#I LOVE TO SEE my work through other people's eyes!!!

[taintandviolent]

be my woman, girl ; Remmick x reader

summary: As a lonely woman whose prayers are going unanswered, you prayed for something to take away your hurt. This time, something answers.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 2.6K | female reader, vampires, brief religious themes (praying, mention of God), spit kink, spit as a major aphrodisiac, dub-con if you tilt your head and look at it the right way, vampire sex, monsterfucking, fingering, unprotected sex, p in v, biting, blood mention, blood drinking and loss, I guess it's implied virgin!reader (though it isn't focused on).

a/n: just a quick lil somethin' somethin', but it is HEAVILY inspired by Nosferatu, and the vibe of this song. sorry that - spoiler alert - the vampire bites reader in every fic I write about them, I literally cannot stop myself from doing it. not beta-read, as per usual. dividers by @/v6que and @/adornedwithlight! PS: Thank you so much for all the love on my previous Remmick fic, you guys are such darlings!

↓ fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

The house is quiet aside from the occassional creak or whine; wood panels shift against each other, moaning low like your grandparents as they sat in a chair. Houses breathed every now and then — never scared you any.

Unlike everyone else, you're wide awake. Though your room is dark, the dreams haven't come for you. Pale, blue moonlight washes your features as you stand in front of the window, looking out into the front yard. There's nothing, no one.

That's just it… no one.

Your head hangs heavy, burdened by the aching, stinging loneliness that you felt.

No one for you, ever.

Hell, even your sister had found someone this past spring. Everyone always said you'd get married first 'cause you were the pretty one of the two. But you hadn't. Men didn't flirt with you, they just passed you by, as casual as can be. People shushed your worries by saying that God works in mysterious ways, when the time is right, can't rush love, and so on. None of those trivial phrases helped you any, you were still alone at the close of every night. So you'd pray. Just like you did every night. You looked up into that sky and prayed your heart out, prayed until you were blue in the face.

You thumb the latch to unlock it and with a small vocalization, push the window up. The sheer curtains flutter delicately, like ghosts in the breeze. The night air floods in, bathing your face and neck in it and you sink softly to your knees, resting your elbows on the wood of the sill. Your hands are clasped tightly together — as tight as you can — and you press your fists against your mouth for a moment as the tears well up in your eyes.

"Please," you beg, speaking against your own fingers. "I am so lonely. I can't bear it any longer. My heart aches somethin' awful..."

You sniff, and lift your eyes to the moon in all her luminous glory, hot tears streaming down your cheeks. "If there's anyone out there… take away my sufferin', take away my pain. I am beggin' you."

You hold your breath, waiting. You're acutely aware of all the sounds; a breeze flutters through the tall grasses and the old trees on your daddy's property, the branches creak loudly against each other, a twig snaps somewhere in the distance. Pricks of light flitter across the forest. An animal, probably. You see them every night.

"Please, come to me." Spoken through tears and snot. "I'm beggin'."

Still shrouded in the shadows of the forest, two of the pinpricks of light stop in the foot-trodden pathway to your front door. You clumsily wipe your tears away with the back of your hand and lean forward out of the window, trying to focus on the fuzzy darkness. They look like eyes, of a coyote or something similar, but you didn't notice until now that the figure seems taller than that, on account of where the eyes are.

You blink.

They blink back before they grow closer, carried on upright steps.

You gasp. Shocked by your own noise, your hand flies to your mouth as though it'll muffle the breathing. You duck back inside the window and fall backwards, catching yourself on your hands. There's a funny feeling roiling in your stomach, like a pit of wet snakes, slippin' and slidin' around in your gut.

From this angle, you can't see the reflective gaze anymore, but the curtains still flutter, seeming to whisper to you, calling your name in a tone that only you can hear. You scoot back, dragging your body along the floorboards until your back hits the bed post, and keeping your gaze locked on the window, you awkwardly crawl up into the bed, twisting your body in a way that doesn't disrupt your line of sight. You slither underneath the covers, pulling them up to your neck like a frightened child.

The window's still open… but you're too afraid to get up again, 'cause maybe those eyes would still be staring right at you. So, you nestle yourself deeper under the covers and stare at that window until your lids get heavy. Eventually, though you don't know how long it takes, you drift off to sleep.

The dreams start as soon as your body settles, as soon as your limp hand falls off the side of the bed, fingertips pointing towards the floor. A shadowed figure stands at the edge of your bed, his hand extended. His fingers are long, tipped by claws that reach out to you and cast terrifying shadows on your bedsheets. Those same reflective eyes stare down at you, watching you tremble. He moves closer, the shadows crawling up the length of your bed until they're pressed down against you. There's nothing on top of you but shadows, and yet, you can't move, pinned in place by some unseen force.

You awake with a heave, a strangled cry that dies in your throat as soon as you're upright. Beads of sweat decorate your chest, and ribbon down into the confines of your nightgown, disappearing into the fabric. Your room is dark and cool, but that does little to bring down the temperature of your feverish body.

Downstairs, you think. It felt natural, like you'd thought it. You throw the covers off your body, and tiptoe to your bedroom door, careful of each barefoot step. You bite your lip and with a gentle pull, you twist the knob and pull it open, praying it doesn't squeak. It doesn't.

You pad carefully down the steps, avoiding the one that creaks, and make your way to the front door. Again, the night air greets you like an old, forgotten friend and you inhale.

Those reflective eyes are staring right at you through the screen door. You can see 'em, clear as day. A moth flutters past your line of sight. As you turn on the porch light, your bare toes tease the edge of the threshold.

"What… what do you want?" Your voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper.

You make a fist in your nightgown, digging your nails into the soft fabric. He takes another step and leaves the shadows behind, allowing the light to illuminate his handsome features. His head tilts slightly as he considers your question, and an assured smile crosses his face.

"Aww, darlin'. You. I'm here for you…" he says, sweet like honey.

His accent is heavy and Southern, but something hides underneath it. You grip your nightgown tighter, suppressing a shudder that threatens to rip through your core. Something about him makes you wanna' step forward into the night, into his arms, but you resist. You shake your head, dislodging the lustful thoughts that try to take root in your brain.

He looks you up and down a few times before clicking his tongue in a disapproving way. You look down at yourself; sweat-soaked and dissheveled, your hair probably a mess, eyes swollen with sleep… God knows what else this man saw. Smelled. Understood.

"You poor thing… Ain't you tired, baby? Tired of screamin' and cryin' for a God that don't listen?"

You were.

"You called," he drawls. "I came."

He did.

He shoulders the door frame, leaning against it, peering at you through the mesh screen. You take a step back, and shake your head again, like a child shaking off her bad dreams. He runs a single finger along the edge of the screen, sharp nail scraping across the mesh with a barely audible tick tick tick. You understand now.

Quickly, but quietly, you push the door shut with a flattened palm. Maybe you were still dreaming. There. All better. Because really… what kinda' prayer is answered in the middle of the night? You hurry back through the darkened house, up the stairs and back into your room. For a moment, you listen in the hallway for sounds of stirring.

Satisfied that everyone's still sleeping, you turn around, leaning your back into the door gently. As soon as your eyes focus again, your muscles tense up and go rigid like steel. You slap your hand over your mouth, muffling the yelp that claws its way up your throat. You reel back, pressing yourself tightly against the door, like you could melt back through it.

Your eyes scrape tenatively along the floorboards, crawling up the elongated shadow of a man until you get to the figure that owns it. That same man leans against your window in a casual, relaxed position.

Be brave, girl.

"How'd you get in here?" You hiss, looking back at your bedroom door. "I ain't said you could—"

He lifts up a single finger, waving it back and forth, effectively shushing you. "Ohhh, you sure did, darlin'."

Remmick clears his throat theatrically, and falls forward to his knees. All at once, his nonchalant expression contorts into one of pain, of longing, of desperation, as he crawls towards you, frowning. "Please come to me…" he mocks in a higher tone, clutching his hands at his chest. "I'm beggin'…"

The realization feels heavy, your jaw hanging slack as you hear him. The world seems to lose its color around you, the floor drags you down by the hem of your gown. You sink to the wood, your ass hitting it with a soft thud. I called him.

His hands drops away from his chest as he knee-walks closer to you, reaching out to sweep your hair away from your temple. "Don't you fret now, ain't no sense in that. Remmick's gonna' make that hurt go away."

Remmick? Was that his name? When you give a devil a name, does it make him less terrifying?

As Remmick crawls over your body, you flatten against the floor, trying to shrink yourself away from him. He throws one knee up and over your hips, pinning you in place with his own. The sensation is intoxicating, and you feel damp heat pool between your thighs. He smiles, savoring the look of you beneath him, soft and supple, pretty and vulnerable.

Somewhere, you were scared. That somewhere that was too far away because your cunt, hot and aching, betrays you, clenching deeply at the feeling of a man on top of you — his weight felt like a blessing, like the long-awaited answer to a prayer. You writhe out of instinct though, clinging to some pure ideal, one that makes the corner of Remmick's lip hitch up in a snarl like he's smelled something foul. His teeth glint in the moonlight, pricks of jagged white amongst the darkness of his mouth.

"Y'got whatcha' asked fer'… don't go and be ungrateful now."

Lightning fast, Remmick's hand lurches out, pinching the sides of your mouth, forcing it open. He holds it there, while his own mouth opens, a stream of thick saliva stretching from his tongue. As it descends, you want to convulse and rip your head away, but with a clawed grip, he holds your head in place. It hits your tongue, dripping towards your throat. A warmth, a comfort, settles over your body, like the rays of sun kissing your body on a summer day, or slipping into a warm bath on a cool night. It's an all-enveloping feeling and you shudder, relaxing into the floor. Your body is no longer rigid, no longer fighting against him. Your legs part, hitching your nightgown up around your thighs in the process.

All you can do is look up into his glowing eyes, watching as the corners of his mouth curl up into a smile. Your back arches against his touch, his thumb brushing over the plumpness of your bottom lip. He smears his own saliva across your mouth. Onto your cheek. You smile lazily, and he nods encouragingly. "That's a-girl…"

With a little maneuvering, he slots himself between your thighs and his hands come down on either side of your neck. You feel his proximity, and whimper, angling your hips upward to grind against a rigidness you know is there, and Remmick lurches forward, sealing his lips to your neck.

He sucks at the skin, sucks until the flesh reddens, until it aches. The ache is a dull one, and even though you ought to stop him, you don't. Your hands find the nape of his neck, fingers sliding up through his dark hair, pulling him closer. He draws one hand down to free himself, and yank your panties to the side. You're no longer lonely, no longer sad. Lust claims your senses, without a care in the world.

Two fingers prod your entrance and you hitch your leg higher, allowing him more room. He sinks them in, breaching her, his thumb bumping into your swollen clit. Satisfied, he exhales above you, enamoured with the way your body sings back to him. With no hesitation, Remmick curves them deep within your cunt a few times, sending stars across your vision. As soon as you moan against the shell of his ear, he withdraws them and you feel him line himself up, the thick, velvet head pressing against the slit.

He's met with no resistance from your eager body, so Remmick sheaths himself inside your slick, waiting walls in one thrust. At first, there's heat as his cock stretches you wide, but your cunt adjusts, hungrily clenching around the shaft. His body undulates against yours, pressing tightly against your sweet, womanly figure as he thrusts, driving himself as deep as he can.

For a good few minutes, there's nothing but the sound of skin slapping against skin, feverish breaths and hushed moans. Remmick hums suddenly into your neck, pressing one tender kiss to the bruised flesh, reverently. He's still buried inside you, cock twitching with an impending release.

Breathily, he speaks as he strokes the side of your sweat-streaked face. "You asked fer' someone to take yer' sufferin' away and I'm gonna' do just that. I'm gonna' take away that hurt."

You whimper below him, a semblance of understanding of what's about to happen flashing across your darling features. "Shhh, this ain't gonna' sting but a second."

He leans in again, and you feel a flash of searing pain as fangs pierce your tender skin, drawing a gush of your sweet, cerise nectar out onto his tongue. Remmick groans at the coppery taste of your blood as it floods his mouth, and begins hungrily suckling at your neck, swallowing against the bleeding flesh. His hips find a new rhythm, and you feel your heartbeat pounding through your body — every inch of you seems to have a pulse — but he's right. It only hurts for a moment before you ease into the feeling, your body's natural defenses numbing the pain.

Now, the feeling drives you over the edge. Your vision darkens around the edges, throbbing between focused and blurry. You give a hard shiver as you spasm around his cock, coating him in slick arousal, and Remmick bucks his hips hard into your clenches, chasing his own release. With your hot blood clogging his throat, he asks of eternity, and you nod sleepily.

When he crashes down from that electric peak of pleasure, you feel dizzy. The sensation of being full claims you, wraps you up, and coddles you. Though, in your last moments, you can't mourn the loss of your precious life, you can't be sad… you'd asked for someone to take away your pain, your suffering, and for someone to come to you.

He'd heard you.

"Remmick," you say, drowsily.

He shushes you again with a clawed fingertip. You hear the dull thud of knuckles against a door. Your head lolls to the side, and Remmick straightens it out, leaving crimson fingerprints on your cheek before his weight leaves you.

The last thought you have is daddy, don't open that door.

But he does anyway.

Remmick is there to meet him.

[flowingaaron]

"So, what's the big deal?" Dafne enters the room. She doesn't understand, of course.

"The blood turned gold" There's desperation in my voice, but it sounds far far away. I don't know who Dafne is talking to, but it's not me. I don't know who answered, but it's not me.

"So, gold is a nice color, right?" She jumps to my lap, her tail wagging "It's like those shiny things you count"

"Coins. And I don't count them" My voice is disgusted by the idea. I feel back into the room.

"Your father does"

"My father has to claim taxes"

"What's that again?"

"Nevermind" I pet her for a while. It gives me some peace to think.

Never before did the blood turn gold. Not that it is in the records or for anyone to remember. The Goblet ritual has been a tradition for a couple of centuries. That's how people eliminated the 'right from family'. Not elections, not lottery. Pure prediction based on magic.

And it worked.

At first, according to some manuscripts, people really didn't believe in it. The Goblet never changed color. And they didn't care for the ritual. No one, except for the Council, appeared there. But even they were uninterested. Feltz was the first one to turn the blood black. But the Council loved him for his not-very-honest practices. It gave them gold and wealth. So they turned their heads to the black Goblet. Some honest ones in the Council tried to warn everyone. Didn't work.

The people, by the 6th year of his reign, demanded his head. There was blood and violence. It was so bad that the kingdom didn't survive. There was fire and debris. Feltz died, but so did many others. When they rebuilt everything, one found the Goblet and cleaned it. Then filled it with water for them to drink. Immediately the water turned to blood. People came to see the miracle and remembered the ritual. Some members of the former Council who managed to survive told the story. And then they cared. It could have been prevented. And they didn't listen.

There were other moments when they didn't care. When they lost their interest in the legend.

One was when they tried to implement elections. The elected would put his blood and it would turn black. No one blinked an eye, because they were elected. The people's will is above everything. But the Goblet never lied.

Another was when they tried to coup. The new leader tried to prove his worthiness through the Goblet. It turned black. Then tried to dismiss it, but the Goblet never lied. The previous King was not a saint, his blood also turned. But the coup became popular exactly because of that. The propaganda told everyone that the King had been foretold to be unworthy from the beginning. And when that statement came back to bite them, there was a civil war.

The armistice of that war was the day I was born, not 17 years ago.

From then on, we have had a mixed government. A Council who takes decisions and listens to the people. Some independent Chamber, where different leaders may participate voluntarily. And a head King or Queen that comes from one of several families, selected by the Council. Every five years, the Council selects new families, including the one that is in charge. If they have any kids from 16 to 20, they have to go to be examined by the Chamber and the Council.

But even before that, they have to drop blood in the Goblet. Every black one is immediately put apart and their families are investigated.

My gold has been the first in history. And the Council is not happy. They don't know what to do, and there will be an extensive inspection of everything. My family will be in a scrutiny so intensive it will reveal every secret.

Even my secret.

Coming to think about it, I think I know why my blood turned gold.

Since I'm a child, I can speak to animals.

I think the Goblet wants me to change the kingdom once again.

At Every Coronation, Each Would-Be Monarch Is To Provide A Single Drop of Blood For The Goblet Of Divine Rights. If The Blood Stays Red, Their Reign Will Be Peaceful. If The Drop Turns Black, They Will Bring Tyranny And Ruin To The Kingdom…What Does It Mean When Your Blood Turns Gold?

[caitlinsnicket]

bob reynolds relationship headcanons

warnings: none, the filthy stuff is going to be in the other set of headcanons. maybe some angst

a/n: aaa i cant see him anywhere because my body immediatly reacts. its so stupid

masterlist | 🍉 | ko-fi

he doesn't mean to be a creep, and he hopes you don't think he is one, but he can't help but gravitate toward you at all times. he waits anxiously for you in the mornings before the two of you get together, and when you walk into the kitchen for breakfast, he lights up and sticks to your side. the only time he leaves you alone is when you go to the bathroom or go to sleep.

after the two of you become an item, it's difficult to get out of bed since he's a cuddle bug and loves your warmth. he helps you with your chores and activities, joins you in your hobbies, and suggests new things to do together. he knows you also need your alone time, as does he, but being with you feels so nice!

holding hands with him is probably one of the nicest parts of your day. they get clammy sometimes, and he might squeeze too tight, but they're warm and softer than one might think, and because of how happy he looks, it's worth it. the best part is when you feel him brush his thumb over your knuckles, which means he's at ease, and your heart stammers in your chest.

and every now and then, when it's quiet and it's just the two of you and he hasn't let go just yet, you bring your intertwined hands to your mouth and kiss his skin, ignoring bob's breath hitching beside you. you only stop once you've covered every inch of skin you can cover, and when you look at him again, his eyes are glazed and his breath is ragged.

he has a tendency not to look into people's eyes when they're talking to him, which is fine and no one is really bothered by it, but you try to get him more used to it. that's why, whenever the two of you are having a conversation and he's not looking directly at you, you gently pull his face up with your fingers, trying not to linger so the moment doesn't turn awkward (you can still hear him swallowing).

it becomes something like a routine, like saying hello to him in the morning: you push his hair a bit out of his face and brush your hand lightly, just to see him better. he's always elated and starts to purposefully avoid your gaze so you'll hold him more. with time, he learns to just ask for it, closing his eyes and almost purring from your soft touch.

there was one time when he almost stumbled to the ground after you finished touching him. you kept your laugh to yourself but couldn't help a smirk.

he's trying to get used to touch, and hugs between the two of you become a common occurrence. he's still a little rusty, feeling that his limbs are too sharp and long, not soft enough for anything. but you still pull him close, even when he squeezes too tight to the point of pain, or when it gets too hot but he's not ready to let go. you don't mind though, because he always smells like clothes softener and that pear shampoo you bought him.

sometimes you'll be working on something, reading a book, or just scrolling through your phone, and he'll rest his forehead on your shoulder or your arm—really anywhere he can reach. he won't linger for long (again, he doesn't want to bother you), just enough to ground himself and feel your warmth. sometimes you'll hold him to you a second longer, your hand threading softly through his hair.

once the whole asking for permission to touch you every five seconds is resolved, he seeks you out more often for it. he still hesitates a lot and sometimes will give up on whole conversations because he feels like he fumbled it, but with enough reassurance, not only does he get more comfortable with being affectionate, but he also starts to feel better with everything else. touch soothes him.

and like a laser pointer to a cat, if he's starting to spiral or finds that he can't focus, touching him anywhere his skin is exposed makes his brain shut down for a second, and then he starts to come back to himself. it works for everyone, but he only blushes if it was you who had to calm him.

when the two of you start sleeping in the same bed, you try to get up before him (it's not that hard. he either falls asleep right away and can only be woken up by shaking, or can't sleep at all). you take that moment of quiet, where he can't get too much into his head, to trace his features with your fingers. your touch feather-light, following the line of his nose and eyebrows, down to his cheeks and lips. by the time you get there, he's stirring awake and unconsciously kisses the pads of your fingers while mumbling good morning. sleepy bob is your favorite bob.

after the first few times you touch his hair, it becomes your favorite thing to do, not just because of his reactions (from mewls and whimpers to full-body shivers and giggles), but also because it was unbelievably soft and curly, and you just started doing it out of nowhere for your own enjoyment. you do it if he's crying, which either makes him cry even harder or stop after a while. and when he's calm and content, it puts a blush on his face, but he manages to keep looking into your eyes.

he starts kissing your cheek one day, testing the waters. of course, he was extremely awkward and managed to bump heads with you the first few times, but once you saw him coming, you put your face out in his direction so there are no more accidents. imagine his face when you start kissing him back, before leaving for a mission or thanking him for bringing you a cup of water. it's the highlight of his day.

when the two of you go to sleep in your room, he likes to hold your hand and face you, or for you to spoon him. it keeps him grounded, in the moment, and also because he just likes to be held (especially by you). in the morning, when the two of you start to stir awake, he rolls in your direction until his head is tucked in your neck and his arms are circling your waist. if he could stay like this forever, he would.

the getting-to-bed routine also includes kissing his shoulders before he lies down, and he loves it so much. sometimes he stands perfectly still while you brush your teeth, waiting for you to get into bed and kiss his shoulder before he finally rests. he does the same to you in the mornings, pulling you back to him to kiss your shoulder blade and wish you a good morning. he's a sucker for casual affection.

his hair was already soft when you met him, but after you started taking care of it (washing it thoroughly at least once a week, massaging it gently), it felt like silk. he sometimes asks you to wash it but apologizes profusely for inconveniencing you. the whole process is relaxing for both of you, and the gift of touching his hair makes it all worth it for both of you.

[ghostlyferrettarot]

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���Masterlist💋 💋Masterlist 2💋

🎀🛼🫶🏻🌸🛍️Pile 1: Chloe

Hi Pile 1! I feel like you're probably someone who always sees the glass half full, even when things aren't going as expected. You're someone who brightens other people's days with your positive energy and your bright outlook on the world. Like Chloe, your personality reflects a warm light; there's a softness in you. You have a natural way of making others feel good because your enthusiasm is genuine, and it shows. I feel like sometimes your dreams may seem a little too big or unattainable, but that doesn't hold you back. You know that, with determination and a positive attitude, you can achieve whatever you set your mind to. Even when you face difficulties, you never lose hope that everything will get better. That belief that things will turn out okay is one of your greatest strengths. You're the kind of person who can make others see the good in any situation, and nothing stops you when you set your mind to something. Falling doesn't define you; You're always ready to get up and keep going with a smile <3.

You're that friend who always has words of encouragement, who encourages you to keep fighting, and who reminds you that good things are yet to come. If you ever feel a little lost or stuck in a rut, just take a moment to think about what you're truly passionate about, because you know that what you dream is possible, and you always have the strength to keep going.

🎀🛼🫶🏻🌸🛍️Pile 2: Jade

Hi pile 2! I LOVE YOUR ENERGY btw, you're the kind of person who isn't afraid to be authentic, even if it means standing out from others. You're always looking for new ways to express yourself, whether it's through your style (which can be pretty amazing btw, fashion icon), your projects, or even the conversations you have. You don't settle for what's "normal"; you like to push the boundaries, break boundaries, and do things your way. That's something that makes you incredibly special. You're very independent and don't easily get swayed by what others think. You know what you like, and when you're passionate about something, you go for it without hesitation. While some people may see that as bold or even a bit risky, you aren't afraid to be brave. In fact, you enjoy it. You love exploring new horizons and don't mind if you don't fit into traditional molds. Being different is part of what makes you so authentic. Sometimes, the people around you don't fully understand your way of thinking, but that doesn't stop you. You have a unique outlook on life, and that perspective is something others can admire, even if they don't always fully understand it. At the end of the day, what really matters is that you're true to yourself, and that's something that sets you apart. Your creativity and energy are contagious, and people lucky enough to know you know that when you're around, the world looks a little brighter.

🎀🛼🫶🏻🌸🛍️Pile 3: Sasha

Hi, Pile 3! You're someone with very strong energy, like the energy is insane as I channel your messages. You're that person who isn't afraid to be authentic and challenge the norms when necessary. Life has never seemed like a straight and easy path to you; you love taking control and deciding for yourself, even if it means going against what others expect of you. You're a person with character, and it shows in everything you do. You have a strong sense of justice and know what's right. If something doesn't seem fair to you, you speak up, you fight, and you make sure things change. You don't mind standing up for what's right, even if it means being in the eye of the storm. You have an incredible ability to stand firm in what you believe in, and that makes you a natural leader, someone who knows how to make difficult decisions without hesitation. Sometimes people may not understand why you make certain choices, or they may feel threatened by your confidence. But you, like Sasha, know that you can't please everyone, and you don't try. You know that the people who truly matter will respect your honesty and determination, even if they don't always agree with you. What a boss you are, pile 3!

You're the kind of person who pushes your friends to be better, to take risks, and to never settle for what's easy. What makes you special is your ability to be true to yourself, to fight for what you believe in, and to be a leader who inspires more than just guides. People follow you because they know you're someone they can trust, someone who will never give up, no matter what.

🎀🛼🫶🏻🌸🛍️Thank you for reading and let me know if it resonated!🎀🛼🫶🏻🌸🛍️

[ducksido]

I LOVE YOUR WORKS Practically going to tumblr to see it, I wanna request a houswardens having s/o who has unreal beauty? And has soft melodic laugh, I am just liking the trend of unreal beauty AHHHH I wanted to do myself the fic but you will do it better[sry just love you fics they look like canon]

(thank yew ❣️❣️)

Riddle Rosehearts Riddle was raised on rules, not daydreams. But when he looks at you? Logic flies out the window. You don’t just look beautiful—you’re unreal, like a fairytale vision spun from silk and moonlight. The first time he hears your laugh—soft, chiming, and full of genuine warmth—he forgets his entire sentence mid-way.

“I-I… you’re… no, I mean—ahem! You shouldn’t laugh like that in public—it’s… distracting…” His ears are as red as his hair. He gets flustered trying to enforce rules around you, but deep down? He loves that he’s powerless to your smile.

Leona Kingscholar Leona’s seen plenty of beautiful people, but you? You're on a whole other level. He calls you “Herbivore”, but the way he looks at you—like you’re some mythical creature who wandered into his den—is pure reverence.

“Tch. With a face like that, you’ll give the sun a complex.” He pretends to nap through your laughter, but his tail always flicks toward you when you laugh—like it’s trying to chase the sound. You're the only one who can make him willingly move from his nap spot… just to hear you laugh again.

Azul Ashengrotto You’re his Achilles’ heel. Azul, ever-calculated, tries to maintain composure around you—but when you walk in, glowing like ocean pearls with that melodic laugh that ripples like waves? He short-circuits.

“W-Would you mind… not laughing like that during meetings? It’s hard to think straight when you sound like a lullaby.” He fantasizes about bottling your laugh like a potion—something precious only he can hold. No business deal could ever compare to the way you smile just for him.

Kalim Al-Asim Kalim adores you. He's stunned every time he sees you—like he forgets you're real. Your laugh? It’s his favorite song. He claps, spins, and cheers when he hears it.

“You're like a genie’s wish come true!! Even your laugh sparkles!!” He shows you off like a precious jewel—not out of pride, but pure awe. He throws lavish parties just so others can see what he sees: someone too beautiful for words, with a voice soft enough to tame storms.

Vil Schoenheit Vil is the standard of beauty. And yet—even he can’t help but pause when you walk into a room. He studies you with a critical eye at first… but soon finds himself breathless.

“You’re… quite literally dazzling. And that laugh? It’s like perfume for the ears. How am I supposed to stay composed?” You’re the only one who could make the Queen himself stumble over words. Vil admires your grace, your softness, and the way your beauty is effortless. He won't admit it out loud, but you make him feel insecure—in the best way.

Idia Shroud He thought ethereal beauty only existed in RPGs. But then you appeared—with that glowy, surreal aura and a laugh so gentle it makes his chest ache.

“You… you’re not like a ghost or a simulation, right? B-Because you look like you phased in from another dimension or something…” His hair flares hot pink whenever you laugh. He replays your voice in his head like a cherished OST. He’s convinced you're some kind of mythical NPC that accidentally wandered into his world—and he's not letting you glitch away.

Malleus Draconia To Malleus, who has wandered centuries alone, you are a vision he never thought he’d witness outside a dream. Your beauty transcends mortal standards. He doesn't just admire you—he worships you.

“Your laughter… it soothes the thorns in my heart. You must be a forest spirit, come to enchant me.” He finds himself smiling whenever you’re near, your presence brighter than even his beloved gargoyles. You’re his lullaby. His light. His reason to want the company of others—for once.

[yandere-sins]

Angelfish

One simply cannot have enough mermaids in MerMay. Thank you all for voting here! I was surprised by some of the results, but I am happy with them! I hope I can do some more stories like this ♥

Edit after writing: This was a fever dream. I don't know how it happened and if you find mistakes, you can keep them because it's three in the morning and I am contemplating my life choices :') This was just an unexpected wild ride and I couldn't stop after starting. What a crazy experience, ngl. Lowkey really did enjoy it though, and I hope you guys do, too! I am just so happy to finally have been able to write for my lovely Sunday, even if it's an AU ♥

Edit edit: THIS IS 7K WORDS WTF!!! Haven't written so much in ages and in one go!!!! Oh my god!!! Correcting this the day after is a whole different kind of fever dream, what the hell did I take yesterday!!! I hate myself for having to edit this but also a little proud of myself ngl.

Character: Yandere!Siren!Sunday (HSR) x GN!Reader Words: ~7k Warnings: Yandere, Sexual Content (Dub-Con Touches, Sexual Harrassment, Attempted Non-Con, Kissing), Violence (Murder, Blood Mention, Death by Animal, Fear of Death) Monster (Claws, Sharp Teeth, Instinctual Behavior, Animalistic Behavior, Territorialism), Possessiveness, Themes of Creatures in Captivity, Reader being delulu and delulu turning into the harsh reality very fast, Manipulation

Words could not describe how beautiful he was.

People had informed you about the allure of the creature behind the glass before the first time you met him. How one glance of him made you want to lay your life at his feet—or, well, his tail. Everyone who had been interviewed after the experience of seeing him had been unable to find words to describe their experience, or even just the feelings they had at that moment. His pure existence stunned everyone into silence, and you were no exception.

Sunday, they had lovingly named him after the day they caught him. The fisher who pulled him from the Amazonian river was now a rich man, but he had not believed the creature caught in his net when he first saw it. Sunday was neither human nor fish, although he looked like both at the same time. With his iridescent scales that covered even some parts of his skin and the graceful movements of his tail in the water, he was nothing like you and every other human. His eyes were filled with unknown wisdom, and his features moved eerily similar to those of any human you knew, yet completely different.

To you, he was like an angel.

If mermaids or sirens existed, so must angels, and he was the closest being resembling them.

It had been months now since his appearance on this earth. Months of him swimming in the aquarium in your hometown, making it a tourist hotspot overnight. And every day since the grand opening of his enclosure, you had come to visit him, even if just to see a glimpse of him.

You'd never know if he'd notice you in the crowds of millions that came to see him, too. But you had to admit that he became an obsession for you. Most people came and went, never seeing him again, but with the luxury of living nearby, you couldn't help it. Your thoughts circled constantly around this strange creature, even when you were at work or at home. It was as if he had put you into a trance, even your dreams filled with the images of him.

Sunday affected everyone, and yet, no one as much as you.

"We ask all visitors to make their way towards the exit, and thank you for your visit. We look forward to welcoming you again in our aquarium another time!"

The announcement made your heart ache as you watched the beautiful creature sway through the water, billowing fins shimmering in the artificial lighting. They looked almost like veils, sometimes hiding him from the eyes as he moved. Sunday was majestic, even as he swam restlessly from side to side of his aquarium, never stopping. The sight, as beautiful as it was, made you sad, and you tore your eyes from him, your gaze falling to the plaque with his description.

Pterophyllum - Angelfish "Sunday"

It fit him so well. A little mermaid-symbol was next to his name and the assumed species, making it clear who this plaque belonged to. Behind you, most people slowly walked through the tunnel, leaving this scene and the siren behind. Most would never return while you stood there, brushing your fingers over the engraved letters. No matter how many times you tried to stay away, you couldn't bring yourself to. Was it pity for the poor, captured creature, or just your selfish need to keep seeing him, that put him into this spot in the first place? Without people like you, he could be released into his home, even though the thought filled you with dread.

A sudden bonk against the glass in front of you made you jolt wide awake, your eyes widening as you came face to face with the most beautiful person you had ever seen. Even close-up, he was as perfect as a statue chiseled in marble.

Your mouth opened to say something, but as if in front of a superstar, you couldn't say a word. He wouldn't even understand it through the glass, you assumed, yet you had never been this close to him, making you greedy for more interaction.

With a shivering hand, you slowly reached forward to where his rested against the glass. A shuddering breath escaped you as you saw your hand against his palm, bigger than yours, yet even the clawed tips didn't scare you.

Looking back at his face, his lips twitched, the corners eventually turning upwards into a smile, making you realize he wasn't used to the expression, but he learned it—for you. Your dreams and delusions were coming true as you laughed, realizing only when the sound escaped you that it was a sob instead. Tears were running down your face as you placed your second hand on the glass as well, and Sunday's expression turned confused, then worried, before he quickly put his other hand against yours.

You doubted you'd ever react like this to anyone but this creature.

Not even the greatest superstar in the world could elicit these feelings. Feelings of being seen. You had wondered countless nights if he knew of your existence since you visited him daily. If, maybe, he thought of you, too—if that was something a siren could do. He's not like you, you kept reminding yourself. He wouldn't love you the way you loved him.

Because that's what it was, right? Love.

You loved this creature with all his abhorrent, uncanny features. You should be appalled by the sharp teeth, claws, scales, and lack of feet. The billowing fins and the gills at the side of his neck, but instead, you loved him. Even if it was just a siren curse or something similar that bewitched you, you wanted to be with him no matter what.

No matter what.

"Hey, you come here often," a voice suddenly rang out behind you. Flinching back to reality, you quickly wiped your tears away, not noticing the sound of sharp claws scratching against the glass where your hand had been. You turned around to find a guy in a staff-shirt standing before you, hands in his pocket and smiling.

"Yeah," you quickly replied, hoping he didn't see that you just cried about your strange crush recognizing you. "I really like the exhibit."

"That's great! He's--woah!"

The man stepped back in surprise, raising his arms as if he were about to be attacked. But he wasn't looking at you; instead, behind you, and you turned around, confused about his reaction.

Instead of seeing Sunday's lovely face, you only saw his tail as he had straightened up, hovering above you in the overhead pool, completely still. You took a step back, and his body instantly relaxed, using fluid motions as he lowered himself to meet your gaze. Once again, his lips attempted to smile, and you touched the glass as you couldn't help but chuckle. Sunday immediately touched his palm to yours again, his grin widening, too, exposing the sharp teeth hidden behind his lips.

"Damn, that was scary..." the man behind you mumbled and you furrowed your brows, giving him a weirded out look.

"What do you mean? He's an angel."

Staring at Sunday behind you, the man slowly peeled his eyes off him and looked at you with bewilderment. "Did you not... Well, whatever. It's closing time."

"Oh," you whispered, shoulders sagging. "Too bad, I wish I could spend more time with him."

Turning back to Sunday, you saw your disappointed expression in the glass, his eyes widening as he tried to read you. He was so clever! Much too good to be held in an aquarium. Sunday was learning and studying the humans; he wasn't just an ordinary animal to be held captive.

"Well. If you like him that much, how about I show you behind the scenes?"

Immediately, your head snapped forward to the man again, your eyes wide and sparkling. "Can I? You're not joking, right? You can really get me closer to him?"

Pulling your hand away, you stepped towards the man as if possessed. This was your chance! Probably the only one you'd ever have, but it didn't really matter. Behind you, something hit the glass violently, but you paid it no mind as you closed the distance.

"Please. Please let me see him, I'd do anything for a chance!"

"Anything, huh..." the man rubbed his chin thoughtfully before he grinned. "It's not exactly legal, you know. But if you are that interested, I could make an exception. Just remember that if they catch us, neither of us will ever set foot in here again, you understand? You have to be really quiet, no matter what happens."

"Yes! Yes, I understand! I'll be quiet, I won't tell anyone."

"That's good, then. Let's go."

He nodded his head towards the end of the glass hallway, where the staff went for feedings and cleaning. With your heart threatening to jump out of your chest, you followed, glancing at Sunday, who swam with you towards the door. His expression was closest to confusion, as if he didn't understand what was going on. Little did he know you'd see him for real soon. That you'd be close enough to touch him, even.

Heading through the door, the staff member looked left and right before waving you through, and you quickly followed. The air was stuffy and had a strange scent, but you were too excited to be concerned about it. You followed the man through the dimly lit hallway and up a metal staircase, higher and towards the top of the enclosure, you assumed.

Before you saw it, you heard the bubbling of water, the rumbling of machines that kept it saturated with anything it could need to host a multitude of creatures. The man pulled a bundle of keys out of his pocket, going through them one by one to find the right one to unlock a door leading further inside the preparation room.

"You didn't hear it from me, but there's been a rumor that that poor fish is dying."

The man said it so casually while testing out one of the keys, as if it didn't bother him at all. Meanwhile, you felt your heart plummet from your throat way down into your stomach as you listened to him over the rumbling of the machines.

"What?" you exclaimed, immediately halting your excitement. "You mean Sunday? The siren?"

"Yeah. Something about his behavior seems to be similar to dying fish, or so. They say he might be lonely and that is killing him."

Another failed attempt made the man curse under his breath while you felt yourself zoning out. He was... dying? Your poor, innocent angel was slowly withering away in that pool, and you didn't even notice it? Sure, he used to hide more when he first came to the aquarium, but you simply assumed he got used to the people staring at him. Then again, even you had noticed his restlessness. The way he kept swimming back and forth, always high above everyone. It had been beautiful to look at, but the reality was much more cruel than you expected.

"Isn't there something we can do?" you asked, your voice cracking as you felt the tears return to your eyes.

"Find him another mermaid, I guess. I wouldn't know, I just throw food into the enclosures. There we go!"

The lock clicked, and the door swung open as you stood there, petrified by dread. Humans hadn't found any sign of life from sirens before. It had been pure luck that someone captured one. You doubted they'd manage to get another in the time that Sunday still had left.

"Are you coming?" the man called out, and although your heart was heavy, you walked after him, every step filled with despair and anticipation at the same time. You'd still get to meet him, probably as one of the few to ever have that honor. But you'd go home, knowing it could have been the last time you ever saw him.

You couldn't let that stop you, even if it hurt.

In the middle of the room was a big opening. A crane hung above it, and you assumed it was to get to Sunday as stress-free as possible if the staff members had to. It was hard to believe that they actually thought they could take care of a creature like him in this simulated home and keep him healthy and happy, but at least it brought you two together.

Slowly, you walked towards the opening, feeling more nervous by the second. Thoughts like, "What if he doesn't come?" and "What if he doesn't like me?" swirled through your mind, and yet, you pushed through until you could lower yourself next to the entrance. The metal grates pressed into your skin, but you gave them no mind as you peered into the dark blue. It was almost too dark to see, but Sunday was a beautiful, iridescent creature, you were sure you'd make him out inside the water.

Collecting all your courage and inhaling deeply, you plunged your face into the wet, forcing your eyes open despite the stinging sensation. How else could you grab his attention and make him come to you? But despite your courage, you feared not being noticed by him. Perhaps the recognition you felt while still behind the glass had been a fluke since you were one of the last people in the exhibit?

Your thoughts strayed everywhere until you felt bubbles on your skin. At first, you thought it was your own air getting thin and escaping, but from the deep blue depths, a light appeared, even if it was blurry with your watered vision. You wanted to gasp when the shape became clearer, but you couldn't move an inch, even as his nose brushed against yours, your eyes staring straight into Sunday's.

How unfortunate it was to not have gills to breathe in the water. Despite your best efforts to hold your breath, you couldn't do it for very long, pulling back just as Sunday opened his mouth as if to speak to you. Could he even talk? You didn't know, but you were coughing as your lungs demanded air desperately and your dreams of being even closer to him shattered as you found yourself back in the room above the tank.

"Man, are you alright? I was going to give you some fish to lure him, were you trying to get bitten?"

"He-- He wouldn't--" you sputtered, attempting to get the strangely tasting water out of your mouth and nose, rubbing your palms over your face to wipe off any remainders.

"Oh, believe me. That freak's an animal. He's bitten all of us at least once in his time here."

The man passed you a towel, which you used to dry your face. You were finally able to see again by the time your lungs calmed down, and you turned towards him with complete conviction. "No, he wouldn't hurt me! He's an angel, I know it!"

"Hey, you really need to see him for what he is. He's just like any other fish. The only difference is his face being slightly similar to ours."

Heaving a sigh, the man squatted beside you, staring down into the dark. "See?" he pointed down, and you followed his gaze. However, the water was even less clear than before, dust clouds rising from the ground. In them, you sometimes saw a flash of light, but it disappeared just as quickly.

"He's doing fish things again. Fighting some poor guppy. That guy even hunted the sharks we put into the tank with him; he's ruthless."

"Maybe they weren't a good fit for him?" you defended his behavior, the dust growing thicker and thicker. Was he panicking? Did your appearance disturb him in any way? It broke your heart to think you did any harm to him, but one could never know. There was painfully little that anyone knew about sirens, and perhaps you had triggered some instinct he now had to battle alone.

"Maybe," the guy shrugged, not really interested in finding out what was happening. Taking a deep breath, he turned towards you, his gummy soles squeaking against the metal, and you looked at him, his lips curling into a grin.

"So... you got a name? I've noticed you around the aquarium many times, and I've always wanted to speak to you. Remember when you said you'd do everything for a chance to see the siren? How about you and I get to know each other a little better in return for my help?"

He looked down at your thigh, his hand following his gaze as he leaned forward. "If you know what I mean."

"What? No!" pushing the man's hand off, you scooted back as best as you could on the unyielding material beneath you. He couldn't be serious, right?! You only said that to show how much you wanted this chance to be closer to Sunday! That you'd be quiet and behave, not that you'd bang some stranger!

"Come on, don't be like that! I did what you wanted. It's only fair that you help me out with my problem now!"

Instead of backing off, the man followed you, getting on top of you with your legs between his. Panic kicked in as you realized this was really happening; that he was serious about you repaying the favor with sex. Immediately, you sprang into action, pushing at his shoulders while you tried to pull your legs out from under him. All you had to do was get up and bolt back where you came from, and you'd be safe. You doubted he'd be as fast as you, given he was already unbuckling his belt.

Your plan was well-thought-through, but at the first motion of slamming your hand into the side of his neck, he caught you, pushing your hand down and banging your wrist painfully against the grate. With your body twisting unnaturally, you didn't manage to get your leg high enough to kick him, and even if you had, he was one step ahead, sitting down on top of your knees.

"It sucks when they fight," he grunted, using all his strength to keep your struggling limbs at bay. "Just enjoy it, will you?!"

A sob escaped your mouth as the reality of the situation hit you. All you had wanted was to spend time with your crush. Be near him, speak to him, touch him maybe. You didn't mean for any of this to happen, your body shaking with anger and the dread of feeling helpless.

"No!" you screamed, hoping that someone—anyone—would hear you.

"Shut up! That was the condition, remember? If someone hears you, neither of us will set a foot in here again! We'll both be thrown out and you won't see your precious fish-monster again, do you understand?!"

You whimpered as the man laid down the consequences clearly. Living without Sunday... it was too hard to imagine. You'd never be able to see him again—perhaps he'd even die here, scared and alone without a face he recognized! If you endured this, you could be with him at least, but every time that man touched you, your body lashed out violently, not wanting it.

"Stop!" you pleaded, tears falling from your eyes. "I don't want this! Stop! Stop, please!"

"Too late," he grunted, and you cried out loudly as he tore on the waistband of your pants, trying to get them off. "I did my part, now it's your turn."

"No!" you cried, squeezing your eyes shut, unable to look at him or yourself any longer. The feeling of violation and disgust had already set in, and you could no longer fight it or the stranger. All you could do was shut out the reality and think of other things, better things.

Sunday and his sweet smile that he had shown only to you.

How you imagined his palms would feel holding your hand and the sweet sounds he'd make resting in your lap. The bubbling of water as you two drifted on the surface, and you told him about your day. The splashing of this tail as you rode him over the waves. The hissing as he hunted prey, the screams of people he attacked, the hot, wet feeling on your skin--

Opening your eyes, you were suddenly aware that the sounds you thought about were much too real to just be imaginary. Hesitantly, afraid of what you might see, you looked up to the side, not blinking as you stared at the horror that unfolded right above you. The man's bulging eyes, his hands caught in larger, blue-ish white ones, blood dripping from his wrists where claws dug into them.

The stomach-churning cracking of bones could be heard even over the sounds of machinery, and the man gurgled as Sunday's jaw pressed tighter into his neck. It wasn't a question if he would bite through; it was only a question of time. More blood squirted out of the wound, hitting your face, your chest, and your legs.

Even though you wanted to, you couldn't look away. The man's eyes lowered to meet yours. He gasped weakly, "Help. Me," before groaning out loudly in pain, the sound suddenly cutting off as his neck broke, head falling to the side like you had only ever seen in horror movies.

Abruptly, he was gone.

His lifeless body was thrown off you and into the water behind Sunday, a chunk of the man's neck still hanging from his mouth. You anticipated him to eat it, but he spat it out as if it was too disgusting to consume, the mauled flesh landing only a few inches away from you with a squelch. And now, you were alone.

Alone with the monster.

There was nothing angelic about Sunday anymore. Your Sunday was beautiful and kind. Not a bad bone in his body! But this... this thing in front of you was nothing like him. Bathed in blood that added a hellish gleam to his white scales, his once beautiful golden eyes now dark as if he were possessed. His light gray hair was spotted with red, making some strands look like horns on top of his head, and his whole skin was covered with layers of blood.

"Mine," he spoke very clearly, and you gulped for the first time, feeling your own body again as the shock subsided. No, the shock didn't go away—it changed. Changed into the strength needed to flee. The man might have deserved it, but still, Sunday killed him. There was no longer any guarantee of your safety, and your body was screaming at you to run! He was just a fish, right? He couldn't follow where you went!

With a high-pitched squeak, you made the mistake of turning onto your belly completely, scrambling to get away. But with a sickening thud, your head banged against the metal, a gigantic hand pressing you down as your brain shook inside your skull. It was followed by more weight spreading over your body like a blanket, your lower back, butt, legs—all pinned to the grate as Sunday's tail weight them down.

"P-Please," you whimpered, not knowing what to do. If he could talk, maybe he could understand you, too? Perhaps he had enough of a hunt that night and would let you go?

But instead, you listened as Sunday let out an animalistic, goosebump-inducing snarl while he lowered his head next to yours. You felt his head-fins fall over you, one on each side and clinging to your skin. You had always admired their aesthetic as they looked like little wings next to his angelic face, but now they only gave you a slight comfort as they surrounded you like blood-stained veils, shielding you from sight. At least you wouldn't have to see your death coming, but it was horrifying nonetheless as the fins stuck to you, threatening to envelop you in them.

"Finally," he cooed, his voice suddenly softening. One of his arms snaked beneath your body, turning and lifting you, while his other hand landed on the top of your head, gently combing his fingers through your hair. It was impossible for his claws not to nick you here and there, but despite your flinching, they were only small wounds, nothing as deadly as he had done to the man.

Small chortles escaped Sunday as he pressed his cheek to yours, fins, scales, and skin touching you in alternation, giving you a sickening warm feeling in your stomach. This was all you had ever wanted, yet it horrified you, making you bury your nails in his shoulders as you tried to get away. But your well-being suddenly changed as a rumble went through Sunday, remaining in his chest until you recognized what it was.

A purr.

Nothing made sense anymore. None of what you knew or thought to know about this creature seemed to be right or even close to the truth. You let out a yelp as Sunday suddenly turned you two over, sitting you down on top of his stomach while he lay beneath you, chortling and looking up at you with unreadable emotions in his eyes.

His arms helped you stay upright for a while, but the moment they let go, you simply collapsed, both the panic and shock making you fall limp, fear making you pliant. Lying on top of his chest, Sunday hugged you tightly, curling into himself and wrapping the upper part of his tail and his fins around you like a happy clam. Your head was pressed just above his heart, the sound of it unnaturally fast and echo-y inside him, interrupted only when he started to purr again.

"W-Wait! Stop!" you mumbled against his bloody skin. But instead of listening to you, Sunday rolled side to side, threatening to crush you every time your arm or leg went under him. He was chirping and chortling away merrily, not responding in a language you could communicate in. Didn't he understand you? He could talk, but perhaps he wasn't far enough with practicing human language to understand it?

Or maybe he didn't want to understand.

His hands rubbed your back, one driving lower, brushing your thigh and moving to your shin before grabbing you there. With his head crooked to the side, he looked at what must have been very strange to him. He observed your flinching leg and tensing toes with as much interest as only a half-fish, half-man could. All while every squeeze and every graze of his claws made your fear spike.

For months, you had imagined this moment. The curious exploration of bodies, the closeness, and the happiness you'd feel to be with him. Now, all you felt was the betrayal of yourself as you wanted to get away, your blood-stained clothes clinging to you like a constant, stinging warning. Sunday was so cold to the touch, so deadly in your mind now. Completely different from the sweet, angelic being you thought him to be all this time. It was hard to follow how quickly your feelings had changed, or really, how much you were suddenly confronted with the reality of it all. All you knew was that you had to get away. That you wouldn't stand a chance if his interest in you waned.

Had he really changed that much? Beneath you, albeit now more red than the iridescent white of his skin, was still the same Sunday you had visited every day. The majestic creature with shimmering scales and the same fluid motions despite his massive size, although his fins were drying up now that he was out of the water. Even so, his eyes seemed to sparkle as he explored you, a red tint spreading all over him from the tip of his ears to the back of his hands, even where the blood hadn't splattered.

It felt like waking from a dream, but it had never been a good one. Even if it looked beautiful at first, it had still been a nightmare, and now that your beloved Sunday had killed someone without any regard or hesitation, you were realizing its true nature. His true nature. As little as you wanted to think about him, that man had been right—Sunday was a monster. A beautiful, but unpredictable one.

And if you didn't get away, he'd kill you, too, you were sure.

Slowly, you lifted yourself off his chest. His limbs were all around you, but they followed your motions, bent and adapted with cautious curiosity. Sunday watched all you did with a haunting intensity, but when you shook your leg, he finally let go of it, learning what you wanted from him bit by bit.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to look down at him. Your once so beautiful crush so close and all yours for just that tiny bit of time you two had together. But even now, you couldn't fool yourself, couldn't pretend the blood wasn't there and you hadn't seen him maul that man to death. He had saved you, and you were grateful, but he was a danger to you now, one that you couldn't risk staying with, no matter how much you would have wanted to just a few minutes prior.

Careful to not step on his fins, you slowly found the ground next to his body again. Everything you did was deliberate and non-threatening. No eye contact, your hands hanging limply at your side. When you rose back into a stand, it felt like you were moving in slow motion, controlling even the depth of your breath despite the sting in your lungs.

Sunday trilled as you distanced yourself from him, the lack of your warmth perhaps concerning him as he reached for your arm, holding on to it with an iron grip and making you stop completely in your motion. He used the time to follow, to sit up and tangle himself around your legs and hips like algae, threatening you to once again drown in him if you didn't get away fast enough.

Slowly, you lifted your hand, carefully, gently placing it on top of his head, trying not to scare or trigger him. He chortled happily, pushing upwards into your palm, soft, slick strands of hair getting tangled in your fingers as you petted him gently. Distracted, he rubbed his face into your stomach, reveling in your touch while you stepped out of his hold, his hands always finding other places to be connected with you, but you kept avoiding them until they were brushing you loosely at best.

That's when you made the boldest move so far, stepping one leg on the other side of him, knowing that sprinting ahead would only lead to you running directly into him, Sunday being like a wall you had to avoid. He was still enjoying your pets, ever so often looking up at you with his beautiful, golden eyes, almost perfectly mimicking a look of happiness and satisfaction on his face. His gaze seemed almost adoring, and your heart throbbed with the pain of having to escape a monster that looked at you as if you were a rare treasure.

You didn't think he would understand quickly enough, as you suddenly bolted, stumbling over his limbs and crashing your knee into the grated floor once again before you were out of his grasp. Sunday was everywhere, but you kept your eyes on the exit, not caring if you stepped on him as you escaped. You'd not get another chance.

His heavy body flung around, fins hitting you as you heard him hiss. A loud wail escaped him as you crashed into one of the machines, almost sounding like worry, and you desperately tried to regain your footing after losing your balance because of the creature's movements. The space was too small for you both to move, but you had to win this battle—your life depended on it!

And you did, with aghast surprise, win, the door slamming back into its lock with a loud bang. You clung to the lattice, but with a gasp withdrew your hands as Sunday crashed into it, the metal bending from the weight he was throwing against it. He was stretching his claws through the gaps, trying to grab you, and you could only watch as he wound himself and hissed angrily, so much frustration in his movements, while his expression was beastly like that of a rabid animal.

You couldn't move, couldn't breathe as you watched him throw his tantrum, now even more convinced that he wanted to kill you. It made your heart ache sorrowfully, to know the person you loved wished your death, but it was just his nature, wasn't it?

With wobbly knees, you slowly got up, ready to try and find your way home, leaving all of this behind you. Your mind faded out the sounds he made as you turned around to walk away. At least, until it grew too quiet for even your brain to fool you, and you looked back over your shoulder.

Like a pitiful mass of blood-drenched fish parts, Sunday had stopped thrashing and fighting with the metal door that thankfully held him back. Instead, shivers went through him ever so often, and you found yourself unable to look away as he clung with one last hand to the grid while his body simply collapsed.

"N--" he grunted, a hiccup following his attempt.

"No-- No leave."

You thought you misheard him, long, drawn-out whines following the few human words. "No leave," he repeated, better understandable this time, his hand slowly slipping and dropping from the door, defeatedly.

A trill escaped him, but it sounded... sad. Heartbroken. His head slowly lifted from the ground, pearl-like tears mixing with the red on his face as they ran down his cheeks. Almost immediately, with a resigned desperation, Sunday smashed his face against the metal, rubbing it up and down as if to be closer to you. He looked like he was comforting himself with the last thing you touched as he rubbed it repeatedly, his fins getting caught and bent in the gaps.

"S-Stop that," you said without realizing it. You should have just left and never stopped to look at him. Nothing good could come from giving him attention. Nothing at all!

"Stop it," you whispered gently, sinking to the floor next to the door. Your heart was bursting with sadness for the creature who looked like a broken man. Like there was nothing left to live for now that you left. Once again, he tricked you with his angelic sweetness, even if you knew better now. But you couldn't stop yourself from reaching out, caressing him through the gaps in the metal door.

Sunday chirped, a hopeful sound, twisting and turning his head to be able to feel your touch everywhere. He must have been so lonely, all this time. Always seen, but still alone. Your heart was betraying you once again as you reached up to the keys dangling in the keyhole, twisting them and moving away to open the door again. He let out a desperate wail when you moved away, but immediately sank his face into your lap as you crouched back into his proximity. His body shook as if he was crying as you rubbed his shoulders and back, leaning on top of him like a lover consoling their despairing partner.

If only things could have always been this way. If only he wasn't a monster. If only you could love him without fearing for your life, if you could be sure that he understood you and could be reasoned with. He had feelings, too, you understood that. But there was never a guarantee that he wouldn't snap in the heat of a moment. Allowing him access to you again was stupid. Beyond stupid! It was absolutely life-threatening.

But what could you do when your heart yearned to console him? You've loved him for so long, how could you leave him like this? Sad and alone? Maybe if you stayed with him, he'd learn! He'd understand! You could fix your feelings for him, right? Your love could.

"No leave?" he asked in a hopeful way, and your heart ached at the pleading look he shot up to you. He even brushed his face against your throat, the proximity of his teeth to your vulnerable body making the fear spike again.

You drew away instinctively, and Sunday looked hurt. It was unbearable to see him like this. Even if you wanted, even if your feelings kept guilting you into staying, you had to leave. Save yourself before you could save anyone else, right? Things got riskier the longer you stayed, and you were fueling his loneliness, which the poor siren didn't deserve. He had gone through so much already.

"I have to," you explained, sounding like a plea of your own. Perhaps it was, as you secretly begged him to let you go. "But I'll come back! I'll spend time with you! Things will be okay!"

Your false conviction seemed to only confuse him more, perhaps because he didn't understand the meaning of all the words you threw at him. The truth was, you wouldn't be back. You couldn't. Your poor heart wouldn't be able to keep seeing him, and you were too scared to get close again.

"Mate no leave," he whimpered, moving one arm out from under him, reaching it towards you. Immediately, you scrambled, too scared of what his claws and hold on you could do. And this time, he reacted in unison, snapping his other hand forward as well.

"N- No! Stop!" you yelled firmly as he crossed them behind your back, pulling you forward. Your body ached, the metal grate having done enough damage to you that night already, every movement against it hurting.

"I'm leaving! Sunday, I need to leave! M- Mate leave!"

You were using his own words to try and make it clear to him what you meant, but he kept rising from the ground, clinging to you as he pressed your body against his chest possessively.

"No leave! No! Leave!" he replied with the same, firm sternness in his voice, fins rising and flopping dryly into the air as if he had tried to bare them in intimidation. He wanted to make his standpoint clear, and you struggled against the crushing hold he had on you as he slowly dragged you back into the room.

"I can't-- I can't!" you screamed, panic overcoming you as you realized he was trying to get you into the water with him. Dying was scary. Being mauled was scary. But the thought alone that you could drown, slowly and painfully, was almost too much to take. Maybe he'd attack you underwater so it would be an even worse struggle—a fight to the death—the thought filling you with dread.

"No! Sunday, no!" you yelled as you heard his body make the water splash. It was only a matter of seconds until he'd drag you under, and there was nothing you could do as he had caught you in his arms, unwilling to yield even a little and let you escape again.

Gasping out the last bit of air, you tried to inhale as much as possible as your feet were met with the cold water, but there simply wasn't enough space for a deep breath, and before you knew it, you were surrounded by the dark wet, with only Sunday close to you.

It was terrifying.

These were your last minutes, and you spent them trembling in fear and cold while Sunday seemed to perk up, now that he was back in his usual habitat. He was moving you two around, and you couldn't see which way you were swimming or where you were going, clasping your hands tightly over your mouth and nose to keep the water out and the air inside for the slightest chance of survival.

Suddenly, his embrace flowed away, and you sank deeper to the ground for a few seconds. Your back hit a flat surface, and you forced your eyes open, trying to see. Floating, dark shapes surrounded you, and you presumed they were algae, so maybe Sunday had brought you to his hiding spot? With one hand, you reached behind you, feeling a slick stone plate which may have functioned as his bed, but even with your blurry vision, you couldn't see Sunday anywhere.

However, it wasn't your main concern as you felt your air supply running out, your body ready to cough it up. Forcing down the need to release your air, you began to paddle upwards, only to bump into something hard and unyielding, hands gripping your wrists, spreading your arms to the side, and pressing you down to the ground again.

"Mate," you heard Sunday's voice ring out, clearly even through the water. "Waited, long. Now, Mate here, home."

His words made sense enough to get an idea of what he meant, but he was absolutely wrong. Once you wished to be more to him than just a visitor of the aquarium, but you weren't a mate for the fishman. You weren't supposed to be here in the water, and not here to entertain him either.

Shaking your head, you finally broke, bubbles rising from your mouth as your lungs were threatened by the water invading. You panicked, your eyes widening in desperation, trying to find the exit before it was too late. But before the water could seriously harm you, two lips lowered against yours, entangling you in a kiss. It was the last thing you wanted, but suddenly, Sunday sucked the water that had already invaded your mouth out of you, and breathe the air that you needed into his kiss. You two fell into an even rhythm between kiss and breathing so quickly, you could barely react, your body clinging to this chance of receiving fresh air with instinctual desperation.

Sunday kept licking your lips, tongue exploring your mouth, over your blunt teeth and poking at your tiny tongue in return. His hands were creeping up your side, and once again, you realized the situation you were in as you felt yourself being stuck and inferior to another man, the irony not lost on you. Sunday was just a different kind of monster, with a different type of obsession.

You.

But you had realized it much too late. All this time, you had been completely oblivious to the fact that your angelfish had been the devil all along. And now you were nothing more than the naive sailors who had listened to the sirens' songs—completely at Sunday's mercy as he threatened to devour you completely.

[yelenasbraid]

JOE BURROW — the poison in my veins

summary — to everyone else, they hated each other. to them, they loved each other so much they couldn’t stand it.

warnings — fem!reader, angst, smut, fluff, not proofread

requested by — a combo of two asks! one by my bestie girly maja ( @joeyburrrow ) and another by anon!

note — again, not my best work but a lot’s been going on so this is what i could spin in the meantime. pls enjoy.

tags — @willowsnook @starsinthesky5 @joeyfranchise @sportyphile @hannahjessica113 @kazsbrckkers @ebsmind @iosivb9 @joeyb1989 @softburrow @wickedfun9 @irishmanwhore @burrowdarling @hotburreaux @joecoolburrow @blairsworld22

THE ROOM WAS WARMLY DECORATED. Round tables were set up, black table clothes draped over them, and small, tiny lamps accompanied each table. Name cards were placed at each table, and table numbers were slid into slots.

It was another Bengals sponsored charity event.

She fluttered around the venue, her manicured fingers adjusting each little card and table cloth. She’s done this before, but every time she felt her nerves act up. Did this look okay? Would people gossip about it later? Would it go smoothly?

Players were encouraged if not required to attend. It showed the sponsors that they were serious about their cause: food insecurity. Most players showed, but there was one she didn’t want to show up.

“Joe said he’d be here,” Lydia, one of her assistants, spoke up, “said he’d be late though. He has some shit to do for Alo,”

“Good,” she quipped, rolling her eyes, “maybe I should pay Alo to keep him there longer,”

“I don’t get it,” Lydia quipped, setting a ‘reserved’ place holder on a seat, “why do you hate him so much? He doesn’t seem to hold the same animosity towards you,”

“He hides it better,”

flashback, 2019, evening of the SEC championship

It was dark. The moon provided the only lighting in the bedroom. Soft moans filled the room, the whispers of the sheets humming through the air. Joe’s hands held her hips, his lips pressed tightly to her sopping cunt.

“Fuck,” she whispered, her hand digging into his hair. His tongue worked slowly, slicking through her folds with masterful ease. He took his time, wanting to untie every knot in her stomach.

Joe wasn’t her boyfriend. He was her best friend. The arrangement they had was…unique. It included cut strings and a quick fix. When he needed sex, he went to her. When he needed a laugh, he went to her.

She was everything except his girlfriend, and that’s all she wanted to be.

“Taste so good,” Joe murmured, his eyes half-lidded with lust as he licked at her pussy. Wet, squelching sounds filled his ears as his lips pursed around her clit, sucking at the sensitive bud.

“Joey,” she gripped his hair, feeling the soft knot of an orgasm kiss her muscles. The pressure built, making her squirm. Joe’s hold on her hips forced her to stay still, it forced her to let him taste her. The salt of her musk coated his throat, his nose brushing against her skin.

He was relentless. His tongue massaged her clit, pressing into the swollen and soft bulb. He heard her whimpers, felt her thighs clench around his head as she teetered on that sinful edge.

“Don’t hold back,” Joe ordered from her pussy. She didn’t, she let the rubber band snap, her orgasm pouring from her body. It soaked the sheets, it soaked his face. He lapped up the slick, moaning and shivering at the overwhelming sensation. Her orgasm was thick, sticking to the roof of his mouth.

“Jesus,” he murmured as he licked another stripe up her sensitive pussy, “can’t believe I’ve missed out on that for years,”

She laid on her back, her skin illuminated by the moon. The contours of her muscle shaded by the shadows of the bedroom. Joe admired her, just for a moment. She was beautiful, someone he could never have all to himself.

Their agreement was no strings attached. Technically he could go and see other girls. But he never wanted to. He wanted her, the beautiful girl that squirmed on his bed, the girl who always made him laugh.

He crawled up her body, his face inches from hers. They looked at each other, cheeks flushed and eyes hazy. Their lips were parted with desperate pants, but they never touched. Joe never kissed her, and she didn’t want him to unless he meant it.

And she wanted him to mean it.

present day

She stood off to the side, watching as players shuffled in. They were dressed nicer than they usually were, switching the usual sweats for some nice jeans and a button down. She’d swapped her usual jeans and t-shirt with a dress. It was sleek, hugging her curves in a delicious way, her hair was done beautifully, pinned behind her head.

As her eyes met Joe’s, her heart lurched in her chest. It was the same feeling she had when she first touched him, when she first realized she’d fallen for him.

flashback to the evening of the National College Football Championship game

“You’re being ridiculous, Y/N,” Joe snapped, shaking his head. They’d been arguing for the past 30 minutes. She stood in his bedroom, arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes were wide, bewildered at his statement.

“No, I’m not. Is it so crazy of me to want more?” she asked. She hadn’t confessed her feelings, but she expressed her desire for more. For months she felt like they could be more, they could cross that threshold from friends with benefits to lovers.

He seemingly didn’t agree.

“This was never meant to be a long-term deal,” he told her, shedding of his shirt, “you knew that,”

“Yes, I know that. But for months you gave me the impression that you felt the same,” she huffed. She was regretting her words, her confession. She wanted more, and he didn’t.

“That’s what a friends with benefits arrangement is, Y/N. I thought you understood that,” he groaned, flopping down on his bed. Despite the nonchalant exterior, Joe’s heart was slamming against his chest.

He couldn’t admit it. He couldn’t admit he’d loved her since the day he saw her.

“Don’t undermine me, Joe. Just because you just won the championship doesn’t mean your shit doesn’t stink,”

“I’m not undermining you, Y/N. Why are you being so damn dramatic?” He groaned, running his hands down his face. She opened his face to retaliate, but she caught something. Her eyes flicked to the floor beneath his bed, bright pink lace poking out. She didn’t own any pink panties.

Technically, it wasn’t cheating. They weren’t even together.

“You had someone else in here,” she hummed. Her words hung in the air, a death sentence. Joe sat up, his eyes wide as he flicked his eyes over her face. His heart skipped a beat, his hands shaking as they held him up.

“Yeah,” he admitted with a nonchalant shrug, “so what?”

“So what?”

“We’re not exclusive, Y/N. I can fuck whoever I want,”

“Oh, so I’m just a fuck buddy. I’m just someone to fill in the blanks,”

“No, you’re not just someone to fill in the blanks. But we’re not exclusive, plus, I like Paige,” Joe shrugged. He used this girl’s name like it was familiar, rolling off of his tongue as if he was moaning it.

“You like her,” she stated, keeping her arms crossed tightly over her chest. It shouldn’t hurt her that much, it shouldn’t sting as much as it did.

“Yeah, I do. She’s different,”

“Different? What the hell does that mean Joe?”

“I didn’t mean it-”

“No, you meant what you said. She’s not me, is that it? She’s gives you a thrill? Maybe she isn’t so academics focused so you can fuck her whenever you want to?”

“Y/N, stop-”

“No, no you like her. You should go for it, no strings attached right?”

“You know what?” The air was thick, anger and rage sitting deeply in their chests. He slid off of the bed, his chest rising and falling with his breaths.

“She’s not you. She’s better, she’s not high maintenance, she’s available. She’s not as defensive, she’s easier to talk to,”

The words sat in the air. It sucked the breath from her lungs, ripping her heart out of her chest. She felt her stomach lurch, the ache seeping down to her toes. She clenched her jaw, and she silently moved across the room.

“Fine,” she hummed, “then we’re done,”

“Wait, Y/N-”

“Fuck you, Joe,” she snapped, and with that, she slammed the door in his face, leaving his apartment.

present day

She took her seat with other members of the charity board. Her legs were crossed neatly, her hands folded in her lap. Speakers went up and said their pieces, thanking the organization and the sponsors who came out. They thanked the charity organizers for putting it together, and before anyone knew it, they were dismissed to the elegant food tables set out.

Joe stood with his table, joined by Ja’Marr and Tee. His body was adorned in a simple, long sleeve button down and black pants. His curly hair was unruly, not styled even in the slightest bit.

But he didn’t care how he looked. He cared how she looked. Her dress hugged her body, her usual t-shirt and jeans traded for elegance. Joe felt his body shrink at her presence, his ego flattening. He never compared to her, to the poise she always exhibited and the academic excellence she displayed.

Even after all of these years, she still managed to stir up those memories, the feelings of warmth and of need. It was deeper, though. Always had been. It took root in his soul, a dormant flower that only at her presence did it sprout.

She felt his eyes on her. She didn’t have to turn around to know that. He always had a certain intensity in his gaze, one that she came to know very well. She grabbed a plastic plate from the table, stacking it with fruit and small treats. She needed a boost, she needed something to do while she withstood the intense gaze of Joe.

She didn’t think he’d come right up next to her.

“Looks amazing,” he hummed. It was the nicest thing he’s said to her in a while, and it shocked her. She wanted to quip back with something snarky, but no words came to mind.

“Thanks,” she answered as she used tongs to grab some cheese slices, “but I didn’t set this up. The caterer did,”

“Oh. Right,”

The silence that followed was deafening. She filled her plate with small snacks and so did he, but there were unspoken words between them. Years of silence and emptiness caught up to them in that moment, begging to be filled.

“Can we talk?” Joe asked softly. He looked over at her, took note of how her shoulders tensed and how her eyes fluttered. The question hung in the air, silencing the room around them. They needed to talk, but about what?

“What’s there to talk about?” she asked. She could feel his eyes on her, the same intensity he always had. He wasn’t looking through her, he was looking at her. She could feel how his eyes were round, the emotions he had pouring from him in the simplicity of his question.

“Y/N-”

“How’s Paige?” she asked, her words cutting. Joe flinched, his chest tightening. His hands shook, the stutter of his breath giving him away.

“We’re not together anymore,” Joe admitted softly. She still didn’t look at him. She refused to meet his eyes, the very eyes she’d fallen for years ago. She couldn’t come to the reality that even after all this time, she still loved him.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she hummed, plucking a cookie from the tray.

“Are you?”

“Excuse me?” She perked her eyes up, finally meeting his. She hated how her heart skipped a beat, how her body tensed and relaxed all at the same time. His eyes untangled every single bit of stress in her body, but was also the source of said stress.

“Are you really sorry?” He asked, stepping closer to her, “or are you just saying that?”

“Want me to be honest? No, I’m not sorry. I’m not sorry that things with her didn’t work out. It feels like sweet karma to me,” she snapped, her eyes hardening with the walls around her heart. She hated him, but fuck she loved him.

“Karma? For what?”

“Are you seriously asking me that? You chose her over me, and don’t even come at me with that friends with benefits bullshit,” she snapped, setting her snack plate down before it became carnage on the floor.

Joe, for once, didn’t have an excuse. His mouth was glued shut, his eyes studying her every move. She was beautiful, even when her eyes cut deeply into his chest. She was strong, even when this argument was killing her.

“Nothing to say? For once? Fucking-”

He kissed her. He didn’t give her another chance to speak, not when he looked like that, not when she still sparked that flame of desire in his chest. She didn’t kiss him back, but the feeling of his lips against hers made her heart ache. It ignited the dormant volcano of desire in her belly, stirring the flames of need.

He’s never kissed her before.

He pulled away, her eyes fluttering open. Her heart raced in her chest, her stomach doing pathetic flips. She hated him, but the way he kissed her and the way his touch ignited her skin had her reeling.

“What the hell?”

“Y/N-”

“You can’t just kiss me and-and expect things to be okay!” she stuttered. Her stomach is aching, her legs are sore from tension and by God she wants him. But she won’t.

“Oh so now I can’t kiss you?”

“Not after calling me high maintenance! Not after saying that Paige was better than me!”

“You’re still holding onto that? I was a stupid college kid!”

“Yes! Your words stung, Joe. Seeing you with her killed me even more. It was always more than sex to me, Joe, and you knew that,”

“I did, and you still avoided me like I was the plague,”

“Because to me you were,”

Their words were venomous, hanging around their necks. Their veins ran cold with poison, but their desire for one another was so intense that they couldn’t step away from each other. She looked at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of betrayal and arousal. He looked at her, admiring her strength and her audacity.

He needed her. She needed him. Neither of them would do anything about it.

“Don’t kiss me again,” she snarled, “not unless you mean it,”

Joe wanted to reach for her as she walked off. His heart left with her, leaving him broken and empty all over again. He did this to them, he broke them in two. Joe’s always loved her, but in that moment, he watched as that piece of him walked away. She was the love of his life, the heart that kept him beating, and now she left him to die on a raft, the poison from their past slowly killing him.

[yuubakedthis]

A Different Kind of Night ⊹ ࣪ ˖

⤷ Malleus x GN!Reader 1.5k words synopsis: You have a difficult time falling asleep as your mind wanders with all the trouble your four months at NRC has caused you. A moment outside should be the perfect escape. But an unexpected visitor shows to prove that even the smallest of gestures are enough. a/n: My first work! Yay! Sorta proof read but now I'm second guessing if I missed something... Comments are appreciated! <3

The night was similar to the one you first met him on. You couldn’t sleep over the sound of Grim snoring and sleep-talking. The ghosts seemed restless and although you knew they harbored no ill will, the atmosphere felt suffocating with their presence. Slipping out of the creaky bed you had learned to love for the past 120 nights, you carefully stepped downstairs and out the front door.

It was freezing. That’s what was different from the first night. Winter was amongst NRC now, and the wind would whip especially hard frequently, leaving you clutching at yourself in hopes to warm up by just a bit. Snow had piled up as far as your eyes would allow you to see. It was beautiful and serene. The silence that hung in the air was making for a perfect scene to gather your thoughts.

Carefully, you scattered the snow from underneath you to make a spot to sit. Closing your eyes, you let your mind drift off, letting every worry that had kept you up at night slowly retreat. It had been a tough four months here. You never asked to be thrusted into this magic-filled world. For you to deal with everyone’s unresolved trauma. You had to remind yourself that you were still human and for you to feel bogged down from the burden was completely reasonable. As much as you wished to stand strong in front of others and help as best you could, it was getting harder and harder recently.

Tonight was one of the rare moments you could allow yourself to fall apart. Most of the campus was preparing to return home for winter break. It was reassuring in a way, knowing that there was a very small chance someone would come across your breakdown, even if it was so late at night. Nothing but the snow, wind, and dying vegetation was around to witness.

Or so you had thought.

“Child of man? Why are you out here so late at night?” When did he even appear?

You quickly wiped your eyes with the back of your hand. You smiled weakly up at him, “Oh, Tsunotarou. Don’t you know it’s always night when we speak to each other?” The chill in the air caught in your throat, making the words that spilled out sound painful. Or was it from the crying? You couldn’t really tell.

He had caught on fairly quickly. “What seems to be the problem?”

You felt small under his gaze. Eyes darting from his face and off to the side, you replied, “Ehh, it’s really nothing. Just homesick, I guess.” It wasn’t entirely untrue. But seven above you weren’t going to vent to this poor man about the real trouble affecting you. About how his world was taking its toll on you. The people at this school becoming the most annoying obstacle course for you to get through.

You hadn’t caught his eyes narrowing at your words; you were too engrossed in a particular spot of snow. You had secretly wished he would make his visit quick and let you be alone again. It was embarrassing enough to be caught right after crying, but you felt more tears welling up and it was getting tougher to keep from sobbing in this man’s face.

Tsunotarou let out a sigh and moved to sit in the cleared spot next to you. It was surprising. He didn’t seem like the type to risk dirtying his clothes just in an attempt to provide comfort. Although he was an arms length away, his proximity still felt overbearing. Your throat tightened more. Swallowing hard, you turned towards him and offered a reassuring smile. “I’m fine, really. You don’t have to stay with me.” Did he feel bad for you? That was an embarrassing thought. You didn’t know Tsunotarou too well, hell not even his own name. It felt wrong to keep him with you in such a vulnerable moment.

“Who said I didn’t want to stay?” Well that was a little unexpected. Again, he didn’t seem like the type to want to voluntarily be in this sort of situation. You exhaled softly at that, another small smile appearing.

“Thank you.” You replied, glancing down at the cement between your knees.

There was a particularly long beat of silence afterwards. It wasn’t entirely awkward but not totally natural either. The wind was picking up now. Snow had scattered more around you both, making interesting patterns to stare too long at.

“Are you cold?” His voice had startled you out of your daze. You lifted your head to look at him and he laughed slightly at the flush on your cheeks. You were indeed cold.

“Is it that obvious?” Shivering now like your body had been reminded of the chill, Tsunotarou made a move towards the garden. He moved with such grace it was impossible to look away. He broke off some branches from a nearby tree, the brittleness of them making it easy.

“Oh you don’t have to go through the trouble Tsunotarou,” You reached out a hand to wave him off. He gathered the branches at the foot of the steps and bent down to them. “I don’t even have a lighter on me, it would take too much time to get the fl-“ You had cut yourself off at what he did next.

He had gently let out green flames to ignite the bundle. Your mouth held slack in shock. With as much as you’ve seen, seeing him breathe fire shouldn’t have surprised you. Grim breathed fire but you never let that shock you. You assumed it was different because it was Tsunotarou doing it. He was too human, even despite the horns, sharp ears, and scary lizard eyes.

You quickly collected yourself and shot him a grateful look. The flames worked incredibly well and you felt the chill leaving your system almost immediately. He had sat down in his previous spot, though you could swear he was a bit closer now.

“Better?” He questioned softly as you nodded in return.

“Much.” Your hands held close to the flames, careful of the wind still blowing through making small sparks fly wildly.

“I apologize that this is all I can give you as comfort. I’m not well versed in…” He trailed off to search for the right words. “Soothing others.” You had giggled at that.

“This is more than enough, Tsunotarou. Besides, you didn’t have to stay with me. But you still did. And just that means a lot to me.” Your voice shook a little on the last words. Since arriving in this strange world, you hadn’t realized how much you craved a calming presence like his own. It wasn’t overbearing, but also not apathetic. Despite barely knowing you, he had offered his own sort of support, even when in the dark about your true issues. It was refreshing.

It was his turn to look away from you. Your words seemed to stick with him as he stared off. After a few moments, he returned to look at you and smiled softly. “That makes me glad, prefect. Unfortunately, I’ll have to take my leave. I’d hate to keep you up much longer.” Tsunotarou stood up and wiped any lingering snow off his clothes.

“That’s okay! Will you be returning home for winter break?” You were genuinely curious about where he would be, but a part of you also didn’t want to burden him with another night like this in the future. You laughed inwardly at the thought.

“That’s right. I’ve got some business to attend to there. I am also…” His eyes conveyed a strong emotion. “Homesick.”

You nodded in understanding. Slowly getting up, cautious of the still burning flame in front of you, you bowed deeply in appreciation.

“Thank you again, Tsunotarou. It was nice seeing you.”

“And you, prefect.” At that, you returned to stand straight, noticing suddenly that he was gone as fast as he’d come.

You bit your bottom lip in a smile. He was the most intriguing thing you’ve come across in this world. You returned to sit down in front of the fire. By now, your body seemed impossibly warm given the environment around you. It made for an even more peaceful moment.

You stayed like that for a good while longer. The wind had died down and so did your thoughts. Sleep was slowly inviting itself in, multiple yawns assaulting you. As you stood and stretched, the flames that had still been burning well caught your attention. But before you made an attempt to snuff them, a strong gust blew through and did the job for you.

You stood stunned for a moment before shaking your head and smiling. Hugging yourself at the sudden cold, you quickly made your way up the steps. At the entrance, you turned to take one last look at the empty landscape. You swore you saw a flicker of green light not too far off, but it was all too fast to say for sure. You shook off the feeling and reached for the door.

The warmth of Ramshackle invited you in, and as you went back in bed, sleep came too easy. Not even Grim’s incessant whining could distract you now.

Thank you, Tsunotarou.

[overwhelmed-alien]

ER Nurse/Firefighter Hangster 🧑🏻‍🚒❤️🧑🏼‍⚕️

Inspired by an episode of “The Pitt”. You’ll know which one.

The hydraulic doors opened with a whoosh of air and immediately the din of the waiting room assaulted his senses. Bradley Bradshaw sighed as he pocketed his keys in his hoodie. No matter what day - no matter what time of day - he visited his husband in the emergency room, the waiting area was packed to capacity. Over-capacity most times. Babies screaming, children crying, adults griping and complaining about the extended wait times. Coughing and hacking and moaning and yelling into phones. He didn’t know how the ER staff did it day in and day out without going crazy.

He stood behind a frantic mom bouncing a feverish toddler and waited his turn at reception. This was Jake’s third double this week. All hospitals in the area were severely understaffed, but two maternity leaves in day shift threw this one into an upheaval trying to keep up.

Bradley hadn’t seen Jake much lately; he’d come in shuffling like a zombie with just enough energy to shower and eat a little of the dinner Bradley had put away for him - more than likely his first meal in twelve hours - and then stretch out on top of Bradley on the couch to watch a movie. He’d usually be fast asleep within the first ten minutes. But Bradley didn’t care. Not about the drool on his chest, or the damp hair tickling his chin, not the quiet snoring or being pinned bodily to the couch by dead weight. He loved quiet nights cuddling in their pajamas, getting to hold that precious being in his arms, close to his heart, exactly where he belonged. He knew they were each other’s safe place. He knew that because Jake always held him after particularly difficult shifts, as well. Would make him his mom’s banana nut bread and thread his fingers through Bradley’s curls. Jake was everything to him. His safety, his sanity. Bradley knew Jake felt the same about him because he’d said so in his vows.

“Are you gonna just stand there looking dopey, Fireman, or do you got somethin’ to say?”

Mary the receptionist was Brooklyn to her bones. She’d worked at this San Diego hospital longer than Bradley had been alive and hadn’t lost a bit of her accent. He was pretty sure after these three years of him being a regular (both visitor and patient) that she knew his name, but she still referred to him simply as Fireman. Her Coke bottle glasses emphasized the blue eye shadow as she raked her gaze down his body appreciatively. He suppressed a shudder.

“Mary, sweetheart!” He smiled at her. He knew this song and dance by heart. “How are you, beautiful?”

“I’m almost as full’a shit as you are, bub. This is my third break.” She gestured to the Check-In window to emphasize she was, in fact, still working. “What brings you to my humble domain? Don’t tell me, don’t tell me. Ya wanna scoot back here “real quick” to definitely not defile the storage closet with the life size Ken doll again, huh?”

“That was one time, and there was no defiling. I told you, he was looking for gauze and tripped-“

“-face-first into your crotch, yeah yeah. What do I know about gravity, right, I’m not Isaac Neutron or whatever. Meanwhile, he probably needs some stress relief after the incident earlier.”

Bradley frowned. “Incident?”

“Oh yeah, some asshole built like an Oakland linebacker came in a few hours ago screaming about having to wait so long, and your boy toy flew out here like an avenging angel and chewed his ass out in front of everyone. It was like David and Goliath all over again. Your boy can string some inspiring words together when he wants to. Gigantor turned tail and walked out, quiet as a rat. People, am I right?”

He nodded, brows still furrowed. That did sound like Jake. As sweet as he usually was, he had no tolerance for rudeness, and held no qualms about confrontation. “Yeah. People.”

“Go on, get outta here, Fireman. Anyone asks, I didn’t see you.”

The door to the right unlocked with an audible click. He beamed and gestured a quick but genuine “thank you” before heading through the door to the emergency floor.

He’d just gotten off his shift and had swung by the Hibachi place Jake loved for a couple takeout plates. If Jake wasn’t busy they could eat together in the break room, if he was, he’d stick the box in the communal fridge for later and head home. Mostly he just wanted to lay eyes on his husband and make sure he was taking care of himself. When Jake got busy he always forgot to eat. Forgot to stop and rest. Bradley took his job to remind him very seriously.

Almost immediately, Bradley clocked something was off on the floor. There was always an air of frantic anxiousness back here in the ED, but it felt different tonight. The hairs on his neck bristled. He disregarded the patients and locked onto the different faces of the personnel, their body language as they hovered over screens and flitting around the stations.

They were angry. A cold, quiet, seething anger, kept at bay by professionalism, but it was there, and it was obvious.

He didn’t see Jake.

He did see Beau. It was hard to miss Dr. Simpson, he was a big man, a Navy man as well, one of his godfather’s good friends. Well, Ice’s good friend, he tolerated Mav. His handsome face was pinched tight as he rushed out of the corner unit in the back and wheeled around the main nurses station in the middle of the floor. He’d just picked up the phone when he met Bradley’s eyes. He put the phone down.

“Rooster.” Beau looked grim. There was blood staining his scrubs. “Who called you?”

Bradley’s heart sank into his stomach. “Wha-…nobody called me.” He shook the bag in his hand. “I - I brought Jake food.” He looked around again for a familiar blond head. “Beau, where is he.”

Beau could read him as well as Bradley could read everyone else. He probably sensed the impending meltdown because he was in front of Bradley in two long strides, strong hands gripping his shoulders. “He’s okay. He’s gonna be fine, son.”

The bag of hibachi dropped to the floor. “‘Okay’ and ‘gonna be fine’ are two different things, which is it.” He could see the pulsing of his heartbeat in his vision. Nurses were avoiding his gaze. “Where is my husband, I’m not asking again.”

Beau sighed, rubbed his hands down his face. He looked exhausted. “Dr. Benjamin is checking him out now-“

“-Why is Penny-“

“-Because she’s a neurologist,” Beau cut him off. Bradley fell silent and let the older man guide him through the nurses station toward the corner unit. “There was an…altercation…in the waiting room earlier. Jake confronted an erratic man causing a scene. You know how mouthy he can get. The man left, we thought nothing else of it. Jake…he went outside for a break a few minutes ago, the guy snuck up behind him and sucker punched him in the face like a fucking coward.”

He drew the curtain back and Bradley felt his knees give out. He caught himself on the foot rail of the gurney in front of him.

There was so much blood.

It covered much of his husband’s beautiful face, wrapped grotesque tendrils around his slim neck. The scrubs he wore were soaked. In Jake’s blood.

Bradley saw red.

“Hey baby.”

Jake’s tired, slightly slurred voice cut through the wrath-fueled haze in Bradley’s mind. He hadn’t even noticed the pretty green eyes - swollen and blood-red and wrapped in bruises already turning shades of blue and purple - staring up at him. Awake and alert. He was awake. Bradley shook out of Dr. Simpson’s hold and frantically reached for his husband, knocking the empty chair out of the way in his rush. He stopped short, not knowing where to put his hands that wouldn’t cause any more pain or damage, but needing to touch him more than he needed oxygen.

Jake must have sensed his husband’s desperation. He reached out with both arms and pulled Bradley in by his hoodie, forcing him to sit beside him on the gurney. He was sitting upright, not lying down, and he squirmed until Bradley’s arm was wrapped around his shoulders. He leaned into his husband and breathed a deep sigh, the tension melting out of him.

“Would you please be still,” Dr. Penny Benjamin was as beautiful as ever, even with the tight jaw and furrowed brow. Bradley hadn’t even noticed her sitting in a rolling stool beside the gurney. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and winked at Bradley. “Hey, Roo. Think he’s trying to absorb you through osmosis.”

“I’m fine with that.” Bradley croaked, his voice cracking, and squeezed a little tighter. He looked down at the love of his life. He closed his eyes. He couldn’t wrap his head around all the blood. Jake wasn’t supposed to be hurt. He had the dangerous job, not Jake. Never Jake. Jake was supposed to always be safe. He could be tired or angry or upset, but never hurt. “…Honey?” He didn’t even know how to speak to him in this state.

Jake held no such reservations. “I’m fine, B. Fucker blind-sided me like a pussy. Sorry, Penny.”

Penny huffed, but she was smiling. Bradley understood why Mav walked nose-first into a door when Penny smiled at him that time. “He’ll be okay. Took a hard fall, and head wounds tend to bleed a lot, but he doesn’t need stitches, just glue. His nose took the brunt of it, but thankfully it’s not broken. His stunning good looks will be intact once the swelling goes down, everyone will be happy to know.”

Beau let out a breath like he’d been holding it. “We’ll get him cleaned up and you can take him home.”

“Bullshit, I’m staying. I’ve got four hours left in my shift.” Jake sat up straighter and glared at Beau through his bruises. He looked exhausted and miserable. Bradley drew him in closer.

“You most certainly are not-“

“This isn’t the first time I’ve been punched in the face, Cy.”

“While that doesn’t surprise me at all, we’re still going to follow concussion protocol-“

“I’m a fucking combat medic, not a fucking candy striper, I’m fine.”

“What’s a candy striper?” A young med student walking by whispered to another, who shrugged. Beau shooed them away and pulled the curtain closed.

“Jacob,” Penny gently grasped his chin and shined a light in his eyes, gauging pupil responses again. “Straighten up or I’m taking you down to imaging and stuffing you into a CT scan.”

“But I can-“

“Bradshaw!” Both Jake and Bradley visibly flinched. Penny Benjamin was scarier than any drill sergeant. She pocketed her penlight and stood up to lean over him. “Sensitivity to light and sound. Anxiety and mood swings. You’re a little uncoordinated, a little slurry, and I bet you have one hell of a headache. I love you kid, and nobody is denying that you’re tough as nails, but you have a concussion, and you need to rest.” She reached over to pull Bradley in by the scruff of his neck. “Let your adorable puppy of a husband take you home and fuss over you for a change.”

“Go home, son.” Beau added. “I don’t want to see you in here for three days unless you’re getting checked out.”

Jake shook his head, drew in a sharp breath. Bradley could see the tears in his eyes, hear them in his voice. “We’re so short-staffed already.”

“We’ll survive three days without the mighty Jake Seresin Bradshaw, I promise.”

Bradley was elbowed in the gut as Jake flailed to stand up and prove his capabilities. He stood up, too, and caught Jake by the waist when he wobbled precariously. Blond hair tickled his face as Jake leaned his forehead into Bradley’s neck seeking comfort. A single, strangled sob escaped his throat before he tamped it back down. Bradley knew. These tears weren’t from pain, or even anger. They came from a place of helplessness and frustration and exhaustion. He’d had this conversation with Jake before.

It never ends. He was there to help, spent his time trying to make people feel better, live a little longer, and all he got in return was sucker punched. Spit on. Yelled at. Cursed at. Day in and day out. He saw the absolute worst in people, and fought like hell for them anyway. They all did. Every doctor and nurse and receptionist and janitor in this understaffed emergency department had a desperate need to save people, and it was taking its toll, some days more than others.

“I’m taking you home, sweetheart.” Bradley’s tone left no room for discussion. Jake just nodded against his neck, his exhaustion suddenly palpable. He sat the blond back down on the padding and dropped a lingering kiss to his forehead, making sure his mustache tickled Jake’s skin. “Let Penny clean you up a bit, okay, hon? I’m gonna step outside and talk to Beau a minute. Be right back.”

He gripped Dr. Simpson’s bicep and pulled him away from the cubicle. “I need a name, and I need it fucking now.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Beau don’t fuck with me, I’m gonna find out anyway, you may as well save me a few minutes of interrogation.”

“We’ve already got the police involved, let them handle it.”

“What, for him to get a slap on the wrist? Fuck no-“

“Need I remind you that the last time Jake got hurt here and you went all “Navy SEAL” on everybody, Ice had to get the fucking governor of California involved to keep your ass out of jail? Hmm? You think that’s gonna happen twice? Who’s gonna look after Jake if you’re in prison for attempted murder?” He stopped before he was actively shouting and took a deep breath. “You are one of the most intelligent people I know, but when it comes to that boy in there you turn into a knuckle-dragging dumbass.”

Bradley opened his mouth to defend himself but Beau cut him off. “This isn’t the first time one of my staff has been assaulted, and it won’t be the last. Understand that. It comes with the territory. We’ve all been hit and kicked and pissed and spit on. Every one of us. Jake doesn’t need a knight in shining armor to fight for him. He’s a tough kid, respect his capabilities. Right now the only thing he needs is a caring and attentive husband. Be that for him, Bradshaw.”

Simpson was right. Of course he was. Bradley knew he was a hothead when it came to Jake and his safety. He’d wanted to protect Jake Seresin the first time he’d ever laid eyes on him, even though it was, in fact, Jake protecting a wounded Bradley at the time. Every cell in his body vibrated with a primal need to protect that man, the love of his life and every life beyond.

The curtain pulled back and Jake was there, a little unsteady, Penny guiding him. Most of the blood on his face and neck had been wiped away; his scrub top was missing, the white undershirt a little less gruesome. Bradley met Beau’s eyes and nodded, reached out to shake the man’s hand briefly before hurrying over to Jake’s side where he belonged. He unzipped his Station 86 hoodie and wrapped it around Jake’s shoulders before zipping it up to hide the bloodstains on his collar. Jake looked up at him and smiled. “I would’ve stolen it anyway.” The Texas twang heavy on his lips. God, he looked so tired. On a soul-deep level.

“I know, angel. You wear it more than I do, anyway, guess I stole it from you. Just giving it back.”

“You know concussion protocol, I’m assuming,” Penny handed him a packet of papers with a knowing smirk.

“All too well, ma’am.”

“He’ll sit here and you can go get your car and pull it around to the ambulance bay. We’ll meet you outside.” Beau pushed a wheelchair behind Jake, who balked for a second before admitting defeat and flopping down into it.

“Yes, sir.”

“And then you’re going to take him home and put him to bed, and I don’t want to see him for three days. At least.”

Jake whined petulantly. Bradley bent down and dropped a peck to his hair, smiling into it. “Three days of couch cuddles. I’m totally down for that.”

Jake perked up significantly at that. “Yeah, that doesn’t sound too bad.”

Beau nodded sagely. “As long as you keep the supply closet shenanigans to a minimum.”

“Oh shit-“

The End

[lieran03]

Raising Their Voice

Love and Deepspace Fanfic

The usual calm and soft men who never raise their voice suddenly did so in front of you, and that's only to protect you

Genre: fluff/slice of life Pairing: Rafayel x fem!reader (usage of Cutie as nickname) Words: 1618 Warning: none!

Writing commission || Ko-fi || AO3 acc

Xavier's || Zayne's || Sylus' || Caleb's

Based on THIS request

“Cutie, what do you mean you wanted me to shout at you? Why do you want me to speak harshly to you?”

Hearing Rafayel’s tantrum, a low chuckle can be heard from the girl who lay on his sofa, watching as the man who was busy perfecting his brush stroke stops his action the moment she spoke up her request. Unknown where the thoughts came from, Rafayel could only guess what his Cutie had been going on about to make her has the courage to voice it out.

“It’s just … when you speak Lemurian, I thought it sounded both sexy and attractive. I just wonder if the same response would be there when I heard you raising your voice. All this time, you always speak to me nicely, or just … well, pampering me.”

“I do raise my voice now and then.” Rafayel has now forgotten about his work and put his attention fully on the girl who also sits up straight.

A nod was given before she said, “Yes, and it was towards Thomas. Either because you couldn’t finish your painting at the right time, or when you’re dissatisfied with his work, or how he arranged your exhibition. But that’s not raising voice, no, I don’t think it was.”

Tons of questions filled Rafayel’s mind. He wanted to understand the reason behind her request, the real reason why she thinks his shouting voice was attractive. Searching through her expression, Rafayel decided to let a low sigh before leaving his work. All of his creativity has left his mind, replaced with a way to make his Cutie feel better.

“No matter how much you wanted it, Cutie, I wouldn’t ever raise my voice to you. if that moment ever happened, or if I ever scold you in any way, you’re free to slap me.” Rafayel’s body plopped onto her lap, seeking warmth and comfort. Once he felt her hands start to play with his hair, he finally looked up and stared with a puppy eye. “But, please, don’t hit me too hard or use your Hunter power, Miss Bodyguard.”

The conversation was quick to drop, and both Rafayel and she didn’t have the heart to torture the other more. From the start, it was supposed to be an easy conversation, nothing demanding, and not some request needed to be fulfilled. It’s easy to be forgotten to the point Rafayel could finish his last painting for his current exhibition.

The night came with Rafayel, who made her follow him to the exhibition, dress chosen by him. almost all night, Rafayel didn’t let her wander off from his sight. She also never really escape from his grasp, keeping him around her waist and said to look around in case there were some bad people tries to kill him when they’re not looking.

It was a lie. Rafayel did not need a bodyguard to be around him all the time, he even find it disturbing at first. He just wanted people to see—and know—how close he is with a woman, which mean he’s not available with others who are pursuing him. This is the only way for him to say that he was taken without having to make an announcement to the public about his relationship.

“Rafayel, there are some people who need to talk with you.” Thomas’ words came at the wrong time. While enjoying his food, after tirelessly talking with people he barely knew, it was cut off fast.

Looking at the way Thomas stares at her, she already knew that this conversation was private, meaning she didn’t and she shouldn’t join in. A light push was given towards Rafayel’s back, telling him to follow Thomas' words. It was added with how she took Rafayel’s plate, as a way to push him away. The smile on her face made Rafayel feel guilty more than ever.

“You better come back fast before I finish all your food, Fishie,” she teased, trying to lighten Rafayel’s mood.

With no way to say no, Rafayel finally gets away, grumbling at Thomas and pouting all the way to meet the important person. Being left alone with no one to talk to, the food that was supposed to be Rafayel’s was gone before she decided to look around, wanting to see once again, without an explanation coming from the artist itself.

At first, it went well and smoothly, nothing she needed to be wary of. Even without Rafayel to tell her about the painting or the story behind it, she enjoys everything and even learn slowly how each strokes bring her closer to Rafayel and his hard work. Although she didn’t know much about painting or brush strokes, seeing it all somehow made her say, it was all Rafayel. With her eyes focused on the painting, she saw nothing else around her.

Her mind was occupied when she felt someone was approaching her and speaking at the same time. It’s not the voice of someone she knows, not Rafayel or Thomas, which made her not bother to look at them. It might be someone just speaking to themselves while appreciating Rafayel’s work, which always happens.

“You’re really worth more than the painting here, did you know?” The last words were the reason her attention was finally averted.

“Yes?”

“Your beauty. It’s something that no painting here can capture. All the women pictured here didn’t stand the same as you.”

All the paintings of women by Rafayel actually describe her.

“I’m sorry, I already have someone with me.”

It was the same usual words as a cover-up, however, it’s not an entire lie. She has gone with Rafayel from the start, and even when he was supposed to entertain the guests that came to his exhibition, he could reassure Thomas that it could be done with her coming along. Whenever he was explaining the painting, his eyes would always find hers, only hers.

“Come on, it won’t work with me. I know that you didn’t. Besides, clothes like this are used to attract men. If not, why would you wear something so appealing?”

She was silent for a few seconds, trying to understand the situation. A frown finally appeared before she said, “I told you that I already have someone with me. And that person who gives these clothes to me personally. Dresses like this aren’t always used to attract … people like you.”

The situation escalated quickly. With the answer she gave, the man seems to be more frustrated than before. Words of insult came from his lips, somehow like he was trying to attract the other people who came to watch the exhibition. It’s not long before the fight has made a scene in the calm ambiance of the exhibition, Rafayel picks.

Although people have started gathering around the two, trying to understand the situation, none of them tries to separate them. While the man who comes her way points his fingers and still talks gibberish, the girl was calm and collected, trying her best not to throw punches at the man to show where he belongs.

“Would you mind?” A new voice breaks out through the fight. Upon knowing it was Rafayel, a sigh finally came from the girl, feeling glad that she didn’t need to take matters into her hands.

“Who are you …?” It’s not hard for anyone to see that it was Rafayel, the reason people were gathering there. “Ah … Rafayel.”

“What do you think you’re doing right now?” Slightly, Rafayel’s voice was raised, showing anger. “Disturbing my exhibition, and then trying to flirt with my guest … no, you’re even saying bad words about her. Do you want to be banned from the next exhibition?”

“N-no … that’s … it was her fault!” Rafayel, who already stood in front of her, trying to protect her and didn’t let him see even a strand of her hair, saw how the man was once again pointing at her and gave a glare. “She tells lies and makes me look like a bad person.”

More gibberish came once again, making Rafayel take a deep breath. “What a disgrace! A person who can't even appreciate art and make a ruckus. Thomas, ban this person the next time he ever tries to come.”

“W-wait, that’s not … then you should have banned her too! Why am I the only one to be …!”

“Enough!”

Rafayel’s shout made everyone jump, seeing another side of Rafayel. With a small pull to his elbow, the girl decided to interfere, didn’t want to make a bad impression on Rafayel, the artist. Understanding her concern, Rafayel took a deep breath before taking a small glance at her, hoping to find comfort from her.

“Thomas, take care of this.”

Not putting any more attention, Rafayel finally asked her politely—as if they were stranger—and brought her to another place. It didn’t take long before Rafayel finally found a secluded place, putting his head to her shoulder and seeking comfort.

“I’m sorry for shouting in front of you, Cutie. Now I feel really, really bad ….”

“Why would you? You’re so cool back there,” she mumbled while playing with Rafayel’s hair. “But more than that … I wanted to thank you for protecting me like that and taking things your way.”

“Well, can you believe what he said about you?! He even insulted the dress I personally picked for you!”

Holding back a laugh, she finally hugged Rafayel, burying her face to his chest. “I know, I know. He really shouldn’t have done something like that.”

“Cutie, the next time someone insults you, don’t hesitate to punch them! I will be the one responsible for it.”

[honeydippedfiction]

LSU Frat!Joe with a volleyball girlfriend? Maybe with the prompts 'A tries to hide their blush from B by turning their head away, but the latter doesn’t let them.' (blushing list), and "I love you." "Damn, that's crazy." (established list) - 🐯

1k & Birthday Bash nav | main navigation | reqs | table of contents

‘A tries to hide their blush from B by turning their head away, but the latter doesn’t let them.’ & #17. "I love you." "Damn, that's crazy."

LSU Frat!Joe Burrow x black!femreader

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

The frat house was alive in the way only college houses could be on a Friday night—too loud, too packed, too chaotic for comfort, but buzzing with that electric, anything-could-happen kind of energy. A spilled drink here, a bad dance move there. Laughter ricocheted off the walls and down the hallways. Someone was already passed out in a bean bag chair wearing sunglasses, and someone else was trying to freestyle over the aux cord.

This was Sigma Nu territory, and Joe Burrow? He was their crown jewel.

Star quarterback. Frat favorite. The guy everyone either wanted to be or be with.

But in a room full of people calling his name, Joe had tunnel vision.

He leaned in the kitchen doorway with a red Solo cup in hand, a calm center in the storm, casually surveying the crowd. His body language said laid-back, but his eyes? They were already locked in on the one person who actually had his full attention.

Y/N.

She stood at the far side of the kitchen, leaned slightly against the counter, mid-conversation with some guy who was clearly overstaying his welcome. Joe could tell by the way her arms were crossed, her weight shifted on one leg like she was seconds from pulling the “my friend needs me” card. Her smile was thin and polite, her posture closed. She wasn’t rude—never was—but Joe knew that stance. She was over it.

And honestly? Joe couldn’t blame the guy. Y/N was magnetic tonight. Hell, she was magnetic every night. But tonight, she looked like a problem on purpose—a white crop top that made his brain short-circuit every time he caught a glimpse of the skin beneath it, tight black leggings that molded to every curve, her LSU volleyball windbreaker tied low around her waist, and a delicate gold chain catching the light at the base of her throat. Her curls were pulled into a high, messy bun, the kind that looked like it took two minutes but still made his breath catch. 

She looked every bit the confident athlete she was, but right now, she was mid-eye roll as some frat guy tried way too hard to impress her with a story about “almost getting drafted” to a rec league.

Joe didn’t even pretend he wasn’t staring.

He reached up and adjusted the backwards snapback on his head—her favorite look on him, she once admitted, because it kept his curls off his face and let her see his eyes. He didn’t wear it for just anyone. The rest of his outfit—black tee clinging just right to his chest and arms, worn jeans that sat low on his hips—had been a calculated move too. He might’ve looked chill, but he knew exactly what he was doing.

Drink in hand, he slid through the crowd, slipping behind her at the counter like he belonged there. And he did. Always had.

His shoulder brushed hers, his voice low and casual.

“Need rescuing?” he murmured, lips curved into a knowing smirk as he reached around her for a bottle on the counter.

Y/N didn’t even flinch. She turned slightly, eyebrow raised, already grinning like she’d been waiting on him.

“Maybe. You offering?”

Joe smirked, planting one hand flat on the counter beside her hip, his body shifting just enough to trap her there without making it obvious. His presence pressed in, warm and unmistakable.

“Always.”

The guy she’d been talking to caught the shift instantly. One look at Joe—the snapback, the smirk, the shirt stretched over muscle and confidence—and he backed off, offering Y/N a nod before disappearing into the crowd. Joe didn’t even acknowledge him. His gaze never left her.

“You wore this just for me?” he asked, tilting his head toward her outfit. His voice was playful but low enough to make her shiver.

“Funny,” she said, sipping from her cup, her expression unreadable. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

Joe lifted a brow. “This?” He tugged slightly at the hem of his shirt. “You like this one, huh?”

“You know I do.” Her eyes swept over him, lingering just long enough to make his chest warm. “That’s why you wore it.”

“Guilty,” he said, shameless. “Had to give you something to look at while you were pretending not to miss me.”

She tried to bite back her smile, but it betrayed her anyway—and her cheeks, traitorous as ever, turned the softest shade of pink. She turned her head quickly to the side, pretending to glance at the chaos in the living room—but really, she just didn’t want him to see the blush he’d pulled out of her.

But Joe wasn’t letting her off that easy.

He reached out, gentle but sure, and placed a hand on her cheek, his palm warm against her skin. His fingers curled just slightly under her jaw, tilting her head back toward him with a kind of tenderness that made her stomach flutter.

“Uh-uh,” he murmured, eyes locked on hers. “Look at me.”

Y/N blinked, her breath catching as their eyes met—his blue, intense and unwavering. The noise of the party blurred behind them, the music and voices fading into something distant. She could feel her pulse in her throat, in her fingertips, in the space where his hand touched her.

And if she’d been blushing before, now she was glowing.

Joe caught it immediately.

“Aww,” he teased, leaning in a little closer. “Is that a blush?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come on,” he said, dipping his head to meet her eyes as she tried turning away. “Don’t hide that from me. I like seeing that.”

“You’re such a problem, Burrow.” she muttered, flustered but still smiling.

“You keep saying that like it’s gonna make me stop.”

“You love hearing yourself talk, don’t you?”

“No,” he said, voice dropping an octave as his thumb traced lightly across her cheekbone. “I love you.”

Y/N blinked at him again, her witty retort caught somewhere behind her throat. He didn’t mean it in the heavy, serious way—not yet. But he meant it in the way he always looked at her, like she was the only thing in the room that made sense.

The party raged around them—someone yelled “YOLO” from upstairs, and the bass thumped hard enough to vibrate the floor—but inside that little pocket of kitchen space between the counter and his chest, it felt like they were somewhere else entirely.

“You love it.”

“Do I?”

He just looked at her, like he knew every answer she hadn’t said out loud.

The party roared around them—someone yelling about a pong rematch, music bumping through the floor—but in that pocket of space between the fridge and the counter, it was just them. Joe leaned in, close enough that his cologne wrapped around her like a secret. Her hand slid up, instinctively pressing against his chest in a half-hearted attempt to create space. It didn’t work.

“Joe,” she said, soft but warning.

He leaned even closer. “Y/N.”

They stood like that for another few beats—her trying not to smile, him enjoying every second of her pretending not to.

Eventually, she found her footing again and shoved him lightly with a laugh, stepping out from the cage of his arm. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“And you’re lucky I’m not dragging you into the laundry room right now.”

“Bold of you to assume I’d stop you.”

That earned her a grin that was all teeth, dimples, and trouble.

“Oh, I know you wouldn’t.”

.°•.♡ ️ッ☁✧•. • °.°•.♡ ️ッ☁✧•. • °

The party thinned out sometime after midnight, that hazy hour when the drinks started tasting more like regret than fun and the music, once pulse-pounding and contagious, faded into a dull hum beneath the buzz of half-sober conversations and the occasional off-key singalong. Empty cups littered the counters. Someone spilled something sticky near the front door that no one planned to clean. The whole house smelled like sweat, cheap vodka, and worn-out college dreams.

Joe had just finished helping one of his frat brothers lug an empty keg out onto the porch, his shoulder damp from someone else’s spilled drink. He wiped his palms on his jeans, already thinking about how good a warm shower would feel—and how badly he wanted to leave.

When he ducked back inside, weaving past a couple making out near the stairwell, he spotted her instantly.

Y/N was at the far end of the living room, slipping into her jacket, curls frizzing slightly from the heat and her bun a little looser than it had been earlier. She looked both tired and beautiful, like a calm note in the middle of chaos.

She caught his eye, nodded toward the door.

“Let’s bounce,” she said simply.

He didn’t even answer—just pulled his keys from his back pocket and followed her out without hesitation.

Outside, the air was cooler than it had been earlier, crisp in a way that hinted fall was on its way. Y/N tugged her sleeves over her hands as they walked across the lawn, gravel crunching under their feet. Joe glanced at her once, then twice, then reached over and took her hand without a word. She didn’t say anything either, but the corners of her mouth curved upward.

Since Joe still lived in the Sigma Nu house—crammed into a room with two other guys who couldn't remember to do their laundry or keep their music down after midnight—his place wasn’t exactly the ideal escape. But Y/N’s apartment, just a few minutes from campus, had become their unofficial hideaway. It was warm, quiet, and hers—though he’d slowly but surely started to leave pieces of himself there. A pair of Nike slides by the door. His extra toothbrush in her bathroom. That hoodie she never gave back.

By the time they pulled up to her complex, the wild energy of the night had melted into something slower, steadier. The kind of stillness that only comes when the world outside is still spinning, but you’ve stepped off the ride.

Inside her apartment, the lighting was soft and golden, casting a warm glow across the wood floors. She kicked off her sneakers in the entryway, exhaling as she dropped her keys in the bowl by the door. Joe followed her in, silently shedding his own shoes, watching as she made her way down the short hallway into her bedroom like it was the most natural thing in the world—because by now, it was.

He lingered in the doorway a moment, just taking her in.

She peeled off her leggings in one fluid motion, replacing them with a pair of soft, worn LSU shorts. One of his old t-shirts—faded black and oversized—was already tugged down over her frame. She moved through her wind-down routine like a dance she knew by heart: hair gathered up, bonnet tied neatly, lip balm swiped on without even needing a mirror.

Joe leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed loosely over his chest, just watching her with a faint, easy smile.

She caught his gaze in the mirror.

“What?” she asked, one brow lifted.

He shook his head, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Nothing. Just… every time I think you can’t get any more beautiful, you do.”

Y/N groaned. “You are so corny.”

“And yet,” he said, stepping inside and flopping onto her bed, “you keep me around.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the smile that followed. “Unfortunately.”

“Yeah, yeah. Hand me the lotion.”

She tossed it to him over her shoulder, then bent one leg and began rubbing the cream into her skin. Joe propped himself up on one elbow, watching with a lazy kind of admiration.

“You always do that little nose wrinkle when you’re focused,” he said casually.

“No, I don’t.”

“You do. It’s cute.”

“You’re obsessed.”

He shrugged. “And?”

She glanced over her shoulder, the playfulness in her eyes softening. “You’re so obvious.”

Joe let out a quiet laugh. “Only with you.”

She turned back toward the dresser, reaching for her lip balm again. The moment was quiet but full—comfortable in the kind of way that doesn’t come easy in college, where everything was loud, fast, temporary. This wasn’t. This was theirs.

She didn’t hear him move until she felt him—his arms slipping around her waist from behind, his chest pressed gently against her back, chin settling on her shoulder. His warmth folded around her, steady and grounding.

“I love you,” he said, quiet and steady like the words had been waiting for the right silence to land in.

Y/N froze—not in fear or uncertainty, but in that way you do when your heart jumps before your brain can catch up. Her eyes found his in the mirror.

He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t nervous. He was just there, all in, like he always was with her.

She held his gaze for a beat. Then two.

And then—

“Damn,” she said, lips curving into a wicked smile. “That’s crazy.”

Joe blinked.

“…What?”

Y/N snickered, sliding out of his arms and darting across the room toward the bed.

“Oh, nah.” He stood up, shaking his head. “You really said that? That’s how you respond?”

She laughed harder, already halfway under the covers. “I’m just saying—”

“You’re just saying nothing,” he said, lunging at her.

She squealed as he tackled her onto the bed, his body heavy over hers in the most familiar way. Before she could scramble away, he had her pinned, fingers digging mercilessly into her sides.

“Take it back!” he demanded, laughing right along with her.

“Joe! Stop! I’m sorry!”

“Say it.”

“I—can’t! I’m gonna pee—!”

“Say it!”

“OKAY, OKAY! I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU!”

He finally stopped, laughing as he caught his breath, the two of them tangled in a mess of limbs and bedsheets. He hovered over her for a second, letting the silence settle again.

“Say it again,” he said, this time quieter.

Y/N’s breath evened out. She reached up, her fingers curling around the fabric of his t-shirt, anchoring him to her.

“I love you,” she said again, softer now. Real.

Joe dipped his head, kissing her slow—like he had all night, all weekend, all year to do it again. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were still on hers, his smile lopsided and pure.

“Damn,” he whispered, brushing his nose against hers. “That’s my favorite thing you’ve ever said.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, though the way her fingers were still twisted in the hem of his shirt gave her away. “You’re so dramatic.”

Joe smirked, settling more of his weight onto her as she squirmed beneath him.

“Oh my God,” she groaned. “Joe, get off of me.”

“Nope,” he said, resting his full weight across her body like a human blanket. “This is my spot now.”

“You’re heavy!”

He gasped, sitting up slightly like she’d slapped him. “Did you just call me fat?”

Y/N grinned, biting her lip to keep from laughing. “Not fat. But that dump truck back there definitely is.”

Joe narrowed his eyes in mock offense, but before he could respond, she slipped her hands around his waist and gave him a firm squeeze right where she knew he’d feel it.

“Hey!” he yelped, laughing as she reached up and smacked his butt with a playful little slap. “Ma’am! Hands to yourself!”

She was laughing now, full and bright, that sleepy post-party energy turning into something new—something warmer.

“You said it’s my favorite shirt,” she teased, motioning to the same black shirt from earlier still on his body, voice laced with amusement, “but I think this is my favorite part.”

Joe collapsed onto the bed beside her, tugging her into his arms like it was second nature. “You’re outta pocket.”

“You love it.”

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, still grinning. “Maybe.”

Y/N ran a hand through his curls, fingers slow and absentminded. “You always act brand new when I touch your butt.”

“Because it’s mine, Y/N. My sacred QB asset. You can’t just go around squeezing greatness like that.”

She giggled again, curling closer into his chest. “I already told you I love you. You’re stuck now.”

Joe kissed the top of her head. “Damn right.”

They laid there in the quiet for a while, the kind of stillness that only came after a long, loud night—bodies tangled, laughter fading, hearts beating a little slower but steadier. The world outside buzzed with deadlines and practices and whatever drama waited for them on Monday. But in that room, in that bed, in that moment?

It was just them.

And neither one of them was in any hurry to leave it.

[vshiftsss]

RAFE CONFRONTING ME - (OUTER BANKS DR)

melodic notes and guitar strings squeaking underneath aurora’s fingertips filled the comfortable silence of the belmont family’s backyard. there was a house party – and by extension, a beach party – going on behind her, celebrating the discovery of the city of gold, el dorado. rory was part of the crew that found it; her, john b., pope, and the rest of the pogues found it, even after getting chased down by some greedy guy who wanted it for himself.

usually, aurora was all for parties and celebration, but tonight? she wasn’t feeling it.

not when she had to see rafe with his arm around someone else’s waist. not when she had to get unlucky and glance over at him right when he pressed a soft peck to sofia’s lips.

just thinking about it made her play the wrong note, the discordant sound startling her out of her thoughts. a grimace crossed over aurora’s face, her hands stilling against the six-string. rafe was taking up too much of her brain, just for him not to be thinking of her at all. love was cruel that way–unrequited love, anyway. there was a certain dread in knowing that the person you loved had someone else occupying their thoughts, someone else taking up their quality time. someone else seeing them at their highs and lows.

she knew she shouldn’t be dwelling over something she knew was over, but the girl couldn’t help it. rafe was just too good at weaving his words, too good at creating a fantasy in her mind with looks alone. she fell for it completely, and nothing could beat the utter feeling of stupidity that kept cycling through her mind. aurora placed her guitar on the grass beside her; plucking at strings and jumbling nonsensical lyrics together wouldn’t fill this emptiness she felt.

instead, rory decided to watch the stars–the various constellations that twinkled and blinked in the night sky, begging for someone to watch them shine. tonight, they had a spectator. a lonely girl searching for an answer in a sea of lights that couldn’t talk back.

aurora had a spectator, too. one she really didn’t want to see at the moment.

“didn’t take you as the brooding type. sitting all alone out here with your little guitar. don’t you think it’s late for writing love songs, aurora?”

rafe spoke from behind her, each of his words slicing at her heart individually. rory didn’t even want to look at him, in case his new girlfriend had tagged along. she wasn’t in the mood for introductions.

typically, when people didn’t respond to someone, that was a sign to leave them alone. but rafe was persistent in his jabs, obnoxious with his constant presence. that used to be a blessing in rory’s eyes, but now she felt like she couldn’t breathe. not with him around.

“come on, rory. the hell are you doing out here? i came here for you, remember? you know i can’t stand being around those dumbasses for more than five minutes.”

aurora’s eyes fell from the luminescent mosaic above her, hesitant to face the source of her pain. they did, nonetheless. glancing at the man standing behind her, trying their best to convey any other emotion other than anguish.

“i didn’t think you’d actually show,” she spoke quietly, taking her time to stand and face rafe. a chill passed over her brown skin, raising goosebumps across her arms. “could’ve skipped out on it. i wouldn’t have been mad.”

rory could see the gears working in rafe’s head, could see the confusion flickering in his gaze. she knew she was acting weird. there was no interaction between the two of them that lacked the back-and-forth banter and the side comments. his lips twitched, and he shoved his hands into his pockets.

hadn’t they passed the stage of awkward encounters?

“sofia wanted to support you guys,” rafe replied, his words a tad too sharp for the mood of the conversation. he was just as out of his depth as aurora was. “plus…i had assumed you at least wanted to see me. maybe rub your victory in my face like you usually do.”

a beat passed.

“...what’s going on with you, aurora? did i do something? is someone bothering you? ‘cause this isn’t like you.”

at that, aurora bristled. the more he spoke, the more her emotions acted against her. her emotions were telling her to rip open her chest and bare all her feelings for rafe, her dignity be damned. she could tell him how much it fucking hurt to see his smile shine the brightest when he’s with her. how much her chest ached when sofia was all he could talk about during their time together. there was so much aurora was holding back, and all she wanted to do was scream at the top of her lungs, to get rafe to finally realize he should be with her and not sofia.

none of that came to the surface, though.

instead, aurora blinked once, twice, then three times. her brain searching for a reply that didn’t show how desperate she was.

she came up empty-handed.

“how do you know what i’m really like?” she whispered, her words barely reaching rafe’s ears before the summer breeze snuffed them out.

rafe scoffed, his eyes landing on the roaring party going on behind him before they returned to aurora. he didn’t know what the hell was going on, but it was clear she wasn’t okay. even when she was stressed, aurora knew how to recover. it was something she prided herself on, and something rafe reluctantly admired her for. so he seriously didn’t understand why she had that look on her face–a look that showed she was bottling up far too much.

“are you fuckin’ kidding me, rory? i– we’ve spent so many nights together, and now you’re trying to say i don’t know you?” rafe asked incredulously, his fingers twitching at his side. “i mean, come on. let’s not act like we’re not friends now. i don’t know what the hell you did, but…you got me to like you. you got me to…to…i don’t know, like having you around. and we joke, sure, but i thought it was obvious that none of it meant anything.”

rafe continued to stare at aurora, his eyes scouring her expression for an answer. a reaction. anything.

“look, i know sofia has been takin’ me away from our usual meetups, but…but that’s my girlfriend, rory. she’s amazing. and i thought you would be happy for me, with how you reacted when i first told you about her. i didn’t think you’d become so distant.”

rafe shoved his hands into his khaki shorts, his polo’s collar suddenly a bit too snug to his neck for his liking. it was starting to get hot and uncomfortable.

“look. i don’t know what the hell’s going on with you, but i don’t fuckin’ like it. so whatever you need to say…whatever you need to get off your chest? just say it. because you’re…you’re acting weird, and i don’t know what i did wrong.”

their gazes met each other’s, and for a second, it seemed like the world stopped spinning.

for a second, it felt like aurora didn’t have to breathe, nor blink.

it felt like time paused, allotting her some time to decide whether she was going to ruin the friendship she had spent so much time building, or destroy herself.

rafe wasn’t making it any easier, either. with that confused, almost desperate glint in his eyes, begging her to open up and finally spill everything she’d been holding in for months. the temptation clawed at her ribs, prodding at the pounding organ underneath.

she was going to fuck this up. for the first time in years, aurora was going to fuck something up royally. and rafe cameron was the one taking the fallout.

her lips parted on a sorry explanation on everything rushing through her mind at mach speed, the words not nearly enough to suit this confrontation. she could already feel the imminent rejection surging through her like a bullet, searing through her heart and tearing its way through the countless walls she had built to protect herself from something like this.

i should’ve listened to the pogues. this was a mistake.

but just as the first syllable fell from rory’s lips, the rest of her sentence lodged in her throat. her eyes drifted towards the woman jogging over to them, her radiant smile and friendly chestnut eyes too gorgeous to ever forget.

it was sofia.

“rafe, come on! they’re doing shots out on the beach.”

aurora’s eyes went straight back to rafe, and much to her dismay, he was already being pulled away from the conversation. rafe turned to face sofia, a crooked, almost nervous smile severing the tension between him and aurora.

“baby, give me a second, alright? i’ll be out in just a bit,” he spoke softly, pressing a few kisses to sofia’s forehead before sending her back towards the belmont estate. he didn’t turn back to aurora, which only made this moment feel ten times worse.

“…i’ll give you some time to think on it. to figure out how you want to say it. but…you don’t have to take shit on alone, alright? i got you, rory. always have, always will. no matter how much you want to think otherwise.”

the silence stretched between them, with rafe not moving an inch. he didn’t want to leave her behind. not when aurora was so vulnerable, so lost on what to do.

on what to say.

on what to think.

but he had to make a choice. and right now, his girlfriend wanted him there with her.

at first, he only took one step. aurora’s eyes were starting to glisten now, her body instinctively turning away from anyone watching her. she didn’t need rafe to see her cry right now. her pride and dignity were already in pieces at her feet.

one step became two, two became four, and four became enough steps for aurora not to hear him anyway.

she had gotten out of the sudden confession, but at what cost? it was only a temporary respite, a brief buffer from the heartbreak that was destined to hit her like a truck.

aurora glanced up at the stars again, tears blurring her vision too much for her to see any signs they were sending her. she bit her lip, stuffing down the sob that was about to claw its way from her throat.

in the end, no one else could handle this except her, and the only way out of this was through.

END OF POST - HAPPY SHIFTING!

note… this is old, but i didn’t post it i think! if i did pls let me know…i don’t wanna make a fool of myself. the third one is in progress…but i’m rusty. trying to get out of writer’s block once again smh

tags… @avelineshifts @julianasversee @visualcve @miaojune

[yena-enha]

𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟗, 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐲 - 𝐋𝐇𝐒

A sequel to ‘2019, Maybe’ (Touch this text to read 2019,Maybe)

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Warning - Angst, emotional baggage, breakup aftermath, grief, slow reconciliation, emotional vulnerability, implied mental health struggles, eventual healing and romance

Note - SFW ANGST & FLUFF CONTENT

Genre - Second-chance romance, angst, slice of life, soft drama

Pairing - Lee Heeseung x Fem!Reader

Song Inspiration - Dream BY LISA

Word Count - 2,300 words

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“Whenever I close my eyes, it’s taking me back in time,

Drowning in dreams lately, like it’s 2019, baby.

I look at your picture and I smile,

It makes me rewind my mind,

‘Cause in the end, you saved me.

Now it’s 2029, baby.”

----

Heeseung doesn't come home at 2:37 a.m. anymore.

Because it's been almost five years since he had a home to come back to.

Since he dropped his keys on your counter, peeled off his hoodie like the weight of the world sat in its seams, and moved through your apartment like a stranger with memorized steps.

Since you laid in bed, blinking through the dark while his breath filled the silence you used to share.

Since you told him, "I don't think I can keep doing this," and he answered, "I know."

Since he left.

And you let him.

You thought that was the end of your story.

Until today.

---

It's late April 2029, and the rain falls the same way it used to. Soft taps on the cafe windows, mist clinging to the glass like unspoken things.

You hadn't planned to come. You haven't been here in years. Not since you buried that version of yourself—the girl who used to wait across this table for a boy with stars in his eyes and music in his bones.

But you're early for your 4:00 p.m. client. And something pulls you here like muscle memory. Like grief still has a pulse.

The bell above the door rings as you enter. The place hasn't changed. Same scratched-up tables. Same amber glow of lamps. Same faint scent of cinnamon and espresso.

You sit at the same table. Without thinking.

You used to sit here on Sundays when Heeseung was still a trainee, all nerves and neon dreams. He'd scribble lyrics on napkins and hold your hand under the table like it grounded him.

Back then, he kissed you like he had nothing but time.

You're stirring your drink when he walks in.

You don't see him at first. Just the familiar chime of the bell. The hush of rain. And then—the silence that stretches taut when your eyes meet.

Heeseung.

Older now. But unmistakably him. Hair darker. Hoodie oversized. The same way he used to wear it when he wanted to disappear into a crowd.

He freezes. Then walks over.

You both speak at the same time.

"This was our table."

A pause. A breath. A ghost of a smile.

"Mind if I sit?"

You shake your head. "Go ahead."

You don't talk. Not at first. Not for days.

You both keep coming back. You sit across from each other. Order the same drinks.

Heeseung still hums under his breath. You still take your coffee too sweet.

He opens his book but never reads it. You bring your case notes but never write.

You just exist—two people haunting the same past.

Until one day, he speaks.

"I teach now," he says quietly, staring at the foam in his latte. "Vocal coach. I work with trainees. Sometimes idols too."

You nod. "Therapist. Clinic on 6th. Specialize in burnout. And grief."

He looks at you then. Really looks.

"Grief, huh?"

You nod. "It sticks around."

He nods too. "Yeah. It does."

---

Over the next few weeks, the silence turns to soft chatter.

Heeseung tells you about the boy he mentors who reminds him of himself. You tell him about the client who writes poetry instead of speaking.

You both laugh again.

Not like you used to.

Softer. Fragile. Like muscle memory stretching after disuse.

You learn he never dated anyone seriously after you. He learns you stopped believing in forever.

You fall back in love like waves against a worn shore.

In glances. In shared silence. In remembering how his fingers used to play with the sleeves of your cardigan when he was nervous.

One evening, as the cafe empties, he touches your hand.

Just a brush.

You don't pull away.

---

October 18th comes. The date you never say out loud.

You arrive at the cafe. He's already there.

A tiny bouquet of forget-me-nots sits on the table.

Heeseung looks up, eyes glassy.

"I know this day probably means nothing now. But it used to. To me. To us."

You sit down slowly. Words caught behind your ribs.

He breathes in like he’s steadying a tremble.

"I think about that morning a lot. The last one. You offered me breakfast. I said I didn’t have time."

You remember it too. The way his arms felt more like routine than comfort. The way he said, "I love you," like it was an afterthought.

"I knew I was losing you," he whispers. "And I didn’t fight. I chose silence. I chose my dream."

Your throat tightens.

"I used to believe in that dream like it was mine too," you say softly.

Heeseung looks down.

"You were never just a chapter, you know? You were the story. And I... I threw it away."

You don’t say anything for a long time.

Then:

"I’m still trying to forgive you."

His head lifts. He looks at you like he's breathing for the first time in years.

"Then I’ll wait. As long as it takes."

And that’s how it begins again.

Not in declarations. But in promises born from truth.

---

Forehead kisses come first. Tentative. Grateful.

Then laughter. Your first real one since that night in 2024.

Then the way he pulls your chair out. How he walks on the outside of the sidewalk. How he still plays with your fingers like they're notes he's learning again.

One night, in the soft glow of your apartment, he kisses you.

Really kisses you.

Not like a boy chasing dreams.

But like a man who found his way home.

---

He proposes on a quiet Sunday. Same table. Same coffee.

No speech. Just a velvet box. A scribbled note:

"Maybe I outgrew the dream. But I never outgrew you."

You say yes through tears.

---

The aisle is short. But the moment feels infinite.

Heeseung cries before you even reach him.

Your hand trembles in his.

When it's time for vows, he breaks.

"I left you when you needed me most. I chose ambition over presence. And yet you still let me in again. You loved me through the ruin."

His voice cracks.

"This time, I vow to stay. To listen. To hold you when you're tired. To fight when it's hard. To never let silence be louder than love."

Tears stream down your face. You nod.

When the officiant says kiss, he doesn’t hesitate.

Your lips meet.

And this time, there's no distance. No silence.

Just you and Heeseung.

And the home you built between heartbreak and healing.

His forehead presses to yours.

You close your eyes.

You were his dream outgrown.

He was your heart, still.

Now, you are each other's again.

In 2029, Probably

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You guys asked for a sequel, so here it is (with a happy ending ofc)

«Masterlist || Introduction»

Taglist» (open) @strxwbloody

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[mothinked]

Ellie scuffed a boot against the asphalt as she walked and replied to Abby with more docility than she'd shown before. More passivity, less caution but tentative of their fragile armistice. Offering Abby her full attention. "I'd believe you, if you told me," she said softly, just loud enough for her companions to catch. It was mostly mono-syllabic communication up until this point for the two women while she talked at length to Lev. Answering his questions to the best of her ability, even if they were more of a personal nature.

She was willing to entertain him and patient in showing him things he was unfamiliar with. Teaching was important, to pass on your knowledge and experience was invaluable. It was something she learned after leaving the Boston QZ and settling in Jackson for the first time. She had Joel to thank for learning so much. But also Dina and JJ as well. Meanwhile Tommy was the uncle she never had... Her last connection to Joel. She loved him and Maria like family, and they were her family.

Lev was Abby's family, there was no mistaking that.

Ellie found him to be well-mannered and kind, much like her son. Endearingly inquisitive, too. He covered Abby's weaknesses, helped draw her strength when she faltered and helped to ground her mentally. He was brave and compassionate in equal measure and Ellie told him once, unbidden, that she thought he would make a great leader. That the world needed more men like him. The way he shyly dipped his head and smiled was enough to make her day. Ellie knew she wouldn't have lasted this long being alone with Abby and so she was grateful that he came along for the journey.

Ellie noticed a lot about these two. And she doubted he would have let Abby do this on her own regardless. Nah, not this kid with his unwavering determination and stares that could make even two very headstrong women like them listen and relent, however begrudgingly. Abby needed him, that much Ellie knew beyond the shadow of a doubt. Nothing was able to tear these two apart.

Perhaps to make her first real effort to have Abby open up to her or to fill the quiet, Ellie began enumerating some fucked up shit she had experienced. "Came across a group of cannibals when I was fifteen." It was said with a nonchalant shrug. She'd lived through much worse in the years since. "Then a couple of years back, there was this other group I came across. Near Colorado Springs... I think? This man and woman saw me come out of a building filled with spores—" Here, she chuckled humorlessly. "—no mask. They saw how I wasn't showing signs of infection so naturally, they were curious. Shocked. I went with them to their camp when they offered me food."

"Yeah, I knew it was stupid but I hadn't caught any animals in days. They started acting.... really fucking weird in the next day or two and before I could get out of there, the man... their leader, I suppose, gathers his people in some kind of cult circle and draws a knife on me." Ellie added imagery to the story by holding out her switchblade, her eyes going from Lev to Abby as she lowered her voice and adopted a gruffer tone. "He said, 'We want your blood'. Like he was asking for me to give him the last piece of jerky or something. So I let them see their own blood instead... but then the woman got the others to grab me. They sliced my hand open."

She could still see the line of faded scar tissue on the palm of her left hand. Barely there but a souvenir of this unsettling encounter nevertheless. Ellie's switchblade was tucked away into the back pocket of her jeans before she continued. "They thought drinking my blood would make them immune. I'm sure they would have tried to eat me or worse if I hadn't gotten away. And I couldn't let them follow me either."

The rest of the tale was fill-in-the-blanks. She was quiet for a moment, staring off at nothing in particular as they walked, pensive. "I don't know if it would have even worked. My blood could be different though." She made eye contact with Abby, green seizing blue—like the earth meeting the sky. "Guess we'll find out soon enough." This brokered agreement was why they put aside their history and in spite of said history, they were choosing to co-exist without the threat of violence against each other.

Could she say she still hated Abby with every fiber of her being? The answer was no, she didn't. The hate and the wrath that came with it was gone. Did Abby feel that it wasn't there anymore? If she were to ask, there would be no point in lying. Ellie wasn't willing to choke on her own blood before she'd swallow her pride... Not anymore. Not over this. Abby had her own reasons for being the one to talk Ellie into the whole thing. In truth, Ellie wasn't so sure she would have trusted the Fireflies had they brought others to find her.

She, too, had her reasons, ones that didn't involve helping make a cure. To right her wrongs... To understand the woman who changed everything. Things she couldn't entirely made sense of let alone admit out loud.

Did the Firefly leader pick Abby because of her history with Ellie or did she volunteer beforehand while suggesting they continue Jerry's legacy? Ellie stored that question away for later.

She still wanted to make her immunity mean something, even if that also meant she was betraying Joel's and Jesse's memory in having her peace with Abby. The Fireflies could take her blood, run their tests and ask their questions. But they couldn't have her life—this was something she could not give up while she still had the people who loved her.

"So, what's this thing I wouldn't believe?"

Such a dismissive reaction to the offer of leading them didn’t come as any surprise to Abby. Sure whatever was right. The idea still didn’t thrill her but it was either try to navigate blind or leave it to someone who knew the area better than the two of them. The choice seemed simple enough, even if neither of them were a fan of the idea. She manages to contain an eye roll which is impressive. Lev could at least be proud that she was trying to somewhat come off as reasonable at that moment in time. A quick look in his direction and a nod in return is the reassurance she needs that everything is going to be okay. With such a fucked up history, his was the only judgment she could trust at this point and as long as he continued to trust Ellie, Abby would be forced to do the same. Even if it went against every single instinct in her body. She would be ready at a moments notice though to spring into action if needed. The remnants of the violence Ellie was capable of were scattered about her skin, visible on sleeveless, suntanned arms. No reason had been given on this trip to keep her guard up but she certainly wouldn’t be letting it down around her.

The two of them watch as she hops up onto the roof of the car and their gaze falls into the direction she’s looking at. Mention of a horde makes her tense up, her jaw locking into place. It’s less than ideal, even with the alleged distance between them and infected. Abby had encountered her fair share of infected groups but in terms of numbers, nothing had quite outdone those that had chased her through the snowy Jackson mountains. A horde that nearly killed her if it hadn’t been for… No. She shakes the memory out of her head and forces herself to lock in on the task at hand. “I’ve seen shit you wouldn’t believe,” she states calmly and looks in the direction of the other woman. There’s no sarcasm in her statement. No smugness. Maybe the slightest hint of fear in the way it comes out. No matter how hard she tried, that fucking abomination in the basement of the hospital had not been forgotten. The fact that something like that could exist was one of the things that brought her genuine terror. Making it out of Seattle was an accomplishment but making it out of that place was a miracle unlike any other.

Her focused is back on the land and she takes the binoculars as they’re offered to her with no hesitation. Ellie is right. Definitely a horde and thankfully a solid distance away from them. Not enough for her liking. She scans the surrounding area more before taking one final look at the horde. The faster they can depart, the better. At least they seem to be on the same page with that sentiment. “C'mon,” Abby mumbles to Lev who also takes a look through the binoculars. “I don’t want to stay to find out what kind of shit might be out there.” He’d heard the story of the hospital before and knew better than to question it.

She doesn’t even notice the slower pace and finds herself walking ahead until Lev calls out her name and she glances over her shoulder at the both of them. Too many recollections from her past have her in a momentary fog and the snapback to reality is all it takes for her to lock back in and nod. “We can boil some water for reserve, cool off. I’ll get things going for the night if the two of you want to have a look around.”

[unsuperingyournatural]

didn't love that; neither did i

Pedro Pascal x Actress!Reader

flavored with mild angst & implied references to possible past family trauma

masterlist

The door clicks shut behind you, and you head straight for the kitchen without a word. Pedro lingers by the door a second longer than usual, like he’s debating whether to say something or let it go.

He doesn’t.

“That was... a lot,” he says, his voice even but a little tight.

You open the fridge, maybe a little louder than necessary. “If you mean the coffee shop thing, yeah. It was.”

Pedro crosses his arms, leaning against the counter. “I just—look, I get being frustrated. But snapping at people like that? It’s not a good look.”

You stop mid-reach for the orange juice. Turn to face him slowly, one brow raised. “Seriously?”

He shrugs. “I’m just saying, it came off kind of harsh.”

You stare at him. “Pedro, that guy got my order wrong three times. He acted like I was inconveniencing him, and then he flat-out refused to refund me for a drink I never even got.”

“I’m not defending the guy,” Pedro says, pushing a hand through his hair. “But there are better ways to handle stuff like that.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you snap. “Should I have sweetly smiled while he rolled his eyes at me and told me he was ‘too busy to care’?”

Pedro gives you a look. “Come on.”

“No, seriously. Are you upset because I called out bad service, or because I didn’t do it in a tone that made you comfortable?”

His jaw tightens. “I just don’t like watching people talk down to others, okay? I don’t care who’s right.”

You fold your arms across your chest. “He wasn’t some innocent victim, Pedro. He was rude, lazy, and smug about it. He treated me like I was invisible until I wasn’t.”

There’s a pause, tense and charged with more than just annoyance.

Pedro exhales and steps toward you slowly. “You’re right,” he says. “He was an ass. I just... when I see that kind of thing go down, it makes me flinch. Doesn’t matter who’s doing the yelling. It brings up shit.”

Your posture doesn’t soften. Not yet.

“I wasn’t yelling,” you say, calm but firm. “I was holding my ground. There’s a difference.”

“I know,” he says gently. “But you were pissed. And I didn’t love how it felt being next to that.”

You study him. “I get that it brought stuff up for you. I really do. And I’m sorry if it hit a nerve—but I’m not going to apologize for how I handled it. That guy was a jerk, Pedro. He dismissed me, ignored me, and then acted like I didn’t matter. I don’t need to perform politeness for someone who treats me like that.”

He opens his mouth like he might argue, but you keep going.

“I’m allowed to be angry. I’m allowed to show it. You don’t have to love how it feels, but if we’re doing this... if we’re really together, you need to understand that I’m not going to shrink myself to make things more comfortable for everyone else. Not even you.”

Pedro’s quiet for a beat, eyes on yours.

“I hear you,” he says finally, voice low. “I’m not asking you to shrink. I just... I want to understand you better. And yeah, sometimes I need to check my own shit at the door.”

You nod, but there’s still a flicker of heat in your eyes. “Good. Because I don’t need protecting from my own anger. I just need someone who doesn’t make me feel ashamed for having it.”

That silences him. Not out of offense, but understanding. His expression shifts—shoulders easing, gaze softer now. Something unspoken passes between you, something heavier than irritation and warmer than pride.

Your anger cools slightly and it hits you then. You expel a breath and run a hand through your hair. “I guess you’re not the only one who has shit come up sometimes.” You hesitantly meet his eyes. “I was never really allowed to have emotions or display them. Not the kind that didn’t fit into a cute and contained little box that worked into the narrative of my parents’ perfect family image. Anything outside of that was… inconvenient.”

Pedro doesn’t say anything right away. He just watches you, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

You let out a soft breath. “So yeah, sometimes when someone talks to me like I don’t matter, I push back. Hard. Because I spent too long learning how to make myself small and palatable and quiet. And I’m done with that.”

Still, he stays quiet. Listening. Really listening.

You swallow. “And I know… I know that kind of tension messes with you. I see it, even when you try to hide it. I know you’ve been through shit too, and I don’t want to be another source of noise for you. I never want to be that.”

Pedro’s expression shifts—his whole face softening like something inside him just unknotted.

“I just wish you’d told me it hit a nerve instead of making it about how I came off. I’m not perfect, but I don’t want to hurt you. Ever.”

He exhales like he’s been holding that breath for a while. “You didn’t hurt me,” he says, voice low. “It just caught me off guard. And that’s not on you. That’s my stuff.”

You nod, slowly. “Maybe it’s both of us. Trying to unlearn old stories at the same time.”

There’s a beat of stillness before he speaks. His voice is soft, but sure. “Good.”

You blink. “Good?”

Pedro nods. “Yeah. Good. I don’t want the quiet version of you. I want the real one. Even if she yells in coffee shops.”

You almost laugh—almost. It catches in your throat, more emotion than amusement. “I wasn’t yelling.”

He lifts a hand, palm up in surrender. “Firmly vocalizing.”

You huff. “You’re the worst.”

He also huffs a breath, somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “God, you’re impossible.”

“And yet,” you say, stepping in close, crowding into his space just enough that your chest brushes his, “here you are.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, eyes dropping to your mouth. “Here I am.”

He slides a hand to the back of your neck, warm and steady, and kisses you—slow and unhurried, with just the faintest edge of apology tucked into it. You kiss him back with the same energy. Not quite an I’m sorry, but an I still choose you, even in the messy moments.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests lightly against yours.

“I still want my damn coffee,” you murmur.

He smiles against your mouth. “I’ll make you one. No foam art, though.”

“Coward.”

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom. Mature content.

Idiosyncrasies of a Remarkable Mind

“I am a man of science, Watson!” he exclaims when I suggest that he is more than a machine and his body not just transport.

“My dear boy, you are so much in addition to that. You have quite a philosophical mind too, in my humble opinion,” I protest.

“John,” he murmurs; always needing me to be the first to shed the formal way we address each other when we are outside of 221B.

We sit by the fireplace, glasses of excellent port at our disposal. He waves his delicate hand, indicating that I shall elaborate.

“Quite often, you are questioning almost everything. For starters, divinity, the universe, occultism, the Greek myths. And you can be overly perceptive when it comes to our more unfortunate clients.”

He scoffs and tells me to leave the work out of the equation.

“Very well. Now, do not get all snuffy by what I have to say next. Sometimes, I think of your curiosity as decidedly boyish. It is refreshing and shows how complicated your nature is. I find myself extremely fascinated by it.”

His cheeks have gone crimson now. I cannot tell if it is from annoyance, embarrassment, or delight.

“You say the most derisible things, Doctor Watson,” he replies, a bit haughtily, but I know him well enough to realise when his protective mechanisms are in place.

“I speak the truth. Honest to God,” I say.

“Oh, do leave the deity out of this!”

I chuckle, which blandishes a smile from him.

***

Later, in our bed, he is pliant; his caustic behaviour is left behind in the parlour. Only the light from the near-full moon irradiates him. His pale skin is verging on translucent.

“Oh, darling. Do you know how beautiful you are like this?” I murmur sweetly.

As predicted, perfect circles of pink adorn his cheekbones. He shifts restlessly under my loving scrutiny.

“John,” he pleads, reaching for me.

His need for my touch is ofttimes like a tangible spirit and I find no reason to deny him. 

I align my body with his, placing him secure in my embrace. His content sigh and long fingers carding through my hair, leave my heart near bursting.

“How can I love you more with every second that goes by?” I ask him.

“Such divine questioning. You of all people should know that love is never logical, dearest.”

His endearment, only heard inside this room, floods my system with longing. 

“I need you closer,” I whisper. “Can I, Sherlock?”

A whimper is answer enough, but he knows that I need to hear it, or I will constantly worry that I have read the signs wrong.

“Always so protective. As if I was a delicate rose petal, or a fragile china cup,” he whispers in my ear. “Kiss me first. Everywhere.”

My prick is engorged now, and I have to talk sternly to myself lest I rut against my beloved’s thigh and ejaculate all over him before a minute has passed.

“You and your ribald remarks,” I tease.

Our lips meet in an ardent fashion. We open up to let tongues dance and taste. I delve deeper; I cannot get close enough. It is frustrating, but at the same time, incredibly arousing.

I move my mouth to his neck. Normally, I would take my time, marking him, but tonight I do not possess the patience for it. Instead, I suckle at his sensitive nipples, using just a hint of teeth, which makes him writhe and keen. His sounds make me dizzy with lust for him.

“Prepare me,” he begs. “I need you too. Urgently.”

He can be so patient, but once his hunger for me overwhelms him, he does not hold back.

“See, your body is so much more than transport, I intend to say, but then his eyes open, and I am helpless. His pleading and loving look undo me.

“My only one,” is all I am capable of uttering.

A soft expression on his face and his hand on my cheek nearly breaks my heart.

“Please, my sweet.” 

His quivering voice is all the incentive I need. The can with petroleum jelly is swiftly procured, and when he is sufficiently prepared, I enter him, and every query about divinity, planets, or other bothersome topics, is blissfully absent.

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

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