but his arms were crossed, as Sirius rested his elbow on his shoulder—the usual indifference returning.

But Remus, he couldn’t bring himself to tear his hand away—you looked so tired, probably wanted some rest, but he was frozen in place, stuck by your side.

Pomfrey sighed.

"Fine," she muttered, almost to herself, "just don’t let me catch you keeping her awake."

He let out a sigh of relief as she left, the others slowly filtering out, Lily giving your hand a comforting tight squeeze as she left. Remus pulled his chair up closer, allowing his body to lean slightly on the bed, just watching you eyes full of worry.

It was slowly and shaky, but you brought your free hand up to him—he stayed still, watching expectantly for your next movements. Your fingertips threading slightly through his hair in a gentle stroke, pushing it away from his face—mirroring his from before.

But yours slipped down and settled at the base of his neck, fingers still curling around the strands—touch too tender. Eyes scanning his face just as much as his were scanning yours.

“You don’t need to stay here—I’ll be fine for the night,” It came out heavy and mumbled, less convincing than you’d hoped. His face flashed slightly with an almost offended expression, the idea clearly never having crossed his mind.

“I want to stay,”

His words were plain, honest—left little room for protest on your end, but you still tried. And even as your eyes got heavier, sleep weighing heavy on your body—”But you can’t sleep on that chair all night, you’ll break your back,”

A huffed laugh came through his nose, typical crooked smile playing on his lips—”I’ll be fine—”

“Come up here,”

Yours words cut him off, light and simple, and you shuffled over onto your side—lips pursed to hold in a wince, making space for him before he could protest. His eyes just darted between you and the now open space, trying and failing miserably to stutter out an excuse—but the sleepy bored look in your eyes, accompanied with the light pats on the bed made him relent.

Slipping into the bed, careful not to knock you and keeping a safe, meticulous distance from you, you couldn’t help yourself, eyes rolling with a dramatic sigh—”I’m not made of glass, y’know,”

Watching as his form relaxed a bit, taking up more space, you slowly curled into the gap he’d left, drapping the thin cover over you both, humming as you finally closed your eyes. He watched you settle carefully, hesitating before bring an arm around to softly pull you in slightly closer to him, the smile twitched onto his face, when you unconsciously burrowed into him—allowing sleep to over come him too.

The change between you wasn’t instantaneous, nor was it something either of you consciously acknowledged. It was slow, creeping, like ink bleeding through parchment—gradual, yet utterly inescapable.

Because it wasn’t just that night you spent in each other’s comfortable and content company, and though it started with the nights, this was the first of many.

Somewhere along the way, your post-shift routine had shifted. You never really meant to end up in Remus’ dorm every night—it had just happened. One moment, you were finishing up in the library, the next, you were in his bed, limbs tangled lazily, a book forgotten between you as you talked in hushed voices about anything and everything. His sheets smelled faintly of parchment and something woodsy, and without fail, your shoulders, your knees, your arms would brush, a constant, grounding touch that neither of you ever pulled away from.

At some point, you both stopped pretending this was something normal friends did.

Maybe it was the way his fingers always lingered on your wrist when he passed you something, or the way he never failed to have a Bloodsucker rolling around at the bottom of his bag.

It had started as a small thing—insignificant, really. You hadn’t even noticed it at first, not until the third or fourth time it happened.

The first time, it was after a particularly long shift, your legs aching from standing too long, your mind buzzing with exhaustion. You’d barely slumped into your usual seat beside Remus in his common room when he wordlessly reached into his pocket and pulled something out. A small, wrapped sweet.

You had blinked at it, then at him.

“What’s this?”

He shrugged, as if it was nothing. “Thought you could use one.”

Then again between classes, during late-night study sessions, in the middle of a quiet walk back to the dorms—whenever you reached for one absentmindedly, he had one ready, handing it to you without a second thought. He never even looked like he thought about it, just pulled it from his pocket like it was as natural as breathing.

The realization hit one afternoon, sitting across from him in the library, books scattered between you. He passed you a piece of parchment, and along with it, he slid a familiar, wrapped sweet across the table.

You narrowed your eyes at him, picking it up. “Okay, you definitely don’t carry these around for yourself.”

He barely looked up from his book, but the ghost of a smirk played on his lips. “Maybe I just like being prepared.”

“For what?”

Remus finally glanced up, a single brow raised. “For you, obviously.”

Maybe it was the projects—you always ended up partners. Whether it was a conscious decision or just something unspoken between you, you gravitated toward one another like it was inevitable. Like it was meant to be. The others barely batted an eye anymore, rolling their eyes as you took your usual seats together, heads ducked in close as you whispered back and forth, scribbling notes in the margins of each other’s parchment.

Or maybe it was the bookstore.

That trip to Hogsmeade was different. You’d both walked through the cobbled streets, the wind crisp but pleasant, your arms brushing as you made your way toward the small, tucked-away shop Remus had offhandedly mentioned once before. It was his place—somewhere quiet, somewhere his. And yet, he’d brought you.

He watched as your fingers trailed the spines, his own hand brushing over yours as he pointed out his favorites. There was a certain weight in the air, a quiet understanding you both wordlessly acknowledge—both so easily able to find solace in each other, a unspoken harmony—solidarity.

And then there were his nights.

Pomfrey was very understanding when you began to ask to have the days after the full moon off.

You had entered his dorm without knocking—because, by now, you never had to. You expected him to be curled up in bed, exhausted and aching, maybe reading, maybe just resting. Instead, the moment you sat down beside him, he shifted—eyes heavy-lidded, body sluggish, but his arm curled loosely around your waist, his face nudging into the fabric of your jumper.

You barely even hesitated before your fingers found his hair, carding through it with a softness you didn’t even have to think about.

You were there every morning after, pulling the duvet up over his shoulders, murmuring softly as he pressed closer, his fingers grazing the fabric of your sleeve like he needed to feel you near.

And somehow, somehow, the nights you stayed over became less about exhaustion and more about something else.

You weren’t sure when you stopped leaving.

There was no more, “I should go,” no more, “It’s getting late.”

One day, you simply didn’t.

It just took one moment—you were dozing beside him, your legs tucked between his, your cheek pressed into his pillow. The next, you were waking up, his arm draped heavily over your waist, your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. His scent clung to you, warm and familiar, and you could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the soft warmth of him against your back.

It was inevitable.

The stolen glances, the lingering touches—each one more obvious than the last. The shift had been slow, careful, but now it felt like a rope being pulled taut, a thread stretched thin between the two of you, waiting to snap.

The day it did, was so ordinary.

Nothing out of the daily routine for you and Remus—you’d made your way over to his dorm, to keep him company, of course—James and Sirius were off at quidditch practise, leaving just the two of you. Both lying on your backs, sprawled across the bed.

The light music of one of Remus’ records droning on in the back as you listened to the low and steady melody of his voice—reading outloud, you’d have to admit, you weren’t paying as much attention to what he was saying as you were to the light vibrations his words sent through the matress beneath you.

Taking a few moments of near silence for you to realise he’d stopped reading, mumbling out quietly, “Why’d you stop?”, as you turned to look at him—but he was already looking at you. The sudden intensity of his gaze made your breath catch in your throat, but his voice as casual as ever in your ears—”You were falling asleep, that’s why,”

The ghost of a pout reached your lips, lightly defending yourself in feigned offence, “No I wasn’t.”

He huffed out a light scoff, shifting onto his stomach, somehow impossibly closer to you—the breath of his words brushing over the curve of your cheek. One of those crooked smiles that made your chest bloom with an undeniably fuzzy feeling etched onto his face, “If you weren’t falling asleep what did I just say?”

Your lips parted, sucking an inhale as if you were about to answer, but all that came out were stammered stutters of half started words, before you huffed out in defeat—he was already laughing at you. And it shook the bed, making you bounce slightly up and and down in sync with him, it made you giggle—joining and mixing in with his as it echoed off the walls of his dorm.

When it finally quieten down, lazy grins still stretch out on both of your faces, he couldn’t help it—it was second nature at this point, he leaned in closer, fingertips rushing the hair lightly away from your face with a low content hum.

It didn’t make sense, the familiarness of his touch was the same as always, and yet today, it made your mouth so incredibly dry—swallowing thickly as he inched closer and closer. The space between you barely a fingers width.

The sun shone in lightly through the window behind him, giving a small spotlight to the golden brown whisps of curls that framed his face—his eyes were scanning your face, for reluctance, hesitation—anything.

But your expression was calm, matching his movement—eyes darting around his, catalogueing his features, the way his eyelashes became slightly straighter towards the ends of his eyes, and the extra freckles by the edges of his eyebrows. Involuntarily, you sucked in a small sharp breath as he closed in, when there was just a slither of space left between you.

He paused, eyes flicking between yours and your lips, words so shockingly tender, barely above a whisper—”Do you want me to stop?”

You couldn’t trust your voice to not break under the pressure of his gaze—so warm, so fond. Instead you just shook your head, fingers twitching up to his arm, he was so close—but hesitant still. Catious.

Even as he leaned down towards you, he paused again, just as the tips of your nose brushed against each other—eyes still searching for even a drop of doubt in yours. Shifting to hover over you lightly, fingertips coming to just lightly trace along the line from the bottom of his jaw, to the drip in his neck.

His lips brushed against yours.

It was soft at first, testing, but the moment your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, he pressed closer, Remus abandoned all his reserved. Melting against your touch with a low sigh, dropping the weight he held on his forearms and pressing into you, deepening the kiss. Something that was once gentle and timid, bloomed into more feverish, wanting touches and grasps.

His hands gripping almost roughly at the curve of your hips, rolling you over and onto him—erupting in giggles against his lips—the sound muffled between the spaces where your mouths met, soft and breathless.

His laughter mixed with yours, a quiet, husky sound that sent warmth curling deep in your stomach. His hands slid over your waist, fingers splayed against the thin fabric of your shirt, his touch firm, but reserved—like he wasn’t sure if he should be holding you like this but couldn’t bring himself to stop.

You didn’t want him to.

Both hands sliding to his neck, exploring, travelling up and down—carding through his hair one moment, holding desperately onto his jaw the next, pulling him closer as if to fall into him—become one. His touch leaving the surface beneath your skin, warm and craving.

Muffled groans and whimpers sounded through the room, the pads of his fingers pressing slightly harder into the rounds of your hips—leaning up into you, into the kiss, breathless and greedy. Sitting himself up straight—allowing his hands to wander, trailing down your spine—spending jolting shivers through you, pawing at your thighs.

Indulging in the first taste of you, the pent up desire set free in the form of unrestrained, frenzied kisses. Relishing in the contact, the cooling sensation of your cold body against his—touches becoming rushed and eager as he drank in every gasp of his name that passed from your lips onto his.

It wasn’t until his hands, once again, found purchase on your hips—grasp almost bruising, causing your to rock helplessly against him, did you pull away suddenly with a sharp gasp. Burying your face into the curve of his neck, chest heaving. A string of apologies immediately tumbled from his mouth, “fuck m’ sorry, I didn’t mean to—y/n,”

He leaned back, trying to catch a glimpse of your face, but you’d brought your hands up to cover it, barely loud enough to hear, squeaking out, “It’s fine—just don’t look at me,” It was a bit late for that, he could already see them—the small dark veins that pulsed and protuded from the base of your neck stretching further up.

“Y/N,”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, not yet, not like this—hands still stuck firmly to your face—chest still rising and falling in quick succession, just as breathless as him. He pressed again, voice low and soft, comforting—”Lemme see,”

“Just gimme a minute,” Voice panicked and muffled by your palms.

He didn’t wait, just taking your wrists lightly, and pulling them away—your head hung low in shame, avoiding his gaze, still trying to catch your breath. Letting go of your wrists, they fell to your sides, and his hands came up to your face, compelling your gaze to meet his.

“Why are you hiding from me?”

Eyes as warm and sincere as ever, he let his hands trail down your neck, ghosting over you shoulders—gently tracing the curve of your spine, forcing a soft gasp from your lips as a shiver ran through you.

His touch was delicate, reverent, as though he feared you might break beneath his fingers. His thumbs brushed just beneath your jaw, tracing slow, featherlight circles against your skin—where the veins pulsed dark and traitorous against the curve of your throat.

“Y/N,” he murmured again, softer this time, like he was afraid to startle you. “It’s alright.”

Leaning down, peppering slow, calming kisses to the exposed skin of your collarbones, the goosebumps raising in their wake impossible to ignore—hands finding their way to grasp at the fabric of his jumper.

His hands now rested low on your waist, making your breath hitch as he nipped lightly at the skin of your neck, trailing his soft pecks up and down from your neck to your jaw. Humming as you leaned into them, melting.

Becoming putty in his hands, once again.

Light gasps slipping through your lips when he brought the thin skin behind your ear in between his teeth—the lightest of bites and bruises littered between his words; “Did you have your potion last week?”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, just barely tugging at the soft brown tufts, panting out, breathless; “Forgot,”

He only hummed back again in acknowledgment, bringing his lips back to yours, swallowing the whines of his name the your couldn’t contain. “So pretty,” he mumbled against your lips. Touch worshipping each piece of skin it passed, fingertips inching up the underside of your shirt—leaving light feathering touches across your skin before residing in the dip of your waist.

Kisses slipping away from your lips as you shuddered against him—lips pressing firm against the curve of your jaw he whispered, “Want a bite?”

The drag of your fingertips against the skin at the nape of his neck forced a groan from his lips, as he continued his assault on the sensitive skin by the dip in your neck. You almost didn’t notice what he said, brain warm and fuzzy from the hot kisses—eventually mumbling out, “Not funny, Rem,”

Your words came out breathy and distracted, less convicted than you’d like, sighing dreamily against his touch. You could feel the way he smiled against your skin—“Mmm not laughing,” so close you could feel each rumbling vibration of his words in your chest the warmth radiating off him mind numbing.

A gasps catching in your throat as he tightened his grip on you, anchoring—punctuating his words with the small nibbles and pecks, “Been thinking about it…for a while,” it was so hard to focus on what he was saying with the way the pads of his fingers dug into flesh at your side—as if it were possible to pull you any closer than you already were, “—trust you,”

He leaned back slightly, taking a look at your hazy expression—lips swollen and glistening, half lidded and breathless. Absolutely bewitching. He looked just as tempting, tops of his cheekbones reddened matching the deep red of his parted lips. Just barely brushing his nose against yours, sighing almost dreamily at the contact—his thumbs stroking slowly back and forth over the flesh of your hips.

Whispering so softly, “Only if you want to,” a pressure-less offer.

Instead of responding, you just leaned into him further, reconnecting your lips making him sigh contently. Eventually, trailing cautiously light, ghosting kisses down his jaw, mirroring his own nipping and sucking pattern. Fingers twiddling and intertwining with the small curls at the base of his scalp.

Testing, contemplating his offer when you found yourself hovering over the junction by his neck, his heartbeat joining yours in its loud thumping rhythm that rung in your ears. Ever so slightly craning his neck, baring the skin to you—soothing your hesitation with simple words, “It’s okay,”

The air almost stilling, his voice so delicate even as he felt the small sharp, piercing of your teeth into his skin. He’d thought it would hurt more, be more uncomfortable—unpleasant. But he just felt a rush in his head, jaw slacking slightly permitting the prettiest groan you’d ever heard. Hips stuttering against yours, eyes almost rolling as he flooded all your senses, unconsciously grasping onto him tighter.

A hot buzzing filling him entirely—surprisingly euphoric, intoxicating. Your body shuddered against his, muffled delicate whimpers passing through you, licking lightly at the broken skin as you withdrew—it was short, barely ten seconds of connection. All nerve endings in your body set alight, looking back at pupils blown.

Drunk on him.

Exhaling with almost a honeyed purr, he lifted his thumb wiping gently at the corners of your mouth. Planting a kiss just by where is thumbs had been, letting them trail again down your jaw—slower than before, less fevered, more lax. Smirking against you when he bit over a mark he’d already made—earning a sweet gasp from your lips.

“Better?”

His voice took an almost smug cadence, and when you hummed back shy and lazy, lips still parted, satisfied sighs spilling for you. Remus couldn’t help the bubble of light laughter that rumbled in his chest—shaking you on his lap. Messily kissing back up to your lips, smiling against you. Savouring each and second of your moment.

When lunch struck and you strolled into the great hall, hand in hand—you shrunk slightly at the quiet murmurs that sounded as you walked between the benches. It wasn’t that you were together, no, that was normal.

It was the trail of red and pink bruises and hickeys that adorned both your necks—failing miserably to cover it with the collar of your shirt. Remus on the other hand, walked in as confident as ever—squeezing your intertwined fingers reassurance. Wearing his marks like a badge of honour—leaning down to your ear, whispering in a teasing tone,

“At least we’re matching,”

And when you sat down at the table with him, rather than your usual spot two tables across, lolly in hand—after Remus silently shot a look at Sirius that said you better not start. He settled beside you, hands interlocked under the table, his warmth against you, your cold against him, comfortable. Blissfully ignoring the way Sirius muttered “About time,” under his breath.

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spyder-junkie · 2 years ago

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EARTH-42 MILES MORALES X READER PART 2

part three ??

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

Honestly the death of his father traumatized Miles.

It taught him to hold on to the things he loves, things that make him happy, because nothing is forever.

And honestly he was looking for something to fill his father’s void, something to satisfy the itch being prowler couldn’t scratch.

So not even two days later, Miles shows up at you window.

He wanted to scope you out, see if you were something he’s like to spend his time on.

With any person hes ever thought of pursuing, the thought of having to tell them hes Prowler loomed over his shoulder.

But you already knew.

Hes dressed normally this time, and hes come at a reasonable hour.

You smile when you see him, opening the window immediately for him to crawl in.

“I aint’ catch you name.” is the first thing he says, dusting off his jeans.

“Y/n.” You reply, sitting down at your desk.

“What can I help you with, Miles?”

He pauses for a moment, almost forgetting what excuse he came up with.

“Check my wounds for me? You wrapped ‘em so well ian wanna unwrap em.” He says, face calm.

You look at him for a moment before shrugging.

“bien, siéntate.” You mumble, going to grab your first aid kit.

“You speak spanish?” Miles asks, sitting down on your bed and pulling his shirt from his body.

The big gash on his side is covered in bandages, blood stained.

“A little, I take a class at school.” You smile, bending down infront of him. He spreads his knees, letting you settle onto the ground infront of him.

He shuts his eyes tight as you unwrap the bandage.

“Thats a pretty chain.” You mumbled, using a cottonball to dab at the wound.

Miles’ hands come to to touch the chain hes wearing. It was one of the many things he half-hazardly bought with his work money.

“Where’d you get it? Ive been looking for something similar.” You ask.

“I honestly can’t remember.” He mumbles, from his tone you could only assume he was telling the truth.

“Thats okay, anyway Youre all good.” You say just finishing his bandages, standing up and putting your things away.

“Oh.” Miles mumbles, not realizing how little time that would take you.

“Anything else I can help you with, Prowler?” He shivers at the way the name rolls off your tongue.

“Guess not.” He says, standing up and walking towards the window. His hands are in his pockets.

He leaves, climbing back out your window and disappearing past the block.

After two days a package shows up at your door.

When you open it, you realize its a chain, identical to Miles’ and brand new.

You giggle a little while clasping it around your neck.

You dont see Miles again for two weeks.

“You know we can just schedule meet ups instead of you showing up to my window at night.” You say, watching as Miles in his normal clothes climbs out if the darkness and into your room.

He ignores your statement, taking his shoes and jacket off and sitting at your desk. He leans back, legs spread wide and eyes closed.

You shake you head, sitting down on your bed and facing him.

“Whats troubling you?” You ask.

“Nothing important.” He says quickly. He opens his eyes and looks at you.

“Youre wearing the chain.” He mumbles.

“Yeah.” You reach up and touch it. “It’s really nice, I thought you didn’t know where you got it from.”

Miles shrugs

“How much was it? I can pay you back-“

“Eres Bonita, you shouldnt have to pay for your own shit.” He cuts you off.

You pause.

“Thank you.” You smile, looking at his hard expression, he nods.

Its silent for a while, Miles just recollecting with his eyes closed.

“Youve been with the cops yet?” He asks calmly. The question startles you.

“…excuse me?”

“You got my name, you know my face, you could rat me out n’ get that reward money.” He says, opening his eyes to look at you.

“is that…what you want me to do..?” You ask, looking at him in confusion.

“Im asking why you haven’t already.” He stated.

“Oh. because I dont want to.”

Miles furrowed his eyebrows.

“I like you, Miles. Plus you helped me out when I needed you. What you do as the prowler doesn’t really concern me.” You say.

Miles stares at you a bit longer, gears turning in his head.

“You can believe me, Im not lying. Now its late, and I am kind of tired. Stay if you want, but my dad usually pops in at 7 to say hes leaving for work.” You say, moving the covers so you could properly get into bed.

You look over at Miles, whos still sitting quietly at you desk.

You lock eyes with him, holding out your hand.

He stares for a while longer, before slowly getting up and sitting on your bed.

He doesn’t get under the coveres, opting to sit with his back against the headboard. He lets you curl up besides him, laying your head in his lap.

His hand ghosts over your shoulder, rubbing soft circles with his thumb as your eyes close.

“Goodnight Miles.”

“…..goodnight y/n.”

When your father wakes you up the next morning as hes leaving, the bed is empty and Miles is gone.

You rub your eyes a little bit, looking to see if he left anything behind.

On your bedside table there was another note.

“ maybe we should schedule meet ups. xxx-xxx-xxxx -miles”

You smile to yourself, immediately putting his number in your phone.

tags:

@caffeine-mess @arachnenotes @erensbbg @nightshxdex @el-chiste @3alvatore @sh-tposter2021 @miatjie @agstuffsworld @ella34435 @iluvdi0r @pulling-out-my-eyes @vakiui @bigpepperpicker @swaggybae @tsukisaiki @osebb

#spider man: across the spider verse #earth 42 miles morales x reader #miles morales x reader #miles morales #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles

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whayjhey · 3 months ago

Text

excuse this silly drawing but— once upon a time i thought of a padme!survives au where she raises the twins in tatooine but she has no idea who vader is and it went a little something like this: Padmé eyed her five-year-old daughter from across the table. Leia was in a grumpier mood than usual, evidenced in the way she gripped her spoon tightly and the way she chomped on her breakfast like an angry Sarlaac. (Padmé was reminded of how her baby girl looked a lot like Anakin, especially when she was this way. Her heart clenched at the thought.)

"Leia," Padmé said when she was no longer able to take the silence. "Sweetie, what's wrong?" And where in the galaxy was Luke? Leia grumbled a reply, one that her mother could barely hear. "Use your words, sweetheart," Padmé chastised half-heartedly. "I said," Leia huffed, looking up finally, her brown eyes meeting its identical, yet older, counterpart. "Why didn't you tell me about Daddy?" The admission caught the former senator off-guard.

Padmé's brows furrowed, confused. "What do you mean, baby? Of course I've told you about Daddy." About one side of him, anyway. The one of the kind Jedi Knight, her handsome protector. Of her sweet husband, the love of her life. Of the man who was so excited to have a baby, but had fallen along with the demise of the Republic before he had gotten the chance to know that he was a father of two. "No, Mama," Leia argued. "I mean— why didn't you tell me Daddy was alive?"

Before Padmé got a chance to react, Luke bounded into their small dining area, hands clutching a piece of paper close to his chest. "Mama!" Luke exclaimed excitedly. "Look, I drew Daddy!"

He slammed the tiny piece of paper onto the table.

Padmé paled at what she saw.

She almost balked at the words "DADDY" scribbled in his childlike handwriting, underneath the sketch of the galaxy's most feared.

She took a deep breath after a moment of silence. "Luke," she whispered shakily. Her son had a smile so bright she didn't have the heart to warn him of the man — if Vader even was one? — on paper.

The Empire had little of its propaganda on the sand planet; how in the living Force was Luke able to conjure the image of Palpatine's right hand man? Worse, why was Luke suddenly calling him his father? It didn't make sense.

It was Leia who brought Padmé out of her state of shock. "It's not fair!" the little girl cried. "How come Luke gets to dream of Daddy but not me!"

Padmé was having a hard time comprehending. "You dreamt of him?" She asked Luke, who was still eyeing his work of art proudly.

"Yeah!" Luke nodded his head happily. "I dreamt of him, Mama! He had a big black suit and a glowy red sword and he said he was Daddy!"

"Luke," Padmé started again. Kriff, she didn't want to break his heart. "Are you sure, sweetie? It was only just a dream."

Dreams. Force forbid, Padmé had to deal with another one. The last important dream belonging to a certain someone ended up costing her her entire world.

"I'm sure, Mama," Luke said seriously. "He walked up to me and said, 'Luke, I am your father!' He was very tall! Do you think I can get to be as tall as Daddy, Mama?"

Padmé blinked once. Twice.

After everything she'd ever been through, she didn't think that she'd be caught off guard by anything anymore.

She didn't want to believe it. This was all simply a misunderstanding. Luke had been always wanting to meet his Daddy; maybe her baby boy was just projecting, his wishes manifesting itself in his dreams and imagination.

Not all visions by Force users turned out to be true; she was living proof of that.

Padmé watched as Luke continued to boast about his encounter with his supposed father, Leia pouting in jealousy beside him. Right. Luke was just a boy. It was only just a dream. She could already see the difficult conversation ahead with her twins.

But then she couldn't help thinking... why would Luke picture Vader, of all the people? She needed a chat with Obi-wan. Soon. (check out the rest of my stuff: masterpost)

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newfallstrangeleaves · 2 years ago

Text

Masked Yandere with an unknown identity

Magic bullet

M!Yander X F!Reader Warning: Druging reader, non-con, NSFW, P in V, Oral (F receiving), slight somnophilia. Summary: Its the winner of this poll. The man with the mask gets you a drug that makes you unable to move your body but you can still feel everything he does to you. Authors note: It really took some time to get it up :( sorry

If this were any other occasion, this would not be happening. He would check your apartment to make sure nothing was wrong or that no one other than himself where within your proximity. But word spread of a drug, something even he caught on to and now can't stop himself from getting his hands on.

That this is the right alley is only a guess. The directions were unclear and he had spent nearly three nights just wandering to hopefully run into the right people. But it's been hard having to choose between anonymity and direction. The mask is a good protection, but it’s also a deterrent. It doesn't matter who you are and where you are from, everyone agrees that if you meet something that frightens you, you turn and walk the other way.

But tonight the hard work bears fruit. At the far end of the alley stands three men, they are tense and seem to be waiting for him. When he approaches they act cool, buffing their chests out and blowing cigarette smoke his way.

“Heard you looking for something.” One of them says.

“Yeah, you have it?”

“Whoa, boy calm down, why you in a hurry? Are you scared or something?” If this is an intimation tactic it's not working. On the contrary, he is feeling rather bothered.

“Yes, actually I am. I have the money, you got the stuff or not?”

“Here.” One of the guys with a pretty nasty black eye holds up a bag with white powder in it. Its snapped out of his hand before he even had time to react.

“HEY!”

“So this is the stuff?” He holds the bag away from the guy with the black eye.

“Yes, You know, we will be nice to you today and let this pass, but if you grab stuff like that again-”

“Do you want the money or not?”

“Hand it over.”

He brings out a hefty amount of bundled-up money. He holds it between the two of them for a second before he throws it to the side and lands right into a puddle.

“Go, take it. I thought you wanted it.” The man glares at him, but it's hard to do with only one eye.

“Your dead, you know that.” But before anyone has time to react, with a swift motion he tackles the guy with the black eye to the ground. His moans in pain are enough to make the other two back off.

With the drugs secured, he is off to your apartment.

Your apartment has never been too difficult to get into. With the copy of your key back in his pocket, he heads for the bedroom. Just to see you. Despite it not being long between the meetings, things still tend to feel lonely.

Coming home to an empty apartment, cooking and winding off for the day all in solitude. And even now, caressing your sleeping face he wishes for things to be different. To have you and to have you as his very own.

But today the drugs will have to do. He can already feel his cock hardening at the thought of being inside you. Eagerly he heads for the kitchen. He tries to be as quiet as possible so as to not wake you as he pours you a glass of your favorite juice. He contemplates for a second before he decides that half of it will do.

With the spiked drink in hand, he gently strokes your face, this time with the full intention of waking you.

“Hey, wake up darling, I just need you for a second.” He can't contain himself for chuckling at your confused face, how cute you look when you're startled. “I just need you to drink this.”

“What? What is it?” He helps you to a sitting position before he, as gently and firmly as he can, grabs your jaw to keep your face in place. He knew before going into this that you would never agree to drink his concoction.

You struggle at first, your hands trying to grab at anything to get the glass away. But you're losing the battle and as you fight to not choke on the liquid, you drink most of it. Some spills down on your clothes and comforter but it's nothing that you will be using anyway.

You cough and gasp for air as he places the glass calmly on the table.

“What was that??” You're panicking, he can tell.

“Shhh, it's okay, you know I will never do anything to harm you. I tell you this all the time.” He wraps his arms around you and lays you back down on the bed. His arms and legs pinning you in place. You are opposing and pleas to let go go unheard, he just hushes you and strokes your hair to calm you, it doesn't take long for the drugs to kick in. All of a sudden your arms lose their strength and fall flat to the side. Your eyes are the last thing that shuts but when they do he can't contain himself anymore.

“I know you can still hear me so don't be scared. Now, I'm sorry I drugged you, it will wear off eventually, until then if figured we could have some special time together. Try something new.” His words get more and more breathy with every word. Arousal is getting the better of him.

The first thing that comes off is his mask, how he has been aching to feel his lips against yours. He is smiling into the kiss, his breath fanning your face. Though your lips don't give his anything in return just the feeling of you is enough, for now. Then it's the gloves that fall to the floor. He doesn't want to leave one speck of your skin untouched by his lips and his hands when this night is over.

He gives your lips one quick peck before he travels down. His lips glaze over your neck, and he trails a few kisses over your collarbones. He is too eager to stop just there, he wants what's further down. Gently he lifts the oversized shirt you're sporting as night clothes, over your head.

He goes straight for one of your breasts. His tongue goes over and around your nipple, sucking and biting gently. He gives one side a few minutes before he switches. When he deems them done he turns his attention to the only piece of clothing still covering you. With a quick motion, it's thrown to the side and you're back to how he loves you. Bare before him.

“I promise you, my love. I will make you feel so good. So good, so so good.” He pushes your legs apart taking in the scene before him, your beauty is astounding. “You don't understand how much I've looked forward to tasting you.”

His tongue works away eagerly at your core. He starts at the clit, working you up, wetness already leaking out of you and he laps it up. He adds a finger, you're still rather tight but with every movement and every lick, you're relaxing.

Then when he goes back to focusing on your clit and with a second finger inside you he hears it. A tiny whine escapes your lips. It spurs him on so much that he thinks for a moment he might be pushed over to climax over it. Almost.

But he is determined to push you over yours first and he does. Your breath hitches as you squeeze around his fingers. Oh, how he looks forward to you doing that to his cock. As you settle back down he can feel his cock aching in his pants. Without a moment of hesitation, he throws off everything.

“I feel so exposed.” He says and chuckles. “Even though you can't see me.” He lines his body up with yours, his cock hard and throbbing in between the two of you. But he holds back, instead, he kisses you.

“I don't know why I'm hesitating now. I guess it's because I kind of wanted…More, if that makes sense.” He sighs. “But it's really your own fault. I would have never done this to you if you'd just accepted me, and allowed me to be with you fully, I wouldn't have taken such drastic measures. …But let's not worry about that now.”

His forehead meets yours as he looks down. He lines his cock up to your entrance. He pushes in slowly to not overwhelm you, but it's still tight. He groans and a moan slips your lips.

“Maybe I've been too secretive, holding my identity intact and away from you for fear of rejection. Though I know you never would reject me, even if you wanted to. Because we both know you love this.” He pushes slowly in, bottoming out as he speaks. “Youre..Fuck…Feels so good.”

His trusts are slow at first. He is using every fiber within him not to either rail you right into the mattress or to cum right this second. But it doesn't take long for him to amp up the pace. The wet sounds from where the two of you connect and the whines that constantly leave your lips. It could be the drugs starting to wear off, but he doesn't miss the way your eyebrows twitch together and that your moans come more frequently now.

But he is too into it to care now, too in the moment to care about whether the drugs are wearing off or not. He feels you tightening around him and miraculously he pulls through your orgasm, keeping his own intact.

“I want another…Please…Give me another one.” He mumbles into your ear, sweat dripping down his brow. He continues until he feels you tightening up once again, this time his release comes before yours. The way your pussy squeezes around him a second time makes him lose it. But despite feeling spent he fights through your high with sloppy thrusts. The overstimulation feels like a reward.

He pulls out just to drop down on your chest, resting his head between your breasts. He lays there and listens to your steady heartbeat for just a moment. Then he worms his arms around you and rolls over on his back with you on top.

“I want to clean you today.” He whispers into the top of your head. “You know, really take care of you now after I've had my fun.”

He looks over the bed, the bedding having been thrown on the floor and he sighs. Feeling contempt with you in his arms, this is where you belong, where you always should be.

“Maybe that could wait a moment or two.” But just as he says that he can see your fingers moving slowly. You are getting the control over your body back and with that pops the bubble he wanted to stay a little longer in. “Or not.”

He gently lifts you off him and goes to get his belongings together. He gives you a quick clean and a peck to your lips before he is out the door just in time for you to slowly sit up and open your eyes.

#male yandere #yandere #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #yandere male #yandere oc #yandere x reader #tw yandere #yandere noncon #noncon drugging #tw drugging

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guilty-pleasures21 · 6 months ago

Text

Halloween special!

Don’t worry, my Jason Todd girlies, I’ve got you covered too!

Credits to @sirencardos for giving me the storyline (p.s. I added a little twist at the end 🤭). Thanks, babe and happy Halloween!

Warnings: none.

----------------------------------------------------------

He had to tell you. Well, he had to tell you eventually … He didn’t have to do it right now. His mind ran through all the close calls he’d had in the past year that you’d been dating and his stomach clenched tightly with nerves.

You grin as you sink back onto his sofa, settling in for your weekly movie night, but your features quickly melt into a puzzled frown when you feel something hard beneath your butt. You pull it out and your confusion grows when you see the belt with multiple pouches hanging off it, each one holding a different tool inside.

“Jason?” You hold the belt out to him and tilt your head in question. “What is this?”

You twist the belt around, studying it carefully, then suddenly, your eyes widen in realisation. “Oh my god! Is this-”

“That’s my tool belt!” Jason replies quickly, grabbing the belt out of your hands. “I wear it whenever I’m fixing up my bike. It just makes it easier to grab whatever I need.”

He turns around, shielding the belt from your view, then quickly goes to hide it in his spare room. Shit! How could he have been so careless?! He must have forgotten to keep it away when he’d taken it off after a particularly exhausting mission. What an idiot he’d been! He says nothing more about it when he returns to you and thankfully, you don’t push the subject any further.

You hang your jacket on its usual hook as you walk into Jason’s house, animatedly discussing the drama that had happened at your workplace that day. You’re so focused on your story that you almost don’t notice the creased brown leather jacket hanging off the hook at the end. Almost.

“Jay?” you ask, closing your fingers around the hem and stroking the worn material. It looked … familiar … almost like …

“Oh my god!” you squeal, suddenly realising where you’d seen the jacket before. “This looks just like Red-”

“That’s Dick’s!” Jason lies, snatching the jacket off its hook. He shakes his head and sighs, as if disappointed in his brother. “Can’t believe he left it here again! I swear he’d lose his head if it wasn’t screwed onto his shoulders. I’ll keep it in my bag so I don’t forget to give it to him when I see him again.”

F*ck! What the hell was wrong with him?! What if you really had recognised the jacket and drawn a connection between him and the vigilante Red Hood?! No, the thought was too terrifying to consider: you were the best thing that had ever happened to him since he’d come back and he couldn’t risk losing you by letting you find out his secret identity.

“Oh, okay.” You deflate slightly, your expression a little crestfallen as he takes the jacket away, but your features quickly light up again when he asks you to continue your story.

“Jason?” Your sweet voice breaks into his thoughts and he looks up to find you looking at him in concern. “Are you okay?”

“Hmm?” What had you been talking about? Shit, forget about losing you to his secret alter ego, he’d lose you way before that if he was being a shitty boyfriend. “Sorry, baby, I was just thinking about … this ice cream place I wanted to take you to. I can’t remember the name. I’ll ask Steph if she remembers. What were you talking about?”

He sets his chopsticks down by his plate of sushi and reaches across the table to take your hand in his. The bright smile returns to your face at his revelation that he’d been thinking about you and you repeat what you’d been talking about earlier.

“I was just talking about how much I love Halloween!” you explain excitedly. “I planned my costume out months in advance. I can’t wait for you to see it! I worked really hard on it.”

You squeal at the very thought of your costume and Jason’s lips curl into a smile. He didn’t doubt that you’d put a lot of effort into your costume: he could still remember how detailed your Wonder Woman costume had been last year. You’d really paid attention to all the small things, even getting a lasso that you could press a button on to make it light up! And f*ck, you’d looked so sexy in it that things had heated up between the both of you enough for him to finally confess his feelings for you. “I can’t wait either, sweetheart. You gonna give me a clue?”

You purse your lips in thought, considering his request. Your boyfriend was really smart and he always had a knack for solving mysteries and figuring things out way too early in advance, so even a small clue would probably have him guessing what your costume was within a few hours.

“Nope,” you decide, shaking your head in disagreement. “You’re just gonna have to wait to find out!”

Jason returns your excited smile and you both turn your attentions back to your dinner.

He tapped his foot on the ground as he sat waiting for you to put the finishing touches on your costume. It was your anniversary today, but instead of a date, you’d be going to the big Halloween parade the city liked to throw each year. He didn’t mind, of course - he knew how much you loved dressing up and admiring other people’s costumes - but he’d still gone ahead and gotten you a gift. Jason dug his fingers into his palm as he thought about the helmet sitting in his car, waiting for you to see it: he’d tell you his secret today. That would be his gift to you: his revelation that he was the one and only vigilante Red Hood who prowled the streets at night taking down bad guys. Well … it would be his gift to you if he could work up the courage to show it to you.

“Jay? Are you ready?” you yell at him from your bedroom, the excitement evident in your voice. Maybe he should just get it over with and tell you the truth before the two of you got too involved with one another. He’d had a pretty good track record with Halloween so far, so maybe today was the day he’d finally be honest with you and it wouldn’t backfire on him in a spectacular display of failure.

“Yeah!” Jason calls back, standing up and turning to face you. But maybe he should wait until after the parade: he didn’t want to spoil your fun, after all, and it would be nice to spend just a little more time in blissful ignorance with you before you decided that all the danger wasn’t worth it - that he wasn’t worth it. He pulled another breath into his lungs, then looked up as you walked out of your bedroom. His heart stopped at the sight of you.

“Ta da!” you say, smiling as you proudly display your costume to him. “Isn’t it great?! I decided to go with a mask instead of his helmet, just because I wanted you to be able to see my face, but check out the jacket! It’s, like, the exact same colour as his! And the boots-”

He tuned out the rest of what you were saying, too stunned by the character you’d chosen to dress up as: the f*cking. Red. Hood. You’d dressed up as him for Halloween this year. Ho. Ly. F*ck.

“I just think he’s so cool!” you continue, oblivious to your boyfriend’s sudden moment of malfunction. “He’s my favourite superhero! Well, he probably wouldn’t call himself a superhero, but I think he’s great! He’s just not afraid to bring people to justice when they deserve it, you know?”

You wrap your arms around Jason’s neck, bringing your bodies close together, and fix him with a playful smirk. “Maybe you should dress up as the Red Hood next year. I bet you’d look so sexy in his outfit.”

You stretch onto your toes and catch his earlobe between your teeth, nipping it teasingly, then you lower yourself back down again. You drag your hand down his chest, admiring his broad and hard muscles, and lick your lips appreciatively. “But we probably wouldn’t make it out of the house if you did.”

You give him a suggestive look and Jason feels his entire being melt into a sappy puddle. You would pounce on him if he was dressed as the Red Hood? Drag him into your bedroom and refuse to let him go? Holy shit! This was the best possible outcome he could ever have expected: hell, it was better than anything he could have even dreamed of! It was official: Halloween was the single greatest holiday ever invented.

“Actually, sweetheart, I have something to tell you.” He takes your hands in his and clears his throat as he recalls the speech he’d spent hours preparing. “I … haven’t been completely honest with you. I-”

“Wait!” you stop him suddenly, bouncing up and down in excitement. “Let me guess! You … secretly hate sushi?!��

You grin up at him, mischief gleaming in your eyes, and Jason snickers softly at your joke. “No, I-”

“You’ve been lying to me about your eye colour: they’re not actually green,” you try again, your guess becoming more elaborate. Jason shakes his head and chuckles as a wave of relief sweeps through his entire body.

“No, that’s not it either. I’m actually-”

“You’re actually the vigilante Red Hood and you’ve been hiding your secret from me for the past year because you were afraid that I’d get scared and leave you?” Jason’s jaw drops open in shock as you smile at him softly, a knowing look on your face. What the f*ck?! How the hell …?

“You knew?!” he asks you, eyes wide with disbelief. “The whole time?! Why didn’t you say anything, sweetheart?!”

Your smile widens and you rub your thumbs across the backs of his hands reassuringly. “Because you seemed so desperate to hide it from me, Jay. Every time I tried to bring it up you’d just shut me down and come up with some lame excuse!”

He winces slightly at the truth of your words: his excuses had been pretty lame. But he’d never had someone he’d felt the need to hide his secret from before! Someone he wanted to protect and look after and just enjoy a normal, ordinary life with. He grins at you, all the weight finally lifting off his shoulders. “Sorry. I’m just not used to it, Y/N.”

You raise your hand to his cheek and stroke his skin gently, then you bounce onto your toes again and press your lips to his.

“It’s okay,” you reassure him patiently. “I’m not really used to this either.”

You shoot him a sheepish smile, then let out an exaggerated sigh. “But oh my god, Jace, I was so relieved when I finally figured it out! I was going crazy having all these wet dreams about Red Hood and then feeling so guilty about it after! Honestly, finding out your alter ego was the most … peace-bringing thing I’ve ever found out in my life!”

Jason raises an eyebrow at you, his lips still curled into a stupidly wide grin. “Wet dreams, huh? What kind of dreams, princess?”

You giggle softly as he pulls you into his chest and starts peppering your face with affectionate kisses. “You’ll just have to wait to find out, Jay. You’ve waited this long, right? What’s a few more hours?”

You blink up at him innocently, driving him crazy with anticipation, but he doesn’t push you.

“Fine.” You’d waited this long too, after all, and if the only punishment you were going to give him was a few hours of waiting to pounce you and spend the night ravishing you, then he’d gladly accept it. “Come on. Let’s go show off your costume.”

You laugh as he leads you out the door and down to the street. “Do you like it though? Did I get everything right? I’m not missing anything, am I?”

“You got it perfect, babygirl,” he tells you, swinging his hand in yours as you walk down the pavement. “I actually think you wear it better than I do …”

It was just a quick one, but I hope you guys enjoyed 😋! Happy Halloween/Diwali/Dia de los muertos everyone 🥳!

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x oc #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd fic #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #red hood x reader #red hood fic #red hood fanfiction #red hood x oc #red hood x y/n #red hood x you #red hood x fem!reader #red hood fluff #jason todd fluff

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carbondioxidewater · 7 months ago

Text

The Beauty of the Undead

Vampire!Gojo x female!reader

genre: romance, fluff, angst, au but few parallels to gojo's canon trauma, smut (at the end)

word count: 13.3k

A cold breeze spreads through the bodies of people passing by. The white flakes descending from the sky, you find smoke from people's mouths dissolving into the air.

The cold brings out the dark creatures, for in the cold it is dark. The warmth your cloak provides is almost comparable to the temperature of your body, the flowing, pure blood in your veins that attracts these creatures.

It is your blood in particular, this fragrant, delicious potion, that attracts a man who has such flawless white skin, almost identical to fragile porcelain, more beautiful than any human should be, and whose eyes flash in the night with such intensity that no human could possess in life.

But you do not notice the staring presence of this man's almost obsessive pursuit - not until that one day. It was just before midnight, you were about to let the blinds of your bedroom cover the window when you spotted a silhouette in the distance on the deserted street through the glass. It was standing sideways, its head tilted towards you even before you noticed it, the shine of its white hair easily confused with the sparkling snow. Glowing eyes stared deep into yours.

Despite the horror-like atmosphere that this motionless standing on the hard asphalt was supposed to create, you were not afraid. It was as if the being could infiltrate your inner being and speak to it. And it made you feel like you didn't have to be afraid.

But all of this happened in a tiny moment, just a blink on your part and the figure you had seen from the height of your apartment vanished as if swallowed by the earth. It happened in such a hurry that you weren't sure if you had maybe just imagined it.

But you hadn't. Because in the months that followed, the mysterious being, who always disappeared so quickly when you noticed him, and you crossed paths again and again.

Whether it was day or night, he followed you without showing himself too much, let alone getting close enough for you to make out anything more than his dark robes. It made you feel a little uncomfortable, like the prey of a predator examining it, but at the same time, after a while, you noticed a certain comfort spreading through you whenever you felt his presence. As if this uneasy demeanor scared away the real dangers of this world. You didn't know if that was a good or bad thing, but since he stayed away from you for the most part, you didn't worry any longer.

That is, until he didn't anymore, of course.

He followed you when you went to work during the day and he followed you when you walked home on another lonely night, but most importantly - he followed you into the depths of your dreams.

It was another peaceful winter night, you slept soundly and dreamed of the mysterious man. It was a nightmare, the man came towards you so fast and with such a terrible grimace of hunger that it threatened to tear you in two, to brutally tear you apart, before you woke up drenched in sweat.

In your dark room you only saw the man's eyes reflecting in the soft moonlight. You screamed a cry of terror when he was already gone again. You looked around you, to your left and right along the corners of your room, but the man was no longer to be seen.

The feeling of being watched disturbed your sleep more often from then on, but you never saw that figure in the comfort of your room again. You always woke up from a seemingly non-existent aura, always striving to go back to sleep.

You started looking for him, trying to get closer to him, but you failed miserably.

Until one day, when he loosened the chains of his distance and you suddenly felt him right behind you on the street in front of your house. You turned around, your heart racing because of the oppressive feeling, and there he was - motionless and with no intention of retreating. You were in such panick that your legs threatened to run away, but you were too scared to move. At the same time, you were eager to finally find out who or what he was.

He stood there, rooted to the spot, the black hat covering the upper half of his face. You had just returned from meeting your friends and started looking out for that familiar silhouette when the dark, attractive sound of his voice reached you.

"Looking for me?" was what he simply said.

He tilted his head up and for the first time you could really see him, a slight smirk on his face before it neutralized again at your gaze.

His skin was so clear that it was almost shining and long luscious white eyelashes adorned his eyelids. His lips were the only thing on him that had a vital color to them, they were almost as red as blood, albeit paler. His whole appearance was pure harmony - his silky blouse that highlighted his neck, the black cloak that hugged his shoulders.

A strong, dangerous aura emanated from him and despite his beautiful, fragile-looking body, he was equipped with many muscles. You couldn't understand how someone could look so delicate and powerful at the same time. But he was beautiful, very beautiful, probably the most beautiful being you had ever seen.

He looked almost like a noble gentleman from ancient times, but the most frightening thing were his sparkling blue eyes. They were so bright that you didn't dare to look into them for more than a few seconds, because their gaze was so intimidating that you suddenly felt like the smallest being in the universe.

"W-why are you following me?" you stuttered with a dry throat and he prepared to answer.

"A girl like you shouldn't walk around alone at night. It's dangerous." his voice sounded so deep when he took a step towards you, your bodies almost touching.

Then, something started to run out of you. It didn't take long for you to notice what it was - blood. You must have gotten your period earlier because of the stress.

All of a sudden his eyes turned blood red and he no longer seemed as calm and collected as he had a few moments ago. The gentleness of his body quickly changed into bestial behavior. The veins on his neck were tense, protruding and throbbing - his Adam's apple was the same. You could practically see his pulse with your naked eye and your whole body shuddered. When he started panting in and out threateningly, as if he had to suppress something inside of him, you saw fangs grow between his lips.

You screamed in fear and he turned away from you in shame, his head tilted sideways. You immediately regained the ability to move and you used it without hesitation to quickly run to your front door and sprint up the stairs. When you were in your apartment and looked out of the window to the spot where you had been standing just a few moments ago, it was deserted. Once again, the mysterious man had disappeared without a trace.

After that, you didn't see him again for a month.

The next month, you lay in bed, drenched in sweat. You had caught some kind of infection that was making you suffer more than usual. It was unbearable, you think had never been so immobile before. It had to be something serious.

When the doctor came, he confirmed your suspicions. It was something with your lungs, but you couldn't even pay enough attention to his words due to your bad condition. He gave you the necessary medication, but no matter how well you followed the instructions, it didn't help.

One day, you coughed blood, a bad sign, and when the days went by, you soon gave up the hope of getting better.

The worst thing is you couldn't even grieve your own life, too weak to mourn after your upcoming loss, too weak to properly say goodbye. You thought that soon, it would be over for you. And you couldn't do a thing about it.

And then one night he came into your room. You were just tormenting yourself in your sleep when you subconsciously felt like you were being watched. You weakly opened your eyes and he was standing at the foot of your bed, silent.

Your pulse immediately rose, afraid of the stranger who, however, never intended to harm you. You were in what was probably the most vulnerable moment of your life, unable to defend yourself when his voice interrupted your train of thought.

"Don't be scared. I will not harm you." he said in a clear tone. The melodious sound reverberated through your whole body and made you shudder with intensity.

You didn't notice, but he was suddenly next to you, cupping your cheek softly with his ice cold hand and looking down at you somewhat tender.

"...I could never harm you." he said in a deep, quiet voice. Suddenly he sounded vulnerable and that calmed you down.

He stroked your forehead and felt the heat, his mouth opened slightly in shock.

"Your condition is worse than expected." he voiced and this statement caused an uncomfortable feeling in your stomach.

"I can help you." he then declared and you looked up at him innocently, surprised by his offer.

"My abilities allow me to release antibodies in your blood, if you want me to."

You didn't know exactly what he meant and furrowed your brows in confusion.

"And what do you expect in return?" you asked weakly, suspicious of his selflessness.

"Believe me, I already get more than enough from that." he smiled kindly.

You watched his expression before nodding hesitantly. If your condition was as bad as you fear, you didn't have anything to lose anyways.

"Please forgive me for this."

Those were his last words before he suddenly came very close to you and gently tilted your neck in the opposite direction. He hesitated for a moment, gave you one last pityful look before forming his fangs and reddish eyes and biting directly into the veins that surrounded your neck.

At the contact you jumped up in panic and pain, the stinging in your throat so burning that the arm that is not suppressed by his body flied into the air. He reacted quickly, however, wrapping his wrist around yours and squeezing it a little eagerly back on the mattress next to your head. His hold was strong.

At that moment, you didn't know if he was sucking the life out of your veins or the virus.

But the next moment, the sudden improvement in your body told you that it was the latter. It happened so quickly, you felt him literally sucking the germs out of you and with every sip you felt the illness leaving your body - almost the same effect that pain killers had.

You heard him gulp and sometimes even moan in satisfaction and you couldn't help but feel electrified by his deeply arousing sounds.

After a while, he let go of you somewhat reluctantly and when your eyes met his glowing, euphoric face, the dark veins spreading under his eyes and his blood-soaked lips, tingling sensations spread through your body. This sight went straight to your core.

He looked at you completely out of breath, sensitive and saturated, brows tilted upwards and mouth opened as if he just experienced the biggest high until you see black in front of your eyes and he realizes that he stopped too late.

In the following time you thought a lot about him, about the threatening aura and the seemingly absent threat. Something inside you wanted to see him again, to enjoy this indescribable beauty once more. He just wouldn't let you go.

Until you came out of the bathroom one night - your white nightgown enveloping your body - and he stood in your living room. Your eyes immediately widened, but his seductive voice drowned out the loud beating of your heart.

"Don't worry, I won't hurt you again." he affirmed in a guilty tone that surprised you.

"I know." is the only thing you mumbled in response. He said nothing more.

Instead he came towards you, the lightness of his steps made it seem like he had been here a thousand times already.

He was now standing in front of you and his eyes penetrating yours casted such a spell on you that you thought you were losing yourself in them. It all seemed so alluring, as if you were caught in a kind of trance and only wanted to live under his gaze, otherwise you would never be happy again. The intense blue is so wide and deep that you couldn't find your way out of it. He took you in with the same speed in which he always disappeared.

"What's your name?" you finally asked, quietly, and he seemed surprised by the question.

"Gojo. Satoru Gojo." he replied and you were amazed.

"Satoru Gojo..." you repeated.

For a moment, everything was quiet and he studied your face. He couldn't decipher your expression.

"Now you know for sure what I am, and you're afraid of me, even though I seem so attractive to you."

You just shook your head.

"I'm not afraid of you." you said quietly and it's true, because in the time you had to think, you realized that he had never done anything that gave you a reason to fear him. He followed you, but you felt strangely protected, as if he was protecting you from all the real threats as your personal shield.

His hard, strong body then caught your attention, half lidded eyes almost undressing him. At the sight, the blood rushed to your cheeks and you blushed abruptly. You tried to get closer to him, to bathe more in his glory, but he quickly turned away from you and ran somewhere else. He suddenly seemed so disheartened.

You followed him with your gaze, fascination written all over your face before you followed suit with your steps.

"You're not in your right mind." he said, his back to you.

You shyly denied it, but couldn't say anything else, just followed him like a dog follows its owner. You didn't even notice you were moving out of the building and into the darkness of the outside world.

"Look at you, following me, without any hesitation. Without the freedom to decide for yourself."

But something inside you knew that wasn't true.

"What are you talking about, I'm here because of my own free will."

He laughed. He laughed so loudly and dangerously and seductively that you were completely unsure what you should feel - fear or excitement. It almost sounded mocking.

"You don't believe that yourself. Look around, where are we?"

"In my ho-"

Only now did you notice that you were in the forest. For a moment you were afraid again. He sensed it.

"This is all natural. The purpose of my body is to allure, to seduce you. Just so I can kill you better. Even though I wouldn't have trouble doing so anyways, considering I'm superior in every way."

You shook your head and your eyebrows furrowed in disbelief.

He came towards you and leaned against the tree, his arm propping up over your head and his massive body caging you in.

"You're scared." he remarked.

"But not of you, of the fact that I didn't notice my surroundings." you replied.

He sighed before looking down at you again, moving closer to you under him until your faces were just a few inches apart.

"Everything about you makes me want to hurt you. To feed off of you. You don't even realize what a temptation you are." he voiced in a low tone.

It caught your breath briefly when his fingers wandered along your neck. You took his hand into yours and he turned his gaze away from your neck and instead focused on your eyes again. His own widened a little at this action.

"You told me yourself that you wouldn't do this."

"Don't be scared. I will not harm you." were his words back then.

"Maybe I only said that to gain your trust and make you compliant."

You shook your head again.

"If that was the case, it would contradict everything you said about the alleged natural attraction. You wouldn't have to gain my trust if I'm not able to resist your charm anyways."

He was shocked at your wits and brilliant observation. But he didn't want to give in. He couldn't.

"I lured you into the woods with that intent."

"I don't believe you. You saved me." you said again, this time more convinced than before.

"Maybe I'm just playing a game to spice things up." His deep voice murmured, a wide smirk on his face.

You shook your head stubbornly and prepared to speak once more, but Gojo interrupted your plan by roughly placing both of his arms next to your head. The sudden harshness made you wince. He twisted his face in anger, struggling to hide his distress. Being so close to you was driving him crazy.

"I've known you for a very long time. Your gentle face, your soft hair, even your intoxicating lips make me drunk with desire."

He brushed a strand of hair from your face, tucked it behind your ear and continued.

"I dreamed of you. I saw your face in the stars. I don't know if I imagined it, if my skilled eyes betrayed me with their high efficiency, but I spent many nights looking up to the sky in hopes of seeing that same constellation once again. It was like a curse never finding your existence. I seeked you for decades. And now I look into the eyes I longed to see for so long - and am perceived by them in equal measure - and I am filled with nothing but shame, facing you like this, as such a hideous being."

You were shocked at this confession, red tint creeping up on your face, but his last words outraged you.

"Don't talk like that, you are not hideous."

"Look at me! Just being near you is enough to drive me mad, to grow my fangs. Look into my bloodthirsty eyes and tell me that I don't disgust you!"

You stared into his eyes, which were now indeed red again and caused the dark veins under his eyes to emerge.

"You are beautiful." you whispered and held his face in your hand. He gently pushed it away.

"I thirst for your blood. I have never tasted blood so addicting before. I am not human. I feed on them. How can I be beautiful to you? You should be afraid of me."

And suddenly a bow shot into your immediate vicinity. It was heading straight for you, but before it could hit you, Gojo caught it in his hand. You looked at him full of admiration, an expression that contrasted this dangerous situation.

"A vampire hunter." he explained, more to himself than to you, but still with the intention of enlightening you.

"How can I be afraid of someone who saves my life again and again?" you whispered to him. He looked at you briefly before picking you up by the back of your knees and armpits and carrying you away with quick steps. You have never experienced such speed before, the cool wind warm like steam compared to the arctic temperature of Gojo's pale body.

To be held by his strong grip, pushed against his frosty figure made you shiver from bliss, it felt like ice melting on your overheated skin, cooling you down; felt like he was capturing you in his entity, embracing and swallowing you wholly. And you had no objections, you would give yourself to him willingly, because it feels good, it feels ecstatic.

Before you could soak yourself in him further, he interrupted your thoughts.

"...I'll bring you back. When I'm gone, you'll think differently about me. Right now, my presence is just manipulating your inner self."

But that wasn't true. All the beautiful words he said to you, all of his generous actions kept you feeling like that. You yearned for him and it hurt every second that he hadn't come to see you for so long, now that he had awakened those feelings in you.

In an instant it was clear to you why he was so depressed. He thought your feelings weren't sincere, just a product of him being a vampire. He wanted to prove it to you so miserably, wanted to give up his own feelings for your safety and happiness.

Immediately and without a second thought you ran out of your apartment and into one familiar direction: the forest. If that's where vampires lure humans into, if that's where vampire hunters reside, then maybe it would bring you to him. It's just a theory, but it's based on his behaviour last time and that makes you feel positive. Why else would he have brought you into the woods?

You're lucky that the forest was not far away from your house, you only ran about 5 minutes until you were there. Snow covered your hair and shoulders when you arrived and you didn't know what to do now, coming here without a plan. The sun was setting slowly, so you hurried starting to walk deeper into the woods to look for any sign of his presence.

After a while, probably 30 minutes into your pursuit, you noticed that the day was slowly coming to an end. You were not brave enough to be alone in a forest at night, where - and you only thought about this now - there could be other vampires wandering around.

You were just turning into the direction you came from when you heard a noise. Something was coming towards you. Fast.

Before you could even turn around, you were cornered from the front. In front of you stood a huge wolf, its mouth with its gnashing teeth bigger than your own head, its growling loud and dangerous. At the sight you were filled with fear. You screamed reflexively while tears formed in your eyes. It prevented you from moving on, its legs were spread out to hold you in place.

Suddenly, another figure sprinted towards your position. Your pulse rose and you quickly regretted your decision to come here.

But to your surprise, it was the object of your little quest itself that was heading towards you. Soon, Gojo came out from between the trees and bushes, wrapped his arms around you and situated himself protectively in front of you, his back facing the wolf.

"She's not one of the hunters." he then called out to the wolf and its gaze softened as it watched you more closely. It looked as if it had confused you with someone else and quickly retreated.

Then Gojo finally turned his head to you, the moment you were waiting for. His beautiful face twisted in worry as he stroked yours with his thumb, examining your body to make sure you were unharmed.

"Are you okay?" he then asked and stared into your eyes with his usual intensity. You needed a moment to recover from the sight, briefly lost in his blue gaze, and answered him.

"I'm fine." you said, still a little shaken by the shock.

His face relaxed and he closed his eyes in relief before his eyebrows quickly drew together again.

"What are you doing out here, it's dangerous!" he exclaimed reprimandingly.

"I was looking for you..." you said quietly and your head sank in humiliation. This is the third time that Gojo saved your life. You felt so weak.

His gaze softened at your confession and his eyes widened from the warmth that flowed through him.

"You put yourself in danger for me?"

You looked away in embarrassment in response.

He smiled slightly before the look on his face darkened and he held you tightly to him, his hand pushing your head, his other arm pulling your body against him and his eyes pressed shut.

"Never do that again. I could never forgive myself if something happened to you." his voice cracked and you just stood there completely dumbfounded before you too began to wrap your hands around his torso. You stayed like that for a while, then Gojo took you by the hand and looked into the forest.

"We should get out of here before any more hunters come."

"Why are you here if it's so dangerous for you?" you asked thoughtfully.

"My estate is here. Far on the edge of the forest, they can't find their way there. Those who don't know the way get lost."

"Are they normal people?" was your next question, because now it was you who was worried about his well-being.

He smiled weakly to appease you.

"Yes, don't worry, they can't do much to me except decorating me with temporary wounds."

Then he continued.

"I said they're vampire hunters, but that's only half true. They hunt werewolves too."

"Wait, that was a werewolf? A human?" you were surprised, but now it made sense that he was so big and could understand Gojo.

Gojo nodded.

"Humans like to kill for pure entertainment - they see death as a kind of trophy. That's why the curse of the undead unleashed - to restore the balance."

You listened with interest and absorbed the new information. Then you asked another question, eager to learn more about this wondrous world that had been so closed to you until now.

"What about the werewolves, how do you get along? You're in the same boat after all, right?"

"We're not enemies, but we don't like each other very much either. Someone like me is unnatural to them, but they tolerate our existence. Well, to a certain extent at least. They understand the need for harmony."

You nodded in understanding and he let the subject rest.

"But now let's go." he said and picked you up on his back, his strong arms supporting your seat. You placed yours around his neck and couldn't help but notice his broad, muscular shoulders as well.

His back narrowed around his waist and his biceps flexed every once a while from carrying you. The part you touched with your hands and arms was hard and impressive beneath your fingertips, revealing to you his supernatural strength that was otherwise concealed beneath his princely appearance.

His body was your absolute desire. When you noticed that your legs were wrapped around his torso, you wondered what it would be like if you weren't sitting on his back but instead at the very front. The thought got you heated up and resulted in you squirming.

"Are you okay?" he asked genuinely, completely oblivious to your erotic thoughts.

You hid your face in his neck out of nervousness, muttered a small "yes" and he started the way back to your home with you as ballast. In this position you could smell his scent, it was a combination of sensual sweetness and manly musk and this mixture made your mouth salivate. Even though you enjoyed his company, you hoped the way back wouldn't last long because his effect on you seemed so embarrassing.

The next day, an unknown man came up and spoke to you. He was very broadly built and his muscles were clearly visible through the tight compression shirt. His massive chest looked like it was about to burst out at any moment. He also wore light gray loose pants around his waist. His hair was black, just like his shirt. A scar adorned his mouth and he had a smug expression on his face.

He introduced himself as Toji and it turned out that he was the werewolf from last night. He apologized profoundly and assured you that he never intended to scare such a beautiful girl. His flirtatious nature left you cold.

"I've come to warn you." he then said sternly, the sudden change startling you. You were curious to hear what he had to say.

"The man you've been with yesterday, do you know what he is?"

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Of course I do."

"Then you should understand that you better keep your distance."

You were speechless, but he kept talking.

"He's not human. You don't belong together, that's unnatural. Sooner or later he'll kill you, we both know that."

That made you angry.

"Oh, because werewolves are so natural! You were the one almost killing me yesterday, not him!"

"Touché." he smirked. "But at least I'm still human. You'd be better off with me."

Suddenly he wrinkled his nose in a sniffing manner. He looked down at your hand, an eye-catching ring attracting his attention. He grabbed your hand and took a closer look at it.

"He marked you."

You quickly pulled your hand out of his grasp before defending yourself.

"Listen, I don't know why you think that is any of your business, but it's not."

"It is my business because I'm worried about you."

"Don't bother, I'm fine."

"Alright." he held up his hands in retreat. "But don't say I didn't warn you. If you ever change your mind, my offer still stands." he smirked.

"No thanks, I refuse."

And then you left him alone.

"Good luck." he called after you.

When you met Gojo again later - he basically teleported himself back into your own four walls - he startled you. Would you ever get used to this?

"You smell like wolf." he discovered disapprovingly, looking at you rather annoyed.

"No hello?" you smiled to lighten the mood, but it was no use. His expression remained unchanged. You sighed and gave him an explanation.

After he listened to you, he stared out the window for a few minutes without saying a word, his head tilted to the side. You thought it best to switch topics.

"The ring you gave me yesterday...you said it would protect me, right?"

He narrowed his eyes.

"Yes, why? Did the wolf mention something?"

"He said you marked me. What does that mean?"

He remained silent for a moment and then sat down next to you on the couch.

"It's filled with my venom. It keeps predators away. But since it's not directly injected into your body, its effect is weaker. He probably smelled it." he explained.

You nodded. Now he too breathed in the surrounding scent through his nose. But he said nothing else.

He closed his eyes and sank back into thought. He almost looked...sad.

A few days passed without you seeing him. It was eating you up from the inside. Without him, all things lose their meaning. On the fifth day, you couldn't take it anymore. You gave him your word that you would never expose yourself to danger again. But this was an emergency. Why didn't he pay you a visit?

Maybe you were delusional, maybe you were out of your mind, but your feet brought you to the woods again.

The repetitive, barely distinguishable trees around you significantly weakened your sense of direction and made it harder for you to search for the attractive bloodsucker.

But once you turned around a corner on a path, you saw him, without his cloak and only clad in a white blouse that was not sewn up to his stomach and thus did not cover the middle of his chest. The last weak rays of sunlight in this snow-covered winter landscape colored his skin almost gold, almost transparent, so penetrable were they. It looked like the wet sand in the sea, illuminated by the hot reflection through the water.

But you noticed his absent-minded gaze - directed entirely towards the ground. And when suddenly the shadows of some branches made his body stop glowing and you could see his skin in its vulgar form, you could no longer believe your eyes. He was covered with several small wounds, it seemed as if they came from arrows. You quickly ran towards him and shouted his name.

At the sound of your troubling voice he looked up in shock. When you were in front of him he just looked at you blankly.

"You promised me you wouldn't do that." He was referring to you putting yourself in danger.

"How was I supposed to keep my promise without you at my side to remind me?" you replied angrily. "What happened to you? Why are you so hurt?"

He didn't bat an eyelid before answering.

"Go home. I don't want you to see me like this. Just forget about me."

A stab went through your heart and you immediately felt sick to your stomach.

"I could never do that. What's wrong with you? Why are you suddenly saying these ugly words to me that I don't want to hear?"

"We don't belong together. We should have never met. I'm the one to blame, but I won't let myself drag you into damnation any more."

"Damnation? Thanks to you, I've escaped it more than once! My life has never been better than when you joined it!" your arm shot out to the side to reinforce your argument. With this action, Gojo's focus slipped to the ring around your finger.

"Now it's my turn to help you. Let me treat your wounds." but he slapped your hand away, which was reaching out to him.

"I don't care about the wounds. They are a sign of my remorse." His gaze was still on your ring.

He laughed crazily.

"How easily his smell overpowers mine. It is as if it was just natural that you belong together."

You were confused.

"What are you talking about?"

"The werewolf. Or as you know him, 'Toji'." he managed to say. "He is interested in you. I could sense it." he then spat out, the newly found information taking you by surprise.

"I- I don't care. I am not interested in him. He is pushy and bold and irritat-" At that, Gojo interrupted you.

"Pushy? Did he do something to you?" Gojo's eyes filled with anger. You shook your head and you felt relief coming over him.

"I don't particularly like him. But he is right, you shouldn't be with someone like me. You deserve a better life."

"Did he tell you that?" You got mad. What was he thinking, always interfering your affairs?

"He came to me a few days ago and brought me to my senses. He said that I should let go of you for your own well-being, that you don't belong in this world and that I shouldn't put you in danger for selfish reasons. And I agree with him. I'm sorry for all the trouble that I've caused you. It was never my intention to hurt you."

"Bullshit! He doesn't know anything about us, about you! You want to leave me because some stranger advised you to? You're hurting me more with that than anything else ever could!"

"Don't you think I want to stay with you too?" he shouted a little louder. You flinched. "But I can't." He articulated the last part more quietly, his eyes squeezed shut in agony.

"Why not?" you asked, tears welling up in your eyes.

"Because you're destined for the wolf."

The knot in your chest only tightened.

"You can't decide that! I decide about my own life and you should do the same! What do you want, Gojo?"

Then he grabbed you by the collar, his teeth clenched in desperation.

"You wanna know what I want?"

"Yes." you whined out and his hands trembled.

Then his broad, long hands landed on both sides of your neck, his thumbs at your chin, and he pulled you closer to him. His grip was firm but gentle, he didn't apply unnecessary pressure, but he still seemed upset.

"I want to possess you and I want to be possessed by you. Do you even know how intensely I feel for you? I would love to mark you properly so that you belong to me, so that it is my scent that sticks to you. But that would be selfish, wouldn't it?" he professed, your lips almost grazing against each other, which quickly made you blush and quicken your already rapid beating heart. Everytime you were near him, you felt like it was beating out of your chest.

"Do it then. It's not selfish if I want you to. Mark me. Bite me. I am already yours."

You noticed the black veins forming on his dark circles at your words but before they were completed, he forcefully suppressed them and turned his head away from you.

"You don't know what you're asking for."

"Yes I do! I want it! So go on!"

"Do you know what you're asking for? You're not just mere food to me. I could never live with the knowledge that I've taken away your normal life. Don't make me do something that would make me despise myself."

"But you already have. Since you came into my life, I have not been the same and I am glad about that! And take a look at you, you're still alive. Why won't you understand how dear you are to me..."

He looked at you fondly and softly called out your name, whispering, almost inaudible if you were not so close to him.

"Please don't leave me alone when I can't find you on my own. I would seek you every day and willingly put myself in danger, all just to see you again. Nothing can stop me, not my promise and not you. Because then my promise would no longer be valid anyways."

His eyes widened in utter surprise.

"Stubborn, aren't we?" he sighed defeatingly.

"Then promise me one thing. Don't ever get near the woods again if I'm not with you."

"Only if you promise me to never talk about parting ways ever again."

He smiled warmly.

"Alright." he complied. Then he pulled you into a hug and pressed your head against his cheek, holding you tight.

"You must be cold. Come on, let's go to my estate, you can warm up there."

You nodded, but remembered something else.

"Your wounds! Let me take care of you first!"

"Already taken care of." he showed you his arm that was full of injuries before. "See? I told you they're no real threat to me. I heal pretty quickly."

You sighed in relief and with that, you two set off.

Gojo's property stretched out somewhere far behind the forest. The black fence in front of it matched the gloomy house behind it. You didn't even know that this place existed, but Gojo said himself that it was impossible to find if you didn't already know the way.

The roof of the house towered far above the tall trees. It looked stable, but lonely and, admittedly, a little scary. The branches of the surrounding trees seemed even sharper than in the forest, they reminded of barbed wire. There were many thorn bushes in the garden of the house, on them lived roses.

The door squeaked loudly when opened and banged even louder when closed. Everything was dark inside, only a few candles allowed you to perceive your general surroundings. If you didn't know better, you would be pretty scared. But then all of a sudden, the whole house became bright and you could see the elegant chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. A long staircase spread out in front of you, covered with a red carpet. On the wall to the left you could see a fireplace, on the right a sofa. The room was large, but according to Gojo it was the entrance hall and therefore the least comfortable room.

He took you up to his bedroom and the rich furniture made your jaw drop to the floor. With its own fireplace and the many candlesticks, it seemed very warm and inviting, the complete opposite of your first impression of the outer building. The windows were big and long and decorated with velvet curtains.

This room was also very large, in the middle of it a round brown wooden table with matching chairs and a porcelain vase on its head and on the wall by the door was another sofa.

The bed was so huge that you would think 4 people could sleep in it - and that without having to suffer from a lack of space, the mattress was very soft and the covers very expensive. In front of the bed and therefore also in front of the fireplace, which was on the opposite side, was an embroidered carpet. Everything in this house seemed very expensive. Next to the right nightstand of the bed was a door that was half open and as you entered the room you could see that it was a bathroom.

Then Gojo spoke.

"Sorry, I'm not used to guests, but I hope you still feel comfortable here."

"That's no problem, I like your decor. It's so old-fashioned, but in a good way! When did you last have visitors here?" you asked out of pure curiosity and waved your finger over the flame of a candle.

"You're the first." he said bluntly, a tingling sensation overflowing you at his statement.

The sound of heavy rain unexpectedly interrupted you and you both stared at the window.

"It's pouring outside..." Gojo said and you hummed in response.

"If you want, you can stay overnight..." he suggested carefully. He felt your blood pressure rise.

"Uhm...I have a guest room of course." he clarified.

The heat rose to your head at the thought of sleeping in the same house as Gojo, but you approved of that idea.

"G-Gladly." you stumbled over your words.

Gojo looked around to escape the brief awkwardness between you. Then something occurred to him.

"You're welcome to take a bath, it will warm you up. I'll run the water for you."

You nodded shyly and thanked him, then he disappeared into the bathroom. When the bath was ready, he gave you towels and a piece of folded clothing. When you unfolded them, you noticed that it was a white nightgown. Your white nightgown that had been lying on your dresser for years because you wanted to take it to the tailor. Your face instantly turned red and he couldn't completely hide his nervousness either.

"I hope this doesn't seem creepy, but I found it and had it adjusted."

You looked at the dress and noticed that it was actually longer. The sleeves also had multiple layers from the elbows down.

"I hope that wasn't too insolent of me, but I saw it lying around for a long time and thought it would be a shame to keep leaving it there..."

Your inability to get the dress adjusted yourself made you feel ashamed, but at the same time you were so happy to finally be able to put on this old dress.

"No, it's perfect. Thank you." you said, overjoyed, and gave him a smile.

"Okay, I'll leave you on your own then. I'm sure you know how a bathroom works." he shook his head at his own utterance.

"Take your time." he ended eventually and closed the door behind him.

The bathtub was much bigger than a normal one and had many ornaments on the faucet as well as on the feet. The details in the bathroom were impressive - it almost seemed as if you were in a castle. The water was covered in foam and... rose petals? And on the windowsill next to the tub, many candles of different sizes lit up the room. The window was not transparent, but made of colored glass, like those in a church.

After taking some time to relax, you got dressed. When you entered the room, Gojo was nowhere to be found. So you decided to wander through the house and look for him.

The hallways were decorated with many paintings and you suddenly smelled the scent of fresh food. You went down the stairs and entered the room you guessed the smell was coming from.

Gojo was standing in the kitchen, he was preparing something and it looked delicious. You quietly sat down on a stool at the kitchen island, facing Gojo.

"Hey, enjoyed your shower?"

You nodded.

"You must be hungry, I prepared something for you. I'm not the best cook though." he said embarrassedly and scratched his ear. Butterflies formed in your stomach at this attentive gesture. He cooked spaghetti with tomato sauce just for you.

"I hope you like it."

You tried the food and he watched you eagerly.

"Mh! It's good!" you said with your mouth full and nodded supportively. A spaghetti stuck to your chin and the sauce on it turned it red even after you had successfully sucked it up into your mouth. Gojo laughed.

"Now you look like the bloodsucker." he grinned and wiped the stain away.

Your heart beat faster at his touch.

"Don't you eat human food at all?" you asked. He shook his head.

"My body is unable to tolerate it. That's why I hardly use the kitchen."

After dinner he showed you the guest room. It was smaller than his, but still cozy. He lit the fireplace and then you said goodnight to each other shyly.

"Well then, the fireplace is on and there's enough wood in it. If anything's wrong, you can always come to me." You smiled tiredly at him before relaxing your face again. You both stared at each other expectantly. Then he broke eye contact.

"Alright...Sweet dreams." he said and waited for a reaction before he closed the door. You looked after him quietly and nodded slightly. When he closed the door, you threw yourself onto the bed and let out the breath you held in. You were feeling so much for him, you were basically on cloud nine. He was so helpful, so good, so pure, so genuine and so SO handsome. He was truly perfect.

You spent some time gushing over him when you began to notice the chilly atmosphere in the room. You turned your head to the side and learned the reason behind it.

The window was broken, its handle not being able to close it. Rain was pouring in and the wind quickly ceased the fire. You didn't think twice and knocked on Gojo's door. When you entered, he was sitting on his bed shirtless, puzzled by the sudden intrusion. His back was leaning against the bedframe, he had a pair of silky pajama pants around his hips and was fiddling with his stomach. There you saw a large wound.

"Your stomach..." your eyes widened in shock. You thought all of his injuries had already healed - at least that's what he pretended.

"Ah, that's no problem, really. The regeneration just takes longer because it's bigger. But don't worry, I'm not in any pain."

He immediately stood up and distracted you by asking what was wrong. You hesitated first, but after you voiced your problem, he apologized thoroughly.

"I'm so sorry, I can't apologize enough. You can take my bed of course. I don't need sleep anyway and if I do want to, I'll go to the guest room. The cold doesn't bother me after all."

"No, please stay...I don't want to throw you out of your own bed."

Lies. You just wanted to share one with him.

He gawked at you flabbergasted,

"Aw, are you that eager to share a bed with me?" Now he was getting cocky.

"Yes." you answered firmly, knowing it would catch him off guard to give him a taste of his own medicine.

When you both laid down, you were silent - staring up at the ceiling and keeping a certain distance from one another. Your heart raced in your chest, unneeded as Gojo didn't reach out to you once in any way. The whole night, nothing happened.

The next Monday, Toji bothered you again. He was in the middle of explaining to you why you two were "the better match" when you interrupted him, annoyed.

“For someone so insistent on harmony, you sure do disrupt other people's lives pretty often."

“Listen. We wolves feel very quickly and, if so, very intensely. This is called imprinting. When I looked into your eyes back then, I could already see our whole future together. I knew straight away that we were meant for each other.”

"Do you wolves also consider the partner's feelings? Or does consent not exist with you?"

"Ah, just look at that temper, so fierce, you'd fit in so well."

"My temper depends on my counterpart. And I don't think I would, considering I would be mad constantly then. That sure wouldn't be good for my health."

"But surrounding yourself with parasites that thirst for your life is good for your health?" he snorted.

You got mad.

"He is not a parasite, you are! The only one molesting me with such ridiculous fantasies is you, and let me tell you one thing: they will never be reality. I despise you from the bottom of my heart for talking about him like that, he is so much better, greater and more human in every sense of the word. Next time you try to pursuit a woman, try be more romantic and less demanding. But forget about me."

With that you left, your pulse way too high. The only one who could put your mind at ease was Satoru. Oh, just thinking about him made you feel lightweighted enough to just float in the air. When you were together, that's when you felt at peace.

Your heart started to calm down when your eyes met him - as much as it could with the usual reason of your racing heart beat right in front of you.

When he sniffed this familiar scent again, you promised to explain what had happened once you arrived at your destination.

Gojo took you on a mountain, far above the city where you've never been to. The soft clouds were grey from the season and the sky prepared for it's upcoming rain. You looked down onto the city and couldn't believe how small it seemed.

You both lay down on the slightly wet grass, looking up into the endless firmament over you.

When you told him the story, he gave you even more insight into the life of the undead.

"We vampires also bind ourselves to a partner for life." he started. You shifted in your place for your eyes to focus on him, expecting him to continue. Your shoulders grazed one another now, but he took his time, hesitating a little.

"Many vampires die of a broken heart because they get the short end of the stick. They become suicidal or suffer for the rest of their lives. Even after the death of their partner, it doesn't stop. Because often they are not the predestined person for the one that's meant for them. It's only logical when you look at the fact that our lifetimes weren't intended to meet each other. That's a side effect of the curse. We are not actually entitled to love, because we shouldn't exist under normal circumstances."

You jumped up, entrusting all of your bodyweight to your right hand that supported you on the ground. Was this why he let all those arrows pierce through him after deciding on withdrawing from your life? Was he planning to commit suicide too?

"Of course you are entitled, just like everyone else! You have a right to exist, otherwise you wouldn't exist in the first place! If there really is something like fate, then it includes all of the anomalies of nature. You deserve to find happiness, Satoru."

He weakly smiled at you, getting up too now, standing while looking up in silence. You looked up too, up to him. There was no reason to look at the sky when heaven was right in front of you.

As you waited for some slight movement of his, the sudden strong wind blew through your hair and you quickly tucked it behind your ear before standing up as well, situating yourself next to Gojo.

"You are the purest form of nature." he then declared. You felt your face heating up at that.

"You are my human. You are my chosen one."

he turned his head to you know, your eyes displaying a longing of such fervour you both held/raised for so long now.

"And you are mine, Satoru." you muttered quietly.

Your heartbeat fastened when you saw his hands coming up to your face, placing them on both sides of your cheeks. Satoru looked at you through half-lidded eyes, lips contorted into a soft smile. You closed your eyes, and then you felt it. His lips on yours. It was a sensation like no other, he was tender in the way he moved his mouth against yours, the smooth pink flesh dancing around yours like they knew each other, mastering the choreography of your mutual love, giving and taking in all you could. Your hands found his strong chest on their way to his neck you snaked them around, resting them and pulling him in even more at the same time.

The coldness coating him only intensified the fluttering wings of the butterflies in your stomach, pressing your contrasting temperatures against each other while blending them into something entirely of their own.

You felt dizzy, your lips prickling as if they got more and more plump by each second. Your whole body concentrated on that one point, that small spot that touched him.

What came over you next - apart from the hurried declarations - was the rain. You both pulled away momentarily, letting the drops fall onto your bodies without a care in the world, only to laugh at your love being practically watered by mother nature, flourishing it and blooming as you simultaneously leaned in for another kiss.

How lucky you felt in this moment to have the privilege of feeling him, of being felt by him. You were sure you were the happiest person on earth.

But even the merriest of moments come to an end, because when the storm raged, you agreed that it would be best to leave, a place that high is not really advantageous when facing a storm.

He took you to his place again, tucking you into a warm blanket and seating you in front of the chimney in his room. He then told you that he had to take care of something and would come back as soon as possible, and to make yourself at home.

He came back about fourty minutes later and he looked paler than usual. You asked him about it, but he just shove it off, telling you he would tell you another time. You didn't want to be too pushy and decided to leave it for now.

You slept in the same bed again this night, and this time, you embraced each other's bodies, caressing your skins while talking about your lives and memories. Gojo told you that he has lived for 411 years and this information made your mouth drop. He laughed. He had such a pretty laugh.

It was sensual, you in his arms and the way his icy fingertips stroked your arm. You did the same, caressing his torso. When you brushed his side for a moment, he slightly winced in pain. It didn't go unnoticed by you. You stared up at him first, then down to where you accidentally touched him.

"You still have this wound?" You immediately sat up. He cursed himself for making you notice.

"Don't worry, I'm okay." he smiled, but it was a fake one. He was definitely in pain.

"I thought you said your wounds would close on their own..." you questioned, inspecting the wound closely.

"They do, but only if I consume a meal." he admitted.

"Meal as in...?" you started, insinuating human blood. He nodded.

"But don't worry. I don't intend to. I will figure it out somehow."

"Bite me." you confidently proposed, but he was not having it.

"Never. I'd rather die."

"You need blood and I have it. If you don't drink anything soon, who knows what will happen. I won't let you die because you refuse to eat!"

"Eat you!" he clarified, a little angry about your carelessness.

"Is that why you left earlier? Because you were in so much pain that you had to hide from me?"

He was silent. You were speechless.

"...Not only that, but it was a part of it."

You didn't understand.

"What does this mean?" you asked and he wanted to brush it off.

Then, you suddenly kissed him and it surprised him so much that he let out a small and quiet moan.

"I don't want to lose you."

Another kiss.

He slowly joined in, kissing you back each time your lips met.

"You won't lose me." he said, shifting. You thought he did that to switch positions, but he actually stood up to leave the room.

"I'll sleep in the guest room. Have a good night, I'll see you tomorrow." he said and headed for the door.

"So you're just leaving me?" you asked, but no reaction from him.

"Why don't you trust me?" you then asked louder, furrowing your brows. He immediately stopped in his tracks.

"I trust you. Do you think I'm so fragile? I don't know why you would want to be with someone you consider weak."

He turned around, placing his knees on the end of the bed, his arms supporting him on the mattress, a position that enabled him to leave quickly again. One of his hands reached out to your hair and he it petted it gently.

"I don't think you're weak. But you're weaker than me, and that's enough to be cautious."

"But you don't trust me. And apparently you don't trust yourself. Why do you turn me down everytime when all I want to do is feel you in every sense of the word?"

He didn't know what to say, so you continued.

"I don't know why you're so hesitant when this was what saved me back then, so let it save you now. Why don't you treat yourself the same way you treat me?"

"Because you are so much more dear to me than my own, cursed life. Although it is less cursed with you in it."

"If I said the same thing, what would your reaction be?"

"..."

"Exactly. I trust you, Satoru, with all my heart. So just get a grip and drink from me and stop punishing yourself for simply existing! You're 411 years old for god's sake, someday you have to accept your life!"

This time it was him who kissed you - wildly, passionately, emotionally. As if for the first time in his life, someone had acknowledged Satoru's worth - apart from the picture that the world had seen.

Satoru slowly crawled to you, taking you into his embrace while keeping his mouth occupied with your pretty lips.

"You really want me to suck the blood out of your body so bad?" He said between a kiss, dragging his face down to your neck and brushing it with his nose while you moaned, letting out a small "mhmm" in approval.

"I know you will stop at the right time, don't even try to tease me." you said in a weak attempt to appear strong, to stand your ground, but you were getting inevitably weak, sinking into the exciting sensation that was Satoru Gojo.

He chuckled deeply, kissing over your neck and nibbling on it teasingly before shamelessly making out with it.

"Stop teasing." you whined while growing aroused, body heat increasing at his hot smooches.

He only forced your body against him harder, beefy arms fully engulfing you. You felt his powerful muscles against your front with the way his hefty body pressed into yours and you couldn't resist him anymore, groping his ripped shoulders desperately.

He shoved you in his lap and you whimpered, growing excited more and more with the way he devoured you.

"You're so-"

He kissed your ear.

"Incredibly-"

Then your neck.

"Stubborn."

And with the last word, he went even further down - his chin lowered the fabric of your nightgown just a little - and planted a kiss on your chest.

"Want me to drink from you? Alright, your wish is my command. But first I'll take care of your own needs." he then grumbled, growing needier himself.

"Satoru, please, I want you." You cried and he groaned at the sound.

"I'm going crazy over you." he added.

"I just want to devour you whole. Make you go crazy for me too" His sexual hint made you buck your hips against his, feeling wetter and wetter with each second. Saying "I already am." made him groan even louder.

He gently but hastily pushed up your nightgown to your waist, grazing his fingers over your throbbing clit. He played with it for a while, making you moan out loud and furrow your eyebrows until he pushed your panties aside to get to the real thing.

"You're so wet already. All for me?"

You nodded in response when his hand wandered through your folds, not able to form any words from the fast beating and heart in your chest. He continued stroking your clit with his thumb, while his fingers worked their way to your core.

"I'll be sure to cherish it then."

That's when two of his fingers slide in and you couldn't help but jump up from the unexpected but more than welcomed intrusion. You whined like you never knew you could and Satoru enjoyed every second of it, fingering your hole at a slow but steady pace first before speeding up his movements.

It was too much even for him, that's why he smoothly pushed you on the mattress and went down on you, licking and slobbering between your folds until he rolled his eyes back in a delirious state. You gasped at the sudden nudge and gasped even more when you felt his tongue penetrating your inner walls.

"This is my new favorite meal from now on."

You rolled back your eyes as he took you higher and when you came for the first time, you and him moaned in unison, him being so turned on by you that his own swelling bulge nearly threatened to drill a hole into his pants.

"Oh my god!" you screamed, completely breathless as Satoru rode out your high.

"Feel good?" he asked and licked his fingers clean, in disbelief once again at how good you taste. But he received an answer he did not expect.

"Yes, oh Satoru, I love you!" you exhaled in bliss and his eyes widened, his heart twitched and his pants tightened.

You had both confessed your feelings already, but none of you dared to speak out those three words. And it made him go absolutely feral.

Without a second thought, he got rid of both of your clothes, departing from another shortly before he dragged you down his lap again, sitting directly in front of his cock. He groaned when he saw your bare body for the first time.

"Look at you, so absolutely perfect. Don't you show any mercy in seducing me like this?" His fingers started fondling your breasts, rubbing at your sensitive nipples while amazedly taking in the sight of you further.

And you, for the first time too saw him in all his glory. And he was huge. Huge and surprisingly very pretty, his bright pink tip was leaking solid amounts precum already and for some reason it looked so scrumptious that you just wanted to lick it off.

His balls looked heavy, but the skin of the whole area looked so flawless and the few thick veins that decorated his shaft throbbed when it accidentally met your skin. All in all, it made the same impression as Gojo's body in general - delicate, but burly.

The new and unfamiliar kind of contact made tingles spread in all of your limbs, enjoying the incredible experience. You felt his protruding girth directly under your entrance and you felt wobbly just by the thought of him inserting himself.

"I have to have you." he growled, eyes half-lidded and impatient as he moved his hand all over your body.

"Then take me." you simply said. And you didn't have to say it twice.

In one motion, Gojo placed you directly over his bulbous head, taking your hand in his and kissing the back of it while luring you onto him. He began to carefully but eagerly glide you down on him and once you felt the stretch, you both let out a deep moan.

He was really thick, but his length was even longer and when he warily invaded your space, he let you get used to him and waited for your approval to go further. In the meantime he made you feel so treasured with the way his hands worked against your skin, how his slight touches swayed and whirled around almost ticklishly to console you through it all and how his eyes not only sparkled with desire but deep rooted devotion - that's how attentive he was, as if he would touch something sacred, something holy. And to him, you were a saint.

After a few moments, when you consented, he began to move inside of you, increasing his rhythm bit by bit. And god, was it euphoric, the way he bounced you on top of him as if you weighed nothing.

His thrusts were relentless, he pulled you in as if he wanted you to mold into each other. With every poke against your sweet spot - that he found so effortlessly - it felt as if you were one, as if you were becoming a single entity and you could feel everything the other felt.

The constant ram of his hips and his powerful arms caging you against him made you see stars soon and that's it when kicked in.

"M-mark me." you whined and his attention was on your words, caught off guard for a second before asking you one last question.

"A-are you...hngh...are you sure?" And you just nodded, pushing him by the back of his head so that he was in front of your neck. You leaned to the side to make space for him, so that he could settle between your head and shoulders and with one last look into your eyes, he hesitantly obliged.

He was so careful when he sank his teeth into you and it burned, the sting aching and pulsating, but you clenched your teeth and let it happen.

For Gojo it was heaven, he drank you up as if it would be his last meal, as if he hadn't eaten for a decade. He stopped his powerful thrusts for a second, basking in that feeling for a split second before he picked up his speed again and soon turned into a moaning, whimpering mess.

His eyes widened and were turned red again, the veins under them popped out, an expression on his face like he was about cry.

He thrusted and thrusted and sucked and thrusted and it did a hundred things to you, because soon, you found pure pleasure in it. He took from you but gave you something in return, releasing his venom inside of you. The sweet exchange made you basically melt into each other, relishing in the transcendental joy of absorbing one another.

It was ecstatic. It felt like the highest high possible, the way you gave in to him, quenching his thirst for blood and for you.

With every sip of his, the thrusts began to feel even more overwhelming, more intense than before, a downright assault on your walls, as if there was a place behind that he tried to get into.

It was addictive, as addictive as your stream of blood was to Gojo when he probably drank a little too much from you, considering how close you were to passing out. But it was that combination of pleasure and blood loss taking you to heaven and back, feeling as if you were drunk off of him, not the other way around. And you just smiled in pure bliss, looking a little insane with the way your eyes rolled back. You felt so lightheaded, as if you floated in the air, unconscious to everything but the satisfaction he provided you with.

And he gulped and groaned and gasped and pounded into you, his neediness palpable in his greedy grips that went up and down your body hastily, before you both reached your peaks at the same time and he stopped.

When he released inside of you, the liquid felt frosty to the point it made you shudder. You were shaking, feeling like his seed cooled you down from your own orgasm, goosebumps spreading on your body while he rode out both of your highs.

The chilly feeling vanished once the venom started spreading through your body, replacing the former weakness with newfound energy, filling your body with the power of regeneration. And when you looked at Satoru, he seemed so much more healthy, so much more glowing, saturated from his latest feast.

"You're all marked up now." hearing him announce his claim on you made your face flush and your insides twitch in excitement. Never before have you been this satisfied.

But it wasn't enough. For the both of you it wasn't enough. No, the night was still young and Gojo couldn't resist to push you down the mattress desperately, intertwining his fingers with yours as he placed your hands next to your head, rolling his hips once again.

The next months were full of Satoru, Satoru, Satoru. You could also put a "you" in front of the verb of the last sentence, because you made love to each other like you were bunnies. But it wasn't just the hot vampire sex that kept you satiated, it was the way he cared for you, the way he held you in his arms after, embracing you fully after wiping you clean with a wet towel, the way he would take you on new adventures, showing you places you didn't knew existed, telling you stories you've never heard. You explored and experienced the depths of the world - and each other.

And he was ready to show you one of those depths of his, bringing you to the backyard of his mansion one day to show you the big graveyard that was based there.

"This is a place of peace for all the people whose deaths I have on my conscience, all the people I have already killed during my existence. I built it as a way for me to show remorse, although I know that it doesn't condone my acts."

You furrowed your brows in sympathy, grateful that he opened up and shared this sensitive information with you.

"That's also where I went off to when I left you that one night. I accepted my wounds as a punishment for all my sins. I was torn between begging them to finally release me from my misery or begging for forgiveness to stay with you. I thought I was ready to perish until I met you. Finally finding you gave my life the purpose it yearned for so long." he cleared up, looking at the tombstones in front of you.

"You have such a good heart, Satoru. Building this place for them to rest and never be forgotten on your very own property shows that."

He let out a small laugh and turned to you.

"Do you feel this?" he took your hand and placed it in the middle of his chest.

"Your heart?" you asked.

He shook his head.

"It died a long time ago, but it started beating again for you. My heart is all yours. My love and life, they both belong to you." You knew he wasn't speaking literally but metaphorically.

Your eyes warmed up to him when he continued.

"I think that night was their answer, a sign of mercy when you offered yourself to me. My atonement will be protecting your precious life, the one that I'll save in return for the hundreds I took."

You quickly hugged him, tears swelling down your cheeks.

"I will take care of you too, Satoru. It won't be one-sided, I promise. I'll rescue you as many times as I have to."

He chuckled lowly, thankful for your sentiment before taking you into his embrace. He tightened his grip and kissed your temple, furrowing his brows when teardrops glimmered onto you.

You stood there for a while, relishing in the sheer intimacy of the moment.

One of the places Gojo surprised you with was a sea in the middle of the woods, far away from the curious eyes of anyone except the peaceful animals living around.

You've been here twice before, but the winter months have been to cold for you to enjoy your stay and Gojo was so worried over you - not feeling the cold himself - that he promised you to take you there again when the temperatures would rise again.

That time was now. It was a lovely spring night when you two found yourself alone at the abandoned spot.

Gojo bathed in the sea, naked and the water almost reaching his hips. He looked up at the moon, admiring it. And you, you were admiring him from afar, getting rid of your clothes too as he was waiting for you.

He shimmered under the moon as if absorbing and reflecting its light at once, flawless skin reminding you of nacre, rivaling mother-of-pearl. His eyes radiated with the same colour as the sea in the moonlight, and when you finally into the water and walked up to him, you realized that, although the brightness of the moon shone beautifully on the water, his shining white hair stood out to you, like a lamp guiding you through the darkness.

It felt like magnetism how you were pulled to each other, none of you capable of breaking the force, none of you wanting to. It was straight up torture whenever you had to separate, is it as if you belonged with each other, you were soulmates - there was nothing and no one in the world who could cut the invisible string of your deep connection.

When he heard the water splash behind him from your movements, he turned around, his lips went up to a bright, genuine smile. He snaked his arms around your smaller figure and rested his chin on the top of your head, eyes closing for a bit before contently looking into the distance. The time stood still whenever you were close, it was just him and you in this big world. Satoru Gojo was happy. He was thankful. And, most importantly, he was on cloud nine.

He couldn't help but start to get a little aroused at your loving fingers massaging all over his skin, his hardened member visible to you. When your hand moved down, that's what piqued his interest.

You teasingly went down, touches so light, barely even reaching him so that he grew more tempted. You grazed past his chest and stopped at his abdomen.

He watched your hand sliding around his pulsating erection and he inhaled, holding his breath, a pearly substance decorating the tip already, making you squeeze your legs at this delicious sight.

You grabbed it strongly, squeezing it a little before jerking him off. His moaned and groaned at the sensations turned out to be not enough for you - no, you wanted a taste of him. And so you kneeled down and wrapped your pretty lips around his length.

You made him go insane by bobbing your head up and down his shaft, stroking whatever didn't fit into your mouth with one hand and fondling his balls with the other while he lost his mind over you.

The way you seemed to enjoy it even more than him set him on fire, so he quickly lifted you up, forcefully throwing you onto his cock, sheathing himself deep inside of you, mumbling something about it "being not enough" and "needing more". It was safe to say that this happened with your consent, he would never do anything against your will, but the signals you gave him - and he was very familiar with them by now - convinced him that you did.

You let out a pleased wail at the sudden intrusion and he started digging his claws into your thighs, nails prodding in your flesh to move you impossibly closer, throwing his head back into his neck. When he started his unforgiving pace, a naughty idea came to your mind. You bit the inside of your palm hard enough to draw blood and planted the wound directly on his mouth. Gojo's eyes widened at the flavor, completely unprepared. His erotic mewls broke the silence.

"Drink up, handsome." you said and he growled, rolling back his eyes and rearranging your guts a tad more while drinking from the source on your palm.

You both reached your highs pretty quickly, considering your intense intercourse. When he released his cool semen into your womb, it was only then that you felt fulfilled. He was gushing out such amounts that it made your insides feel sticky and you took immense pride in that.

But you had no time coming back to your senses because he was not done with you, practically teleporting you to the rock nearby and caging you against it, already aiming for round two. With him, it was never just one round, too obsessed with you and the way you feel to stop so soon.

You spent much time and happy days loving each other. But time wasn't infinite.

So why, when you were so happy and fulfilled, did you have to leave him?

Why did you betray him?

And how dared you dying on him? To protect him from the arrow that was meant to hit him?

You broke your promise and he fell victim to his sins again, blaming himself for your death and never before did he feel so envious of someone. That's the endcome the werewolf warned him of and he was stupid to not believe him. He should have never trusted you, oh, how blinded he was from love. He would make sure to never make a mistake like this again, abstaining from every joy, never pursuing any dreams again, because you were his only wish, and dreams turn into nightmares.

Cursed to live the life you paved for him - without the life that kept him alive. Not being allowed to follow you into the afterlife, not daring to let your sacrifice be wasted, his kind not even able to reach the same beyond anyways. You were an angel that belonged in heaven, he a creature of the night, property of the underworld.

A picture of you forever adorned his windowsill, the clear glass behind it displaying the very graveyard you, now, rested on too. And Satoru Gojo was, once again, all alone in this world, eternally torturing himself for his crimes and mourning his only beloved.

Whewww, I started writing this at the beginning of September but then I went on vacation. But I'm proud of myself for finishing it before halloween! I hope you like it, let me know what you all think!

I dedicate this story to a friend of mine who told me she craved a vamp!gojo fic and I agreed, starting the story the exact same day. This will probably never reach her though, since she doesn't know I have this blog :P

Not an english native and not proofread yet, so sorry for that.

(I hope someone actually reads it, it's so longgg 😭)

296 notes · View notes

kayewrite · 8 months ago

Text

Blue Sticky Note

straykids fic wherein a mysterious note confession appears in your binder. Unsure of who left it, you embark on an investigation among your eight close friends, each with their own quirks and possibilities.

genre: Fluff. and fluff

ot8 x reader! stray kids x reader!! word count: 3.3k

AN: i want to make a fic with multiple members in it but i might make more of it after i finished all individual members. btw can you teach me how tumblr works? i might pin a masterlist soon hehe

You just got back to your apartment after a long day of classes. Exhausted from wrestling with numbers and equations, you flopped down on your bed and closed your eyes.

But your moment of peace was interrupted by the sudden ringing of your phone.

“Hey,” your friend Seungmin’s voice greeted you through the speaker.

Used to how he always greeted you, you sighed and listened as he continued, your tiredness making it hard to focus.

“You didn’t turn in your literature assignment. I’m on my way to your building,” he said, causing you to bolt upright in surprise.

You had forgotten to give it to him during class earlier. Glad he reminded you. And you were glad to be friends with him because he was the class representative. You enjoyed a lot of benefits from being his friend.

“Okay, thanks for the reminder. No need to come up—I’ll meet you downstairs,” you replied before ending the call.

Grateful for Seungmin’s help, you quickly gathered your things and checked your binder for the assignment. You sighed in relief when you found it. “I thought I lost you.”

As you were about to close your binder, a flash of blue caught your eye. A blue sticky note on the front page—one that you definitely didn’t own.

You pulled it out and read the message, which made your heart skip a beat: “I like you. But i you only see me as a friend.”

It wasn’t the first time you’d received a confession, but this note felt different. There was a mystery to it that intrigued you.

Confusion swirled in your mind as you tried to piece together who might have left this note. The message was neatly written in capital letters, offering no clues about the writer's identity.

Who could it be?

You had a lot of friends, but who might have done this?

You had male friends, all of whom felt like brothers to you. Could it be one of them? But they were like family.

The note was a sweet but outdated way to confess—charming in its own way but not something you’d expect from anyone in particular. You read it again and again, hoping to find a hint about who it might be from. But aside from the neat handwriting on a blue sticky note, you found nothing.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the doorbell ringing. You immediately sprang out of bed, remembering Seungmin.

“I’m sorry,” you said, peeking through the door.

“It’s okay,” he smiled reassuringly. “I know you were tired, so I decided to come up.”

“Oh, thanks,” you replied, quickly picking up some clothes that were strewn on the floor. You grabbed your assignment and saw the sticky note again, hastily hiding it by placing a book on top.

As you handed over your paper, you decided to test the waters, curious about who the note could be from. “Do you own any sticky notes?” you asked casually.

Seungmin’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Why?”

“I was taking notes and thought I might need some,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant.

“You have plenty already,” he said, gesturing to the stack of colorful sticky notes on your study table. “And no, I don’t have any. I keep running out of them. I should buy more.”

He glanced at his watch and then looked back at you, his eyes full of concern. “I should go now. You should continue resting, and don’t forget to eat.”

“Thank you so much, Mr. President,” you said, a playful tone in your voice.

“No problem. Take care and always lock your doors. Bye, see you tomorrow.”

Before he left, Seungmin ruffled your hair affectionately.

As the door closed behind him, you found yourself staring at the sticky note again, your mind racing. If it was Seungmin who left the note, did he feel that way about you? His caring nature and playful attitude seemed to match the tone of the note, but could he really be the one?

Then again, what if it wasn’t him? You couldn’t jump to conclusions based solely on a sticky note.

You took a deep breath, trying to push the thoughts aside. Until you had more evidence, you couldn’t be certain. You needed to consider all possibilities before drawing any conclusions.

Sticky notes and neat penmanship alone weren’t enough to figure out who left the note. Everyone in your class had decent handwriting, and blue sticky notes were too common to offer any real clue. They were practically identical—anyone could have bought them. It wasn't unique, not even close.

So who could it be?

"What are you thinking about?"

You were lost in thought when a voice pulled you back to reality. You looked up to see who it was.

"Uh, nothing," you replied, somewhat startled.

It was Changbin.

He was a friend of yours, though vastly different from Seungmin. If Seungmin was a green flag, then Changbin was the complete opposite—a walking red flag who had a reputation for playing with people’s hearts.

"Let me copy your physics assignment," he demanded more than asked, flashing you a grin that was both charming and mischievous.

Changbin had that bad-boy aura, and you sometimes wondered how you two even became friends. But one thing was certain: he couldn’t be the one who left that sticky note in your binder. When Changbin liked someone, he didn’t shy away from telling them directly. He would flirt openly, not leave anonymous notes.

So no, it wasn’t him.

"Why should I?" you replied nonchalantly. You were used to his antics, which might be one of the reasons why you were friends.

"Because I’m cute, and after class, I’ll buy you your favorite toothpaste-flavored ice cream," he teased.

"It’s not toothpaste! It’s mint chocolate!" you corrected, rolling your eyes.

"My bad," he smirked, unfazed. "Now, let me copy."

Too tired to argue further, you handed him your assignment. Changbin eagerly started copying, his focus entirely on the task at hand.

As you watched him scribble down your answers, you noticed his messy handwriting. There was no way it could have been him—the note’s handwriting was neat and careful, the opposite of his chaotic scrawl.

"You really have terrible handwriting. What are you, a kid? It looks like a storm blew through it," you teased, watching him.

"If I had more time, I could make it look like it was printed with a font," he shot back, not looking up. "But since the prof will be here in a few minutes, I don’t care what you say. Now, shush."

You let him finish copying, trying not to overthink the situation again, when suddenly he pulled out a blue sticky note from his bag.

"I almost forgot to give this to you," he said, handing it to you slowly. "It’s the address for the party this weekend. You should come. If I don’t see even a glimpse of you, I won’t enjoy it."

Surprised, you stared at the sticky note in his hand. It was the same color and size as the one you found in your binder. Why would he have this?

Seeing that you weren’t taking it, he grinned mischievously and stuck it to your forehead, laughing at your shocked expression.

Could it be him?

But…

You glanced at the two sticky notes in your hand, comparing them as you strolled through the expansive university yard.

Confessing like this wasn’t his style.

So it couldn’t be, right?

But the sticky notes were identical—the same length, the same height. Plain as they were, they were unmistakably the same.

Yet, you remembered how he would laugh if he knew someone confessed like this. He’d call it plain, boring, and probably mock the person as weak.

You shook off the thought, placing the sticky notes back in your binder and hugging it to your chest, forcing your mind to focus on your lessons.

"Hey, monkey!" You halted mid-step, rolling your eyes at the familiar voice and nickname.

"What?" you snapped, turning to face him.

"So you really accept now that you’re a monkey?" he teased, laughing. It was Minho.

Your friend (well, sort of?). In your group, you were like a cat and dog—he was the cat, and according to him, you were the dog because your face reminded him of one.

Despite the constant teasing, you appreciated how he looked out for you and was always there when you needed him.

But what did he just say?

"I'm not in the mood to fight with you," you muttered. On a normal day, you would have started bickering with him, refusing to back down until he surrendered (yes, like kids). "What are you, a chicken?"

"Oh, you noticed my hair. Do you like it?" he winked.

"You look like a rooster." His hair was dyed orange, and although he didn’t look like a rooster, you wanted to get back at him.

"That's better than being a monkey," he grinned.

"Crazy."

The two of you walked together, talking about random things with the usual bickering sprinkled in. Then, you remembered the sticky note. You knew it wasn’t from him because, well, why would it be?

Still, you decided to show it to him.

"Who do you think did this?" you asked, handing him the note.

He read it aloud, the words dripping with sarcasm, "That’s the cringiest thing I’ve ever read in my whole life."

Just as you expected.

"You shouldn’t say that! He must’ve gathered a lot of courage to do this."

"Why wouldn’t he just tell you in person? Is he weak?" Minho scoffed, lowering his voice when he saw you weren’t amused.

"Maybe he didn’t want to ruin our friendship."

"Then he shouldn’t have liked you in the first place."

"Can we control our feelings? It’s hard, you know!" You rolled your eyes. "Why am I even telling you this? You don’t understand anything," you mumbled, though loud enough for him to hear. "Anyway, I should go. I have something to do at the library."

"I like you."

You froze in your tracks at his words.

"That’s what he should do! It’s really easy, you know," he said, smirking before suddenly sprinting off in the opposite direction.

What was that?

Confused by Minho's words, you made your way to the library, replaying the conversation in your mind.

"What was that? Does he like me, or was he just using it as an example?"

You tried to shrug off the thought as you arrived at the library. The familiar scent of books enveloped you, a comforting distraction.

At the librarian's desk, you spotted Han, your friend who worked there as a student assistant.

"Oh, what brings you here?" he greeted you with a smile, lowering his voice in contrast to Minho’s usual volume.

"Hello. I’m returning this book." You handed him the physics book you had been hugging to your chest.

"Already? Are you sure you’re done with it? It’s okay if you missed the deadline. You know I can always talk to the senior librarian for you," Han offered, his tone warm and reassuring.

If you were to consider another suspect in your mystery investigation, Han would be a possibility. You’d never questioned how he took care of you before, but now, as you tried to solve this puzzle, you began to wonder.

Could he like you?

Or were you just overthinking things?

No, you shouldn’t read too much into Han’s actions. Like Seungmin, he was someone who genuinely cared for the people he loved.

"No, it’s okay. I’m done with it. Thank you, Han. And thanks for the offer—I might take you up on that one day and maybe never return the book," you joked, earning a laugh from him.

"Now I should go. I need to meet Hyunjin—he asked me for a favor."

"Sure! Take care!"

"Thanks. You too."

As you left the library, you felt a hand on your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks. Turning around, you saw Han, slightly out of breath.

"Hey, was this yours? You forgot it," he said, handing you the sticky note.

You didn’t know how it ended up with him, but you quickly took it and placed it in your binder.

"Oh, thanks."

"No worries. That was a cute confession," he said, still catching his breath, then laughed. "I should get back—lots of work to do."

You nodded, watching as he returned to the library.

A question formed in your mind: Was it Han?

Why didn’t he ask who wrote it?

Why wasn’t he curious?

But then, he did ask if it was yours, as if he didn’t know.

So maybe… it wasn’t him.

"You literally owe me for this one," you whined, though you knew you didn’t have much of a choice as you glanced at your friend Hyunjin, a med student with an ever-present smile.

"Yes, I promise I'll buy you whatever you want," he said, clasping his hands together in gratitude, his eyes gleaming with a sincerity that made it hard to stay annoyed. You sighed, relenting, and extended your arm.

He needed a blood sample for one of his "you-don’t-know-the-details" assignments, and apparently, you were exactly what he needed.

Like a seasoned pro, he pricked the needle into your skin and attached a small hose to collect your blood. It wasn’t the first time you’d been his willing guinea pig, but you couldn’t say no to Hyunjin.

"Thank you," he said earnestly after he was done.

"Right. You should be thankful," you retorted with a mock glare, though you couldn’t help but smile when he laughed.

Hyunjin had the most stereotypical 'doctor-y' penmanship you’d ever seen—impossible to decipher, even as you watched him scribble something in his records.

"By the way, I left a note before in your binder," he said casually.

His words rang in your ears. "What note?"

He smirked, clearly enjoying the suspense. "A note about how you should remember to take the vitamins I gave you."

Oh.

Seeing you internalize his words, he added, "And I noticed another note in there." He adjusted his white coat, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "And I know who put it there."

You looked up at him, curiosity written all over your face as he towered over you.

"And you should find that out on your own," he teased, winking before walking away, leaving you with more questions than answers.

"Why’d you call me here?" Jeongin asked as he walked into the coffee shop, a guitar slung over his back.

"Because I promised to buy you coffee," you replied with a smile.

Jeongin was a year younger than you, a music major who could play practically any instrument, though piano was his favorite.

"Really? But I’m not craving coffee right now. You should buy me a meal. I’m hungry," he said, not even trying to be cute but somehow managing to be utterly adorable.

As per his request, the two of you headed to a nearby restaurant. You let him order whatever he wanted and watched as he dug into his food.

"You must’ve been really hungry," you remarked.

"I didn’t have lunch or dinner yet," he admitted between bites.

"You shouldn’t skip meals like that! Our bodies are our main investment. We need to take care of them," you scolded, playing the role of the older sibling.

"I know, Mom," he teased.

"Good son," you laughed.

"Are you going to Changbin’s party?" he asked after stuffing more food into his mouth. You took a sip of your strawberry latte, considering your answer.

"I don’t know. I’m kinda busy."

He got back to eating, and you hesitated, feeling a question bubbling up inside you. It felt awkward, but you knew you wouldn’t be at peace until you asked.

"Uh, do you mind if I ask you a question?"

"You're already doing it," he said, his mouth still half-full.

"Let me finish!," you squinted at him. "This question is kinda weird, but…"

"Faster! I’m curious!" He leaned in slightly, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

"Uh, do you know if anyone who’s close to us… erm…" You coughed, trying to find the right words. "…likes me? I mean, like, likes me?"

Jeongin looked up at the ceiling, thinking. "I don’t know who, but I know everyone loves you."

Well, that much was true—friendship came naturally with your group.

"And me too. I love you," he added casually.

"Aw, thank you. I love you too."

He didn’t reply, just smiled at you for a moment before turning back to his meal, leaving you with a warm feeling that was hard to shake.

"I'm so tired of that neighbor of mine!" Felix, a friend who lived three floors above you, burst into your apartment wearing pajamas and hugging his pillow.

"You can’t sleep again?" you asked, watching as he plopped down onto your sofa bed with a dramatic sigh.

"I don’t know what the hell he’s doing in the middle of the night! Was he doing construction or something?" he whined, making himself comfortable. "Oh, this is so comfortable. Let me crash here."

It wasn’t the first time he’d crashed at your place, so you were used to it. You didn’t mind at all.

"Did I bother you?" he asked, his head still buried in the pillow.

"Never."

"I should really move to this floor. It’s so peaceful."

"You could always move into my apartment and be my roommate," you suggested, a plan you’d considered before.

"No way. Someone might get angry."

"Who would that be?"

Felix didn’t answer, his silence leaving the question hanging in the air. You thought he might be teasing, but his continued silence suggested otherwise.

"And I don’t think I could handle living with you," he added.

"Why’s that?"

Once again, he didn’t respond.

"You should get some sleep. It’s past midnight," you said, heading toward your room.

As you were about to close the door, Felix called out, "I know about the blue sticky note in your binder."

You stopped in your tracks.

"Keep it, okay?" he said with a knowing smile before burying himself back into the pillow.

You wanted to ask more, but Felix seemed to be done with the conversation. With a curious mind, you went to bed, pondering over his cryptic words.

“Chan, did you really make this?” you asked, your voice brimming with excitement as you listened intently.

He nodded, a broad grin spreading across his face as he observed your reaction.

“This is the best music I’ve ever heard!” you exclaimed, pressing the earphones deeper into your ears.

“Oh, of course you’d say that because I’m your friend,” Chan said with a chuckle.

“No, I’m serious!” you replied, though you could only read his lips. The music’s high volume made it difficult to hear clearly. “This is amazing!”

“Yeah, that’s Han in the background and Changbin rapping.”

You bobbed your head along with the beats, completely immersed in the music Chan had created.

“Was Jeongin in it?” you asked, recognizing a familiar voice.

“Yes, and Hyunjin, Felix, Minho, and Seungmi—”

“This part is definitely Seungmin!” you shouted, and Chan laughed at your enthusiasm.

You continued listening, enjoying every note until the very last one, which was a soft piano melody.

“Wow, that was beautiful! I still can’t believe my friend created this. It’s a masterpiece.”

“Oh, thanks. That’s a great compliment from the person the song was inspired by,” Chan said with a knowing smile.

You didn’t catch that last part, too absorbed in the music to fully register his words.

“What’s the title of the song?” you asked, still in awe.

“Blue Sticky Note.”

The title made you stop dead in your tracks. Chan’s gaze lingered on you with an unreadable expression, as if he knew something you didn’t.

The realization hit you—the lyrics, the melody, everything about the song—

We’ve been friends for so long, shared laughter and tears,

But there’s something more inside, I’ve held back for years.

So I turned our feelings into a song, hoping you’d see,

How much you mean to me, how much you mean to me.

Oh, blue sticky note, you’re my secret, my confession,

Wrapped in notes and beats, my heart’s true expression.

In every verse, in every line, it’s you I adore,

From a simple blue sticky note to a melody I’m pouring out.

it was all connected to the note you had hidden in your binder.

part 2 here!

339 notes · View notes

hauntedhowlett-writes · 2 years ago

Text

the right wrong number

pairing: pre/no outbreak!joel miller x soccer coach!female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 6k

summary:

When Joel receives a dirty text from an unknown number, he gives into his curiosity and messages back.

He doesn’t expect the number to belong to his daughter’s summer camp soccer coach.

dear reader:

this work is a request and a birthday gift for my sweet baby @mydailyhyperfixations , who’s been one of my biggest supporters since i started posting my work on tumblr. ily, and i hope you love the fic! special thanks to @cutesyscreenname for helping me with some lil details to finish this surprise. support and mdni banners by @saradika

content warnings:

explicit sexual content (18+ MDNI), age difference (undefined, but references are made), pre/no outbreak!joel miller, identity porn, wrong number au, sexting, dom/sub dynamics, use of ‘sir’, pet names, praise, thigh riding, semi-public sexual activity, spanking, safe word discussion, dirty talk, p in v. let me know if i’ve missed any!

Unknown Number: I had a really good time at dinner tonight!

Joel stares at his phone in confusion. It’s past midnight and he’s been sitting on the couch nursing a beer and watching Indiana Jones. He’s been in the same spot since Sarah went to bed a couple hours ago. His phone beeps again.

Unknown Number: It’s too bad we didn’t have time to visit Noir.

Joel raises his eyebrows. Noir is a bar in downtown Austin known for its calendar of speciality kink events. He’s seen it come up in his Google searches of local bars and had considered going to an event or two but never worked up the courage. His kinks remain between him and his porn search history.

Unknown Number: Wanna see what you missed out on?

[Photo 01.jpg]

Curiosity gets the better of him and he clicks on the image attachment. He nearly drops his phone when a photo of a woman fills his screen, sweet curves hugged by black lace on white sheets. He should absolutely tell her that she has the wrong number. His fingers type across the screen.

Damn, seems a shame something that gorgeous is going to waste.

Unknown Number: Who says it has to go to waste?

Joel swallows nervously. He’s already hard in his jeans, cock pressing urgently against his pants. He palms himself, trying to collect his thoughts.

Unknown Number: I’m feeling a little needy over here.

[Photo 02.jpg]

Against his better judgment, Joel opens the second photo and has to bite back a groan at the image of the woman’s hand slipped beneath the waistband of the panties, fingers hidden from sight behind lace and silk.

You want me to tell you how to play with that pretty pussy?

Joel squeezes his eyes shut as he presses send. This is a colossally stupid idea. This is a stranger, and he’s not the intended recipient of these messages.

Unknown Number: I’d really like that, sir.

Fuck it, Joel thinks. In for a penny, in for a pound.

Start by circling those fingers over your clit. Nice and slow.

And when you feel like you could cum, I want you to go even slower.

Unknown Number: It’s too slow. I want more.

Be patient, baby. And aren’t you forgetting something?

Unknown Number: Sorry. I want more, SIR.

Joel presses a hand to the bulge in his jeans, the pressure offering little relief.

Now don’t start being a brat, sweetheart. You won’t like the result.

Unknown Number: Oh yeah? What would you even do?

I’d love nothing more than to bend you over the edge of the bed, ass ready to be spanked red.

Unknown Number: Fuck, that would feel so good. Bet your hands would feel amazing marking me up.

You still being a good girl and following my instructions?

Unknown Number: I think I forgot. Could you remind me, sir?

You’ll have to ask more nicely than that.

Unknown Number: Could you *please* remind me, sir?

Joel runs a hand over his beard before reaching for the forgotten beer on the coffee table and taking a swig.

You’re supposed to be teasing yourself for me. Nice and slow.

I want you to pinch your nipples until they’re nice and tight, too.

Unknown Number: Like this?

[Photo 03.jpg]

Joel bites his lip as he opens the third photo. You’ve got your bra pulled down to expose your nipples, hard and perfect and begging for his mouth. He unbuttons his jeans, tossing his phone on the couch only long enough to shimmy the denim down his thighs and free his leaking cock.

Just like that, baby. Such a good girl for me.

Unknown Number: Are you touching yourself, too, sir?

Of course I am, baby.

Unknown Number: Can I see, sir? Please?

Joel’s hand falters as alarm bells blare in his head. He should absolutely not open his camera. And he should definitely not find the perfect angle that doesn’t show his face. And he certainly should not grip his cock around the base, holding it steady as the shutter sounds and a new photo is saved to his camera roll.

No. He shouldn’t do any of that.

[Photo 04.jpg]

Unknown Number: God, your cock would feel so good in me right now.

Joel’s right hand moves at a steady pace up and down his length, left hand fumbling to type a reply.

Why don’t you fuck your little fingers and pretend it’s me, then?

Unknown Number: Won’t fill me up nearly as much, sir.

Be a good girl and follow my directions, baby.

Unknown Number: [Photo 05.jpg]

He opens the photo and his cock pulses in his fist. She has her underwear shoved to the side, two fingers plunged into her glistening pussy. His mind reels with an image of this faceless woman writhing on the bed reading his words, thinking about his cock stretching her open and he has to bite his lip to just keep the responding moan trapped in his throat.

Unknown Number: Can I cum, sir? Please?

Since you asked so nicely, yes. Make yourself cum for me, sweetheart.

Joel sets the phone aside on the couch, closing his eyes as he pumps himself with a tight fist while he imagines your desperate pussy clenching around your fingers. He cups his palm over the head of his cock as his release hits him like a freight train, hips flexing from the couch to chase the lingering sensations of ecstasy from his hand.

He stands, pulling his pants up without bothering to fasten them so that he can wash his hands in the kitchen sink. Guilt settles on his shoulders as he dries his hands with the dish towel while he stares at the couch where his phone is lit up with another message from a stranger he had no business seeing that much of.

He approaches the couch and sits with a sigh, running a hand over his face before picking his phone up to read her message:

Unknown Number: Easily my best orgasm. Hope it was for you, too. Don’t be a stranger xx

Feeling like an asshole, Joel deletes the thread and the wrong number for good, but it’s fine.

It’s not like he’ll ever meet her, anyways.

——————

You’re on the phone with your best friend, telling her about how the last guy you went out with about a week ago, a guy named Jeremy you met on a dating app, still hasn’t reached out to you again despite what you’d thought was a successful date.

“So he just never reached out to you after you sexted him all night?” She asks. “Men are so weird.”

You cradle the phone between your ear and shoulder as you zip up your duffel bag of equipment. It’s the beginning of June and the summer soccer intensive camp for junior league starts today. You’ve got a full registration for the girl’s 13-15 division and you’re excited to get back on the field and help these girls do their best in a sport you love.

“Nope. Maybe I came on too strong? I don’t know,” you reply.

“You did come strongly. At least, that’s what you told me,” she says with a laugh. “Well, that’s too bad. Maybe you’ll meet a hot dad coaching this year.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m not fucking someone’s dad.”

“Never say never, babe.”

“I gotta go find my damn cleats. I’ll talk to you later,” you tell her.

“Fine, I expect a full run down of every DILF you meet today.”

You hang up as she laughs, tossing your phone into your personal bag that you keep separate from the gear before you go in search of your cleats from your room.

——————

Joel and an over-excited Sarah sit in the parking lot of the soccer field that her summer camp is being conducted at, ridiculously early at Sarah’s insistence because she didn’t want to be late on the first day. They’re the only car in the parking lot so far, having apparently beat even the coach, and Joel sips at his travel mug of coffee in the hopes that it grants him energy.

Another car pulls up and parks beside his truck, loud music blaring from the open window. Sarah waves excitedly.

“That’s the coach,” she explains.

Joel watches you get out of your car and pop the trunk. You start pulling out bags of soccer balls and stacks of orange cones, bags of agility equipment and strength training aids. He opens the door to his truck and jogs over.

“Hey, you need any help with that?” He asks. You look over at him in surprise, eyes wide.

“Oh, uh, sure. That would be great,” you reply.

“I’m Joel Miller, and this is my daughter, Sarah,” he says, gesturing to the young girl. She gives a little wave and he extends a hand out to you.

You give him your name, shaking his outstretched hand. “Y’all are a little early,” you reply, hefting a bag over your shoulder.

“My dad’s always late but I didn’t want to be late for camp,” Sarah says. Joel narrows his eyes at her.

“Not a problem. You can help me set up the cones,” you tell her. His daughter gives you a bright smile and he almost forgives her for throwing him under the bus. “I’ll grab these two bags, you grab the cones, and Mr. Miller, could you grab the balls, please?”

Joel fights back his childish laughter at your request, grabbing the bags as instructed. “Just Joel, please.”

You smile at him and he feels a bit blindsided by how it makes his heart beat faster, his palms a little sweatier. You’re very pretty, fresh faced and ready for a day of work, wearing one of those quick dry workout shirts that clings to your curves and a pair of shorts that show off your strong legs. Some traitorous part of his brain wonders what it would feel like to have those legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer.

“Alright then, Just Joel. Let’s go.”

——————

“Thank you for the help,” you tell Sarah’s dad. You’re trying very hard not to let your eyes linger on the bulge of his biceps or the broad expanse of his back as he sets down the two bags of soccer balls and places his hands on his hips.

He’s a handsome man, older than you by at least a few years, with tan skin and dark hair and kind brown eyes that crinkle at the corners when he smiles at something Sarah says. His daughter has the same brown eyes and olive skin, her dark curly hair pulled into a bun.

Of course the first parent you meet this summer is a hot dad. It’s like you’ve spoken it into the universe.

“Not a problem. Glad I can be useful if I’m goin’ to be here this early,” he replies with a narrowed glance at Sarah, who is suddenly very interested in the stack of cones she carried to the field. “Anythin’ else you need me for?”

“Let me get you the game schedule and contact sheet.” You open your bag and pull out your folder of materials you like to give to parents, assembling a stack of papers for him. “On top you’ve got the emergency contacts sheet. Fill that out with your contact information and an alternate’s information, too, just in case I can’t reach you or someone else needs to pick Sarah up. You’ll want to have Sarah bring that back tomorrow.”

You flip the page. “The second page is just a welcome letter. It’s got my phone number on it, feel free to text or call if you have any questions or if Sarah can’t make it one day.”

“And then last we’ve got the camp schedule. The girls will have two tournament days where they’ll play against some nearby summer camp leagues. You can sign up to bring a snack by filling out the piece at the bottom. Do you have any questions?”

“I don’t suppose I do. You’re very organized,” he says, taking the packet from you. You can feel your cheeks heating.

“Thanks,” you murmur. “Well, I gotta finish setting up.”

“I won’t get in your way.” He calls out to Sarah and the young girl runs up to give him a hug goodbye. “Be good. I’ll see you later.”

——————

Joel Miller is the first at the field in the mornings helping you set up for the day and last parent to leave at pick-up, after he’s loaded your trunk up with the equipment, wiping the sweat from his brow as he grins at you.

His daughter is a great player, quick on her feet and smart as a whip, picking up the footwork skills you teach like they’re second nature. You’re telling Joel as much Friday afternoon in the second week of camp when Sarah bounds up and asks if you want to get ice cream with them.

“That’s a great idea, baby girl,” Joel says before you can decline. You blink at him and he gives you that lopsided grin that’s been giving you butterflies since the first day on the field. “But if you order mint chocolate chip, you’re buyin’ it yourself.”

“Good news, I’m a plain ol’ chocolate kinda gal,” you tell him with a laugh.

“Me, too!” Sarah says.

“I’ll follow you guys,” you suggest. Joel gives you a quick nod, herding Sarah into his truck and taking off toward town.

You follow them to a little ice cream parlor, the kind that sells old fashioned sundaes and thick milkshakes with red and white striped straws. You park beside them, watching as Sarah hops from the truck with a wide grin on her face and her dad comes around, slinging a strong arm over her shoulder and pulling her close. Your heart feels warm looking at them.

Once inside, Joel and Sarah end up ordering a sundae to split while you get a small cone of chocolate ice cream. You try to tell Joel not to pay for you, but he hits you with a look that has your mouth going dry, any argument disappearing as all your blood rushes south and makes you ache between your legs.

“I’ll go get us a table outside,” you offer, licking at your treat. You don’t miss the way Joel’s eyes track the path of your tongue.

You watch the busy foot traffic while you wait for the Millers to join you, the warm Texas air wrapped around you while you enjoy the slight breeze and your cold dessert.

A deep voice calls your name and you look around, finding a familiar face on the crowded sidewalk.

“Jeremy, hey. How are you?” You ask as the man approaches. It feels like forever ago that you went to dinner together and looking at him now you think he’s handsome but he doesn’t hold a candle to Joel.

“I’m good. Been busy. I gotta say, I was a little bummed I didn’t hear from you after our date. Thought we had a good time,” he says, running a hand through his hair.

“Didn’t…hear from me?” You ask nervously.

He tilts his head. “Yeah. Thought you said you would text me when you got home.”

“Uh…yeah. Sorry. I guess I just forgot.”

The bell dings above the door to the ice cream parlor, Joel and Sarah emerging with a sundae piled with whipped cream. Jeremy looks toward them, then back at you.

“I’m guessing another date is off the table?” He asks, slipping his hands into his pants pockets.

Joel looks between the two of you, brow furrowed as he sets the sundae on the metal table and Sarah takes a seat, digging in immediately.

“Jeremy, this is Joel and his daughter, Sarah. She’s in my soccer camp this summer. Joel, this is my friend Jeremy,” you introduce. Jeremy holds a hand out to Joel, who shakes it briefly, brows still pinched.

“I better get going. Nice seeing you, let me know if you want to get together again,” Jeremy says before turning to leave. When you glance at Joel, his shoulders are drawn up and jaw clenched tight as he stabs his spoon into his ice cream.

“What do you guys have planned this weekend?” You ask to break the silence. Sarah perks up and begins to tell you about how her Uncle Tommy, Joel’s brother, is taking her to a local carnival. You listen and nod along despite the fact that your thoughts are stuck on Jeremy’s words.

If it wasn’t Jeremy on the other end of your conversation that night…who was it?

——————

As the three of you walk back to your vehicles, Joel’s still thinking about that man who’d been talking to you at the ice cream shop and how it made his blood burn hot to hear him mention going on a date with you. His pulse pounded in his ears as he shook the guy’s hand, any information about the guy going right over his head. He didn’t even taste the ice cream or hear the conversation you and Sarah had about the weekend, lost in his thoughts about how between early mornings helping you prep for camp and late afternoons at pick up have all somehow allowed you to burrow into his heart.

A hand wraps around his bicep, halting him in his steps. He glances at your concerned face and suddenly all that tension leaves him in a rush. Sarah says her goodbye, hugging you around your waist before hopping into the truck, leaving the two of you alone.

“You okay?” You ask, taking a step closer.

“I’m great, sweetheart. Get home safe,” he says, eyes dipping briefly to your mouth. Your tongue pokes out, tracing your lower lip. He takes a step back before he’s tempted to lean in and chase the taste of chocolate and you.

“I’ll see you Monday?”

“Bright and early.”

——————

Sarah spikes a fever Sunday night and spends the night curled around the toilet while Joel coaxes some water into her and keeps her hair out of harm's way. When it seems that the worst of her nausea has passed, Joel leaves her to rest in her bed while he goes downstairs and grabs the contact list you’d given him at the beginning of camp.

He starts a text, letting you know that Sarah’s sick and won’t make it to camp, at least for today. When it’s sent, he heads back upstairs, armed with a sleeve of crackers to deliver to his daughter.

Maybe he can squeeze in a little bit of sleep for himself.

——————

Hey, it’s Joel. Sarah’s sick and won’t make it to camp today.

You stare at the text, mind reeling. Not because a parent is texting you, that’s pretty common and you hope Sarah is doing okay, but because you already have a thread with Joel.

One where you’d called him sir and told him his cock would feel so good inside of you because you’d thought you’d been texting Jeremy. Your cheeks feel so hot you worry spontaneous human combustion could actually be a thing.

What are you even supposed to do in this situation? Do you tell him about it?

Hey, Joel. No worries. Thanks for letting me know, hope she feels better soon. Oh, also, you’ve sent me a picture of your dick.

You delete the last line immediately, hitting your phone against your forehead like doing so might make your thoughts make sense.

Hey, Joel. No worries. Thanks for letting me know, hope she feels better soon. Any chance you can make good on that promise and bend me over the bed?

You delete the last line again with a groan.

Hey, Joel. No worries. Thanks for letting me know, hope she feels better soon. There’s something I want to talk to you about. Would you be able to meet with me after practice this week? Or sometime this weekend?

You hit send before you can back out, tossing your phone in your bag as you get ready to head out the door.

——————

Joel wakes later in the morning and reads your text message. His mind races with what you could want to talk to him about. Maybe you noticed how he reacted to your friend and wanted to tell him you’re uncomfortable? Or maybe something to do with Sarah?

Fuck, he thinks, scrubbing a hand over his face. He reads the message a few more times but it doesn’t reveal any additional clues. He types out a message, pressing send before he can overthink the contents.

She seems to be doing better. Should be back to camp tomorrow. I can meet you somewhere for dinner on Friday after camp? My treat.

——————

Joel’s text plays on a loop in your brain for the rest of the week. Unlike the previous weeks of camp, he and Sarah don’t show up early. In fact, he’s been dropping her off almost at the last minute and picking her up promptly when camp ends, always managing to show up when you’re already pulled into conversation with another parent and driving off before you have a chance to talk with him.

On Friday, Joel is at the field early, leaning against his truck as he talks to Sarah. You park beside them, and he helps you unload your car and set up for the day, just as he had the weeks prior, making small talk like he hadn’t just spent the week dodging you after suggesting dinner. When everything is unpacked and Sarah is kicking a ball around, you follow Joel to his truck under the guise of needing one more thing from your car.

“Hey, are we still on for dinner?” You ask him. He runs a hand through his hair and you try not to let yourself zero in on the way his bicep flexes with the motion.

“‘Course. How ‘bout I meet you at that diner downtown? The one with the—“

“All day breakfast?” You finish. Joel grins.

“Yeah, that’s the one. Is six good?”

“Six is great.” You smile back at him, lost in the way his eyes crinkle in the corners and his mouth lifts slightly higher on the right.

“Coach!” Sarah yells, making you jump.

“Guess I better get out there,” you say, shifting nervously.

“Yeah, I’ll uh…I’ll see you later?” He asks.

“Looking forward to it.”

——————

To your surprise, it’s not Joel that picks up Sarah that afternoon, but another man with familiar brown eyes and dark curly hair. You grab your folder from your bag as Sarah greets the man, flipping through the pages until you’ve found her emergency contact form.

“Hey there,” the man says, a grin lighting up his face. “I’m Sarah’s Uncle Tommy.”

You shake the hand he’s held out towards you and introduce yourself. “Nice to meet you. Mind if I check your ID for alternate pick up?”

“Go right ahead,” he replies, pulling a worn brown leather wallet from his jeans and handing you his ID from its contents. “Don’t judge the photo, alright? It’s old.”

A younger version of the man in front of you is pictured on the card, his curly dark hair buzzed short and a grim expression on his face. You note the name THOMAS MILLER beside the picture and check it against Sarah’s emergency contact form.

“Thanks, Tommy,” you tell him, handing back the ID. There’s a brief silence where Tommy seems to be assessing you.

“So…,” he says, rocking on his heels, “you’re the girl that’s got Joel all tangled up, huh?”

You blink. “Uh—“

“Uncle Tommy! Let’s go!” Sarah shouts from the parking lot.

“Hold your horses!” Tommy yells. He gives you one last knowing smirk. “Have fun with Joel tonight!”

You watch him jog over to the truck and get behind the wheel, Sarah waving at you as he pulls out of the parking spot. You wave back, but your mind is stuck on Tommy’s words, the implication of them having your stomach doing backflips.

——————

Joel’s fingers fidget with the straw wrapper, ripping it into small pieces that build in a pile on the laminate table while he waits for you to arrive for dinner. He’s still not sure what this is all about and that uncertainty has had him stuck in his head to the point where Tommy was giving him a hard time at work about it.

“Let me know if you need me to stay with Sarah overnight,” Tommy had said as Joel checked himself in the hall mirror one last time before leaving the house.

“It ain’t like that,” he grumbled back, but there was no changing his brother’s mind.

“Sure, you keep tellin’ yourself that.”

The bell above the diner door rings with a new customer, pulling Joel from his thoughts. You’ve just walked in wearing a dress, a far cry from the soccer shorts and t-shirt he’s seen you in every day this summer. His gaze is pulled to the tantalizing glimpse of your chest he gets from the deep neckline and the way the fabric swishes against your thighs as you approach.

“Hi,” you say, sliding into the booth across from him. “Thanks for meeting me.”

“Sure,” Joel says, giving you what he hopes is a confident smile but he’s almost certain it’s more of a grimace.

A silence settles over the table as you both look at the laminated menus like they hold the secret to the universe. The waitress swings by and takes your orders - chocolate chip waffles for you and a medium rare burger for Joel.

“How’s Sarah doing with the camp?” Joel asks.

“She’s doing great. Easily one of the best players I’ve got this year,” you reply.

“Good that’s…good. You used to play for UT, right?”

“Yep, starting forward until I tore my ACL,” you tell him. “Now I coach because you can take the girl out of soccer but you can’t take the soccer from the girl.”

“That’s impressive,” Joel comments. “Is coaching your full time job?”

“No, I work in marketing for an instrument production company.”

“Really? You play anything?”

“Some guitar, a little piano. Nothing crazy. Do you?”

Joel laughs. “Been a while, but I got a guitar stashed away in a closet somewhere.”

The waitress returns with your food, setting the plates in front of you and asking if either of you need anything else before leaving the two of you to your meals.

Joel is a few bites into his burger when you set your fork down and say, “Look, I’m just gonna come right out and say it. You’ve sent me a picture of your dick.”

Joel nearly chokes, sputtering for air around his burger and grabbing his Coke, desperate for relief. He chugs the beverage, tears in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” You ask, wide eyes full of concern.

“No, I’m not okay, what do you mean I’ve sent you a picture of my dick?” He hisses, looking around the mostly empty diner.

“About a month ago I went on a date with that guy I ran into at the ice cream place, Jeremy? We met on a dating app so we were messaging through there and he gave me his number at the end of the night,” you say quickly. “And I texted the number with some…racy photos. And messages.”

Joel feels the rising panic in his chest. No, there’s absolutely no way that random number could have been you. There’s no way he sexted his daughter’s soccer coach.

“I didn’t find out it was you until you texted me about Sarah being sick. I still had the chat with your number,” you finish, reaching into your bag and pulling out your phone. Joel watches with building dread as you tap on the screen and set the phone on the table, sliding it toward him.

You’ve opened the chat with him, the innocuous messages at the bottom about Sarah missing camp giving way to photo attachments he doesn’t dare click on but remembers vividly. He looks up at you.

“I…I’m so sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have replied, the messages weren’t meant for me.”

“I’m not mad,” you assure him. “A little embarrassed, maybe. But also…can I be completely honest?”

“Of course.”

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about your messages.”

Joel’s mouth drops open in surprise. “You…really?”

“Yeah. And knowing it’s you…,” you say, voice trailing off. Your eyes are dark, a little smirk playing on your lips that has Joel’s cock twitching with interest. “Well, that makes it better.”

“It does?” Joel asks. You nod, picking up a bite of waffle with your fork, a moan of appreciation leaving your lips.

“It does,” you confirm.

Joel turns around in the booth and flags down the waitress.

“Check, please!”

——————

After paying for dinner, Joel walks you to the parking lot, his broad palm on your low back directing you to where his truck is parked.

He’s got you pressed against the passenger door, his chest grazing yours with each breath he takes. He lifts a hand to your cheek, his thumb rubbing across your bottom lip. His gaze grows dark as you dart your tongue out, flicking it against the digit.

“Such a fuckin’ tease,” he says. Gone is the man who was mortified to find out he’d been sexting you and in his place is the man behind the screen. “You wore this little dress because you knew exactly what you wanted, isn’t that right?”

“Maybe,” you murmur. “You don’t like it?”

“Mm,” he hums, “Ain’t a matter of not likin’ it, trust me.”

His hands grip your hips, the fabric bunching in his fists as he moves a thigh between your legs. The sudden friction of his jeans, even through the barrier of your underwear, has you gasping.

“Joel,” you whimper, grinding over the muscle of his thigh. He kisses along the length of your neck, lips right over your racing pulse. “Come on, take me home.”

“You can ask more nicely than that,” he says, hands guiding the movement of your hips, forward and back, across his thigh. You moan, louder than you intended, too loud for the parking lot of a busy diner at dinner rush.

“Please, sir,” you whisper. “Please, take me home.”

“Cum on my thigh and we can leave,” he replies. “Leave a nice little wet spot on my jeans and then I’ll take you home and make you scream my name as loud as you need to.”

Joel’s lips capture your own, swallowing the curse that was ready to spill from them at his demand. His kiss is rough, demanding, his stubble scratching your skin and his tongue tangling with yours as your hips continue to rock over his leg. You dig your fingers into his hair, holding tightly to him while the knot of need in your belly tightens.

“Come on, baby,” he says when he lifts his head, lips still pressed to your neck. “Make a mess, come on.”

You go still in his hands as your orgasm washes over you, your muscles stiff as your pussy pulses desperately over his thigh. Joel pulls you in for another kiss, this one slow and sweet to bring you back to reality.

When you’ve caught your breath, he steps back, adjusting the skirt of your dress back over your thighs. He looks down at his pants and then back at you, a smirk on his handsome face. You look down, face heating with embarrassment as you notice the dark patch of denim.

“Get in the truck, baby.”

——————

You give Joel directions to your apartment, his warm hand on your thigh the whole way there. Your nerves are buzzing beneath your skin again, the effect of your first orgasm wearing off and your desire building rapidly with each mile closer to your apartment.

He parks in the visitor parking and you move to open the door, but a tan arm reaches across and tugs it shut. Confused, you watch Joel jump from the truck and jog around to the passenger side to pull open your door and hold a hand out to you.

You’re laughing as he helps you from the truck and shuts the door behind you, your giggles persisting as you lead him upstairs and his arms circle your waist while you try to unlock your door. He hustles you across the threshold, kicking the door shut behind him and flipping the deadbolt.

“Bedroom?” He asks.

“End of the hall,” you reply.

Joel pulls you along behind him, a man on a mission. Once inside your room, you flip on your bedside lamp and Joel steps in close, framing your face in his hands and giving you another kiss that has the butterflies in your tummy going wild.

His fingers are curling into the hem of your dress, dragging it up your body and breaking the kiss long enough to pull it over your head and toss it to the floor. His lips are back on yours while his hands map your curves, calloused fingers catching on soft skin and making goosebumps erupt in their wake.

“Get on the bed,” he commands. You turn, crawling onto the mattress slowly, a wiggle in your hips. You look over your shoulder at the older man and find his gaze fixed on your ass. He grins. “You remember what I said last time you teased me?”

“No. I think I need a reminder,” you tell him. He huffs, shaking his head.

“Teasin’ me and gettin’ mouthy? Think that might earn you a punishment.”

Joel palms the cheeks of your ass, pulling them apart in a rough grip that has you gasping his name. His fingers dig into the flesh, the ache of them already making your head spin.

“Five ain’t enough, but it’s all I’ve got the patience for right now,” he says. His tone changes as he asks, “You got a safe word? If I need to stop?”

“Apricots,” you say easily. He tilts his head. “It’s from a TV show. New Girl?”

“Never heard of it,” he says. “Alright, apricots it is.”

He pulls your panties down, leaving them around your thighs. His thumbs spread you apart and the vulnerability of this position, your ass in the air and everything spread for him, by him, has you feeling like you’re on fire.

“Pretty little pussy,” he murmurs. “But I already knew that. Because you’re a dirty fuckin’ girl who sent me pictures just because I told you how to cum. Ain’t that right?”

“Mhm.”

An open palm lands on your right ass cheek, hear blossoming on the spot as you gasp, lurching forward. His hands pull you towards him and he presses down between your shoulder blades, your back arching.

“Don’t move,” he commands. “That was one. You count the next one.”

Another smack across your other cheek, more sharp pain that shifts into dull ache as you mumble, “Two.”

He doles out two more in quick succession, each other making your pussy clench with need. You’re drooling into sheets, a whimpering mess as he runs his fingers through your soaked folds and lets out a deep groan.

“Baby, you’re soaked,” he says. “Fuck, one more, okay? One more and then I’ll have you wrapped around my cock.”

You nod your head, bracing for the final blow across your sensitive skin. The sting of his palm as it lands makes your eyes roll back, the line between pleasure and pain so blurry you don’t know which side you stand on.

His hands leave your hips and without the support, you slide flat to your belly. Distantly, you register the opening of your nightstand drawer and the sound of Joel rummaging through the contents, followed by the muted thump of clothes being discarded to the floor.

Joel maneuvers you to your back in the center of the bed, pulling your panties off. “You did so good, sweetheart,” he praises. You smile at him.

“Do I get a reward now, sir?” You ask.

“‘Course, baby. Good girls get what they deserve.”

His hips press between yours, his cock sliding through your wetness and catching on your clit. He positions the thick head at your slick entrance, pressing in the slightest bit. You take in the sight of him, his broad chest held over you by strong arms, the muscles of his neck tense.

Joel slides in slowly, your body accepting him gratefully. The stretch borders on painful but the fullness has you digging your nails into his back, a moan falling from your lips. It feels like ages before his hips as flush to yours and all you can feel is Joel Joel Joel.

“Fuck,” he groans, forehead dropping to yours. “Christ, you feel so fuckin’ good.”

He pulls back slightly, thrusting forward with a sharp snap of his hips. As he starts to set a rhythm, he sits up on his knees, lifting one of your legs up with a hand on the back of your thigh and pressing it to the side. The position opens you up further, letting him get impossibly deeper, and all you can do is allow him to use your body to his liking.

It’s not long before you’re screaming his name, as promised, the knot of pleasure in your core pulling tight and getting ready to snap.

“You gonna cum again for me?” Joel asks, breathing labored as his pace doesn’t falter. “Come on, baby, cum on my cock. You’re such a good fuckin’ girl, I know you can do it.”

“Joel!” You shout, that last thread snapping as your orgasm rushing through you, stars bursting behind your eyelids as they snap shut with the force of it all. Your pussy clenches around him, his hips stuttering and growing sloppy until he’s pressing in deep with a groan of your name.

He collapses on top of you, a heavy weight but not an unwelcome one as you both try to catch your breath, sweat cooling between you. After a moment, his softening cock slips from your body and he rolls to the side, gathering you to his chest.

“Holy shit,” you whisper.

“Yeah,” Joel whispers back. He sits up, leaning over the edge of the bed and grabbing his jeans, pulling his phone free.

He taps on the screen and brings it to his ear, a distant ringing audible through the speaker.

“Tommy? Yeah, everythin’s fine,” Joel says when his call connects. He takes a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Could you stay with Sarah tonight? Shut up,” he grumbles. He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “I’ll be back in the mornin’. Thanks, brother.”

Joel hangs up and you raise your eyebrows at him.

“You’re staying?” You ask.

“Yeah, baby. I ain’t finished with you yet,” he replies, pressing a flurry of kisses to your face, neck, and shoulders, sending you into a fit of giggles.

——————

1 Year Later

“Alright, great job, girls! Let’s get your snacks,” you shout as your summer league girls jog towards you from the field following their third tournament game.

The girls crowd around the cooler that Joel’s prepared, grabbing small bottles of Gatorade or water and a bag of orange slices. They lounge around the sidelines and you step up beside Joel, bumping him with your hip.

“Thanks for the snacks,” you say. He grins at you.

“‘Course. Gotta take care of my girls,” he replies. He pulls one last bag of oranges from the cooler. “And one for coach.”

“How’d I get so lucky?” You ask, looping an arm around his waist.

“What can I say? You texted the right wrong number.”

Joel Miller Masterlist

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