#and my phone will run out of charge eventually

[nobodysdaydreams]

you are such a good writer and a cool person in general!! :D

Thank you anon. I have had a very difficult 45 minutes and really needed to hear this. I hope you have the best evening of your life and that all good things come your way.

[plutotheplum]

Red Tape

mma fighter!sylus x manager!reader

summary: the man you're in charge of is somewhat of a handful (...and a mouthful).

cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, modern au, smut, vaginal fingering, kissing, dirty talk, oral sex - m! and f!receiving, praise kink, p in v, masturbation, size difference, size kink, mild choking

wc: 8.8k

a/n: pulled his grasslands card and nghhh he's so fine and big. lowkey think i wrote too much. hope you guys like it! <3

also on ao3!

The sounds of limbs colliding and loud grunts of exertion fill the air as you step inside the training gym.

You let your eyes scan the expanse of it, eyes narrowing to try and find the white-haired man you’re in charge of. You eventually spot him, red tape wrapped around his hands as he works with his trainer, throwing punches of varying strength against the boxing pads.

Heels clacking against the floor, you approach Sylus, standing off to the side as you watch him train. His moves are calculated and sharp, never allowing for any stray hits to pass through. It’s how Sylus has managed to stay at the top of the rankings for the past few years. He had risen quickly, his strength and technique acknowledged by those around him, supporters and rivals alike. 

You’d been his manager for a total of two years. It’d been outlined in a fortunate job posting that you’d deemed interesting enough to apply for. Back then you had wondered whether he’d be difficult, but Sylus was annoying at most and actually acknowledged your judgement. 

“How am I looking?” Sylus calls out to you, stepping away from his trainer and grabbing a bottle of cold water to press against his neck.

“Good,” you reply, watching as he steps out from under the ropes of the boxing ring, his tall frame approaching yours.

“Just good?” he asks, peering down at you.

You roll your eyes, reaching for his hand to undo the tape that covers his fingers. “Fine. Better than good. We both know you’re at the top of your form these days.”

Sylus hums in agreement, his fingers flexing once you unwrap the tape. You do the same for his other hand, gathering the discarded tape and rolling it up into a ball. He drinks down the bottle of cold water, throat bobbing as he does so.

“Who am I up against tonight?” Sylus asks, slumping down into a nearby chair.

His muscles are taut from training, a sheen of sweat covering his body. You can’t look away when he pulls his tank top over his head, the muscles of his abdomen flexing as he reaches for a towel to sling around the back of his neck and wipe his face dry.

“First few matches should be fine,” you tell him, drawing your eyes away from his sculpted body to look down at your phone, “final match might be a little hard. Xavier.”

Sylus sighs, running his hand through his damp hair as he glances at you. “He’s fast.” 

“Not as fast as you,” you say, shaking your head.

He grins, leaning towards you. “It’s sweet my manager has such faith in me,” he drawls.

You shoot him an unimpressed look, pushing his head back when he gets a little too close for comfort, his crimson eyes boring into yours intently. 

“I’m more concerned about my paycheck.”

“I make you twice as much money than you would at a shitty desk job,” Sylus replies, thighs  spreading as he gets comfortable.

“Try making it triple,” you grin back at him, tossing him another bottle of water as you stand up. 

Sylus catches it effortlessly, pressing it against his forehead this time. He slouches a little more and you dig through his bag beside you, handing him a protein bar. You let your gaze drift as he rests, watching as the other men train in the gym. 

Some throw punches, others duck to avoid getting hit. You were well aware of the fact that Sylus had his own personal boxing ring, and yet he preferred to train here, in front of other men. An intimidation tactic or simply personal preference, you didn’t know. All in all, you were grateful that Sylus’ performance was consistent. You hardly had to involve yourself, a new rush of sponsorships flooding your email in the days following his matches. 

“Remember to rest,” you say to him when he stands up and rolls his shoulders, his muscles rippling.

“I’m a professional,” Sylus replies dryly, his hand landing on your head heavily as he grants you a few pats.

You scoff, swatting his hand away, trying to smooth down the strands of your hair. The view of his bare, broad back is appreciated however, your greedy eyes following the boxer as he slips past the ropes of the boxing ring again. It doesn't exactly fall under the job description to ogle the man you’re in charge of, but Sylus is unfairly handsome, and innocent glances never hurt anyone.

-

The thrum of the arena is electrifying. 

You can feel the beat of the music match the pulse of your heart as you stand outside Sylus' locker room, checking your phone every now and then. The door swings open after a few moments and you step inside, finding Sylus sitting on the steel bench. 

His legs bounce, his hands clasped together, head hanging low. All boxers had their own ritual, and you weren’t about to interrupt his. Instead, you strike up a quiet conversation with his trainer, waiting for Sylus to finish up.

Sylus waves you over after a few moments and you’re already undoing the red tape from its roll, winding it around his fingers so that it sticks properly. He flexes his fingers experimentally, giving you a nod and you move to his other hand, fingers brushing against his.

“Take it easy out there,” you murmur, lifting his hand to smooth out the creases in the tape.

“I always take it easy,” Sylus says, sending you a devilish grin.

It’s not exactly true. Sylus likes to show off, you think he might like the thrill of it. Carefully placed embellished hits do make for great television after all. 

“Besides,” he continues, his hands wrapping around the back of your thighs to pull you between his legs, “I have my lucky charm with me.”

You let out an awkward laugh, squirming out of his grasp although he seems reluctant to let go. His trainer seems to catch the little interaction between you, and you clear your throat, taking another step back.

“Manager. I’m your manager .”

“You can be both,” he retorts, standing up.

Sylus bounces on the balls of his feet for a few moments, his shoulders rolling and head tilting to get rid of any cricks in his neck. He pulls the hood of his jacket over his head, snowy hair disappearing, his face darkening. An announcement blares through the locker room and he’s moving out, with you and the rest of his team trailing after him.

You’ve lost count of how many matches of his you’ve attended, but somehow the nerves don’t ease, the knot of uncertainty tightening in your stomach. He’s more than capable of handling the blows hurled at him but there’s a part of you that can’t help but worry about an opponent playing dirty and landing a blow that he can’t recover from.

He excels through the first stages as expected. Most of his opponents for the first few rounds are amateurs at most, making clumsy mistakes that end up giving Sylus an opening to finish them off. 

Xavier is more of a challenge. He’s quick on his feet, easily sidestepping and making short, sharp jabs that have Sylus keeping his distance. You wince when Xavier lands a blow to Sylus’ face, hard enough to make his lip split. Blood runs down his chin, but Sylus is catching the rivulets of blood with his tongue and finding your eyes through the sea of faces, his grin cocky albeit bloody. 

You roll your eyes, shaking your head. His eyes glint at the challenge, your warning to “take it easy” all but forgotten as he lands a heavy punch to Xavier’s abdomen. Xavier stumbles back, doubling over in pain but he straightens out just as quickly.

A few more punches are thrown, but Sylus wins the first round, thankfully. He’s waving you over during the rest period, crouching down. 

You lean forward, letting him whisper into your ear, the sheer loudness of the crowd making it difficult to hear him.

“Need you to fix my tape.”

You nod, pulling off his boxing gloves and undoing the tape around his fingers to wrap it a bit tighter.

“Better?” you ask, peering up at him.

Sylus nods, and you motion for him to bend his head a little more. You press a damp towelette against his split lip. He hisses at the feeling, jaw clenching.

“He’s weak on his left-side,” you murmur, wiping away the blood that’s dripped down his chin.

“You’re not one to give me tips,” he says.

“Seems like you need it,” you whisper, “you’re performing poorly, Sylus.” 

That seems to set him off a little, his brows furrowing for a moment before he schools his features back into something more neutral. He reaches out for you, his large hand cupping your cheek. Your eyes widen, trying to take a step back but it’s too late, your flushed face is being broadcast on the large screens.

The crowd seems just as surprised as you are, the raucous chatter quietening for a moment as they watch. 

His lips brush over your ear as he speaks, his breath warm and heavy. “I’ll make you triple.”

Sylus lets go of you, and you shoot a wane smile to the camera that’s been trained on you both. It’s convincing enough for the crowd to lose attention as the second round starts.

As the match drags on, it becomes evident as to what Sylus is doing. He’s toying with his opponent, letting Xavier think he has the upper hand when really it’s Sylus that’s controlling the pace. Sylus lets Xavier get one last hit in before he’s retaliating, hard and fast, his opponent’s body crumpling to the floor. When Xavier fails to rise, cheers erupt, Sylus’ name being chanted throughout the arena, crazed fans jumping up and down as the referee holds his arm up.

There’s sweat dripping from Sylus’ brow when you find him back in the locker room. The reporters had loved his post-fight interview, his smug grin supersized on the large screens in the arena. A medic kneels beside him, examining his body carefully to eliminate the possibility of any injuries worsening.

“Why don’t you ever listen to me?” you sigh, crossing your arms over your chest.

Sylus smiles, his head tipped back, resting against the tiled wall. “I won, didn’t I?”

Frustration pricks at your skin and your eyes narrow, feeling tempted to slap the stupid smile right off of his face.

“Don’t be like that,” Sylus coos, brushing off the medic attending to him without a second glance and reaching for you. “You wanted triple, I made you triple.”

“I- I wasn’t being serious !” you hiss, trying to tug your wrist free.

Sylus’ grip only tightens, tugging you down so that your face nears his. You swallow harshly, his scarlet eyes somehow brighter under the light.

“You said I was performing poorly,” he murmurs, “I did what you wanted.” His fingers unfurl, stroking the inside of your wrist. The hint of a smirk plays on the side of his mouth when he sees how rigid you’ve become. “Besides,” his voice lowers a bit more so as to stop others from hearing, “you liked it when I smiled at you.”

His fingers smooth over your skin a few more times, dragging down to spread across the expanse of your palm. Sylus can spot the haze that glosses over your eyes, the way you extend your arm towards him slightly, chasing more of his touch. 

You think you could’ve stayed like that forever if not for his physical therapist that’s bundled inside the locker room, pushing you aside. His fingers fall away from yours and you snatch your hand back, tucking it behind your back. Sylus looks like he wants to say something, but you’re turning on your heel to escape the oppressive atmosphere, feeling as though you’ve been smothered. 

The cool night air is welcome when you burst through the doors of the arena, chest rising as you take in a deep lungful to calm the storm of emotions swirling in your mind. It’s a strictly professional relationship, you remind yourself, muttering under your breath and nodding along to your rampant thoughts to soothe yourself.

“Professional,” you whisper, staring at your hand as though it were a traitor, “I am a professional .”

Your fingers tingle in response, the phantom sensation of his fingers spreading out across your wrist. A sharp scoff leaves you, wiping your hand against your skirt. Unfortunately, your mind is all over the place and remembering Sylus’ bloody grin is enough to send a rush of heat through your body. 

The sound of someone’s shoes shuffling in the distance has your ears perking up, but you don’t pay it any mind, too frustrated with yourself. Sylus is irritating, but it doesn’t stop your heart from racing whenever you think about him. You’d never meant for the stupid, little crush to flourish into something bigger, but ever since he’d asked you to stick around, things had gotten complicated.

Truth is, Sylus hadn’t lost a single match ever since you’d begun to wrap his hands for him. It’s why he has you wrap them now, every match without fail. You didn’t exactly believe in this superstition of his, but he was adamant, refusing to fight unless it was you that was winding the red tape around his fingers. 

The scuffling noise grows louder and your brows furrow, trying to spot where it’s coming from.

“Ya lookin’ really pretty, miss,” a raspy voice sounds, an unfamiliar man stepping out of the dark.

The stench of tobacco is strong and you’re taking a step back, sending him an uneasy smile. He smiles back, yellowed teeth becoming visible, and you fight a grimace, trying to stop your lip from curling up in disgust. You spy the automatic doors from the corner of your eye, but the man reaches for you before you can make it to safety, holding onto you tight.

“Let me go!” you say, sounding panicked.

He only grunts, trying to pull you towards him. You pull back, gritting your teeth when his fingers dig into you.

“Ease up, pretty,” the man leers.

If anything, this whole situation was Sylus’ fault. You’re angry at yourself, at Sylus, and now at this disgusting man who was trying to take advantage of you.

“You’re pathetic,” your voice is a harsh hiss, fear giving way to resentment. 

“Now, that is not very nice,” he replies, “why don’t you smile for me? A real one this time.”

Your eye twitches at the sheer audacity of his words, teeth gritting together. You’ve never punched anyone before, but tonight might be a good time to start. 

“Fuck you.” 

Before your fist can land, there’s a hand on your shoulder, pulling you back gently. You don’t have to look to know who it is. Sylus’ arm shoots out instead, punching the man in the face. He staggers back, tripping over his own feet and landing on the floor with a heap. Blood wets his hand and he groans, clutching his nose. You hope it’s broken. 

“You okay?” Sylus murmurs, stepping in front of you and blocking the man from sight.

“I’m fine,” you mutter, frowning. “I was handling it.”

“I’m sure you were,” he says lightly, gaze dipping over you.

The man makes a noise of disgruntlement, a security guard hauling the man up onto his feet. You try to poke your head out from Sylus’ side, but he doesn’t let you, holding your wrist to distract you. He smooths his fingers over where the man had been gripping you, his touch firm and insistent, soothing the reddened imprints on your skin.

“Let me take you home,” Sylus murmurs, his fingers brushing against yours gently.

“I can take care of myself,” you retort.

Sylus doesn’t let you escape this time, tucking your hair behind your ear before he’s guiding you towards his bike. 

“Wait! Were you even cleared?”

“I’m not injured,” Sylus says, shoving a helmet down over your head. 

“But- but my car!” you protest.

“I’ll have Luke and Kieran take care of it.”

The mention of the twins makes it more likely for something to go wrong. There’s a good chance they’ll end up totalling your car, or losing your belongings. You don’t even know why Sylus took them on, but they had succeeded in becoming unofficial trainees under Sylus’ guidance. 

You shake your head stubbornly, pushing the helmet up. Sylus doesn’t let you, his hand shoving it back down before he’s picking you up and setting you down on his bike.

“I’m your manager!” you grouse in a last ditch effort.

“I’m well aware,” Sylus replies, swinging his leg over his bike.

You squeal when he takes off, arms wrapping around his middle tightly, eyes squeezing shut as the wind whips around you. He knows where your apartment is, having visited a few times when you’d asked him to stop by to sign some pressing paperwork.

His bike slows to a soft purr as it stops by the curb outside your apartment complex. His bike is annoyingly difficult to dismount and you grunt, struggling. You manage to land, although on shaky feet, your knees buckling for a moment. Sylus laughs, catching you by the waist before you hit the floor. The heat of his body has your breath hitching, your hands resting on his broad shoulders for stability.

“You’re too clumsy,” he murmurs, squeezing your sides gently, “take it easy.”

“Really?” you roll your eyes when he uses your own words against you.

“Really.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks again, voice softening.

All you can do is nod, heart fluttering at the gentle look in his eyes. He stares at you for a moment longer, trying to determine whether you’re lying. When you don’t say anything, he pulls you closer, his hands rubbing up and down your waist soothingly.

“I didn’t mean it,” you mumble out, feeling shy, “you- you were great tonight.”

“Yeah?”

You hum in response, giving him another nod. Sylus’ hands drift lower, past the line of professionalism. He stares down at you, his head tilting. Your lungs seem to have lost their ability to function at full capacity, quick, uneven breaths leaving you as your hands tighten into his jacket. 

“What are you doing?” you whisper, voice barely audible when the tip of his nose brushes yours.

“Determining your wellbeing,” Sylus says smoothly. 

“I’m fine, seriously.”

“Your cheeks are flushed and your chest is heaving” he whispers. Sylus’ hand has begun to wander, tracing down your neck, pushing apart the collar of your blouse to trail lower, his eyes drinking in your cleavage hungrily. He lets out a low laugh when you twitch in his arms. “You seem... unwell .”

“I’m fine !” you push away from his chest, patting your hot cheeks to try and cool them.

He raises his brows silently, but follows you into your apartment complex all the same, despite your protests. Something about ensuring your safety. Thankfully, he keeps his distance when he steps into the elevator with you, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. 

The air is tense and you sneak a glance up at him to find him staring back at you. Your gaze snaps back, embarrassment rushing through your body, wishing the floor would just do you a favor and swallow you up.

Sylus doesn’t come in when you open the door, watching as you kick off your heels and rub at your sore ankles. He just stares , leaning against the doorframe. 

“Thank you,” you say, breaking through the awkwardness of the air, “for bringing me home and- and taking care of that guy, but I definitely had it handled.”

He gives you a lazy smile, his head dropping to rest against the doorframe as well. 

“You're welcome.”

“Okay, well, you- you can go now,” you say, gesturing with your hands and pushing at his chest to get him to leave.

Sylus doesn’t budge, his lips pursing as he stares down at you. The height difference is all the more noticeable since you’ve taken off your heels. His hand reaches out, landing on your waist.

“Come see me.”

“ What ?”

“Come see me,” Sylus repeats, “I’ll teach you how to punch.”

“I- I don’t need to learn how to punch,” you sputter, shaking your head vehemently. 

“If you had punched that man, you would’ve broken your thumb,” he murmurs, his hand sliding up your neck to cup your cheek. “You need me.”

You can’t help your eyes from fluttering shut, leaning into the warmth of his palm. Sylus lets you, his thumb running over your cheek gently. You find that he’s gotten closer when you open your eyes, his lips parted. Rising up on the tips of your toes, you let your nose nudge his, wanting him to kiss you, consequences be damned.

Sylus smiles, a soft laugh leaving him when he pulls back, drawing up to his full height. “You’re my manager.”

You’re too stunned to reply, unable to get any words out as you watch him walk back towards the elevator. He gives a wave of his fingers, disappearing from sight. You stare at the empty hallway for a moment, letting out a frustrated scoff and scrubbing your hand over your face. 

Exhaustion weighs your body down and you’re crawling into bed after showering, tugging the blankets up over yourself. The incessant ache between your thighs keeps you from falling asleep and you’re acutely aware of how empty you feel.

It’s why your hand is creeping down into your sleep shorts, a soft noise spilling into the quiet air when you find you’re already wet. Sylus’ face flashes through your mind, and instead of pushing it away, you focus on it. You rub your clit, slowly at first, savoring the sensation as you imagine his lazy smile.

The image shifts however, and now you’re imagining him between your thighs, your hand in his white hair as he licks over your cunt. It has your back arching, fingers rubbing against your clit faster as you moan.

“Fuck,” you whimper, stroking over your clit gently, the sensation making your thighs twitch.

Your imagination has begun to run rampant, imagining his fingers digging into your hips as he fucks into you, his mouth on your body, on your lips, against your ear whispering filth. You stuff two fingers into your pussy, fucking them in and out desperately. You have no doubt Sylus’ fingers would reach deeper. 

You need him, you need him desperately . You think about him shoving your face into the pillows, palming your ass and sinking his cock into you. You think about his body flush against yours, his hands stroking your hair as he humps his hips into you. He’s just so big , his weight on top of yours would most likely make you lose your mind. Slick pours out of your cunt rapidly, whimpers filling in the air with how sensitive you’ve become.

“Sylus!” you moan his name as you cum, body shuddering.

Panting, you stare up at the ceiling, a frustrated whine slipping out of you when you realize how pathetically you’re acting. The haze of your orgasm doesn’t let your mind linger on the thought for any longer, your eyes drooping shut as you fall asleep.

-

You’re too weak to resist.

It’s how you’ve ended up here, inside his personal boxing ring, with him adjusting the tape on your hands. He’d suggested boxing gloves, but they’d kept slipping off with how big they were.

Your body stiffens when he steps up behind you. Sylus has you feeling like a fool as you hold your arms up, bent at the elbows, hands curled into fists. You meet his gaze through the mirror and he simply smirks, his chest pressing against your back as he fixes your form.

“Thumbs outside,” he murmurs, prying your fist open to tug your thumb free, “you’ll break them otherwise.”

“I really don’t think this is necessary,” you mutter, tensing when his fingers trail down your side.

“Self-defense is always necessary,” he replies.

You bite back a whine when his large hand curls around your hip, his palm pushing gently as he gets you to shift your stance.

“When you throw a punch, you have to pivot,” Sylus says, his other hand dropping to the other side of your hips. “Keep your shoulders relaxed, if you’re too tense the hit won’t be as powerful.”

You can’t exactly relax when he’s hovering behind you. Sylus squeezes your hips and you don't know whether he’s actually trying to teach you or whether he’s simply being a horrible man and setting off your poor touch-starved body. 

“Wrist straight,” he continues, stepping away. “Put your body weight into it, and remember to pivot, okay?”

A simple nod is all that leaves you and he stands in front of you, holding his hands up. You can’t help but feel insulted.

“At least put the boxing pads on,” you mutter, feeling miffed.

“Hit me,” Sylus orders instead.

You lean forward, hips twisting as you put as much of your body weight into the punch as you can, shoulder rippling forward as you punch his hand.

“What are you trying to hurt, a fly?” he drawls, shooting you an unimpressed look. “Again.”

“I could have your reputation ruined,” you hiss back, adjusting your position. You let your hips pivot again, cheeks flushed with irritation as your arm shoots forward, punching his hand.

“Better.”

A satisfied huff sounds and you cross your arms over your chest triumphantly. It’s the little things in life, you think. Sylus rolls his eyes, his finger nudging at your forehead.

“Let’s just hope you don’t run into any more unsavory characters.”

“There’s plenty of other ways to defend myself,” you retort. “Pepper spray, tasers, and well, men always tend to have a weakness.” You point to the spot between his thighs.

Sylus looks down to where you’re gesturing, a laugh breaking out of him when he realizes what you’re implying. 

“Not always,” he says and your eyes widen when he suddenly approaches you. Sylus places his hand over your mouth, spinning you around so that he’s practically draped over your back. “Get out of this.”

It’s hard to move when he has you pinned against him like this, but you shift your arm, driving your elbow back into his side hard . Sylus grunts, his grip loosening on you just for a moment. It’s the fraction of a second that you need, leg lifting as you stomp his foot harshly. He lets out a pained groan, and your leg kicks out again, landing a blow to his knee. 

Sylus buckles onto the mat of the boxing ring and part of you can’t believe you’ve managed to bring him down. You hover over him, almost feeling bad for the man as he clutches his knee.

A sigh of a feigned dramatics leaves you, a satisfied expression creeping up onto your face. “You know, you did tell me to get out- ah! ” You shriek when he grabs your arm, tugging you down. Your legs give way and you land on the mat in a heap, letting out a pained noise.

“Celebrated too early,” he murmurs, “once your attacker is down, you run .”

You grunt in annoyance, ignoring his hand when he offers it as he stands up. Sylus waits for a few moments longer, letting out a soft laugh before he hauls you up by your elbow, setting you on your feet.

He lowers his head to check if there’s any damage to your face, invading your personal space. Your head leans back as his face moves closer until you can feel the heat of his breath fanning across your skin. 

“Stop it,” you mutter, taking a step back.

You’re too clumsy for your own good however, losing your footing at the edge of the boxing ring. A squeak escapes you, arms flailing for a bit as you feel yourself beginning to slip, the ropes sliding down your back. Sylus reaches for you before you can fall, tugging you towards him. 

“Careful,” he chastises. 

Sylus’ hand smooths over your hair, brushing it away from your face. Your breath hitches when he cups your cheeks, tilting your head up.

“Stop- stop doing that,” you whisper, “stop touching me.”

“I don’t want to,” Sylus murmurs, his arm wrapping around your waist, “stop fighting me.”

You send him a half-hearted glare and he smirks, drawing you closer until you’re flush against his body.

“You wanted it last night,” he continues, mouth hovering above yours, “give in.”

His stare is blistering and it’s almost as though Sylus can see through you, though you’re not sure whether you’re ready for that yet. Your head shakes stubbornly and he lets go of you, letting out a sigh.

You watch as he shrugs off his shirt, his muscles flexing. Unspoken words sit on the tip of your tongue, but he’s leaving the boxing ring. The sound of his fist colliding with the punching bag echoes through the room and you stand there awkwardly, watching as the punching bag rattles under the force of his punches.

“Should I leave?” you call out meekly once you’ve managed to get out of the boxing ring yourself.

“Stay,” Sylus replies, glancing back at you, “we aren’t done.”

His words sound foreboding enough to have you squirming in place. Sylus hits that stupid punching bag countless times, to the point where even your emails aren’t keeping you interested. 

Sweat covers his taut muscles as he approaches you, his hand running through his hair. You find your eyes fixated on his biceps, how broad his shoulders are and how big he is. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he murmurs.

“Like what?” you ask breathlessly.

He reaches out, his fingers squishing your cheeks together. “Like you want me to fuck you.”

Well, he’s not exactly wrong . You stare at him for a moment longer, heart racing in your chest. All your previous reasons to not pursue something with him have begun to fail you, your stubbornness being chipped away as he runs his thumb over your lips.

“I do,” you say, voice hoarse, “I do want you to fuck me.”

Sylus grins, his eyes flashing dangerously at your confession. The sweat on his body seeps into your clothes when he pushes you up against the wall, but you don’t care, hands spreading across his firm chest, a soft whine slipping out of you.

“Why the change in mind?” he coos, his thumb brushing over your lips again.

“Do I need a reason?” you whisper, opening your mouth and sucking his thumb into your mouth.

Surprise flits across his face and he lets out a deep laugh, pushing his thumb into your mouth further. Your eyes flutter shut, tongue swirling around his digit, before lapping at the pad of his thumb playfully. He kisses your cheek, trailing hungry kisses down your neck, hand squeezing at your waist roughly.

“Always look so fuckin’ pretty,” he rasps, pulling his thumb free from the confines of your mouth.

His body is warm against yours, his hands groping at your ass, squeezing at the fat appreciatively. You whimper, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck, eager for his mouth on yours.

“Wanted to do this at the match,” Sylus murmurs, “on the big screens. Could’ve shown everyone how good my manager is for me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you reply, tilting your head as he kisses along your jaw, “that- ah- that would’ve caused a scandal.”

“The things I want to do to you would cause a bigger scandal,” he says, smiling down at you.

You’re weak for it, the lazy curl of his lips, the low drawl of his voice. You tug him down a little more and press a heated kiss to the corner of his mouth. His eyes bore into yours and he lets out an amused huff, stroking his thumb over the curve of your cheek before finally slotting his lips over yours. 

Sylus works his lips against yours, hand cupping the back of your head to draw you closer to him. He maneuvers you as he pleases, your hands sliding down to rest against his bare chest, rising up on the tips of your toes.

He hisses suddenly, pulling away and you frown, brows furrowing. Sylus touches his still healing split lip, running his tongue over it.

"Sorry," you wince.

"I'm fine," he murmurs, lowering his head, "kiss me, sweetie."

"Oh, I don't think-"

Sylus doesn't let you finish. You’re both stumbling together, bumping into a wall every so often as he kisses you all the way to his bedroom, his hands roving over you. Biting your lip, you push at his chest, smiling when he falls down onto the bed, flat on his back.

Sylus shifts, propping his arm behind his head to watch you. You’ve never felt this adventurous before, but you’re pulling your shirt off slowly, giving him a show. His eyes darken when you take off your bra, taking in your breasts and pebbled nipples. 

“Tease,” he murmurs when you pinch your nipples.

You take your shorts off next, hooking your thumbs into your panties to shimmy them off when he stops you.

“Keep them on,” Sylus says, voice laden with lust. “C’mere, baby.”

You crawl over him and Sylus drags you into another kiss, brushing your hair back. He squeezes at your ass a few times, groaning into your mouth as he feels your tits squished up against his chest.

“Hi,” you whisper, nosing against his cheek.

“Hey,” he says hoarsely, hands caressing your hips.

You can feel how hard he is through his shorts, the straining imprint of it against your skin. Sylus doesn’t let you touch his cock though, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and moving your jaw to guide you into a kiss. 

A soft whimper escapes you when you feel his fingers brush your panties, pressing a little firmer until he’s rubbing your cunt through your panties. Sylus’ kisses grow sloppier, spit leaking from the sides of your mouths until he’s pushing your panties to the side and spreading your folds with his fingers.

“ Fuck ,” you mewl, pulling away from his ravenous mouth to rock your hips back into his fingers.

“So wet, sweetie,” Sylus whispers, tongue darting out to lick over your lower lip, “all for me, hm?”

You nod, hand squeezing at his shoulder. He smiles against your lips and you kiss him, fingers in his hair whilst your other hand wanders over his chest and abdomen. 

Sylus sinks a finger into you, and your suspicions are confirmed, his fingers do reach deeper. He keeps you on the edge, alternating between rubbing at your clit and sinking a finger into you from time to time.

“Sylus,” you whine, pouting, “wanna cum.”

“Knew you’d be this whiny,” Sylus says, rubbing your clit faster, spreading your slick over your cunt.

That catches you off-guard. “You- you thought about me?” you ask breathily.

“All the time,” he groans, “always so fuckin’ good to me. Had to stop myself from getting hard every time you taped my hands.”

You let out a strangled moan at his confession, pressing yourself closer and smashing your lips onto his. He grunts, cupping the back of your neck to kiss you back just as feverishly, bullying another finger into your pussy.

Sylus licks into your mouth and you suck on his tongue, tugging lightly at the strands. He doesn’t let anymore spit drip, licking it up from your chin and pushing it back into your mouth. 

“ Ah- ” you pant, eyes rolling back as he curls his fingers, thrusting them in and out of you.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispers, kissing your cheek, “taking my fingers so well.”

His thumb joins in on the onslaught, rubbing over your clit until you’re twitching and letting out ragged gasps. 

Sylus moves you onto your back suddenly, his hands pulling your panties down and pushing your thighs up so that your cunt is on display for him. He groans at the sight, drinking in the glistening folds of your pussy.

Thumbing them apart, he groans again, watching the clench of your aching hole around nothing. 

“Pretty pussy,” Sylus whispers, lowering his head to lick a stripe up your wet, slick pussy, “prettiest fuckin’ pussy ever, sweetie.”

He slips two of his fingers back into your pussy, crimson eyes finding yours as he kisses your clit gently. You smile hazily, running your fingers through his hair and rolling your hips up so he can kiss your clit again.

Sylus’ mouth latches onto your cunt before long, licking through the folds before sucking your clit into his mouth, his tongue swirling over the swollen bud and flicking at it. You gasp, drinking in a shuddering breath of air as he squeezes your thighs and draws back to spit on your cunt.

“Don’t stop,” you whimper, pressing his head back down, “Sylus, don’t stop.”

He huffs out a breath against your pussy, a half-laugh. Sylus doesn’t deny you though, dutifully carrying out his role, eating you out roughly. You squeal when he shoves his tongue into your pussy, fucking it in and out you for a few moments before his mouth is finding your clit again, teeth grazing the sensitive bud.

You twitch, tugging at his hair harder, letting out another squeal when he squeezes your breast roughly, his other hand tweaking at your hard nipple.

“‘m gonna cum,” you say, voice wavering, “ fuck , ‘m gonna cum !”

Sylus looks up at you, and it’s just like you imagined. His red eyes stare at you intently and the eye contact coupled with his tongue stroking over your clit is enough to have you crying out, body writhing as you cum on his tongue.

He hums into your cunt, holding you still as you try to escape his still working mouth, hands smoothing over your sides. Sylus laps over your cunt as you cum, drinking up your slick greedily, pulling away with a few soft pecks to your clit and inner thighs.

“You’re insane,” you mumble, cupping his cheek to kiss him.

Hand slipping lower, you grasp him through his shorts, reveling in the little gasp he lets out. From what you can feel, he’s long and thick , his cock throbbing through the fabric.

He helps you pull his shorts off, and your breath gets stuck in your throat, eyes fixated on his cock. Sylus is thick and big , and you think your poor pussy might split if he tries to stuff it inside of you.

“Not going to fit,” you whisper, voicing your concerns.

Sylus smirks, pulling you by the arm to kiss your cheek. “I’ll make it fit.”

Red, hot arousal runs through you at his words and you lean forward to kiss him again. Sylus runs his fingers through your hair, gathering the strands in a fist as you shift lower and press a kiss to the head of his cock.

Pre-cum drips from the tip and your tongue darts out, lapping it up so as to not waste a single drop. Sylus breathes heavily and you smile up at him, letting your tongue loll out.

“Brat,” he says, grasping the base of his cock before smacking the length of his cock against your tongue a few times, “this what you want?”

You nod, holding your tongue out obediently before licking up the length of it, tracing a throbbing vein. Your tongue swirls around the head, and Sylus moans, brushing his hair out of his eyes as he watches your mouth envelop his cock. 

It’s a struggle to not let your teeth graze the sensitive skin of his cock, but you do your best, sinking your head down more, lips stretched around the fatness of his cock. 

“Tap my thigh if it’s too much,” Sylus whispers, pushing your head gently.

Tears prick at your eyes, feeling his cock go deeper, air being sucked in through your nose as your throat swallows around him. 

“ Shit ,” he hisses, fingers spreading out across your scalp, “just like that, baby.”

You whine, nails digging into his thigh, taking him to the hilt as your nose buries into the white hair at the base of his cock. Sylus moans loudly and you pull off, catching your breath by opting to place little kisses along the length of his cock. 

Licking up the length of his cock again, you suck the head of it into your mouth, head bobbing shallowly as you hollow your cheeks and suck. Sylus mutters out quiet curses, his hand smoothing over your hair when his grip loosens. The weight of his cock on your tongue has your eyes drooping, your half-lidded gaze peering up into his aroused one.

His cock jerks against your lips, more pre-cum falling from his cock in fat globs. You catch them with your tongue, licking over the head of his cock and the leaking tip. His cum is addictive, the taste heady as you rub your lips across his tip, kissing at the flared head of his cock.

His thighs twitch and you giggle drunkenly, kissing his hip.

Sylus reaches down, cupping your cheek to kiss you, uncaring of the taste of his cum in your mouth. You whine, hand wrapping around his fat cock to stroke him, the sinful sounds filling the room as he wraps his hand around your throat to hold you in place while he kisses you. 

“I didn’t take my manager for a whore,” he whispers, breath fanning across your lips.

“‘s your fault,” you reply, kissing him sweetly, wrist rotating as you jerk him off.

Sylus pants into your mouth, his hand tightening around your throat. You whine lowly, eyes fluttering shut when he kisses you messily, his hips bucking into your hand.

“My pretty, little whore,” Sylus says, squeezing your neck before letting go.

“Yours,” you agree, nose nudging against his affectionately.

Sylus kisses you slower this time, his hand cradling the back of your head. It’s tender enough to stop you from stroking his cock, your mind turning to mush with how gently he’s kissing you.

You can hear your lips smacking together, his hand rubbing up and down your back, his other hand drifting to circle your swollen clit again. You whine quietly, nuzzling into his cheek.

“Want me to fill you up, baby?” Sylus murmurs, his hand squeezing at your ass, “make you go brainless on my cock?”

“ Yes !” you sound your want, gripping his shoulder. “Please, please! Want- want your cock so bad, Sylus. I want you!”

He groans at the sheer need in your voice, and you roll over onto your stomach when he lets you, arching your back and pushing your ass up into the air.

“Sweetie,” Sylus rasps, spanking your ass, “ fuck- so fuckin’ good to me.”

You shove your face into a pillow, muffling your squeal when he shoves his face into your cunt, licking over your slick folds. Sylus spanks your ass again before kissing and biting at the reddened skin, leaving the imprints of his teeth on your ass. 

He’s kind enough to shove a pillow under your hips, the thoughtful action making your heart flutter wildly. The press of his cock against your pussy is enough to have you moaning again, hips rocking back to try and get the head of it to slip inside.

“Needy baby,” Sylus whispers, draping himself over your back to kiss your shoulder. “My cock-hungry slut.”

“ Oh- oh fuck ,” you gasp, eyes rolling to the back of your head when he wraps his arm around you neck.

“Good girl,” Sylus whispers, kissing your cheek as his arm tightens.

You coo happily, turning your head to kiss the bulge of his bicep, feeling all rational thought leave your mind as nuzzle against his warm skin. He laughs hoarsely, brushing another kiss to your shoulder, hand kneading the fat of your hip.

“Put it in,” you demand, pussy empty and aching for his cock.

“Be patient,” Sylus admonishes, his fingers stroking over your pussy again. “I need a condom.”

“N-no!” Your protest comes out entirely too quickly and Sylus pauses his movements. You grumble, looking back at him. “I- I mean, I’m on birth control and I’m clean… please, Sylus?”

Sylus raises his brows, peering down at you. “Yeah? You want my cock raw, baby? Wanna feel every inch filling you up?”

You nod, a contented sigh leaving you, your lips drifting across the corded muscle of his forearm as he plays with your cunt, pushing his fingers in one last time before he grasps his cock. You whine, teeth sinking into his bicep as Sylus pushes his cock in slowly.

The sheets of his bed are in disarray with how you’re clawing at them, feeling his thick cock stretch you out. 

“Too- too much!” you hiccup, squirming under him.

“Nearly there,” Sylus whispers, squeezing his arm around your neck tighter, “take my cock, sweetie.”

Your eyes roll to the back of your head when he bottoms out. Sylus is hard and thick , his cock throbbing inside of your aching cunt. You feel wonderfully full, mouth placing sloppy kisses to his bicep as he drops his weight onto you, pinning you against the bed.

“Fuck- hah- cunt’s gripping me so fuckin’ tight,” he groans.

As though in response, your pussy clenches around him and Sylus swears again, his forehead falling against your shoulder. He lets you get adjusted to his size, his hand caressing your waist soothingly before you can feel his hips draw back, thrusting into you slowly.

“You’re so big ,” you slur, eyes fluttering shut.

Sylus grunts, his fat cock bullying into your pussy again when he rolls his hips forward, breathing heavily against your back. You feel perfectly at home, content with the feeling of his arm around his neck, and the weight of his body bearing down on you. Reaching behind you blindly, you manage to find his hand and Sylus laces his fingers with yours, squeezing your hand affectionately. 

“It’s like you were made for me,” Sylus whispers against your cheek, “hm? You were made for me, baby. Perfect little cunt made to take my cock.”

It’s getting harder to suck in air with how tightly his arm is constricting your throat. An uneven gasp leaves your mouth, eyes squeezed shut as the pleasure mixes in with the lack of oxygen, his filthy words driving you further and further into a place where you can’t think.

His cock punches into you, his balls smacking against your clit, the sounds echoing through the room, the lewd harshness of skin slapping against skin making your cheeks flush. Sylus lets you breathe more comfortably when you dig your nails into his arm, trailing soft kisses along your cheek.

“Good girl,” he praises, his needy pants filling your ear, “my perfect girl.”

You whine, tilting your head a little more. “W-wanna kiss,” you mumble, “kiss me, Sylus.”

Sylus kisses you gently, his lips moving against yours whilst his hips hump into your ass, driving his cock deep into your clenching pussy. He moves you before long, turning you on to your back, kissing your ankles and dipping his head to land a reverent kiss to your fluttering pussy.

Your legs lock around his waist, staring up at him hazily with your lip bitten as he pushes his cock into you again. Sylus lowers his body onto yours, making sure you’re comfortable before his hips are moving again.

“Feels s’good,” you mumble, turning your head to kiss his cheek.

Sylus hums, brushing a kiss to your brow, his hands smoothing over your hair. His thrusts grow more powerful before long, punching the air out of your lungs, your cries emanating through the room as your nails claw down his back.

“Gonna cum?” he asks, voice a low growl as he feels you clenching around him tightly.

You nod rapidly, hands curling around his shoulders as he presses his face into the crook of your neck, nipping and biting as he grinds his cock in deep . You whimper, back arching, and he grins against your skin, slowing his movements to make sure you can feel his every inch fat, throbbing cock filling you up.

“So pretty,” Sylus whispers, nosing along your cheek, “my pretty slut falling apart on my cock.”

“Sylus!” you cry out his name wantonly. 

Sylus growls, his hand slipping down to hike you thigh up a little higher before he starts pounding into you without abandon. 

“Where do you want it?” he hisses, his red eyes alight as he stares down at you. “My cum,” he clarifies when he sees the confusion in your cock-drunk gaze, “where do you want it?”

“Inside,” you whisper, body trembling with each thrust he delivers to your pussy, “fill me up, Sylus. Wanna feel it.”

“Little vixen,” Sylus snarls, kissing you roughly. You scream and squeal, the noises muffled every so often when he kisses you desperately, the coil of pleasure in your stomach curling tighter and tighter until it snaps.

You moan out his name, thighs twitching violently, nails digging into his back.

“ Hah- ” he rasps, peppering soft kisses along your jaw, “pussy’s gripping me so tight fuck- couldn’t pull out even if I tried.”

Sylus lets out a growly moan, his hand squeezing at your hip as he buries his face into the crook of your neck again. You can feel his cock twitching, his hips slowing to a stuttering stop as he cums, filling you up. Hot, thick cum floods your pussy and you whine softly, the sensation sending little aftershocks through your body. He shallowly fucks his cum into you, hips moving slowly before he slumps on top of you completely.

You push at his chest when his weight becomes too much. “Get off me, you brute.”

“Shut up,” Sylus murmurs, smacking your thigh lightly.

A smile spreads across your face when he lifts his head, his lips slotting over yours in a tender kiss. You make a noise of contentment, wrapping your arms around his neck, pecking his lips a few more times. 

Sylus grunts as he moves off of you, his softening cock slipping out of you. You wince at the feeling of his cum wetting your thighs and Sylus stares down at where his cum leaks out of you, the substance spilling out you thickly.

“Don’t look,” you whine, trying to snap your thighs shut.

Sylus doesn’t let you, grabbing one of your legs to kiss your ankle and then your knee. He presses soothing kisses to your inner thighs, thumbs apart your folds to watch his cum leak out of you again, landing a soft kiss to your clit every so often.

You roll your eyes, pushing at his head when he tries to suck your clit into his mouth, your pussy already oversensitive. He grins, moving towards you again and you cup his cheek, drawing him into a kiss.

-

A few hours later, you’re sitting in his lap.

You’d both showered together, exchanging lazy kisses under the hot water. Sylus had given you one of his shirts and a pair of his briefs and they were entirely too big, but you’d pulled them on anyways, his shirt smelling like him comfortingly. 

“Look,” Sylus says, pointing to the screen playing the recording of his match last night.

His large tv screen depicts your flushed face from when he’d reached for you, your eyes wide and cheeks flushed. Scoffing, you swat his chest and Sylus laughs, letting you hide your heated face in the crook of his neck.

“You look cute,” he murmurs, his hand rubbing and down your back. “Besides, how are you going to handle it when I kiss you in front of everyone?”

“I’m not going to handle it, because you’re not going to do that.”

“I will,” Sylus replies smoothly, slouching a little on his couch, “when I win the championship.”

“Don’t sound so sure,” you retort. You hate how straightforward he is.

Sylus’ eyes flutter shut when you run your fingers through his hair, a sigh escaping him.

“You should be more encouraging,” he says, petting your sides.

You smile faintly, tilting his head to kiss him. Sylus groans into your mouth, pulling you closer by the back of your neck until you’re making out sloppily, the sounds of fists colliding with skin playing on the tv behind you.

“Is- is that enough encouragement?” you ask breathily, pulling away with swollen lips.

Sylus stares up at you, his lips parted and hair messy and you think you might’ve taken that shower for nothing.

“Need a little more, baby,” he whispers, pulling you back.

He kisses you breathless, his hands slipping up under the shirt to feel your warm skin. You nuzzle into his cheek afterwards, looping your arms around his neck. He caresses your breasts idly, sometimes squeezing, other times simply grazing his thumbs over your areolas. 

A moment of silence passes before he’s speaking again.

“Kieran scratched your car.”

[xvysarene]

𝕊𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕝

Pairing: Sylus x Fem!Reader Words: ~3.1k Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Eventual fluff Notice: Y/N is not MC, Profanities, Mentions of wounds Summary: There was a connection between you and Sylus that went beyond the typical boss & his right-hand woman dynamic. When you finally had enough of his recent behaviour since his return, you decided it was time to quit.

[ᝰ.ᐟ MASTERLIST]

“We agree to your terms, and as soon as we finish the down payment, we expect to see the firearms—”

Before you could even finish, the heavy double doors swung open with a crash. Sylus strode in, a dark aura clinging to him, and you knew that nothing good would come out of it.

“The deal is off.”

You gasped. “You can’t be fucking serious.”

“Ms. Y/N, I thought you said you could handle this deal solo?” Marcel—that cunning eel of a man—drawled lazily. “Looks like Mr. Sylus here still doubts your ability, even after all this time.”

On any other day, you would have knocked the smug grin off Marcel’s face. But your attention was fixed on your boss, Sylus, whose expression was a cold, impenetrable mask of indifference.

“I’ve worked on this for months. Alone. When you were gone chasing shadows,” you hissed, “You have no right to dictate me.”

Crimson eyes met your gaze with a fire of his own as he stepped closer. “And do I need to remind you who’s the leader of this organisation?”

How dare he!

It took a while for the others in the N109 Zone to stop belittling you, to finally trust you as Onychinus’s indispensable weapon who could hold her own ground, even entrusted to run the organisation in his absence.

And he knew this.

“I don’t meddle in your affairs, so stay out of mine.”

He exactly knew what, or who, you were talking about.

Somehow, this conversation was no longer about the deal; it was about something else that had been creating a rift between you both.

“You don’t understand—”

“You have no idea what I understand!” you snapped, jabbing a finger at his firm chest.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Luke entering the room to usher Marcel out.

“If you’re looking for a new job, my organisation is always open for a pretty little thing, buttercup.” He threw a mischievous wink your way.

The man was clearly not uncomfortable with the commotion; it was satisfying to see Onychinus crumbling before his own eyes.

Kieran cautiously stepped forward. “Boss, Y/N, let’s take a moment—”

“You think I wouldn't find out about your little escapade with ‘Miss Hunter’?”

That struck a nerve; Sylus’s eyes narrowed. 

“What?” you continued, your tone dripping with sarcasm, “Mephisto accidentally charged your card with millions just to buy every single protocore in the auction?”

Any heartfelt emotion you held for him was swallowed by fury and disappointment that had been building for some time. This was the last straw, a volcano ready to erupt.

“I’ve warned you before, Sylus.”

Ever since he came back from doing who knew what, he had been distracted. Physically, he was there—but he wasn't present.

Conversations that once flowed easily between you were now peppered by half-hearted responses.

As a last resort, you decided to prepare dinner for him and the twins that one night, something you periodically did when the mood struck, in the hopes of getting him to come around.

Luke and Kieran were happily munching on the lasagna and sipping wine from Sylus’s favourite bottle, their lively chatter filling up the dining room.

But the man who was supposed to be the centre of it all took only a single bite before abandoning it for his phone.

“Sylus, could you please put your phone down and enjoy the dinner?”

The twins froze, eyes flickering between the two of you, sensing the impending storm.

Yet Sylus didn’t even acknowledge you, his attention firmly fixed on the screen in his hand. Somehow, it was more important than the company around him.

“Sylus—”

“Can you get off my back for once?” Red eyes snapped to yours, flashing with irritation.

“You are losing me,” you repeated the words you had uttered that night. The tremble in your voice was a blend of rage and a deeper, more vulnerable feeling.

Sylus's eyes flashed, revealing the first hint of emotion that you recognised—a wounded look, perhaps, or something else that you didn’t dare to think about.

Kieran, determined to defuse the tension, squared his shoulders. “We all should take a breather and approach this with clearer heads.”

Eyes still fixed on your boss’s handsome face, the words came out with unwavering finality, “I quit.”

Ripping the brooch from where it rested just above your heart, you hurled it with such force that it bounced off his chest before skidding across the floor.

The sharp, unmistakable crack echoed throughout the silent room.

Sylus's jaw tightened, a muscle ticking in his cheek. “Fine.”

And that was it. There were no apologies, not even a 'thank you' for your dedication to Onychinus all this time.

“Please, don't do this. We need you,” Kieran’s voice had a note of desperation in it.

A bitter laugh slipped from your lips. “Your boss has made it perfectly clear that he doesn’t need me anymore. Apparently, he has more pressing matters than ensuring the organisation's interest.”

Sylus crossed his arms, his voice cutting like a cold knife. “If you're going to leave, then leave. We don't have time for theatrics.”

With that, you turned on your heel and walked away.

Luke, having just returned from escorting Marcel out, caught sight of the unexpectedly angry tears in your eyes and called out your name as you rushed down the hallway.

What you didn’t expect from quitting was the depth of void it created in your life. You missed the twins’ oddball humour and even found yourself longing for Mephisto’s often irritating caws.

It felt strange not to see the black bird outside of your bedroom window or atop the lamppost, as it normally would.

Despite the financial cushion provided by Onychinus’s paycheck, restlessness drove you back to the N109 Zone before long.

“Thought that we’d never see you again, missy.”

The familiar surroundings of Elysium provided a soothing balm to the loneliness gnawing inside you—the rich scent of aged booze mingled with the sound of rolling dice filling your senses.

“You’re not the only one surprised,” you muttered lowly, sitting down on one of the stools.

“Guess you are more used to staying here than Linkon now,” the young woman behind the bar chuckled. “Many might see it as a slum, but the N109 Zone has its charm.”

During Sylus’s absence, you had called the base as a second home. Staying there made it easier for you to manage the daily operation, sparing you the hassle of travelling back and forth to Linkon.

“What would you like to drink? It’s on the house.” Before you could answer, the woman beat you to it. “Rum and lemonade?”

A sudden feeling of yearning washed over you. It was Sylus who had first introduced you to this concoction right here, you had even questioned his taste at the time, but it had since become one of your favourite drinks.

You gulped the emotion down. “Yes, please.”

She sent you a sympathetic smile, obviously understanding what crossed your mind.

The burn of the rum started to warm your body as the second glass went down easily. Each sip brought back memories of standing side by side in battles and conversations shared in quieter moments, a foolish longing that settled deep within your chest. 

As you set it aside, you felt someone slid on the vacant stool beside you, encroaching on your personal space.

“What’s a pretty girl doing here all alone?”

“Leave me alone.” You didn’t even look at his direction.

Funnily enough, though you normally no longer felt the weight of the brooch—a symbol of your affiliation with Sylus and Onychinus—you now felt its absence vividly, like a phantom heaviness above your left breast.

With it, no one ever truly dared to come near you, wary of crossing paths with Sylus.

Without it, however, meant you were no longer under Sylus’s protection.

The man sidled closer, clearly not taking the hint. “Still playing hard to get even without Sylus behind you? You should have seen him dragged out of the raid like a ragdoll by his pair of thugs. It was pathetic.”

Your heart stuttered, finally looking at the man beside you. “What did you say?” 

Sylus, hurt? It was unthinkable. You had seen first-hand how his wound healed quickly.

“Heh, you really don’t know, do you?” His smile widened, revealing yellowed teeth. “The idiot went to finish Marcel off by himself last night. Imagine taking down dozens of Marcel’s men alone, with all their weapons.”

He daringly placed a hand on your thigh, fingers digging in. “So bitch, you’d better get off your damn high horse and listen. Without Sylus, you’re just another pretty face.”

In a quick manoeuvre, you slammed his head on the bar. His painful howl was cut short as you drew your concealed gun, the barrel pressed firmly against the back of his skull. “Touch me one more time and I’ll paint this bar with your brains.”

The barkeeper approached, her expression impassive as she took in the sight of your gun pressing against the man's head. However, when she noticed the colour draining from your face, a look of surprise crossed her features.

“You didn’t know?” she asked, her tone softer than you expected. “I thought that was the reason you came back here.”

Ignoring the curious stares of the other patrons, you stormed out of the bar, the weight of fear heavy on your shoulders.

The city's familiar streets blurred past as you made your way to the base, and you thought you heard familiar caws in the distance.

You didn't spare a second thought as the electronic lock still buzzed with recognision when your palm and iris scans were verified. The reinforced doors opened, granting you access just like usual.

Luke and Kieran met you in the hallway, no doubt alerted to your arrival. Whether by Mephisto or the security alert, you weren’t sure.

Even with their masks on, their surprised body language was unmistakable.

“How did you find out? Boss made sure that none of us tips you off,” Luke asked.

“It’s true?” you demanded, your voice was tight with anxiety. “About Sylus?”

The twins exchanged silent glances. “He’s in his quarters,” Kieran said slowly. “But be warned, he is in a foul mood.”

As you moved swiftly down the familiar corridors, your heart pounded in your chest. The smell of antiseptic hit your senses as you slid the door open, revealing the dimly lit room.

Sylus was seated on the edge of the bed, his back to you as he changed his bandages. “I told you guys to leave me alone. I’m fine,” his voice gruff.

You took a steadying breath. “Sylus.”

His silhouette tensed, and the set of his shoulders turned rigid. Slowly, he turned to look at you.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was rough.

“I—” you started, but the words caught in your throat. The sight of bandages covering his injuries made it difficult to articulate your thoughts. “Why did you go after Marcel?”

“This isn’t a place for someone like you right now.”

That comment was odd, but you dismissed it as you crossed the room, closing the gap between you. Up close, you could see the bruises and wounds peppering his body—dark, angry splotches that marred his skin, evidence of the brutality inflicted by Marcel’s men.

While the healing process was slower than usual, it was still significantly faster than it would be for an ordinary person.

You had been working with him for quite some time yet you had never before seen him in such a state.

“I’m fine,” he repeated, catching your concerned gaze.

“You don’t look fine,” you said firmly. “I’m not going anywhere until you explain what happened.”

Sylus shifted on the bed, wincing slightly as he rested his back on the headboard. After a moment of silence, he finally spoke, “Marcel was the one behind the bombing of the hunter’s grandma’s house.”

As much as you felt sorry for the UNICORN hunter, you couldn’t understand why he would put his life on the line for her.

Was it because of the connection they had with the Aether Core? Or was it something else?

Unconsciously, your steps faltered backwards. The anxiety for his well-being took a backseat as the grip of jealousy clawed at you.

It was stupid to feel this way.

Suddenly, you felt rooted to the spot, your body freezing in place. The unexpected use of his Evol caught you off guard. 

“You came all the way here, so you’d better damn well listen to me before jumping to any conclusions.”

Even in his weakened state, he managed to pull you back to the edge of the bed and keep you seated there. He wasn’t close enough to touch, but not so far that you couldn’t see the fatigue etched into his features.

“I kept her around because she was useful. Marcel had been trying to frame Onychinus for the bombing.” His fists clenched, knuckles white. “But that wasn’t what set me off, that scumbag had been running his mouth about you, spreading lies of your incompetence, claiming that you’re nothing more than an empty shell.”

You looked at his injuries pointedly. “You took on his entire army because he taunted me?”

He sighed deeply, rubbing a hand over his face in frustration. “Don’t you see? I was the one feeding him that narrative. He had the front seat to everything that happened that day. I’m the one who unravelled the respect you worked so hard to earn.”

Was that a hint of guilt you heard in his voice?

“He’d been saying that you’d be better suited working in a whorehouse.”

Well, that explained the man's aggressiveness back at the bar, you thought.

“I’m not your responsibility anymore, you don’t need to protect me.”

Sylus looked away. Despite his rough edges, there was a glint of raw, exposed emotion that he struggled to conceal.

“It’s not just about responsibility,” his voice low, “Some things... they’re not as simple as just walking away.”

This was the Sylus you recognised—the same man who, in fleeting moments, had looked at you with an intensity or a softness that spoke of unfulfilled longing.

Everything had shifted since that one kiss, an impulsive act born from an evening of too much drink and unspoken feelings. A kiss that, in its haze, blurred the lines between what was accepted and what was desired.

Yet, every subtle brush of his hands, every act of ensuring your safety, was a quiet rebellion against the boundaries he had set from the start—this was not a place where work and pleasure were meant to mingle.

“That was the reason you called the deal off that day.” You fit the puzzles together.

He nodded. “I had a feeling that he was up to something.”

“And yet, I still don’t understand why you had to go behind my back with the hunter. This”—you gestured to his injuries and the distance between you—“could’ve been prevented.”

You tried to mask the hurt. “I thought you trusted me.”

Sylus shifted closer, and even though you felt that his Evol no longer held you in place, you allowed him.

“It wasn’t about trust, not in the way you think,” his voice was softer now, “If he found out you were involved, I couldn’t risk him coming after you.”

“I don’t need your protection as much as I need your honesty. And you were being a jerk.”

“I know and I’m sorry. I just wanted to keep you safe.”

He reached out, his fingers gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Leaning in closer, he cradled your jaw with a careful touch.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice catching in your throat at the intensity in his eyes that he didn’t try to mask any longer. “For caring. But I’d rather not see you get hurt again.”

“Can’t promise,” he murmured, “I will always stand between you and anyone who dares to harm you.”

You could feel the warmth of his breath before his lips touched yours, moving in a gentle, unhurried rhythm.

He wanted to savour this moment, to truly taste you with a clear head, unclouded by any alcohol.

Though, before long, a more primal voice seemed to overtake him. The intensity of the kiss grew, fueled by the unfiltered emotions coursing between you.

It was a fierce, unrestrained need to claim you.

No longer feeling tender, his tongue urged your lips open with a determined persistence. Sylus groaned into your mouth as you parted easily, the need to taste you becoming more urgent.

As he took a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back, your gaze locked with the searing flame in his eyes.

A sudden weight pressed against your neck, and you looked down, startled, to find a crow whose wings arched protectively around a red diamond pendant. It was similar to the brooch he had given you, but this was more than an accessory.

It was more personal—more intimate.

“Will you do me the honour of becoming my partner again?” His voice was husky with emotion. “Onychinus needs you. I need you.”

Carefully, you pushed him down the bed, legs spreading daringly caging his form. “Maybe if you beg a little more, I’ll consider it.” 

Both his eyebrows arched in surprise, visibly taken aback by your boldness.

“But, weren’t we supposed to keep work and pleasure separate?” you teased.

A hint of a smirk curled at the edges of his lips. “I’m the boss. I make the rules. Besides, this is more than just a pleasure.”

His large palms settled on your hips, fingers splaying across the curve of your body with a possessive yet tender grip, pulling you closer.

“Can I start by begging you to kiss my wounds and make them better then?”

As he whispered his request, his masculine hands sneaked their way inside your clothes, fingers trailing a line of fire against your skin. Just as the moment heated up, a rustling noise came from outside the door.

The two of you paused, eyes narrowing with suspicion. 

Suddenly, the door creaked open just a fraction. Before either of you could react, Luke and Kieran let out a startled yelp.

“Oh no! They’re doing the hanky panky!” Luke whispered loudly, scandalised.

In a flurry of hurried movements, the twins slammed the door closed and bolted down the hallway, leaving you both staring after them in stunned silence.

Sylus sighed, hiding his face in the soft bend of your neck. “We’ll definitely have to set some new rules about privacy too.”

⤷ ᝰ.ᐟ MASTERLIST

[oneoftheextras]

lockjaw | j.t four

masterlist | help me fund my top-surgery?

paring: hybrid puppy!jayce talis x f!reader

summary: after a recent breakup you find yourself adopting a hybrid to keep you company, but he's more feral than you can handle

series warnings: 18+, hybrid jayce (ears and tail), slight a/b/o traits (could argue alpha jayce), eventual smut, protective jayce, size difference

words: 4.4k

chapter warnings: blood, violence, and angst (trauma), not a lot for this one but its got nuggets if you can find them

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven |

want a handwritten letter from a character? / join the discord

Droplets of scarlet hit the wet pavement under his hands in trickles. The rain tried it’s best to wash away the blood seeping out of the abrasions on his knuckles but it was failing. 

He lifted his hand to wipe away the metallic-tasing liquid that filled his mouth from the split in his lip, and pushed himself back on his knees. 

“Get up, puppy!” the man who’d hit him shouted the pet name with the intent to cause offence. He spat a ball of saliva at him, clearly meaning for it to land on his person, but his inebriated state affected his aim as well as his decision making skills.

Jayce tilted his head diagonally but kept his eyeline to the floor; lips parted as an attempt to inhale the fresh rain-chilled air and calm his growing frustration. It would’ve been refreshing if not for the lingering flavour of iron.

The man, with his companions in tow, continued their approach, “Are you deaf, mutt?” he kicked up a puddle, splashing his already dirty t-shirt with filth, “What’s the point in those ridiculous ears if they don’t work?”.

Jayce shook his head, letting little beads of water fly from his hair, and got to his feet. He noticed how the three pairs of steps faltered for a moment when he’d fully straightened his spine, before they advanced. 

He didn’t want this. All he was trying to do was find somewhere safe and dry to rest for the night and avoid the storm.

“Freak!” one of the men yelled as he lunged forward, a metal pole moved with him like an extra limb, swinging through the air. 

Jayce leaned backwards to avoid it, and the end of the metal skimmed his cheekbone, but didn’t make contact. He used the man’s momentum to push him into the wall of the alley. His head collided with the brick and he slumped to the ground with a groan.

Hold back, don’t hurt them.

Upon seeing their friend get so easily manoeuvred, the other two charged like angry bulls. One tackled his middle section and the other jumped and grabbed him by the roots of his hair.

“You fucking animal!” the one on his torso cursed as he repeatedly punched him in the stomach, while the other shifted his grip to be on his sensitive ears, pulling them until he was hunched over.

He could’ve fought them off, he was physically stronger, but when he saw the crimson streak running down the man’s face - the one who he’d pushed - he knew he shouldn’t.

Hold back, don’t hurt them!

He closed his eyes and inhaled with every strike, it would be over soon. They dragged him to the ground and pushed his face into the dirty puddle that had stained his clothes, the murky water attaching itself to his skin and hair like a fungus.

“Monster!” they spat as they got their last jabs in and left him on the ground to collect their friend, satisfied that he was no longer moving.

Maybe he was a monster, but what else was he supposed to be?

A loud thud shook you awake, your body was on red alert as you jolted from your bed. The room was steeped in darkness, the illuminating glow of the street light leaking through the crack in your curtains was your only source of light.

Blindly you reached for your phone and clicked the button to light up the screen, the eye that was more awake than the other focused on the time; 4:22am.

You rubbed your face and put your phone back on the side, it was too early to be awake yet, so you started to lay back down with an attempt to go back to sleep. However, before your head could fully touch the pillow you heard footsteps from the living room.

For a moment it startled you, the sensation of living alone still second nature, but you settled once you realised it must have been Jayce.

Adrenaline still flowed through you, so there was no chance that you’d be getting back to sleep any time soon. Throwing your blanket off of your body, you stretched and wandered to the living room.

The small reading lamp gave the room a slight orange tint, not enough to hurt your tired eyes but enough to radiate the room with a soft glow. 

“Hey,” you called out to him gently, your voice cracking from the first use of the day. He stopped his pacing when he heard you, and turned to your direction - his hair was ruffled with strands sticking up in places, even the fur on his ears was unkempt.

You glanced down at the couch where the brown fluffy blanket was scrunched up to one side and the pillows slightly torn, their white polyester innards across the couch and some fallen to the ground.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you asked cautiously, trying to ignore how deep the gashes in the fabric were.

He averted your gaze and slowly moved towards the window to observe the street below, his jaw was clenched from gritted teeth hiding behind pursed lips, and his amber eyes were hard and unmoving.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that something had rattled him. It was unsurprising considering he was in a strange place with new smells and sounds; a lot of the forums said sleepless nights were common for the first few days.

“Do you want some tea or coffee?” you stretched again with a groan and started toward the kitchen but waited for his response before fully exiting the room. The ear closest to you twitched and you saw him briefly look at you out of the corner of his eye.

His body language shifted to indicate he wanted to follow, but something was holding him back. “Well, I’m going to make a coffee, you’re welcome to join me if you want,” you left the door open and decided not to push him any further.

You got two mugs out of the cupboard and set them down on the counter, rubbing your eyes with your free hand - the glare of the kitchen light stung - when you heard footsteps getting closer to you.

Glancing over your shoulder and towards the doorway, you watched Jayce enter slowly. He was cold and somewhat unreadable but you could see the uncertainty in his eyes, so you pulled out one of the stools from the island and tapped it for him to sit.

“Come, keep me company while I wait for this to boil,” you gestured to the kettle, “And…” you extended the word and held it until you found what you were looking for. “I got you these-” you placed a wooden box in front of him and lifted the lid, “-just choose one and let me know, okay?”.

The box contained different packets of tea, each divided into their own section and labelled, you’d bought it specifically for him. 

“I don’t know if I remembered all the ones you had back at the sa-” you paused to correct yourself, “-the other place, but I got a few that I thought you might like,” you rambled as you filled the coffee machine with a pod and put your mug under the nozzle, pressing the button for it to start.

He inspected the box; picking up a packet, reading it, sniffing the outside and putting it back into the box. After the sixth sniff test you were starting to worry if you’d remembered incorrectly.

He inhaled one light-blue coloured one and scrunched his face up with disgust - he doesn’t like chamomile, okay, noted.

“Did you know that-” he lifted his attention from the box to the back of your head while you watched the coffee pump out into your mug and spoke, “-No one knows where chamomile tea originally came from?”.

You twisted the mug on it’s podium so the hand was on the right and let the brown liquid slowly fill it, “Well,” you interrupted yourself, “That’s technically a lie,” you chuckled.

“The first documented use of it is in Ancient Egypt for religious ceremonies, you know, the whole embalming the body so it’s preserved for when they meet the gods type of deal,”.

At one point when you were speaking you’d turned to lean against the counter, but your eye line was still watching your mug. He didn’t know why, but you knew it was because the coffee machine would sometimes cut out while pouring and you didn’t want chunks of granules in your drink.

He observed the side of your face, watching your jaw move as you continued, “It was the Romans who started to actually drink it, and then unsurprisingly, so did the Greeks-”.

The machine stopped pouring and gently beeped to notify you that it was done, so you lifted the cup from its platform and continued making your drink.

“-And they largely documented it as being medicinal- Oh!” you exclaimed as you remembered another fun fact, “Did you also know that the word chamomile comes from the Greek word ‘khamaimēlon’, I’m definitely pronouncing that wrong, but it means ‘earth apple’, isn’t that funny?” you stopped rambling when you turned to him to collect whichever tea sachet he’d picked but realised he was staring at you with a blank expression.

You pulled down the sleeves on your shirt to cover your knuckles when you finally acknowledged his gaze. He noted the gesture and wondered why you did it so much.

“Did you choose one?” you timidly asked, trying to act as if you hadn’t just spewed all your thoughts out at once. Noticing that he had a packet in his hand, pinched between two fingers, you extended your palm to him.

However, instead of giving it to you, he stood from his seated position and ripped open the paper with his teeth, wrapping his hand around the empty mug and placing it in front of him.

“I don’t mind doing it for you,” you stepped closer to him, expecting him to move out of the way so you could take over. As if you were both south poles of a magnet and your proximity repelled him; the closer you got to him the further he leaned away - taking the mug with him, and paper still clenched between his canines.

You recoiled your hand and stepped away, a soft “Okay,” was all you could manage before you returned to your cup and gave him space.

He was more isolated than yesterday. His shoulder muscles tensed when you moved too quickly or closely to him, so perhaps it was best to keep your distance until he approached you.

He trickled the boiling water into the mug and bounced the teabag, submerging it under the water and letting it rise again with delicate precision until he was happy with the colour it had changed to.

“When it’s a more reasonable hour-,” the two of you had made your way back to the living room, “-I can show you around town, what’s nearby and stuff, if you want?” you tucked your legs under yourself as you got comfortable on the couch.

The semi-destoryed pillow puffed out more white innards when you leaned back on it, “We should probably get you some new pillows too, but I don’t know if they do indestructible ones,” you chuckled, trying to make light of the situation.

The whole time you spoke Jayce stood by the large window, staring down at the barren streets below. He held the mug with both hands, the only visible part being the handle hooked over two of his fingers, maybe you should look for some larger cups for him too?

“Or we can stay inside, I’m not working again until Monday, so I’m all yours for two days!”, he glanced at you out of the corner of your eye and you suddenly felt very small again, “Well,” you cleared your throat, “I have chores I need to do, but you get what I mean,”.

A car revved its engine outside and his attention darted back to the intrusive sound, the hairs on his arms standing to attention, leaving goosebumps across his skin. 

The grip he had on the mug was intense, causing his knuckles to start to lose their colour, “Come sit down,” you suggested, trying to hold some authority in your voice but largely failing.

He regarded you again but didn’t move from his post, instead sipping his drink and keeping his eyes on the street.

He reminded you of a sentinel, ever watching and ever on guard duty.

You turned the TV on and quickly muted until you were able to put on some relaxing meditation music which finally made him turn away from the window and towards the TV.

The muscles in his nose scrunched lightly as the wrinkle between his eyebrows deepened, his eyeline switching between you and the TV, “It’s cheesy, I know, but it genuinely does help,”.

There was a moment of stillness, neither of you moved, just the sound of the music filled the air but the atmosphere was anything but calm.

You pointed towards the bag you’d handed to him yesterday which had been placed next to the TV, “Did you take a look inside?”, he shook his head softly and eyed the bag, “Oh! Go get it!” you shuffled with excitement, picking up your coffee cup and cradling it in your hands.

He hesitated but eventually put his cup down atop one of the coasters on the table and retrieved the bag, “Sit, sit, sit!” you tapped the couch next to you like a child about to open presents on Christmas day, but he opted for the armchair adjacent to you.

Maybe you shouldn’t have told him to sit? It slipped out so naturally, but perhaps it came across that you were treating him like an actual dog? You shook your head, trying to ignore your thoughts and instead focus on him.

He put his hand into the bag and slid the first box out, Clue. He turned the box over with confusion and inspected the back, his eyes sliding from side to side - at least that answered a question about whether he could read.

“Have you played Clue before?” you asked. He gently placed the box on the coffee table and shook his head again whilst revealing more board games; Catan, Monopoly, Battleship, and of course, a chess set.

Every box he studied with acute interest, taking in every picture and word on the print like it was the first time he’d seen it. He glanced up to you from the last one, his amber eyes slightly softer and calmer than before, and the corner of his mouth upturned into a subtle smile.

“We can play now if you want?” you placed your coffee to the side and started to clear the table, he shuffled forward to the edge of the armchair cushion and helped you, “You choose, I'm happy to play whatever,” you encouraged him.

He immediately picked up Clue, seeing as it was the one that you'd asked about and seemed the most excited for. When you smiled, he knew he'd picked correctly.

He ran the nail of his pinky along the seam where the lid met the rest of the box, and sliced through the thin plastic wrapping, pulling it off whilst you moved the last few things off of the table. 

Jayce placed the box on the surface and slowly lifted the lid until it popped off, but let you set up the board and shuffle the cards.

You explained how the game worked whilst he picked up each of the small coloured cones and their respective character cards, deciding which one he wanted to play as.

He eventually decided on Colonel Mustard, and chose Professor Plum for you. 

It took him a few rounds to fully understand the mechanics of the game; roll the dice, enter a room and make a guess. He’d write his three words down on a notepad you’d found for him, and the first thing you noticed was how neat his handwriting was.

It was bigger than yours and slightly slanted as if it were in italics, but almost like something you’d expect to find on a fancy sign.

You won the first few games, "Unfair advantage," you'd commented to reassure him, but as you'd expected, he started to pick up your tactics quickly.

“Rope, Library, and Reverent Green?” you recited what he’d written as his next guess and inspected your hand, none of those cards were between your fingers, “I think you’ve got it,” you smiled at him and picked up the envelope in the middle of the board to hand it to him.

He slipped one of his fingers into the sleeve, the paper bending to the outline of his digit and he pulled the three cards out to see if he was right.

He grinned as he turned each of the cards over, revealing one by one.

Reverend Green. He turned the second card over on the board, Rope. He narrowed his eyes at the last card smiling, his canines poking out from under his top lip; as he pinched the card between his middle and index finger to slowly turn it towards you, Library.

He’d won, again. “Damn,” you looked at the spread of cards, the regal yet smug expression on the Reverend's face, sandwiched between the darker tones of the Rope and Library, “Not a bad way to go,” you muttered to yourself with a giggle. 

Your tone wasn’t lost on him. He side eyed you with a raised brow, his expression unreadable but somewhat judgemental. “Sorry, I’m tired,” you said as you fought the rising heat in your cheeks, and rubbed your face with your hand.

The coffee in your cup had long since emptied, as was Jayce’s tea, but he picked up the cards and started to shuffle them again.

You glanced up to the clock on the wall, 6:53am. The two of you had been playing for over two hours, but Jayce didn’t seem the least bit tired.

He organised the cards, reset the pieces and slipped the three winning cards back into the envelope and started to mix the rest together.

His hands moved quickly, like a man who’d spent his whole life shuffling these cards, but your vision was starting to defocus like a faulty camera. Progressively throughout the night you’d slumped further and further into the side of the couch until you were laying down with your arm propping your head up to see the board.

Jayce handed you your pile of cards and rolled the dice, taking his turn first as the winner of almost all of the previous games, but your one eye that remained open couldn’t make out what number he’d rolled.

The last thing you remember was the clicking of his plastic yellow piece tapping gently against the board, signalling every step his character took. He must’ve rolled a five because you heard five taps, or was it four? It was hard to keep count.

When you awoke for the second time that Saturday, although eclipsed by the dark grey curtains that covered the windows, the sun shone brightly alongside the light trickling of rain. 

You stretched your limbs, hearing a few pops and cracks as your joints woke up slower than your brain; and the brown blanket that you’d left at the end of the couch for Jayce slid off of your torso as you sat up.

A groan left your lips as your spine fully extended and the muscles in your arms and legs relaxed from the tension. You peered towards the armchair but found it surprisingly empty, the large figure that had occupied it mere hours prior nowhere to be found. Even the cushion that normally sat there was missing.

With sleepiness still haunting your vision, you stood from the couch and went to pick up the mugs left on the coffee table. The right hand connected with your cup, which was strangely full with luke-warm coffee, and the left hand found nothing.

As if on autopilot, you shuffled towards the kitchen to empty your mug, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand when you almost tripped on a leg.

Luckily, some part of your occipital lobe was awake enough to notice the limb before you stepped on him.

Jayce was sat on the floor and using the side of the couch as a backrest; one leg bent so he could rest his arm on it and the other - the one you’d nearly stumbled over - had fallen carelessly to the ground and extended in front of him. Becoming the perfect hazard for your clumsy feet.

His head was tilted back and sideways against the arm of the couch, and his eyelids closed with his lashes delicately resting against his skin. His chest rising and falling with every inhale and exhale of deep breath. 

He appeared so peaceful when he was like this, a picture of contrast to his agitated 4am demeanour, but you were confused as to why he was on the floor. Was it because you’d accidentally taken the couch?

You tiptoed over his leg, successfully passing him without disturbance and continuing your journey to the kitchen, when there was a knock at the door. 

The sudden unexpected noise made you jump out of your skin; you were surprised that you didn’t spill the contents of the mug onto the light grey carpet. Thankfully, it stayed inside it’s ceramic container. Coffee stains were a pain to get out of the cheap yarn that the landlords had chosen as flooring.

When you opened the front door you were greeted by the friendly face of your neighbour, “Morning!” you whispered to him as an attempt to maintain whatever tranquillity Jayce had found in your apartment.

“Afternoon?” he laughed back, “Wait, what time is it?” you whipped your head around as if it was even possible to see the living room clock from where you were standing. Instead of ticking hands, you were met with piercing golden eyes staring back at you from the ground. The door was in the direct line of his sight. 

It was hard to break away from his gaze as he got to his feet, “It’s almost 1pm,” your neighbour confirmed, bringing your attention back to the man at the door, “Anyway, I was getting my mail and thought I’d grab yours too,” he extended a handful of envelopes to you.

“Oh, that’s kind, thank you!” you took the letters and smiled at him as if he didn’t do this on a weekly basis, “Not a problem, how have you been?” He put his hands in his pockets and made no gesture to indicate that he was leaving any time soon.

You turned your head back inside the apartment at the sound of a creaking floorboard to see that Jayce was walking towards you and the door whilst stretching his arms above his head.

“I, uh-” you stuttered as you stepped closer to the doorframe and pulled the door with you, trying to hide as much of the interior from him as you could.

“-I can’t really talk right now, sorry, I have company,” you tried to give him the hint to leave. After an already rough first night, you didn’t know how Jayce would react to another stranger within his proximity, and you hadn’t exactly cleared Jayce moving in with your landlord.

“Oh?” your neighbour quirked an eyebrow and smiled at you in a suggestive manner. Whilst you wanted to correct him and explain that it wasn’t like that, you could hear the footsteps behind you getting closer.

You chuckled to him and shrugged your shoulders, “Yeah, can’t keep him waiting,” you played into whatever narrative he had running through his head if it meant he would leave. 

He gave you a toothy smirk and looked you up and down, “Well, at least you’ve moved on,” his comment wasn’t supposed to come across as an insult but the implications stabbed you in the gut.

“Thank you for the mail!” you gave him the falsest smile you could muster after being so brutally and bluntly reminded of your loneliness, “We’ll go get brunch soon and you can tell me all about it,” he whispered to you with a wink before you finally managed to shut the door.

You inhaled deeply and leaned against the back of the door, happy to not be forced into a social situation you didn’t want. 

Jayce had stopped his approach when the door had closed, his nose crinkled up in distaste and his eyes boring into the door as if he could still see your neighbour through it. By that reaction alone, you knew you’d made the right call of not introducing them.

“Mail,” you waved the letters in a circular motion and put them on the table by the door. “I’m sorry I slept in so late,” you apologised, despite being the one that woke up first.

“I propose-” you started as you walked into the kitchen, finally completing your mission of emptying your mug and putting it in the sink to be washed up later, “-We go get you some better pillows, and I can show you what’s nearby, and we can get some lunch while we’re out,” you raised your voice slightly so he could still hear you in the other room.

“What do you think?” you popped your head around the doorframe and found him standing in the hallway as he was before. He opened his mouth widely to yawn; even though he covered his mouth with his hand, you could still see the sharp canines that lined his gums.

He rattled his head as if he was trying to shake away any remaining sleepiness in his body, but eventually nodded in answer to your question.

“Great!” you beamed, almost skipping with joy past him and towards the bathroom, “I’m going to have a quick shower, I’ll let you know when I’m done so you can use it, then we’ll head out,” you tapped the door frame as if you were a judge and your hand was the gavel making the final decision.

You had exactly the lunch spot in mind to take him.

taglist (send an ask to be added):

@jijihana @ k00yaa @ die-prophetin @slugstarzz @v1tale @bigchungusdrinksspritecranberry @pipsqueakpiper @lovely-dove69 @forcefullyawake @philwrites @mkelly16 @mymidnightsky @hydrasgarden @bak-eri @sweet-potat0 @shybookdragon @risingofjupiter @lostsoul526 @belm4rie @calciferthelivingfire @kiannaf @bottlcaps @bellizs @lewd-alien @xynokune @blinkerteleporthero @ciai5v-blog @pink-ys-world @sym6olism @roku907 @tati-the-fangirl @avtrsiren @cheesestickz @night-fall-moon @thegothicfox @jellyfish-princess3 @moonlitlovver @1-800-powpow @ssseu4643 @lethargicluv @katsutoria @greatbeautyoflife @morosluvbug @croweyes @memoysie @wonyexe @izakyun @funktchonalhuman3 @cumberdaddys @victoria2054 @sweetdayme4427 @undergroundratwatcher @heyimolive @bru5678 @accliahowl @2000m1n @captain-aulasy @pyro-arts0nist @iogutwsm @tigerlily7270 @opossumclown @yuren-sj @mioblobby @craxkbaby @avivamaligua-blog @madschiavelique @puppyminnnie @jackiekennedysxx @izabell26 @novausstuff @blanksy @alox @ribrye @prolongedmonologues @lananotdelreytbh @fleurlust @microsketchy @paudemuss @cxm177e @aerina127 @nexxus13 @darknessbyme @boba-is-a-soup @synchronised-beat @eternallyvenus @angelsdemonsmonsters @shiroganekagami @katsutoria @noxturnalmoth @claire-is-here 

[xxlady-lunaxx]

(DOMESTIC) SANEGIYUU HEADCANONS

Sanemi is ALWAYS the one cooking

I’m sorry but I can only see Giyuu fucking up scrambled eggs or something. Sanemi cooks (or bakes) like a professional

Giyuu having a bedhead (he’s adorable) and Sanemi waking him up by either:

throwing a pillow on his face

running his hands through his hair and a “good morning, shithead”

One or the other, no in betweens

Sanemi usually does the chores like laundry, cooking, etc (malewife<33)

Giyuu can do things if given clear instructions tho

Hmm showering together just as a habit

If either of them were mad at the other (or they js fought) before bed, they’ll probably distance themself on the futon

When they wake up they’re always cuddling though

ouugh yes they share a bed

(it was so awkward at first like “ok… i’ll have this side” but then they got comfy and steal each other’s pillows (so romantic smh))

Sanemi definitely holds a longer grudge

Giyuu gets upset if he gets ignore too long, though, and Sanemi eventually caves

Why do I feel like Sanemi would just take pictures or videos of Giyuu randomly

When he’s asleep, when he’s just woken up, when he’s eating, doesn’t matter

Because Sanemi’s in charge of meals usually, Giyuu only gets salmon daikon once a week (which is already a lot as is, but he begs Sanemi for it so…)

Sanemi used to braid/put up his siblings hair a lot and when the two are cuddling, sometimes he makes little braids in Giyuu’s hair, or pulls it up in a high ponytail (often Giyuu wakes up with braids and his hair gets a lil wavy when he takes it out later)

Giyuu’s the baby in the relationship you cant change my mind. He’s the little spoon; he’s being carried because he’s tired; he’s given breakfast in bed.

Sanemi honestly doesn’t mind (he’s used to this) but likes teasing Giyuu about it

Giyuu has a bow of Tsutako’s (he stole a spare) and wears it to formal places always. (job interview? bow. prom? bow. work? bow.)

Sometimes Giyuu helps Sanemi hang up the laundry but they somehow end up hugging always (Giyuu goes on the other side of the clothing line and ThEIr lEgS juST mOVed By THemSElf)

On weekends, when there’s nothing to do, Sanemi will just scroll through his phone and Giyuu watching TV

Giyuu can NEVER not fall asleep during a movie though. depends on the day but he’ll either fall asleep 20 mins in or half way through

Sanemi doesn’t really watch movies and just slowly turns down the volume then off to not startle him awake

I can see Sanemi just volunteering to babysit for their friends (for free<3) and just having a box full of children’s toys for when they come over

Giyuu once overfed a baby to near sickness (“I thought her grabby hands were for more :(“ - “YOU IDIOT, SHE WAS TRYING TO PUSH AWAY THE BOTTLE!!”) and was thereafter forbidden to care for the children (unless they were older than, like, 12)

After a stressful day at work, Giyuu likes flopping down on the couch and having Sanemi run his hands through his hair and hum a bit, maybe small talk

I think Giyuu is actually an open book and horrible at hiding his emotions (like canonically as a child he was like that, only the deaths changed him sooo) whilst Sanemi is better at hiding things

But like after years of living with Sanemi/js being with him, Giyuu has been able to see small telltales

When he’s lying, Sanemi’s eyes flick every so slightly away (so subtly that only a few have caught it before), when he’s upset, he’s a little clingier or his voice is calmer (though many people interpret it as tiredness), when he’s angry but trying to stay calm he’ll probably have a lot of clenched fists (his hand opening and closing x100) but behind his back haha

Why can I see them both as dry texters tho.

Giyuu tries to sound more upbeat by adding emojis/emoticons but overall it’s basically just “Ok 😁👍❤️😋😚✨🎆🎉🎊🎏🍩🔥” // 😭 yeah he doesn’t have a lot of people to text…

I can also see Sanemi being a little old fashioned in a way, idk… He knows perfectly fine how to use a phone and shit but for some time mostly sent letters (except for casual/small talk ofc)

ok that’s it i can’t think of anything else anymore!!

[occasionalsnippets]

Hmmm vague sort of batfam & fem(?) reader idea in broad strokes and probably incorrect lore and characterization.

Thinking of titling it something like “my brother’s father” or “my brother’s brothers” or “my brother’s father (and brothers and sisters and family and-)”

It’s a little something like this:

You are the first born child of Jack and Janet Drake and you are 3 years old when they tell you you’re going to have a little brother. He’s small and round and so very tiny when you first meet him. You barely process anything your parents tell you beyond the fact that his name is Timothy Jackson Drake. You’re an older sibling now and you’re ecstatic about it even if your parents mumble about how you’re a mistake and Tim isn’t.

(Things feel a little familiar though… just maybe…)

Anyways! You take classes (which are really just lessons from your parents) on how to be all prim and proper for Gotham high society while your little brother is snoozing as a little baby. At some point you debut in some gala and meet Bruce Wayne in passing who is… something. Ditzy. A little charming but quite bizarre. You think there’s supposed to be something else but, ah, you can’t remember what.

Tim gets bigger and so do you. By the time he turns 3, you’re certain you’ve carried him around more than your parents have. It seems wrong, somehow. But, Tim’s shaping up to be a little genius and you’re thrilled when he toddles after you more than he does to your parents. He gets a similar schedule and classes and eventually he debuts in high society as well.

There are rumours beginning to circulate that something is lurking in the shadows of Gotham City…

Haly’s circus comes to town. It’s a family trip to go and see them. The flying Graysons are amazing and wonderful and you and Tim get to talk and take a photo with the Graysons and see a quadruple somersault and-

The Graysons go splat. Falling to the ground like birdies shot out of the sky. Your parents do not usher you and Tim out fast enough to avoid seeing the aftermath of the disaster. As you leave, you catch a glimpse of Bruce Wayne, watching, with a sad look of resignation lingering on his face.

Things are quieter after that. Your parents begin to leave to go on long archaeological adventures and you’re left in the care of a rotating cast of babysitters who never stay long. They leave you with a mostly empty manor, unrestricted internet access, their contact information, and a black credit card.

Something more concrete about what has been running around Gotham and taking down criminals begins to take form. The Batman. Or just Batman maybe. Some nights you can see a light shining against the cloudy Gotham backdrop, a signal to him. Tim seems super interested in this Batman so you gather up newspaper clippings and take photographs of the signal when you can.

Every now and then your parents drop back in to socialize with high society Gothamites and bring you and Tim to galas to be cooed at but otherwise, they’re “too busy” for the two of you. Phone calls barely last a few minutes. Celebrations are missed on the regular. You think that it’s only going to get worse.

You continue to glance at Bruce Wayne and his new charge, Dick Grayson, at galas. They’re a riot from what you can see from the parties and news tabloids. Despite the short amount of time Dick Grayson has been with Bruce Wayne, you can tell Wayne cares deeply for him. They’re... fascinating.

Robin debuts by Batman’s side in traffic light colours, scaly shorts and a whole array of acrobatic moves and witty comebacks. Tim is enamoured by the dynamic duo and you think you might be too.

Your parents stop sending babysitters because “you’re old enough to take care of yourself and Tim, aren’t you dear?” which- Wow. Just, wow. You are ten years old. This is not your responsibility. You suck it up and pretend like you're making them proud by being "mature" and "responsible".

You go grocery shopping. You find recipes and learn to cook. You clean the dishes and pull up a stool so Tim can watch how to do it properly as well. A housekeeper drops by every now and then but the two of you don't talk to them.

Sometimes you think about calling the Waynes who are just next door and asking Mr. Pennyworth what you should do. You never do but you see him around when grocery shopping at times which makes you long to ask all the more.

You watch your parent’s company emails with increasing interest. School is dreadfully slow and there's nothing better to do. Your parents have mentioned once or twice at galas and during lessons that they hope you’ll inherit the company one day.

You still remember the lessons they teach you. Who to speak to. How to determine their worth. Whether you should climb atop them, crush them beneath your heel, or hold their hand and stand by their side. Those days you feel like your mother. Sharp as broken glass. Waiting to press against someone unsuspecting.

On Tim’s birthday, he asks to go out and see Batman and Robin. It was inevitable in hindsight. You give him a camera, a safety lesson, dress him up in clothes to blend in and head out with him. You’re absolutely sure if you said no, he would sneak out anyways.

And thus begins Tim’s (and yours by proxy) illustrious career as a stalker.

To sum up your thoughts, Batman and Robin are amazing. Sort of up close and sort of personal (a few rooftops away), you and Tim take plenty of photos and jot down notes on them every couple nights when you’re sure there’s nothing important for school the next day. It’s exhilarating.

On a night both you and Tim aren't out, Robin does a quadruple somersault. Tim, who had taken to coding and hacking, gets security footage of the night. The gears start cranking in your head.

Another few nights stalking out the duo. Another few nights that bring you closer and closer to Wayne manor.

Tim shakes you awake one night, hovering over you, saying it’s something important. You blearily sit upright and ruffle his hair out of habit.

“Dick Grayson is Robin,” he says with absolute confidence that you could be proud of.

“Dick Grayson is Robin...” you echo and with dawning horror, you say at the same time as Tim, “and Bruce Wayne is Batman.”

And you lean back into your bed, let the gears click into place, and pass out.

In retrospect, that made a lot of sense. Both about Batman and you. But wow. The Drakes f*cked up real bad. You are not supposed to exist. One very private breakdown later because "Oh no, Tim is going to become Robin and a Wayne and he's so f*cking stupid sometimes-"

You're taking things very well.

Newfound (old-recovered?) knowledge aside, you still have to go to school, make sure Tim is doing okay, and continue stalking Batman and Robin. You and Tim have even figured out their patrol schedule recently so really, it's not like much has changed.

The next little while goes by in rapid succession.

Batgirl, Barbara Gordon, debuts. Robin and Batman get into some kind of argument. Batman goes without Robin for a while and Nightwing debuts in Bludhaven. Jason Todd is adopted by Bruce Wayne. A new Robin flies.

You see him in school at times as a mere passerby in a different age cohort and Tim who’s in a lower grade sees him even less often as Jason Todd. As Robin 2 though, you’re seeing him almost every single night. He’s different than Dick Grayson was, obviously, more cuss words and less acrobatics, but still Robin. The light to Batman’s shadows. Magic.

He catches the two of you on a rooftop once. It’s still early in the night and you’re rooting around in your bag for the extra memory card when you hear Tim squeak and something thump on the rooftop.

“It’s a bit late to be out right now, isn’t it?” he asks.

You find the memory card and slot it into your camera. “Late night photography.”

Robin doesn’t look impressed but hey, you’re not the one going out late at night to fight crime.

Tim, who is tucked by your side glances up at you. You nod and nudge him forward.

“Robin!” he calls out. “Can I get a hug?”

Well, you know Robin. You know Jason Todd. He won’t deny your little brother a hug. So as the two of them step forward, you raise the camera and take a picture. You smile as you look at the developed photo later at home. One for you, one for Tim, and one for the Waynes if it ever comes to pass.

Some nights you let Robin spot you and Tim. The three of you chat and get some food before he's pulled away by crime. You make him promise not to dig into the two of you. He agrees.

Things are quiet for a while or as quiet as Gotham ever gets. You wait for the other shoe to drop. Something bad is going to happen soon. You can’t exactly recall what or when but you know something and-

Robin- Jason Todd dies. Barbara Gordon is paralyzed. The Joker is still alive, still having the last laugh at the end of it all. You hate it. You hate him.

Tim throws himself into some kind of frenzy to hide the pain just as Bruce Wayne loses himself in his grief. Batman does not kill but he comes very close in this time. The hospital records climb. You bring more and more medical supplies because if you don’t interfere these people, often petty criminals, are going to die before the police ever arrives.

"Batman is going to kill himself if this continues," Tim tells you.

"And what," you say because you think you know how this is going to play out, "do you want to do about this?"

The answer, it turns out, is to find Dick Grayson. In true Tim Drake fashion, he stalks him (or rather, he stalks Starfire), hacks into a database or two, and finds his address in Bludhaven. You probably shouldn't have encouraged this kind of behaviour but ehhhhhhh... it's fine.

Since you aren't inclined to allow Tim to head to Bludhaven on public transportation alone, you go with him. You can imagine it's quite a sight when Dick Grayson opens the door to two teenagers who tell him that they know who he is and that "Batman needs a Robin".

It's a very awkward car ride back to Gotham with too many questions like "Where are your parents?" and "What do you mean they're halfway across the world?" and "How old are you?".

He won't return as Robin. You didn't expect he would. Despite that though, he allows you and Tim into the Wayne manor where the two of you meet Mr. Pennyworth officially. He's cool and probably not paid enough in your opinion.

Dick Grayson shows the way to the Batcave as Tim explains what the two of you know. Dick Grayson leaves as Nightwing, not Robin like Tim wanted him to be. The three of you wait and wait until all communication with Batman and Nightwing have disappeared.

"I'm going to become Robin," Tim declares. “It’ll only be for a short while. Until Batman recovers or someone else becomes Robin.”

“Right,” you say dryly. “Just a short while.”

And that, perhaps, seals his fate. You allow Tim to go out as Robin just this once with Mr. Pennyworth as you navigate the Batcave and prepare everything in the medbay and start monitoring comms. If there's anything you know about vigilantes, it's that they always end up injured at the end of the night.

You have a plan though for the future. A very stupid plan perhaps but a plan nevertheless.

You’re going to be Robin too. Not always (vigilante night life isn’t really all that appealing to you) but lord knows you can’t trust Tim to not go out and do things even when injured.

At the end of the night, Batman, Nightwing, Mr. Pennyworth and Tim return to the Batcave where you are sitting disapprovingly on the chair by the batcomputer.

“This is…?” Batman’s voice is low and as harsh as gravel.

“(Y/n) Drake,” you answer sharply, feeling remarkably like your mother in some ways. “Let’s discuss how things are going to go with Robin, shall we?”

It’s your first real introduction to Batman and at the moment, you aren’t impressed but at the very least, you know he will do his best not to allow Tim to die. Tim will be Robin and eventually, Bruce’s son. But not now. You will not allow this Batman to be Tim’s father (not that you think he wants to right now) when he’s still mourning the loss of Jason Todd.

In many ways, Tim’s transition from stalking to fighting is easy. The Drake manor was never somewhere the two of you spend too long at anyways between school, nighttime photography and staking out at Barbara’s library to do work so heading over to the Waynes for training whenever there was time was easy. It’s just like another extracurricular to be picked up.

Tim trains and you convince Bruce Wayne to let you follow the same routine. He caves easily. So, so, easily.

But besides that, when your parents return briefly from a trip, you convince them to let you meddle with their company more for a little variety in your life more than anything else. You’re pretty sure the company is on track to going right under which- oof, that’s what happens when you’re off at random archaeological digs and don’t participate in the important decision making.

Although Tim is not yet allowed to be Robin yet, Bruce Wayne still goes out as Batman, still solves cases, still has not processed the grief. Taking care of him, you find, is very much so like taking care of another child. Replace his coffee with decaf, cross your arms disappointingly and drag him away from the batcomputer, double down and sic Mr. Pennyworth on him, make sure he’s staying hydrated-

The list goes on and on. More than a few times, you catch Tim repeating your actions which is cute and gives you hope that maybe he’ll also take care of himself when the time comes.

Mr. Pennyworth is great, as usual. He makes snacks when you and Tim come over, cooks meals you’ve never tried to make before, and teaches you about guns. Having him around is, perhaps, the first time in a long time you have had responsibility lifted off your shoulders.

Barbara Gordon is every bit as strong and fiery as you recall from the times you have seen her in the distance. She is also very much so enjoying having Tim be her little protege in tech. You come around from time to time to see if there’s anything new but hm… timeline is farther in the past than “back then”. Some things that are outdated to the you of before are still brand new here which means some of your previous knowledge isn’t particularly helpful.

Oh well. It’ll catch up eventually.

Dick Grayson’s presence in the manor is spotty. It always feels like he's going to try and corner you about you and Tim's living situation which a. is none of his business right now and b. you have it under control.

It's fine to leave Tim to him because Tim is super happy to be hanging out with him (the first Robin!!) and Grayson is doing that weird sort of "I want to be a good brother to new Robin because I wasn't good to Jason at the start and I want to be better this time-"

Whatever. Misplaced guilt complex aside, Grayson still gets into arguments with Bruce Wayne about a myriad of things so he never stays too long at the manor. You work real hard to make sure Tim doesn't overhear those arguments.

Man, you hope they get it together soon.

The pro of having a new set of adults in your life is that now you can off load things to them like picking Tim up from school when you have other extracurriculars.

You, texting Dick Grayson: hey, can you pick up Tim today?

You, texting Alfred Pennyworth: hi Mr. Pennyworth. can you pick Tim up from school today? Thank you!

You, texting Bruce Wayne: Pick up Tim up from school. Do not be late.

Things are going pretty well in your opinion. The two of you train with Mr. Pennyworth, then Batman, then Nightwing. Tim bonds with the members of the Batfamily, you remain ever so slightly distant but still involved and things are going pretty well.

Then, you get an urgent phone call.

Janet Drake died and Jack Drake has fallen into a coma.

It’s as though the world stops when you find out. You… you didn’t know this happened. Sure you assumed something must have happened for Tim to be adopted but you… you hadn’t thought it would be this soon.

You tell Tim.

You plan a funeral.

You become the teenage CEO of Drake Industries.

The world continues on.

Tim officially becomes Robin which you suppose is the start of a new era. You give him a very lengthy talk about it and tell him to let you know if he plans on staying nights over at the Wayne manor when you're busy with company work.

He's old enough to be responsible for himself, right? You always kind of see him with the rose-tinted glasses that comes with raising him basically most his life.

Tim goes out every few nights as Robin and gets more and more involved with Batman's vigilantism and the various cases in Gotham. You spend countless hours on work and school and try your best to help out in the Batcave when you have the time. It's rough the first couple weeks but you trust in Oracle, in Nightwing, in Mr. Pennyworth and in Batman to keep Tim alive.

And then, of course, Tim gets injured.

"You don't need to coddle me," he complains when you block him from the entrance of the Batcave.

"Right, Mr. three broken ribs and a stab wound." You stare at him, unimpressed. "Go rest up, I'll fill in for you."

He startles. "Wha-? What do you mean fill in- Hey!"

You hand him off to Mr. Pennyworth, shut your laptop, head down, and get suited up. Batman, who is sitting by the batcomputer, impressively does not flinch when you approach but you can tell he's hesitant and maybe a little shocked? You aren't as good at reading him when he's Batman as Tim is, unfortunately.

You roll your eyes regardless.

"Why do you think I asked to be trained alongside Tim? Let's go."

Your own first run as Robin is fascinating. Dangerous? Yes. Exhilarating? Also yes. No one notices that you're not actually Robin 3 which is a little annoying because yeah, Tim hit his growth spurt and is steadily climbing in height but you're still taller than him!

That aside, you know being Robin isn't sustainable for you. Definitely only a backup plan so you let Tim keep the reins on that. Jim Gordon is pretty cool though.

At some point, Batman brings Tim up to meet the Justice League. A couple weeks later, so do you. Almost everyone thinks you and Tim are the same Robin. Neither you nor Batman correct them.

You think Bruce Wayne is starting to feel better when you catch him giving those sad little orphan eyes to Tim when he isn’t looking. The grief has ebbed. The cruelty faded. It’s not enough for you to be satisfied.

“Go to therapy Mr. Wayne,” you say. “Tim will not be a replacement for Jason Todd.”

And- yeah, you’re being a little mean because you know that isn’t the way it actually is. Despite that, he still flinches at your words.

"You should also make it mandatory for all heroes at the Justice League by the way," you add.

“I don’t need-“

“Liar. You obviously do. If you’re worried about the whole secret identity thing, find a way around it, especially if the Justice League is going to be getting it as well.”

He sighs quietly and turns away.

“By the way,” you call out as he walks away with increasing speed, “if you don’t find a solution within the next three months, I will make a solution.”

He walks faster.

“You can count it as a threat!”

Less than three weeks later, he goes to therapy. It also becomes mandatory for every hero. Every single one. He also, very awkwardly, offers his help with running Drake Industries if you ever need it. You count it as a win.

The days continue on. You rework Drake Industries to an acceptable standard, spend countless hours at meetings and stare longingly at the coffee shops you pass by. There are always cases upon cases to work on.

Jack Drake awakens from his coma. Your life is thrown into chaos once more.

He’s a bit different now, probably because of the whole near death thing, and he’s weirdly more interested in “being a family” now. You scoff a little at his attempts. You’re old enough and remember enough that the neglect and unwilling role of a “parent” you’ve been put through is enough to make you disillusioned with fixing this family. You’re not cruel- he’s not a terrible father but he’s 10 years too late to be making an attempt now.

You snub him for company work. Tim snubs him for vigilante work. With nothing else to do, Jack Drake turns to dating a younger woman. You hire a housekeeper, Mrs. Mac, to help care for him. It’s just the way things are.

Spoiler appears in Gotham. She and Tim have this kind of... thing going on you think. Tim also has this thing going on with another girl or something. You don't really want to know but you give both of them a sex ed talk anyways. You read over her case, whatever is going on with Cluemaster, and leave it up to Batman and Robin.

On one of your stints as Robin, you pick up one Cassandra Cain.

You vaguely remember something about her being officially brought into the Batfamily before Batman got lost in time but you aren't really too clear on the when that happened. Was it supposed to be now? Whatever, it's probably fine. It takes quite a bit to coax her over (hmmm she seems more partial when you’re Robin compared to Tim so you were working overtime for a bit as Tim took on a different case) but eventually it works.

Regardless, it's a pretty terrible case. A child (nevermind she's around the same age as you) assassin brought up to be a weapon by David Cain and Lady Shiva. Doesn’t understand any language other than body language. Wants to become the next Batgirl (?)

Well, at least Bruce Wayne might be happy to have a daughter. Barbara is too old and has a good father. Spoiler hasn’t “officially” revealed her civilian identity and probably isn’t willing to be actually adopted. And well, the less that’s said about you the better.

Tim joins a group of teenage superheroes. You meet them too and there isn’t much to say but they’re nice and figured out you weren't Robin-Robin pretty quickly. You think you may have given them a heart attack though when they realized you were an imposter.

A bit later, a few months maybe, as you’re sitting in the Batcave, working on a case Nightwing asked for help on, Tim stumbles back into the Batcave with a slightly dead look on his face.

"Don't let me become evil gun Batman."

“?”

“Just… please.”

Did he meet an alternate universe version of himself or something? That’s a thing that happens often enough in DC right.

“Sure, okay, don’t let Tim become evil gun Batman. I’ll write that down.”

At least he seems relieved at your promise even if you don’t really understand what being “evil gun Batman” would entail.

“Oh and don’t become Batman just in general. Or like Bruce Wayne, okay?”

Batman offers to train Spoiler officially. Therapy must be doing something good to Batman because he asked you first if he should tell her Robin's identity before beginning training instead of just doing it. You call him a f*cking idiot and that settles that.

Stephanie Brown and Tim begin dating for real. It's um... a bit tumultuous. But, they have their little identity reveal and you get to meet her as yourself finally so, yay?

And of course, all good things must come to an end. This time it’s Jack catching Tim sneaking back home as Robin.

You’re away at a company meeting when it happens and by the time you get home, the dust has already settled and a deal has been made. Secrecy in exchange for giving up Robin. This won’t last, of course, but it’s better than other alternatives you suppose.

In the meantime, Stephanie Brown becomes the fourth Robin.

Her stint as Robin was very short if you remembered correctly. Months of training, something about disobeying orders and a gang fight. Also something about dying…? You keep an eye on the situation as Tim goes off to school for real for the next while.

Sure enough, Batman fires her and she sneaks out to deal with the criminal underworld. Thankfully, you've asked Oracle to keep an eye out on that so the moment she leaves, you're able to head out as well. You tell Mr. Pennyworth you’re going on a “ride”, half-suit up (can't also be Robin here!), borrow the Batmobile keys and rush off according to Oracle’s instructions.

It's chaos which is to be expected really. The entire time you're driving, you're cursing Batman out under your breath.

"F*cking Batman... can't keep a Robin to save a life." You turn a corner. "And here I thought therapy would make him better at communication."

Truly a Sisyphean task to make the Robins believe they aren't inadequate. You hope that by the time Tim goes back to being Robin, Batman will pull his head out of his ass.

Anyways, you head to where Robin is being held, crash through a couple of things and hit Black Mask with the Batmobile. Whoops, you think you decelerated enough to not break everything in his body. You get out of the car, toss Robin into the backseat and drive off to see Dr. Leslie Thompkins.

“What- can you… even drive???” Robin 4 asks as she bleeds heavily on the nice leather seats of the Batmobile.

"Don’t worry about it, I got my driver's license ages ago." You wave around the card as you break several traffic rules at once.

Eventually, you arrive at Dr. Thompkin’s clinic where she is able to be treated. While you linger beside the Robin as she is being treated, Dr. Thompkins apparently found it fitting enough to air out all of her concerns regarding child vigilantes and Batman to you. You really don't think you should be the one she should be telling this to.

Towards the end of the treatment, Batman shows up in the shadows, like always. Speak of the devil and he shall appear and all that.

"So, you've heard her thoughts," you say because you don't doubt he'll have heard everything already despite only showing up now. "Make yourself clear. Speak before you do something irreparable to each other."

With that, you usher both him and the doctor outside to speak properly. On the operating table, Stephanie Brown breathes, her chest falling and rising slowly and steadily. You end up falling asleep in the clinic.

In the aftermath, Stephanie Brown pauses vigilante activities to recover and Tim returns to being Robin. You and Jack Drake have an enlightening conversation about that but that's a story for another time. Oh, also, Stephanie Brown and Tim break up. It happens. At least it seems to be a mutual agreement.

Things enter equilibrium once again. You graduate high school, enrol in university part time, and immediately throw yourself full time into Drake Industries which has grown into a powerhouse you’re very proud of.

Stephanie Brown goes back to being Spoiler. Cassandra Cain goes out as Batgirl. Barbara Gordon is Oracle. Dick Grayson continues on as Nightwing. Tim is Robin and Bruce Wayne is Batman. Everything is steady for another little while.

However, the Joker is becoming a problem. You've observed enough of the happenings in Gotham to understand which things you can categorize as "threats" or "things that can be handled". The League of Assassins? Fine, handleable. Important for other things later on. The Court of Owls? Fine, you're working on purging some things that the others aren't aware of.

But the Joker? There are enough birdies in the Batfamily now that you're starting to worry.

So, what should you do?

You plot. You plan. Everyone is busy enough with cases (crime never stops in Gotham after all) that you're relatively undisturbed. It should be fine, you think. Harley had broken up with the Joker ages ago, you don't have qualms about killing, and you don't have to follow the "no killing" rule since you're not really part of the Batfamily. Besides, it's not like you're doing this as Robin.

A week later, you put your plans into action.

In truth, it's so easy you’re almost disappointed. All that planning just for tonight. You’re well aware of how swamped everyone will be with numerous rogues coming out to play. But the Joker will be preoccupied, hidden beneath the chaos he would normally thrive in.

Luring him out is simple. Killing him even more so. You like a little bit of poetic justice so a crowbar is the way to go.

The bats may not be able to kill the Joker for thematic reasons but you can.

The Joker laughs and laughs at nothing at all. He doesn’t know who you are. You think you almost crack a smile when you’re finished, his head bashed open and blood splattered against the floor. You wipe out the body, all the evidence and head back to the cafe to complete your alibi.

Midway through your fifth meeting of the night, you remember, “hey isn’t Jason Todd supposed to come back to life and get mad at Batman for not killing the Joker?”

You’ve encountered the League of Assassins in passing as “Robin”, made vague comments in Talia Al Ghul’s direction about “hidden parentage” and about how "the League is dangerous for children isn't it?" but you realize you’ve never really dug about Jason Todd. Well, um, it’s probably fine. You’re pretty sure you’re way too late to help him now with the whole revival thing anyways.

You go to bed at sunrise and rest with a weight lifted off your shoulders.

The very next day, Red Hood appears in Gotham City.

Talk about timing, huh? You're almost impressed.

Well, the good thing about all of this is that his appearance is enough to take attention off of the fact that no one's seen the Joker in a while. Relatively quickly, Red Hood takes over Crime Alley and starts messing around with the gangs and Black Mask. You end up hearing about the 8 heads in a duffle bag soon after.

As he "cleanses" Crime Alley and you work on providing help through Drake Industries to the residents undergoing this period of unrest, Gotham begins to shift uneasily. The Joker is gone, people whisper. He hasn't appeared for far too long.

Despite being stretched thin, the Bats still investigate. Mortal enemy privileges, you suppose, but you're well aware that they won't find anything.

Nightwing and Batman are the ones who conduct your "investigation", unsurprisingly. When they show up, you stop typing up company emails and sigh.

"Yeah, yeah, covering your bases, I know," you say before they begin. "Let's get on with it."

The meeting ends with "indeterminable". You may or may not have killed the Joker and while it's possible you could have, you also might not have. Schrodinger's killer if you will. You shrug and decide it's fine if they don't think you're totally innocent. Being around a family of detectives is just like that sometimes.

Soon after, Red Hood's movements sort of... halt for a bit. You think it might be because you wrecked all his plans by killing the Joker which oops, sorry, ruined his dramatic return and all that. He still clashes with the others and leaves hints dangling above their heads (you would know, you check the reports in the Batcave) but it's quite subdued.

Eventually, Bruce Wayne finds out Jason Todd's coffin is empty. Despite figuring out that Red Hood is Jason Todd, he doesn't tell anyone.

Because it's "dangerous" right now and "his safety is compromised", Tim gets grounded at Titans Tower. This is the first time your little brother has ever been grounded which is objectively, hilarious.

So, obviously, you "take a break" and go visit Titans Tower.

You're semi-suited up and masked (again, can't have two Robins here) to meet the Titans as kind-of yourself for the first time. They're, understandably, pretty shocked that you're meeting them not as Robin.

Anyways, since Tim is grounded and can't go out on patrol, he's stuck working on cases in the Tower. Looking over evidence, deciphering messages, etc, etc. He complains to you the entire time. Despite all this time, he's still the same as ever. Still your little brother. Still Tim.

Eventually when night falls, you usher him to bed with a promise to "take care of whatever is unfinished". Red Hood is coming tonight. You know he is.

In the dead of night, you wander and wait.

You arrive at the Hall of Fallen Titans. Jason Todd, in his Robin costume, stands before you.

The lights flicker.

"Jason," you tilt your head and let your footsteps echo. "You should come home."

Darkness descends.

Despite being a solid head shorter than him and nowhere near as built like a fridge as he is, you're absolutely certain that he won't attack. You're just "not-Robin" enough for him to pick up on the fact that something is wrong. You’re fairly certain he thinks you and Tim are the same person though.

Sure enough, when the brightness comes forth yet again, he has vanished.

You smile even as the alerts finally start going off.

The next day, Tim, who found out that Red Hood broke in while he was sleeping, gets kind of mad at you.

"What do you mean he was here?! Why didn't you wake me up?"

"I had it handled. Besides, it's just Jason."

"What? That's not the point!"

"It's fine," you insist. "Besides, you were so sleep deprived that it wouldn't make a different if you were awake or not."

Everyone knows it's Jason at this point in the aftermath by the way. It wasn't hard to piece together.

The Joker is officially declared "missing" but everyone knows that he's dead. You don't get accused of killing him again so you consider it a win. You do vaguely remember something in the comics about a whole separate confrontation with Red Hood, Batman and the Joker that didn't end well but um, you ruined those plans as well so you aren't really sure what's going to happen now.

Things vaguely simmer down afterwards. Red Hood is still active, of course, as well as the Bats and Birds but it's a smidgen more awkward, you think. You don't go out as Robin in this time but since everyone is still working overtime, you spend more time at the Wayne Manor then you normally would.

One morning, Jason Todd shows up at breakfast without a single word in advance.

Just waltzes through the front door and into the dining room where you’re seated, reading over a report from last night. He’s dressed like the exact same as usual just without the Red Hood mask. Seeing him up close now, he really only vaguely resembles the Robin you stalked in the past.

“Good morning,” you greet, just loud enough for Mr. Pennyworth to hear in the kitchen.

Jason remains silent for a few moments before responding. “… yeah. Good morning.”

As Mr. Pennyworth steps out, you slip away into the kitchen. You hear exclamations of joy and disbelief as you flip the eggs in the pan so they don't burn.

Tim shows up next, groggily wandering into the kitchen where you've prepared a cup of coffee. Once he's awake enough, he blinks at the scene in the living room. You watch with great interest as Tim drops his coffee mug that would have nearly shattered had you not caught it.

"That-? Jason Todd???"

"Yup." You nod and crack another egg into the pan. "Go out and say hi."

Dick Grayson walks in next and also freezes dramatically. You think he's started crying as he wraps his little brother in a hug. You nudge Tim out the kitchen as Bruce Wayne shows up. By the way, Cass and Steph are having a sleepover at Barbara's place so they aren't here.

Anyways, as that dramatic reunion is happening and you catch Jason Todd do a double take at Tim and you, you finish up the rest of breakfast and begin plating. And well, this is a good moment to remember so you snap a picture while you're at it.

*elden ring style title card*: family reunited

Whatever moral code issues they have can be dealt with later.

So, that was a whole thing. Hurrah for communication, you're very pleased that all that got resolved. Jason Todd isn't going to stop being Red Hood but they're worked something out that you don't care to be privy to. It's not perfect but it's something.

You have a couple of conversations when you cross paths. Apparently he remembered enough of you and Tim stalking him. You're kind of surprised. When the topic of Titans Tower comes up, you clarify that you were the Robin he saw there.

Apparently he did think something weird was going on back there. Good to know.

Things go badly again when Captain Boomerang breaks into the Drake manor the one night you're home. He and Jack Drake kill each other and you get injured in the scuffle. Dana Drake (the lady your father married at some point), suffers a mental breakdown and gets sent to a mental hospital in Bludhaven.

Yikes.

This is a really bad time. A really, really, bad time.

People filter in and out of your hospital room as you recover. You're like, mostly fine, you think. You'll be good after some bedrest. Anyways, you spend most of your time in the hospital planning for Jack Drake's funeral as Tim effectively bans you from doing work.

The funeral isn't really too different from Janet's. They were alright parents. Neither you or Tim are as broken up about their deaths as others think you should be. It's complicated.

However, this brings about the next issue. You and Tim are orphans now. Although you're an adult (barely), Tim is still a minor which means someone has to be listed as his legal guardian. He made up a fake uncle or something in the comics, right? But, since you exist, wouldn't you just be listed as his legal guardian now?

"Bruce offered to adopt me," Tim tells you one day as you're organizing the Drake manor.

"Oh, congrats?"

"I'm not sure if I want to be adopted though."

"You don't have to give him an answer right away." You shrug. "Think about it."

You do know that he does enjoy being at the Wayne manor for reasons other than vigilante business. He fits in well with the family and your mandated therapy for vigilantes and heroes has been good for everyone. You've been around enough to decide that Bruce would be a good enough dad.

"What about you?"

"Hm?" You blink. "What about me?"

"Are you going to let Bruce adopt you too?"

What.

"Why would he adopt me?"

Tim looks back at you in confusion. "Why wouldn't he adopt you?"

"I'm an adult?"

"Adults can still be adopted if there is a mutual agreement between parties."

"I'm not part of your vigilante party."

"I think he wishes we all weren't."

"I don't think they would all want me around?"

You were pretty sure the others thought of you as a weirdo who barged into their home to keep watch on Tim. You're mainly around because you're Tim's sibling and while they've bonded well with him, you're a whole different story.

Isn't it weird to also have someone who's just "Tim (little brother coded)'s sibling" also become their sibling?

Despite it though, Tim looks at you, aghast.

"Wait, we're getting off topic, this is about your adoption. No one's even offered to adopt me or anything-"

"No, we're continuing on this topic-"

It ends in a mild argument, really. Not seeing eye to eye and all that. Apparently though, the interactions between the two of you have frosted over enough that everyone starts commenting on it. Luckily (or unluckily depending on who you ask), the ice that formed gets broken by an unexpected variable.

Damian Al Ghul shows up at the doorstep of the Wayne manor.

You're the one who opens the door since everyone is preoccupied. Of course, you recognize him instantly. He really does resemble Talia and Bruce. Still, this is... a bit early isn't it? He's like, a literal child.

He greets you by your full name, hands over a stack of papers (which were DNA tests and a letter from Talia) and introduces himself.

"Okay," you sigh. "Come in. I'll call Bruce and he'll do his own DNA test just to be certain. Mr. Pennyworth can make you something to eat if you'd like."

Damian lifts his head dismissively. You can already tell he's going to be a brat but he's young enough that it's still cute. After calling Bruce who rushes back, doing DNA test and confirming that "yeah this is real", Damian is brought into the fold.

Man. The number of assassins and people trained by assassins in this household is rising yet again. You decide to firmly leave the matter of Damian to Bruce. His child, his problem. While he has a breakdown about this, you push him off to talk about it in therapy and start working with Alfred to get everything for Damian in order.

Damian doesn’t settle easily in the Wayne manor. He’s prickly, self centered and very proud of his parentage and training. You'd know. He's already gone on his spiel about "the blood son" and "becoming Robin" and all that.

Tim, who has temporarily stopped being mad at you because there's a new variable, is skittish.

"What if they give him Robin?" he confides in you.

"They won't," you say. "He isn't even allowed in the cave yet. Plus, the title is yours right now, if they do give it away, I'll deal with it."

"Family" dinner rolls around. Jason is here, surprisingly. Apparently he and Damian knew each other from the League. So naturally, Jason is his favourite sibling (or rather the only one he acknowledges).

You had planned to grab a plate and sneak off into your room to finish reading the quarterly budget reports but Alfred got a hold of you first so you’re stuck at the dinner table as Damian argues for why he should be allowed to become Robin.

“Damian,” you interrupt midway through the same argument you’ve heard several hundred times, “you haven’t even hit double digits yet. You’re far too young to be going out at Robin at the moment. Besides, you haven’t been properly trained as Robin nor are you aware of the rules. You’re unfamiliar with Gotham, patrol routes, the rogues and far more than you may imagine. There is more to being Batman’s partner than just whatever you’ve learned at the League. Although you may be ahead in terms of physical abilities, you lack the experience.”

You take a deep breath. “In addition, you have yet to balance the public attention that comes from being Bruce Wayne’s child. Your civilian life must be sorted out before any vigilante activities may occur."

You've been around Wayne Enterprises. His PR team is in a constant state of being on fire.

“Fine.” Damian scoffs but settles petulantly in his seat. "I suppose not all of you are incompetent. You are as well spoken as Mother described."

Talia Al Ghul? Talking about you? Can’t be anything good. You decide to ignore it and continue stuffing food into your mouth.

Damian gets enrolled in school. It’s going to be a little awful and he’ll hate it but it’s necessary. You make a goal to motivate him. If he gets good marks, he’ll be allowed into the Batcave. It’s an acceptable trade off.

Surprisingly, for normal issues regarding school, Damian starts going to Tim for advice. It's a good thing you think? They snipe at each other (very sibling coded) but there aren't any murder attempts yet.

Damian gets less prickly. He likes art. He likes animals. He'll reluctantly play along during Galas and let the old people try to pinch his cheeks and coo at him. It’s an improvement.

The topic of Tim’s potential adoption hasn’t come up again. When Jack Drake was in a coma, the two of you were technically placed under Bruce's care (or Alfred's rather) but everything right now is kind of still up in the air. Maybe if you ignore it long enough it won't exist.

The days churn on.

You check your calendar.

Meeting with Talia Al Ghul tomorrow at 3 PM.

At least she went through the Drake Industry protocols to book a meeting, you think optimistically. And at least it's not Ra's Al Ghul. It's been pretty quiet on that end actually, you would've been worried if Talia didn't show up soon.

You're still not sure why she booked a meeting with you and not Bruce though.

The meeting occurs in your office at the main Drake Industries building. There's a lot of small talk. A lot of skirting around topics. It's the same as every other time you've spoken to Talia. The two of you discuss Damian for a bit.

And then Tim breaks into your office. Actually, it's more like Tim and Damian and Bruce (all of whom are in civilian form) but you digress. Talia and Damian (and Bruce) exchange words (you've already said he seems to be doing well but this is probably better for them) before she decides it's time to go.

"You know how to book another meeting," you say as you wave her off. "I will let you know how it goes with Linda from accounting."

She nods in a suitably appreciative way that reminds you of your mother, "Of course."

You answer some questions about how many times this has happened before shooing everyone else out of your office so you can do work.

Later, at night, Damian approaches you.

"You were always her favourite of Father's other children."

"Favourite?" You look away from your laptop and fight the urge to grimace. Tim is Ra’s Al Ghul’s favourite so you aren’t really sure what being Talia’s favourite could mean. But most importantly… "What do you mean of Bruce's other children?

"Are you not Father's ward?"

"No? I've never been adopted by Bruce."

"Yet Grayson and the others refer to Drake as their brother."

"That's Tim. You don't see them calling me their sibling, do you?"

"Hm."

As he turns and walks away with a contemplative expression, you can't help but feel as though you had picked the wrong dialogue option.

The fic sort of set up like a 5+1 thing (five times Bruce is not your father and one time he is/five times the bats are not your family and one time they are).

Roughly, part one would start to the end of Dick Grayson as Robin. Part two is Jason up until Tim's first night as Robin. Part three is training to Stephanie's end as Robin. Part four is killing Joker to Jack Drake’s funeral. Five is post-funeral until the end.

And then of course, there's the plus 1. It's mostly set up as like an outsider POV, observing you from the perspective of others. Despite your narration indicating that you're "not that close" to the Batfamily since you aren't a full-time vigilante, that's not really true.

Your POV focuses a lot more on "plot events" and your work dealing with Drake Industries but there's a whole bunch of things outside of that where you're just hanging out. You go shopping with everyone, you bake cookies with Alfred, you teach Cass language, you take Tim to skateboarding competitions, you give everyone Christmas presents, you do so so much outside of what you consider “really important”.

Despite what you think, you’re a really good sibling actually and you have gotten close with everyone in the Batfamily. If only you could see it. Of course, it doesn’t really kick in how you think of yourself as an outsider until the whole adoption thing. Did all that time spent together not get through your head?

Some part of it might be the rough start when you and Tim first became involved. Your relationship with everyone is… complicated. More than complicated.

You spent hundreds of days and weeks bringing Bruce back from the brink after Jason’s death. You dealt with the brunt of the damage he caused in the time just to make things easier on everyone else. It’s not an exaggeration to say you remade Bruce, remade Batman, in the image you wanted. It’s a complicated dynamic. He concedes to you often, too often for the two of you to really hold a normal parent-child relationship in any sense.

His reflection on his interactions with you and Tim are also super complicated, especially since when Tim first got involved as Robin, Bruce was stewing in grief and really did not want the two of you to be around. He does appreciate you but winning your appreciation afterwards is difficult.

You've also spent a lot of time when you first met Dick to basically plaster in his face "even if you're mad at each other, Bruce still cares about you and you should come back to the manor sometimes". Although you encouraged Tim to hang out with Dick, you never really sought him out that often on your own. You always seem a little confused when he spends time with you, as though you're an obligation to him.

Jason's memories of you and Tim from before his death are spotty at best. He remembers vague feelings. Giving Tim a hug. 2 figures running along the shadows of rooftops. Hiding along the edge of the room at galas to avoid people and finding you and Tim there as well. It's enough that it's impacted his time at the League and his feelings after his dip in the Lazarus Pit.

Much of his anger was directed towards Batman more than it was towards the new Robin. Especially after recalling some of the bits and pieces of who the Drakes are. Talia's "favouritism" towards you may have helped a bit.

It's only really after he kind of rejoins the Batfam and you and Tim chat with him does everyone realize how far your stalking went in those early days. The two of you had alluded to following Batman and Robin around in the past but Jason really brings to light the amount the two of you knew before you and Tim actually got involved. It's a... conversation for sure.

You've spent much of your life basically raising Tim, you’re almost equally his parent as you are his sibling despite only being three years older than him. And well-

Across the multiverse, Tim finds that there are hundreds of thousands of constants.

You are not one of them.

He has met many alternate selves, enough that there are protocols for when it happens. There is always Batman. There are superheros. There is Tim Drake.

There is no (Y/n) Drake.

He has not come across a single universe where you exist. None except for his. It's a difficult truth to swallow.

In those glimpses of other worlds, he sees how different things could have been, how many things have fallen apart without you. How fundamental you are to everything.

But he knows you. He knows you better than anyone else so he isn't surprised when Damian says that you do not believe yourself to be part of the family.

The rest of the +1 segment is sort of your induction into the Batfamily for real and everyone making is very clear that they do view you as family (an effort spearheaded by Damian who snitched to everyone). You stop repressing a bit and admit to it eventually. The adoption topic comes up again where you're like "it's going to be a PR nightmare" and everyone's like "it's fine dw about that".

I think towards the end, both you and Tim decide that you're both okay with being Bruce's wards but don't want to really be adopted-adopted. Some stuff after that would probably be passing on the Robin mantle to Damian, Tim becoming Red Robin and maybe a Duke cameo towards the end as well.

Some additional notes:

There are some other dynamics with you and the other characters in the +1 section but uhh i haven't decided what kind of dynamic. There would be more slice of life stuff in +1 segment though.

Tim did not go to boarding school because Jack and Janet decided you could take care of him well enough. In addition, the Drakes moved to become neighbours with the Wayne early because baby you stared at the Wayne manor often.

Your relationship with Jack and Janet is complicated. Very complicated. You resent them a bit more than Tim might just due to the whole being parentified thing.

There's more gala shenanigans early fic w/ Dick and Jason before you and Tim get officially involved with the Batfamily. Like passing candy around, hiding from other rich people, etc.

Tim was Robin every single Halloween since Robin debuted. You helped him update the costume every time.

You go to Tim’s parent teacher interviews. It’s only a little awkward when the teacher in question was one of your previous teachers. No one goes to your parent teacher interviews.

Anyone who has had a crush on Tim or been in a relationship with him has gone through the very Bisexual experience of also having a crush on you. It's a rite of passage really.

You’ve accidentally Pavlov-ed Bruce. Kind of. He tends to straighten whenever he hears your voice. It's a remnant of when you were essentially nagging him all day while Tim was training to be Robin. You haven’t noticed but everyone else has.

Actually, everyone has an automatic response to when you scold them. It's kind of the same as when Alfred scolds them.

You are Tim's favourite sibling. No competition.

You might also be Cass's favourite. She was very sad to find out you didn't consider yourself family.

Tim figured out you killed the Joker at some point and you know that he knows. He hasn't told anyone and covered up any remaining evidence that helped him piece it together.

You've spoken with Jason about if he wants to legally come back to life and enroll in university. He does come back to life legally eventually but hasn't enrolled in anything yet.

Everything about the Joker is still kind of up in the air but you admit to Jason that you killed him at some point.

It is well known that there's normal Robin 3 and scary Robin 3 (you). There's a bunch of theories about why Robin 3 is scary sometimes but most chalk it up to occasional mental breaks from dealing with Batman during that specific time period where Batman was terrible.

Although Tim is probably the best detective in the family, everyone knows that you "just know things" sometimes. They've come to just not question it when you say certain things must be done.

There's a bunch of background company plot stuff while you're working on Drake Industries. Like beefing with Lex Luthor and other billionaires, running your charity events, trying to fill out the spaces where Wayne Enterprises hasn't been focusing on and so on.

Even after Jack Drake awakens from his coma, Drake Industries is still really your company. He doesn't involve himself with it.

the main Gotham job prospects aren't great. It's either working for a company run by a teenage CEO, a company run by a billionaire playboy or becoming a henchman.

You get kidnapped often enough that you've gotten to know the goons and henchmen. You've also convinced them to unionize.

Again, despite your whole thing about "not really being that close with the batfam", there are traces of you everywhere. The medbay organization system? Yours. The fact that everyone in the Justice League is mandated to go to therapy? Your work. A good chunk of the emergency codes? Also yours.

You and Alfred have an ongoing back and forth of: "Mr. Pennyworth", "Just Alfred, Master (Y/n)", "Please, just (Y/n)"

You have your own room in the Wayne manor. So does Steph.

You lowkey micromanaged everything in the early days of Tim becoming Robin. If anyone were to ask you, you'd say it was a necessity. You still kind of micromanage everyone's schedule to make sure they all get a sufficient amount of sleep.

The rogues who are aware of the whole Bruce Wayne is Batman thing break into your office at Drake Industries pretty often. You'll get them all to book their meetings officially eventually.

When you go out as Robin, you try to swing around Crime Alley since it's what Jason used to do.

The Justice League does eventually become aware of the fact that you and Tim are indeed different people posing as the same Robin. Superman and Wonder Woman were already aware prior to it being officially revealed.

You respect Alfred a lot but you also think he lets Bruce get away with a lot and that he isn't harsh enough sometimes.

The majority of the time, you're on comms with Barbara while the others are on patrol. When you're busy with other things, you work on it in the Batcave in case an emergency pops up.

Damian goes to you for help about what to do at galas and such events since you've been at that game the longest out of all the batkids.

You don't know much about what happens when the others meet alternate universe selves. Everyone tends to stay quiet about it. You always think "surely it's not that bad is it?".

Spin off idea: 5 times other people thought you were Tim and one time people thought Tim was you. Featuring: Teen Titans, the Justice League, Jason Todd, Batman, the rogue gallery and the various employees of Drake Industries and Wayne Enterprises.

A couple of au ideas: 1. you get sick and Tim calls the Waynes. Early adoption stuff; 2. you catch Jason digging out of his grave and is like “shit okay guess I’m doing this now”; 3. You become an intern at Wayne Enterprises a bit before Jason dies. You get stuck there even after your internship is after.

So, yeah. Isekai with incomplete knowledge. Family Drama. Unreliable narrators. That's the fic concept I'm probably never going to write.

[ya-zz]

Hello, if you're taking requests currently could I request the overwatch guys: Ramatra, Genji, Hanzo, Magua, Life Weaver, Cassidy and Lúcio taking care of a fem reader on her time of the month if you write for any of them?

-sincerely a reader suffering cramps <3

Sorry this took awhile to get to, but hopefully this will suffice 💜 I’m also doing this from my phone so apologies if formatting is off

RAMATTRA

Like most arrogant omnics, he didn’t care at first.

It was just another weak, human thing that didn’t concern him.

But when it came down to you, he softened up and offered to help when he could.

He knows your cycle and everything that comes with it.

He’s done his research, wanting to make the days go by quickly and comfortable for you.

The few days before when your mood is low and you feel lethargic, Ramattra would bundle you up in a blanket and put your favourite movie on.

Everything was prepared afterwards. Hot water bottle for the cramps, your favourite snacks and drink on standby for when you needed them.

If you needed space, he’d oblige… sort of. He’d be in the same room, but distance himself from you.

If you needed more products, he’d get them for you, already knowing which were your preferred coverage.

Ramattra would snuggle up to you at night and warm himself up so you were comfortable.

Should you happen to leak, he’d clean up, no questions asked.

He’d help you through it all, despite the mood swings putting him on edge sometimes.

GENJI

He’s had his fair share of mood swings with the females he had dated, but he was more than happy to make sure you were okay during your time of the month.

Genji didn’t rely on dates, he relied on your mood.

He was quick with making sure you were comfortable before moving away from you to give you space.

When your arms would open up to him, he would scurry over and hold you until you told him to let go.

You were, in theory, in charge.

If you needed something, food, water, products, he’d get them in a heart beat.

Movie nights were a must, Genji swore by them and while they did help you forget about the pain, it was nice to be close to him.

Your favourite takeout would be ordered for the perfect night in.

He would also, somehow, get you out of the house for a little while. A small walk for some fresh air helped immensely on the bad days.

The ninja stayed with you as much as you would allow him to, and yes, he did tease you about your mood swings when it was all over.

HANZO

Calendars were made for a reason, and alongside birthdates and events, a small dot to signify the start of your period was on there.

He’d put it in his phone too, just in case he was away.

If it happened to be irregular, he’d rely on your mood, just like his brother would.

Hanzo would grow softer, hands massaging your shoulders when you sat with him.

The bathroom would always be fully stocked too, never seeming to run out of your products.

The archer had reserved a cupboard in the kitchen for your favourite snacks for this exact moment, bringing you what you needed whenever you asked.

Hot water bottles were filled when required, and when they eventually grow warm, Hanzo would gently rub his own hands over the pain.

Hanzo would do anything you asked of him, even if it was as simple as turning the light off because you were in the perfect position in bed.

MAUGA

First time writing anything Mauga so shhh

He’s staying with you throughout it all.

Protest as much as you want, he ain’t leaving.

Hot water bottle?? Not needed, his hands are hot enough.

He’d let you lay on him at all hours of the day if you wanted.

His hand would soothe over your head when you’re in pain and teary eyed from how bad it is.

He’d tease you over your mood swings, wanting to get a rise out of you because you look “so damn cute.”

Mauga would do anything to take your mind off of it all.

You name it, he’d do it.

He loves you that much he’d kill for you.

He’s one for overbuying snacks and drinks like this would last longer than a month so there’s always extra food laying around for later.

He’s not one to shy away from buying products should you need them, either.

So long as you’re comfortable with him, he’s happy to be there with you through it all.

LIFEWEAVER

He’s always prepared.

Doesn’t matter if it’s on time or irregular, he’s there with everything you need.

Extra blankets and pillows were pulled out so you were comfy in bed or on the sofa.

Products were always fully stocked in the bathroom and he’d even carry some whenever you went out just in case.

He’d always stay composed when your mood changed quickly, instantly bringing you back to a calm state of mind.

He was careful and gentle, not wanting to make it worse for you.

Niran would ask to cuddle with you and wouldn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around you the moment you let him.

Soft hands would rub against the sore and aching parts of your body, easing the tension that had built up.

When he couldn’t be around, he’d leave small notes around the apartment that’d make you smile.

Coming home, he always had a little bag of snacks he bought on the walk back for you.

Just a little something to bring your mood up.

He’d spoil you too, small gifts and flowers that’d take up the table.

Niran would be soft and supportive, giving you exactly what you want whenever you needed it.

CASSIDY

Don’t expect this cowboy to let go of you anytime soon.

If you push him away, he’ll be the one pouting.

He’ll respect your wishes, of course, but he’d mope.

He'd forget occasionally, but would always make it up to you as quick as he could.

Cassidy would hold you close, hand soothing over your stomach in an attempt to calm the pain.

He'd be affectionate, more so than ever, it makes you question him each time, but he'd shut you up with kisses.

The cowboy would wrap you up in his cowl, his scent easing all worries for you.

No matter how snarky you would get, he always found it fun to verbally battle you.

Cassidy would let you lay in bed for as long as it happened, bringing you everything you requested.

He was happy to be your little servant for a few days, always laughing and joking about the circumstances, but never belittling you over something you couldn't control.

He would always reassure you about how much he loves you when you're teary eyed and doubtful.

LUCIO

He'd be the type to carry products in his bag just in case it started whilst you were out with him.

Always has spares on hand, each depending on the flow for that month.

If it became painful, he'd give you his homemade hot chocolate and a hot water bottle to put on your abdomen.

Lucio would put on your favourite playlist and let it loop until you got sick of it.

He'd make sure your favourite drink was prepared for you, chilled or hot, whatever you needed, he'd get it ready for you.

Snacks? He'd go shopping right then and there and pick up everything on the list you had given him.

He's a softie, pulling you close in bed and cuddling up close to you.

Blankets upon blankets would cover you both as he'd hum a tune to help you sleep.

If your mood plummets, he would sit with you until you calmed down, not wanting to leave you.

His hand would hold yours until contact would break, but he'd come back the moment he could.

Anything for his best friend and partner.

—

KOFI

[i2rizz]

Stuck in a storm Pt.1

Summary: You get stuck in a storm with the Blue Lock boys.. how will they react?

Featuring: Isagi,Rin,Bachira,Kunigami,Chigiri

| masterlist

------------‐---------------------------------------

Yoichi Isagi

•At first, he tries to act calm and logical. He scans the surroundings, pointing out where to find the best shelter. "Over there—it looks like there’s a covered bus stop. Let’s head there before it gets worse."

•He’s the type to immediately offer his jacket even if it means standing in the rain himself. When you insist you don’t need it, he shakes his head. "No, seriously, I’m fine. Just take it. You’ll get sick if you don’t."

•Checks his phone obsessively for weather updates or to see if the storm will pass soon, only to groan when the signal cuts out. "Figures. Of course, the one time I actually need my phone…"

•He’s not used to moments like this and fidgets awkwardly while trying to keep you comfortable.

•When thunder cracks loudly and you flinch, his protective instincts kick in. Without thinking, he grabs your hand, his voice soft and reassuring. "It’s okay, I’m here."

•Later, when he realizes what he’s done, his face heats up, and he stammers out an apology. "Uh, sorry. That wasn’t weird, was it? I just… wanted to make sure you were okay."

•Deep down, though, he’s secretly happy he got to hold your hand, even if it was for a brief moment.

Rin Itoshi

•The moment it starts pouring, Rin groans in frustration. He pulls his hood up but glares at the storm like it personally offended him. "Just my luck," he mutters, his tone icy.

•He doesn’t say much at first, just scanning the area for shelter. When he spots a small abandoned shed nearby, he gestures for you to follow him. "Over there. Let’s go."

•The atmosphere is awkward at first because Rin doesn’t exactly know how to be comforting. Instead, he silently shrugs off his jacket and places it around your shoulders, avoiding eye contact. "Don’t argue. Just take it."

•Stands stiffly by the entrance, crossing his arms and muttering about how inconvenient the storm is. "I could be doing something productive right now."

•You try to lighten the mood by pointing out how pretty the lightning looks, and he gives you a sidelong glance. "It’s just light," he says flatly, but the faintest smirk tugs at his lips when he catches you staring at it in awe.

•When thunder rumbles and you instinctively grab his arm, he freezes but doesn’t pull away. His voice softens slightly. "You don’t have to act scared. It’s just noise."

Meguru Bachira

•When the rain starts, Bachira laughs like it’s the most exciting thing to ever happen. "This is awesome! Free shower, anyone?"

•He doesn’t even bother running at first, instead splashing through puddles like a kid. He turns back to you with a playful grin. "What? You’re gonna stand there and miss all the fun?"

•Eventually, he notices you shivering and drags you under a tree for some shelter, shaking out his hair like a wet dog and accidentally spraying water all over you. "Oops! My bad."

•To keep you distracted from the cold, he starts playing silly games like “Would You Rather” or “I Spy,” but his answers are always bizarre. "Would you rather fight a hundred duck-sized horses or one horse-sized duck?"

•When thunder strikes and you jump, he doesn’t miss a beat. "Woah! Scary stuff, huh? Don’t worry, I’ll protect you!" He says it dramatically but ends up clinging to you instead.

•By the end of it, he’s convinced this whole situation is a “romantic adventure” and teases you about it. "See? Told you we’d make the most of this. Now we’ve got a stormy love story to tell everyone."

Rensuke Kunigami

•The responsible one, Kunigami immediately takes charge when the storm starts. "We need to find shelter before this gets worse. Come on, let’s move quickly."

•He keeps a protective arm around your back, guiding you toward the nearest safe spot he can find, which turns out to be an old pavilion.

•Once there, he insists on giving you his jacket, brushing off your protests. "I’ll be fine. You’re the one I’m worried about."

•Always prepared, he pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and offers it to you to dry your face. "It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing."

•To keep the mood light, he starts joking about how this feels like the beginning of a survival movie. "Think we’ll have to start rationing snacks soon?"

•When thunder rolls, and you cling to his arm, he chuckles softly but doesn’t say a word, just pulling you closer. His steady presence alone is enough to make you feel safe.

•After the rain lightens up, he looks at you with a gentle smile. "You okay now? Let’s get you somewhere warm."

Hyoma Chigiri

•When the rain starts, Chigiri lets out a dramatic sigh, already annoyed. "Great. Just what I needed today."

•He’s not a fan of running in the rain but picks up the pace slightly to make sure you’re not completely drenched.

•Finds a small overhang and guides you there, pulling you close so you can both share the limited space.

•Starts fussing over his hair, muttering about how it’s going to take forever to fix. "You don’t know how much effort it takes to keep it looking this good."

•Offers you his jacket with a teasing smirk. "But only because you’ll owe me after this. I don’t just hand out my stuff for free, you know."

•When thunder roars and you instinctively grab his arm, he raises an eyebrow but doesn’t pull away. Instead, he smirks and leans closer. "Scared? Don’t worry, I’ll protect you. You’re welcome."

•By the end of it, he’s back to teasing you, calling this the “most dramatic storm adventure ever.” But there’s a warmth in his eyes that shows he secretly enjoyed looking out for you.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Heart IV

Mapi Leon x Ingrid Engen x Child!Reader

Summary: A soft day off

"Well, good morning, sunshine," Ingrid coos as you wander out of your room.

You've got a major case of bedhead, still dressed in your crumpled pyjamas. You lift your arms up for uppies and Ingrid instantly puts you on her hip, turning back to stirring the eggs on the stovetop.

You're still very sleepy so Ingrid takes this moment to give you your medication.

"Open, please."

She drops the pills into your mouth and lets you swallow them down with a sippy cup of juice.

You're very good at taking your medication and it seems to perk you up a little as Ingrid dishes up breakfast.

It's a slow day, the last of the international break.

Ingrid's matches for Norway had finished earlier than other countries so she'd flown home immediately to get the most out of this day off before training started up again tomorrow.

"Would you go and get your Mami for me? I think she's still in bed."

You're helped down from the counter and wander off to Mami and Mama's room.

Mama was right, of course. Mami was still a lump in the middle of the bed, snoozing carelessly against her pillow. Bagheera sits next to her.

You know Mama told you to get Mami up but you spot her phone on charge a little way away and you go to grab it.

Tia Alexia has lots of games on her phone that she lets you play and you wonder if Mami has those games too.

Her phone is locked though so you can't check but you do spot her camera. You can use her camera app without logging in.

Mami and Mama use their camera apps a lot for lots of photos of you and them together. You've never used it on your own though and you're curious.

You swipe onto the app and adjust it so it's showing Mami and Bagheera in frame. There's a ray of sun coming in through the curtains and you want to capture that too.

The shutter sounds when you press the button and Mami jerks awake.

Her movement shocks Bagheera off the bed and she rubs her eyes. Mami looks around in shock before her features soften when she looks at you.

"Good morning, sunshine," She says," Is that my phone?"

"Morning, Mami!" You chirp, climbing up onto the bed with her," I took a picture!"

You can't access it without logging in so Mami unlocks her phone so you can show it to her.

Her mouth is wide open, mid snore, and Bagheera's got her leg sticking upright as she cleans herself. But you've got the sunbeam very clearly on camera so you're very happy.

Mami laughs. "That's a nice picture!"

"I know!" You giggle as she tickles your tummy. "Oh! Mama said it's time for breakfast! She made eggs!"

"Well, we can't leave Mama by herself! Vamos, sunshine!"

Your favourite days are days off. You get to cuddle with Mama and Mami and get lots of kisses because they love you so much.

You eat breakfast on the sofa for once in front of the tv before you migrate to playing with Bagheera on the floor. She's got a bell on a string that you wave at her.

She bats it a few times before grabbing the bell in her mouth and pulling the stick from your hand.

You giggle and Bagheera cocks her head to the side at the sound.

She looks adorable and you pat Mami's leg.

"Hmm? What is it?"

"Can I have your phone please?" You ask and Mami hands it to you.

You swipe onto her camera quickly and take your pictures of Bagheera looking very cute. She gets bored eventually of sitting in the same spot and curls up in her kitty bed and you migrate back up onto the sofa.

Mama adjusts you so you're on her lap and she pulls up your shirt to run her fingers over your Santa Heart scars.

She does that a lot. She checks them twice every day. Usually when you wake up and then at bathtime. She says that it's just so she knows they're healing correctly but they've been healed for a while now and Mami says it's because Mama is a worrier.

You smile at her though and raise the camera up to take a picture of her face.

You laugh at the silly face she pulls so you snap a few more.

"Mami!" You whine when Mami tries to take her phone back.

"I need it, sunshine," She laughs," It's not just a camera, you know."

You think of the camera hanging in Mama and Mami's room. You know you're not allowed to touch it by yourself because it's big and heavy and it's for the pictures when Mami thinks Mama is looking especially beautiful.

You think that you'd like a camera like that so you ask. You asked Santa for a new heart and you got it. You ask Mama for a camera for yourself too.

"Like Mami's, please?"

Mama hums as she thinks about it, carding her fingers through your hair. "That's a little big for you, sunshine. Maybe when you're older."

You deflate. "Oh."

"But we can get you a polaroid," Mama continues," That's good for your age and it means that your pictures immediately get printed out too."

"Really?" You perk up again.

"We'll pick one out together," Mami says, already booting up her laptop." Come here. Let's have a look."

[yuus-sentient-teddy]

While stuff is going down on Sage's Island, what's happening with some of the families of the NRC students?

S.T.Y.X. probably had to be the ones to tell the families the situation. Even though they explain it as lightly as possible so that there's no major panic, that won't stop the families from worrying.

I thought about Deuce's mom after Malleus casted the spell, when Deuce hasn't called her to talk about his day. Her intuition is telling her that something is amiss, but she tries to brush it off even though Deuce has never missed a call.

She sends a good morning text the following day.

She tries calling him an hour later when there's no response. What if he got sick and that's why he hasn't said anything?

But the call immediately goes to voicemail.

Okay, don't panic. She's sure her son must have forgotten to charge his phone (unlikely, a part of her says) or maybe he's deep asleep from being sick.

Dila debates on whether to call the school. She doesn't want to be overprotective or overbearing. . . and yet her mother's intuition is still screaming at her that something isn't right.

It wouldn't hurt to just be sure, right?

Dila's heart sinks when the call to the school immediately goes to voicemail.

The next chance she gets, Dila drives to the Trappola residence. She starts to feel a little ridiculous when Mrs. Trappola answers the door without a single bit of worry. What if it's nothing? But she still asks if Mrs. Trappola has heard from her son.

Mrs. Trappola shakes her head. "No, but he usually talks with his brother a lot. What's up?"

Dila explains how her son hasn't called or texted her and that the call to the school was unsuccessful. "Hmmm... it could be your phone. Let me try calling."

But the same thing happens--the school doesn't pick up. Dila notices something she missed in the beginning: Mrs. Trappola's stiffness beneath a casual mask. Does Mrs. Trappola also feel like something is wrong?

"Hang on, let me try calling his brother."

He's casual when he picks up and tells his mom that Ace hadn't called him last night. But there is a bit of trepidation when he asks, "Is something going on?"

"No, just checking. I'll call you later." Mrs. Trappola lets out a breath and meets Dila's eyes. Both mothers recognize the look in the other's eyes.

"Do you know Clover Bakery?" Dila asks. "Deuce told me that the son of the family who runs it is in the same dorm as him and Ace."

Mrs. Trappola nods. "Ace mentioned him a few times. Trey."

"I'm going to go over there. Want to come with?"

"Give me a second to get my stuff."

Two worried mothers become three, and they're all sitting around a table in the back of the bakery while a father is with the employees at the front. At this point, it's clear that something has happened to their sons and the school.

The three discuss what to do next. Should they try calling the school again? Reach out to the police station? To another family? How about contacting that Diamond kid's family?

But why stop at this part of the world?

Perhaps a while after the sleeping spell is cast, a little heir is wandering the streets pouting because no one is telling him what is going on.

Something has happened to his uncle, that he knows, but he doesn't know just exactly what.

This little heir may bump into an older woman, a grandmother, who asks why he's wandering around on his own so late in the day. He almost cries in frustration while telling her about the adults not telling him anything about his uncle. He lets slip that his uncle goes to Night Raven College.

That makes the grandmother pause, the uneasy feeling inside of her making itself known once again.

She tells the child that his family might be worried about him and eventually persuades him that going home would be a good idea. She escorts him out of the slums, listening to him talk about his uncle, until some guards find the two.

Before the guards escort the little prince back home, the grandmother asks about Night Raven College. Her grandson is a student there and in the same dorm as Leona Kingscholar. The guards reply with an apology and that they have not heard of an incident at the school.

But she stops them. Surely, they must have heard of something. She doesn't miss the fleeting look in one of the guards' eyes--perhaps that woman has a child who goes there too?

That guard tells her partner to go on ahead, and once the prince and his guard are far enough, she tells the grandmother that all communication to the school and Leona--even to anywhere on the island--have been unsuccessful. Other ways of communicating are being sought, but the guard is bracing for the worse.

She tells the grandmother that if she hears anything, she'll come find her.

The parents of four families congregate in Clover Bakery before it opens. It's clear that no one has gotten much sleep. Cups of coffee are handed out as they all take a seat in the bakery's main area.

"Any word?"

"No."

"Actually," Mrs. Trappola says, "my eldest told me that his friend on the Land of Dawning was given an evacuation order alongside every single citizen there."

". . . The entire land?" Mrs. Clover says faintly, disbelieved.

"The entire land." The weight of the words is heavy and they all silently contemplate what the evacuation could mean.

"Doesn't the heir of Briar Valley also go to the school?" Mrs. Diamond asks. "It's possible he might be keeping everyone safe. Plus--" she fixes a bright smile on her face--"our boys have survived two Overblots. What's one more?"

"There's also a magicless student who goes to the school," Mrs. Trappola says. "I heard from Ace that they've gone through multiple Overblots and survived without so much a scratch. If they can stay standing after that kind of disaster, then this should be nothing for them."

". . . I'm sorry, did you say multiple?"

The bell above the door chimes. In steps none other than Mrs. Rosehearts and a man who seems smaller in her presence. It's not missed the way the woman stands stiffly, and in the corner of Dila's eye, she sees Mr. and Mrs. Clover sitting up straighter.

"Is there anything we can help you with?" Mrs. Clover asks. Dila hears a little tremble in her voice as she tries to sound neutral. She meets Mrs. Diamond's eyes across the way and the two share the same thought: there's a strained history between the Rosehearts and Clovers.

That is when Dila remembers a phone call with Deuce early in the school year--Riddle and Trey's past and Riddle's Overblot.

Mrs. Rosehearts takes a deep breath and lets it out in a half-huff. It seems like she's fighting with her pride. "Yes. Have you heard from the school or your sons?"

"No. None of us have."

Mr. Clover gestures to the chairs. "Have a seat."

The man accompanying Mrs. Rosehearts, Mr. Rosehearts, accepts the invitation. However, halfway sitting down, he notices his wife is still standing. "I'm fine. This shouldn't take long," she says.

He blinks, then fully sits. "So, uh, what have we missed?" he asks.

After the two are filled in, Mr. Rosehearts nods sadly while Mrs. Rosehearts's scowl deepens. "So there's nothing." She almost spits out the last word.

"What about you? Have you tried anything?" Mrs. Diamond asks calmly, like the two were acquaintances.

"Of course I have! But nothing worked!" Mrs. Rosehearts shuts her eyes, tightens her grip on her handbag, and tries to calm down from the outburst.

"We both tried calling people we knew on the island, but our calls kept bouncing," Mr. Rosehearts supplies. "I heard about the Land of Dawning evacuation from a friend of mine. They also said that S.T.Y.X. was the one issuing it."

"S.T.Y.X?!" the room explodes.

"They're only involved if there's an Overblot. So does that mean. . . ?" Mr. Clover doesn't dare finish the sentence.

"But what kind of Overblot causes an entire island to be shut down and another island to evacuate?" Dila asks.

"One that can be caused by a powerful mage," Mrs. Trappola softly says.

The room is once again blanketed by horrified and tense silence. Thoughts return to what Mrs. Diamond said earlier. Doesn't the heir of Briar Valley also go to the school?

Mrs. Rosehearts suddenly spins around and marches to the door.

"Where are you going?" her husband asks.

"To the emissary. I will not sit idly and ponder useless things with useless outcomes while my son is in potential danger."

She's halfway through the door when her and everyone's phones go off simultaneously, creating a cacophony of text notification sounds. They're whipped out and Dila holds her breath as she opens the text application.

. . .

Mr. Clover takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. Mr. Diamond runs a hand through his hair. And Mr. Trappola and Mr. Rosehearts can't stop staring at the message on his phone.

It felt good finally having a confirmation that something was amiss and knowing that a major organization was handling it. At the same, however, it left longing for more information.

"What about my son?!" Mrs. Rosehearts's demand to know her son's well-being felt like a reflection of what the other parents were feeling inside. Anger, worry, helplessness.

Mrs. Clover sits back in her chair with a distant, worried gaze. Mrs. Diamond leans on her husband's shoulder. Mrs. Trappola rubs her face. Mrs. Rosehearts slams the door as she leaves the bakery.

After a few attempts, Dila finally opens the internet application. It brings her to a news article from a while ago, written by a Sage's Island reporter, and at the very top is a picture of her son performing in the Star Sending Ceremony. She can't stop staring at it. What if she never sees him again?

"Deuce. . ."

Meanwhile, in Sunset Savannah, a little prince runs down a street. His head turns wildly, searching for a certain face. Anyone outside pause to stare at him, no doubt curious as to why the heir is here in this neighborhood of all places. He finally spots her leaving a run-down home and sprints the rest of the way.

The grandmother hears him before she sees him. He slows to a stop before her and is panting as he says, "I know what's happening! The island is shut down and some sticks are fixing it!"

"'Some sticks'?" she repeats, puzzled.

He nods feverishly. "Yeah! That's what I heard."

She assumes it's magic-related. "What about the island? Did you hear why it is shut down?"

He goes to answer, but pauses. "Um... I didn't," he says bashfully.

She's disappointed, but doesn't let that show. "That's all right. Thank you for telling me about what you heard."

"Prince Cheka!" Marching down the street is the guard from yesterday. The little prince's ears press down. "Please, notify any of us when you plan to leave the palace," she says, though it sounds more like scolding.

"I'm sorry. I just wanted to let grandmother know about the school."

The guard sighs. "Your parents have already been told and they expect you back soon. I will stand guard beside the house. Let me know when you are ready to return."

"Can you tell grandmother what you know?" Cheka asks. "I saw you talking to her yesterday."

The guard, beneath the stoic exterior, had been impatient to tell the grandmother. "Very well."

She relays the message she, a couple of the other guards, and the queen received. An incident on Sage's Island. . . All travel to Sage's Island and the Land of Dawn are prohibited. . . S.T.Y.X. is currently handling the situation and will notify when the situation has been resolved.

"I am sorry I can't give you more information," the guard says.

Grandma Bucchi shakes her head. "You've given me enough."

She makes her way to a cracked chair and tries not to fall back on it as she sits. "Are you okay?" Cheka asks, approaching as the guard readies herself to help.

"I'm all right," she half lies. She prays to the stars of the coming night that nothing is happening to Ruggie. She already lost her daughter-in-law and son; she cannot lose her grandson.

"He'll figure out a way to survive. He's resourceful," she says, partly as a reminder to herself.

"My uncle might be helping him. They might be helping each other, like the King of Beasts and the hyenas!" Cheka says, brightening.

Grandma Bucchi knows the story well--everyone in Sunset Savannah does. It came to mind when Ruggie told her about his working relationship with Leona, and the thought wasn't lost on Ruggie either.

Perhaps they are helping each other through the danger that has taken hold of the island. "It is possible. My grandson is in the same dorm as your uncle."

A/N: I have been dying to share this with ya'll for a couple of weeks. I also kind of oneshot this XD

[eunoia-writes]

The babysitter • bodyguard!Rafe Cameron x reader

Summary: Victor Dimitri has had enough of his daughter and her wild streak. When she crosses a boundary even she knows she shouldn’t have, he hires her a personal bodyguard or in her words, A babysitter. When he comes into her life she’s defiant won’t listen to a word he says but Rafe is used to a challenge

Warnings: Mention of violence, Dark themes, murder, Kidnapping, drug trafficking and Abuse, Neglectful parents, sexual themes, eventual Smut- MDI

Three

Previous

—

Y/N had been ignoring Rafe for days now.

She barely left her room, only emerging for meals, and even then, she acted as though he didn’t exist. He was used to her silent treatment by now, but this time, it annoyed him more than he’d like to admit.

Still, he let her have her space. She’d come around eventually.

And apparently, tonight was the night she was going to try and smooth things over.

One evening, she appeared in the doorway of the living room, arms crossed, chin tilted up in that defiant way that drove him crazy.

“I’m going out for dinner with Sasha and the girls,” she announced.

Rafe barely glanced up from his phone, masking the way his body instantly tensed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He hummed, nodding slightly. “Good.”

She hesitated, clearly expecting an argument. When she didn’t get one, she just shrugged, grabbed her bag, and turned toward the door.Rafe pushed himself off the couch, grabbing his keys.

She turned to him with a groan. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.” He held the door open for her, waiting. “Let’s go.”

She huffed but stomped past him, heading toward the car.

The drive was quiet at first, but then, Rafe let out a small chuckle, shaking his head as he tapped the steering wheel.

“What?” she snapped.

“Nothing,” he said, smirking. “I’m just really glad you decided not to go out with Isaac.”

Y/N tensed. “Oh… yeah.”

“I mean, you’d have to be insane to still want to see that guy But I knew you’d make the smart choice.”

She swallowed. “Yeah, of course.”

Rafe glanced over at her, his smirk widening. “See? Maybe you can learn to listen to me.”She rolled her eyes, staring out the window.

A few minutes later, they pulled up outside the restaurant. And that’s when Rafe’s mood immediately soured.

Because standing there, waiting by the entrance, was Isaac.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened, his jaw clenching so hard it ached.

Y/N immediately reached for the door handle, but Rafe locked the doors before she could get out.

Her head snapped toward him. “Rafe—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” His voice was low, deadly.

She swallowed, gripping the strap of her purse. “I—”

“You lied to me,” he growled.

She let out an exasperated sigh. “Oh my god, Rafe, it’s just dinner. It’s not that deep.”

He turned in his seat, his glare burning into her. “You lied to my face. Unbelievable.”

“I don’t understand why you’re being such a prick about this,” she shot back. “It’s not like I’m marrying the guy.”

“You’re not going in there.”

“Yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

And before she could react, he was reaching across the console, grabbing ger phone out of her hand.

Isaac stood there, looking thoroughly confused. Rafe shot him a glare so deadly that the guy took an instinctive step back. Rafe tossed her phone into the backseat before she could do anything.

“What the hell is wrong with you?��� she snapped.

“Shut up,” he muttered, reversing out of the parking lot.

“I hate you.”

“Cool.”

She seethed in silence the entire drive home.

When they got back, she stomped into the living room, throwing herself onto the couch with her arms crossed.

Rafe leaned against the wall, running a hand through his hair before sighing. “You done pouting yet?”

Nothing.

He exhaled sharply. “I had my friend Jake look into Isaac.”She didn’t react, but he knew he had her attention. “He’s got a long history of being a piece of shit,” he continued. “Fraud, assault charges, a couple of restraining orders. You really know how to pick ‘em, huh?”

She scoffed. “Bullshit.”

Rafe pulled out his phone, scrolled through the messages Jake had sent him, and tossed it onto the table in front of her.

“Read it.”

She hesitated before picking up the phone. As her eyes scanned the texts, her face slowly fell.

She swallowed. “I—”

Rafe waited.

She set the phone down, avoiding his gaze. “I’m… sorry.”

His lips twitched slightly. “It’s my job, sweetheart.”

She rolled her eyes. “That doesn’t mean I trust you.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything more.”

A silence settled between them, but this time, it wasn’t tense. It was… comfortable.

She stood up from the couch shortly after heading towards the back door

“Where are you going?” Rafe asked watching her from the couch

“I just need air.” She mumbled as he got up and followed her out as she made her way down to the pond at the end of the garden. She sat down picking at the grass below her as Rafe hovered behind her unsure if she should sit down

“You can sit you know.” She said not looking back at him but feeling his presence. And he did just that. Rafe took a seat next to her not too close but close enough that she could feel his body heat radiating off him.

The pair sat in silence for a while neither one of them ready to start the conversation. He knew she was upset at what he’d shown her about Isaac but he didn’t know how to approach the topic without upsetting her more.

Y/N let out a sigh, shivering slightly as the cool night air nipped at her skin. The estate grounds were quiet, bathed in the soft glow of the garden lights. She pulled her arms around herself, regretting not grabbing a jacket before coming outside.

Rafe noticed.

Without a word, he shrugged off his own jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

She blinked in surprise but pulled it tighter around herself, inhaling the faint scent of his cologne. “Thank you.”

He nodded, settling onto the bench beside her.

“You don’t have to sit with me out here,” she murmured. “I’m not gonna run off.”

He let out a quiet chuckle. “You sure about that?”

She laughed softly, shaking her head.

A comfortable silence stretched between them, the usual tension that existed between them momentarily absent.

“Tell me about you,” she said after a beat.

Rafe raised a brow. “There’s not much to tell.”

“If we’re going to be stuck together every day for the foreseeable future, don’t you think we should get to know each other?”

He tilted his head, considering. “Fine. You go first.”

“What do you want to know?”

“What’s your favorite color?” He asked and she rolled her eyes with a soft smile playing on her lips

“Oh, come on, you can do better than that.”

“Answer the question.”

He sighed, but there was amusement in her voice when she responded, “Fine… red.”

he nodded, processing her answer. “Your turn.”

“Green,” He said “What’s your favorite flower?”

“Why? You gonna buy me some to win me over?” she teased.

“Y/N.”

She smirked before sighing. “Lilies.”

Rafe hummed. “Good choice.”

She leaned back laying down on the grass, looking up at the sky. “What did you want to be when you were growing up?”

“An astronaut.”

She turned to look at him, surprised. “Really?”

He nodded. “What about you?”

“A princess.”

Rafe let out a low chuckle. “Well, you’re halfway there.”

She rolled her eyes. “Funny.”

A gentle breeze blew through the garden, ruffling her hair slightly. Rafe watched as she tucked a loose strand behind her ear.

“What were you doing before you were hired by my dad?” she asked.

“I worked for a friend of his,” he admitted. “Just security stuff. His friend recommended me when your dad mentioned needing someone… said he should hire someone closer to your age. That you’d cope better.”

She frowned. “Aren’t you like, twenty-six? How is that close to my age?”

“Watch it, princess, you’re twenty-two.”

She huffed but didn’t argue.

“My turn,” he said. “Why have you been lashing out?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. She exhaled through her nose, staring down at her hands.

“It’s the only way to get him to notice me,” she admitted.

Rafe frowned. “He notices you.”

“No, he doesn’t,” she whispered. “To him, I’m just another obligation. Another issue he has to fix. Not his daughter.”

Rafe was silent for a moment. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

“I wish it wasn’t.”

His chest tightened at the rawness in her voice, the way her usual sharp edges seemed dulled by exhaustion.

“Tell me about your family,” she said suddenly, shifting the subject.

He hesitated but eventually answered, “My mom wasn’t in the picture growing up, but I had my dad. He was a hardass with a mean streak… and I felt like I had to protect my sisters from him.”

She lifted her gaze. “Sisters?”

“Sarah and Louisa.”

“Do you miss them?”

His jaw tensed. “Yeah… but I got into some bad shit. It was better for me to leave than drag them into that.”

She studied him carefully. “What bad shit?”

He let out a heavy sigh, running a hand down his face.

“I got into drugs. Real bad. Was basically an addict,” he admitted. “Started hurting people. I wasn’t a good guy.”Her heart clenched slightly at the admission.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured.

Rafe glanced at her. “Why are you sorry?”

“Must have been difficult.”

His lips twitched slightly, as if surprised by her empathy. “It was.”

She gave a small nod. “I’m glad you told me.”

He scoffed lightly. “Don’t go using it against me.”

She smirked. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Silence settled between them again, but this time, it wasn’t awkward. It was… understanding.

Rafe checked his watch. “We should head back inside. You’re gonna catch a cold.”

For once, she didn’t argue. Didn’t protest. She just nodded, letting him guide her back toward the house, his hand resting lightly against the small of her back.

As they stepped inside, she hesitated before turning to him.

“Do you want to watch TV with me?”

His brows raised slightly, surprised by the offer. But then he nodded.

“Sure.”

At some point, she drifted off, curled up on the couch. Rafe sighed, running a hand down his face. He should wake her up. Instead, he just looked at her.

She was beautiful.

Her long lashes rested against her cheeks, lips slightly parted, and her breathing was slow and steady. After a moment, he carefully scooped her up into his arms and carried her upstairs.

She stirred slightly when he set her down on the bed but didn’t wake up.

He hesitated before brushing a stray curl from her face.

Then he left, heading to his own room to get some work done. Not even ten minutes later, there was a knock at his door.

“Come in,” he called. Her father stepped inside, hands clasped behind his back.

“How’s it going?” he asked. Rafe exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck.

“She’s stubborn as hell.”

A chuckle. “That she is.”

“But I think I made progress tonight.”

Her dad nodded, pleased. “Good. Very good.”

Then he smirked slightly. “Tomorrow’s Sunday, isn’t it?”

Rafe stilled. “Yeah?”

“Which means it’s your day off.” Rafe clenched his jaw but nodded. Her dad patted him on the shoulder. “Enjoy your day off, son.”

—

Y/N woke up the next morning, stretching.

Something felt off.

She got up, grabbed her robe, and made her way downstairs. “Dad?” she called. He looked up from the dining table. “Morning.”

“Where’s Rafe?” she asked looking around the room to make sure she hadn’t missed him

He raised an eyebrow. “It’s Sunday.”

She frowned. “And?”

Her dad sighed, setting down his coffee. “It’s his day off, Y/N.”

“Oh.” She tried to ignore the weird pit in her stomach. So, she did what she always did when she had an ounce of freedom.

Y/N stood in front of her full-length mirror, examining the final touches of her outfit. A sleek black dress hugged her curves perfectly, the hem stopping just above mid-thigh. Her hair cascaded in soft waves, and her makeup was flawless—just enough to make her look effortlessly stunning.

Her phone was propped up on the vanity, speaker on as her best friend, Sasha, giggled through the line.

“Okay, tell me again why you’re so determined to ditch Rafe tonight?” Sasha asked, amusement laced in her tone.

“Because, Sash, I refuse to have him trailing behind me like some overbearing babysitter,” Y/N huffed, swiping on one last coat of lip gloss. “Tonight is supposed to be fun. You know, one of our feral nights out—no rules, no drama, just chaos and shots.”

“Oh, I love when you get like this,” Sasha laughed. “So how exactly are you ditching Mr. Tall, Broody, and Controlling?”

Y/N smirked as she slipped on her heels. “My dad gave him Sundays off, remember?”

Sasha gasped. “No way. You have a Rafe-free night?”

“Exactly,” Y/N grinned. “I can finally breathe.”

“Girl, you better take full advantage of this. I want you sloppy, I want you dancing on tables, I want—”

“You want me to end up in a ditch?” Y/N snorted.

“I want you to have a night to remember.”

Y/N laughed, grabbing her bag. “Pick me up in ten.”

“Done.”

She hung up the phone, took one last glance at herself in the mirror, and smirked. Tonight was her night.

Just as she was about to step out the door she got a message. From Rafe.

Rafe: don’t do anything stupid tonight

She laughed slightly before typing back

Y/n: would I ever

—

The club was alive.

The bass of the music thrummed through her chest, neon lights flashed in hypnotic patterns, and the air was thick with alcohol, perfume, and sweat. Bodies moved together on the dance floor, drinks were poured relentlessly, and laughter mixed with the hum of conversation.

Y/N was in her element.

She and Sasha had wasted no time throwing back shots the second they arrived, the burn of tequila warming her throat as she slammed the glass back onto the bar with a grin.

Sasha whooped, wrapping an arm around her. “That’s my girl! We are getting messy tonight.”

Y/N giggled, already feeling the early buzz seep into her system. She scanned the club, taking in the familiar chaos, when one of their friends leaned in closer, a smirk playing on her lips.

“So… where’s Rafe?” Lucy asked

Y/N rolled her eyes, immediately ordering another drink. “Not here.”

Her friend snickered. “You sound way too excited about that.”

“Because I am,” Y/N declared, accepting the new shot and knocking it back without hesitation. “I swear, he’s always breathing down my neck, acting like I’m some fragile little thing that needs protecting. But guess what? I’m not.”

Sasha nodded in agreement. “Yeah, babe can handle herself.”

Her friend raised a brow. “Mm-hmm. And yet, you’re still talking about him.”

Y/N scoffed, grabbing Sasha’s drink and downing it just to prove a point.

“See? Not talking about him,” she said, voice already tinged with drunken confidence.

“Uh-huh.”

Y/N ignored the smirk her friend was giving her, choosing instead to drag Sasha toward the dance floor.

They lost themselves in the music, the beat pulsing through their veins as they swayed and laughed, hands in the air, heads thrown back in unfiltered joy.

More shots.

More drinks.

More bad decisions.

At some point, Y/N had taken off her heels, dancing barefoot on the velvet carpet. She had no idea how long they had been there, only that the room spun in the most delightful way, her limbs loose, her laughter uncontrollable.

“Another round?” Sasha shouted over the music. But y/n had already disappeared

Y/n found herself the bathroom, phone in hand. Before she could stop herself, she called him. He picked up after one ring.

“Where the fuck are you?” He asked hearing the buzz of music in the background of the call

She sniffled. “I hate you.”

“Y/N.”

“You’re ruining my life,” she sobbed.

“Where are you?” He ignored the comment

“At the bar.” She mumbled

“ON YOUR OWN?” Rafe yelled she could hear the jingle of his keys on the other end of the phone

“N-No, one of the other bodyguards is here, but I don’t—I can’t see him.”

She heard him curse under his breath.

“Stay put. I’m coming to get you.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

“I don’t care.” He snapped

She hiccupped. “You’re always so mean to me.”

He sighed. “Listen, pretty, I know you’re upset. I’m ten minutes out, okay? Just stay where you are.”

Her heart stuttered at the nickname.

“Okay.”

“I’ll see you soon.” He whispered

“Don’t hang up…please.” She mumbled leaving the bathroom and heading to the bar. Y/N swayed slightly as she leaned against the bar, phone pressed to her ear. The club pulsed around her—music vibrating through the floor, neon lights flashing, drunken laughter echoing from all directions. But none of that mattered. The only thing keeping her grounded was the deep, steady voice on the other end of the line.

“You still with me, pretty?”

His voice was sharp, controlled, but underneath it, there was an edge—something dangerous.

She let out a small sigh. “Mhm.”

A pause. Then, quieter, “You okay?”

She ran a hand through her tangled hair, blinking against the haze of alcohol. “I think I drank too much.”

Rafe swore under his breath. “Stay where you are. I’m almost there.”

She smirked to herself. “You’re always telling me what to do.”

“Because you never fucking listen,” he snapped.

That made her giggle. “Touché.”

He sighed. “Almost there, pretty.”

She bit her lip. That word again. She liked it.

Then—his voice dropped even lower. “Y/N. Get your ass outside. Now.”

She groaned dramatically, but against her better judgment, she obeyed.

The night air was crisp as Y/N stepped outside, the chill instantly biting at her skin. She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering slightly as the neon glow from the club cast shifting colors across the pavement.

She had expected the same sleek black car waiting for her, the same serious Rafe Cameron stepping out in his tailored suit, looking every bit the professional bodyguard her father had hired.

But that wasn’t what she got.

Instead, he was leaning against his car in nothing but a pair of grey joggers and a black hoodie, the sleeves slightly pushed up to reveal his forearms. His hair was tousled, not gelled back like usual, and there was no gun holstered at his side, no suit jacket stiffening his posture.

He looked… different.

He looked good.

No, not just good—cute. Not that she’d ever admit it.

Y/N swallowed hard, momentarily forgetting that she was supposed to be pissed at him. But then his sharp blue eyes locked onto hers, scanning her up and down.

And he was furious.

His jaw clenched, his shoulders stiffening as he pushed off the car. “Get in.”

She hesitated. “Rafe, I—”

“Get in the fucking car, Y/N.”

His voice was low, barely restrained, and for the first time tonight, she realized just how angry he was.

Before she could move, the doors of the club burst open behind her, and her assigned bodyguard—the bodyguard—came running out, face pale, eyes wide with panic.

“Oh, fuck—oh, fuck—where did she—” He skidded to a stop when he saw her standing there. “Jesus Christ, I thought I lost you—”

Rafe moved so fast she barely saw it happen.

One second, he was standing beside his car. The next, he had the guy by the collar, slamming him into the brick wall behind them.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Rafe growled, voice dark, menacing.

The bodyguard barely had time to process what was happening. “I—I just turned around for a second—”

“A second?” Rafe’s grip tightened. “You lost her in a fucking club?!”

“I—she said she was going to the bathroom, I thought—”

“And you believed her?” Rafe shoved him harder against the wall. “What kind of fucking moron are you?”

“I—I won’t let it happen again—”

“You’re damn right you won’t. Because if you ever take your eyes off her again, I will personally make sure you neverwork security again. Do you fucking understand me?”

The bodyguard stammered something incoherent, his face ghostly white.

Y/N’s heart pounded. She had never seen Rafe like this. Never.

She knew he had a temper, had seen him get irritated, seen him be cold and distant. But this? This was something else. This was rage. This was pure, unfiltered fury.

And it was all for her.

She should’ve been scared. Maybe a little concerned. Instead, her chest tightened in a way she didn’t quite understand.

“Rafe,” she said softly.

His grip didn’t loosen

“Rafe,” she tried again, stepping closer.

His shoulders were still rigid, but he finally turned his head, his piercing gaze meeting hers.

“Take me home,” she murmured.

For a moment, it seemed like he was going to ignore her, like he was still too pissed to let it go. But then he exhaled sharply, his grip on the guy’s collar relaxing before he shoved him away with a disgusted scoff.

The bodyguard stumbled, catching himself against the wall. Rafe didn’t even glance at him. Instead, he walked straight to the car and opened the passenger door, jerking his chin toward her.

“Get in.”

She obeyed without another word.

The silence in the car was thick, suffocating. Y/N sat stiffly in the passenger seat, arms crossed, her head resting against the window. The neon lights of the city flashed past them, but she barely noticed.

Rafe’s grip on the steering wheel was tight, his knuckles white as he stared straight ahead, his jaw still clenched. She stole a glance at him.

Even now, still simmering with anger, he looked—good. The way his hoodie stretched across his shoulders, the way his joggers hung low on his hips. It was a stark contrast to the tailored suits he usually wore, and she hated how much she liked it.

Finally, after what felt like forever, they pulled up to the house.

Rafe killed the engine and immediately stepped out, stalking around to open her door.

She blinked up at him. “You don’t have to—”

“Get inside.” His voice was softer now, but still firm. She swallowed, nodding as she climbed out.

He followed her up the stairs, and when they reached her bedroom door, he exhaled. “You need to get ready for bed.”

She groaned. “Don’t wanna.”

“Y/N.” She rolled her eyes, but as she stepped toward the bathroom, her foot caught on the rug, and she stumbled.

Rafe caught her instantly.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “Alright, that’s it. You’re done making decisions tonight.”

She blinked up at him, dazed. “You’re being… nice.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Don’t get used to it, princess.”

She flopped down on the edge of her bed, kicking off her heels. Rafe disappeared into the bathroom, returning with a makeup wipe.

Then—to her absolute shock—he crouched in front of her, tilting her chin up as he gently wiped the smudged mascara and foundation from her face.

His touch was gentle.

Y/N swallowed. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Clearly, I do.”

She pouted slightly. “You’re bossy.”

“And you’re a pain in my ass.”

Still, he let her lean on him as he helped her change into an oversized T-shirt, then passed her a bottle of water and two aspirin.

“Drink.”

She took small sips, watching him carefully.

After a moment, he exhaled. “I know this is hard for you. Having me follow your every move, breathing down your neck. I know you hate it.”

She bit her lip, not saying anything.

“I don’t mean to be overbearing,” he continued. “I just… I need to look out for you.”

She turned to him. “I know it’s not your fault.”

He studied her carefully. “I’m sorry for saying I hate you,” she muttered.

A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at his lips. “Apology accepted.”

She exhaled, leaning back against the pillows.

For the first time in a long time, it felt easy. A comfortable silence settled between them. Rafe watched as her breathing slowed, her eyes fluttering shut. He should’ve gotten up, should’ve gone to his own room. But instead, he reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear before pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

She was already asleep.

[goldenempyrean]

Spring Showers

〚 Notes - Hello! This was based off this: request! I was meant to post this yesterday I think but something came up. Hopefully this is enjoyable, honestly feels good to write again :) 〛

〚 Pairing - Natasha Romanoff x Reader 〛

〚 Summary - When you’re sick, your day goes from bad to worse. A small car breakdown later and you find yourself unexpectedly bumping into Natasha. 〛

〚 Wordcount - 2681 〛

〘 Check Out My Masterlist! 〙

╚════════ ⋇⋆✦⋆⋇⋆✦⋆⋇ ════════╝

Waking up that fresh spring morning, you rolled over to snooze the alarm that had pulled you out of your slumber, hitting it lazily before letting gravity take control and send your arm flopping over the edge of the bed.

You groaned a little as it hit the edge of your bed, rubbing your elbow with an annoyed look as if somehow death-staring the metal frame would make up for it.

As you begrudgingly got out of bed, the chill of the early morning hit you, sending a shiver down your spine. You had to admit felt a bit off, today. Your head heavy and your throat scratchy but you ignored the signs of fatigue and finished getting dressed and ready for the day.

Nat was always one to be up and out early in the mornings. Running, training or sometimes even just reading, whatever it was, she was definitely up and ready for her day before sunrise. Early bird gets the worm? Well, the early widow gets her 90-minute workout in without being disturbed. She liked it that way.

Unfortunately, it meant you usually weren’t able to see her most days before heading out to work - the rare exception being when you were on a late shift and got a few extra hours at home before heading out.

You weren’t an Avenger like your girlfriend, instead you served the people of New York by working in the local hospital as the Chief Nurse in charge. It was a demanding job, but one you found incredibly rewarding.

The pouring rain grabbed back your wandering attention as you sat sleepily over your chosen bowl of cereal. You hadn’t really had an appetite but had forced a few bites down regardless before you lost interest. Checking your phone, you realised you needed to set off, so you grabbed your car keys and headed out the compound.

As you pulled into the hospital's parking lot, you mentally prepared yourself for the day ahead. You tried to clear your throat as you checked yourself over in the mirror, but it ended in you coughing raspily and sighing in defeat as you rubbed your throat. Maybe water would get rid of the soreness, you thought as you took a tentative sip from your bottle… nope, it still hurt. What a fun day this was going to be.

Whoever said being in charge was fun, was sorely mistaken. Throughout the morning, you found yourself raising your voice more often than usual to be heard over the cacophony of the emergency room. By midday, your voice had started to crack and strain, sending sharp pains down your throat with each word.

Eventually you resigned yourself to your office, sick (literally) of the mix of pitiful, disgusted and annoyed glances you were receiving from both residents and patients.

As you sat in your office, trying to soothe your aching throat and mustering the energy to tackle the mountain of paperwork on your desk, the hospital intercom made you jump as it crackled to life, urgently calling you to the ER.

You groaned but despite your muscle’s aching, your instincts kicked in, and you rushed out of your office towards the ER.

As you entered the chaotic room, your senses were assaulted by the echo of urgent voices and the sharp smell of antiseptic made your eyes water.

You had barely assessed the ongoing situation before a sudden sneeze erupted from you, surprising yourself with its volume. You’d quickly covered your mouth, but the damage was done. Several heads turned in your direction, eyebrows raised in concern.

Before you could even attempt to explain, your boss appeared, her expression a mix of concern and sternness. "What are you doing here, Y/N?" She asked, her tone indicating she already knew the answer.

You tried to muster a response, but your throat rebelled, emitting only a hoarse croak instead.

Your bosses' eyes softened slightly, an understanding look settling on her face. "You're ill," She stated matter-of-factly. "Go home, rest, and don't come back until you're fully recovered. We don’t need you starting an epidemic.”

Despite your protests, she ushered you out of the ER and back to your office to collect your belongings. She helped you collect your things, only stopping to hold a thermometer to your ear as she checked your temperature.

You thanked her hoarsely as she held open the door for you, “Seriously, I don’t want you back until 48 hours after that fever breaks.” She warned with a stern tone but the gentle pat on your back made it obvious she was just worried that’s all.

As you stepped out of the hospital, the chilly rain immediately soaked through your clothes, sending shivers down your spine. You dropped your keys twice as you fumbled to unlock your car, finally flopping down behind the wheel with an drained sigh - a sigh which your crackling lungs despised, reprimanding you in the form of a burning cough.

As you drove home, the rain beat relentlessly against the windshield, blurring the already dimly lit road ahead. Each cough sent a sharp pang through your chest, and your vision blurred with exhaustion. You tried to focus on driving safely, your mind drifting to the warmth of your bed and girlfriend waiting for you at home. Not long now…

But just as you approached a traffic light, your car sputtered, the engine emitting a series of ominous noises before finally giving out with a pathetic wheeze. Panic seized you as you coasted to the side of the road, hazard lights flashing weakly in the rain.

You tried to restart the engine, but it only responded with a feeble groan before falling silent again.

“Oh you piece of shit!” You slammed your hand on the wheel as the car’s engine light flickered an angry red, “Stupid, fucking-“ An awful cough broke off your curse, your grip on the wheel turning white as your lungs burned.

After you caught your breath, you leaned back in your seat, feeling utterly defeated. Each raindrop seemed to mock your predicament, drumming against the windshield like a cruel taunt. With a heavy heart and a pounding headache you pulled out your phone - fighting back exhausted tears as you saw the critical low battery warning flash up on the screen.

You didn’t know the number of any breakdown services or anyone that could really be of help. The most you were able to do was to text Tony to ask him to help you move your car tomorrow. He had always been quick to respond so you found your spirits lifting just an inch higher when he agreed. However, those spirits were surely crushed when you opened up the Uber app on your phone only for the screen to turn black, taunting you with the picture of an empty battery.

“For fucks sake!”

There was nothing more you could do. You’d just have to walk. Nobody was coming to save you. You were a grown girl. You can look after yourself. There was a grocery store just down this road, maybe 10 minutes or so. You’d be able to stop there, rest, maybe pick up a few supplies. There’d be a phone there too, you’d be able to call someone to pick you up.

As you trudged through the rain, each step heavier than the last, you had to practically drag yourself down the street as your congested lungs begged for air. It was hard for see through the constant rain; the whistling of the wind made your ears throb. The chill of your soaked clothes clung tightly to your skin, and the coughing fits continued to rack your exhausted body until finally you’d made it.

You didn’t wait any longer before heading inside. The bright fluoresce of the lights made your eyes sting a little but this was miles better compared to being outside getting battered by the rain.

With each stumbling step, you grabbed a basket make your way to find some medicine. You just wanted something to make you feel better, just anything that would put an end to your awful day.

Maybe you should get some actual groceries whilst you where did. It wouldn’t hurt to stock up the cupboards a little, you might as well consider you were here.

Little did you know your girlfriend was already one step ahead of you.

Natasha’s eyes widened a little as she strolled down the aisle, pushing along half a cart of groceries as she hummed. Y/N? What were you doing here? This was a pleasant surprise and she kept quiet as she snuck up to you.

“Hey bub.” Her warm voice murmured, and you felt familiar arms wrap around the front of your waist. Natasha’s head came to rest on your shoulder as she nosied at what you were looking at, “I thought we agreed that I’d be doing groceries this week.” She purred, kissing the side of your neck sweetly.

You shrugged through gritted teeth, your damp clothes crinkling uncomfortably, “I just needed something.”

“Hold on.” Her brow crinkled just a little, “I thought you had work?” She paused, her face shifting slightly as she realised just how soaked you were. This was not the kind of damp someone got just walking from the car to the entrance. You were drenched! “God, you’re soaked Y/N! Where on earth have you been? Did you walk here?!”

Your eyes cast to the floor. You’d forgotten that it was usually the day that the two of you had gone grocery shopping. Of course, it hadn’t even occurred to you that Nat might’ve been in the store.

“I may have got a little damp.” You sniffled thickly, trying to keep your tone neutral but the painful rasp in your voice instantly gave yourself away, “…and my car may or may not have broken down coming back from work.”

Natasha's concern deepened as she noticed your raspy voice. "Oh, sweetheart, you should have called me. I would've come to pick you up." Her voice softened, filled with genuine worry. Her grip tightened around you a little. “You're not just ‘damp’, you're practically drenched and- oh, what’s this?” Her eyes glanced down, noticing the theme of items in your own basket.

She had just about to ask you about them, but her question was answered when you ducked into your elbow with two forceful sounding sneezes barely seconds later.

“Double bless you!” Her tone shifted instantly to one of comfort, “Guess I don’t need to ask why your voice is so hoarse and you’re buying meds then, hm?” She cooed and you turned around with a pout, letting your head fall onto her shoulder as you wrapped your arms around her.

“You’re not feeling well.” It wasn’t a question, she just looked at you, looking deep into your weary eyes as she continued to hold you, “How long?”

You let out a small cough into her shoulder, “This morning. Got worse at work, got sent home which was beyond embarrassing.” Your croaking voice mumbled in defeat as Nat’s hand came to soothingly rub your back.

“I’m so tired and achy.” You continued, grumbling softly, finally feeling the weight of the day begin to let up as Nat continued to hold you in the moment, “My throat’s been so bad all day and I’ve had to constantly yell at people to do their jobs properly because apparently they’re all incompetent idiots that don’t know their elbows from their arse!”

Natasha couldn’t help but laugh a little at your choice of words but quickly shut up when you shot her a glare - of course the glare had been in no way intimidating with your sleepy eyes and runny nose, but she got the hint regardless.

“Sounds rough sunshine.” She murmured, sympathetically rubbing your back before the two of you began to walk towards another aisle, “Let me get those for you, oh and the car?” She asked, realising you hadn’t explained.

Nat took the basket from your hand and put it in her cart despite your objections, “It just decided to give up on me, right in the middle of driving home. I text Tony and he said he’d get it moved tomorrow but then my phone died before I could call an uber so I had to walk the way back.” You coughed harshly as you explained what had happened, rubbing your throat with a whine.

“That’s some awful luck sweetheart, I’m sorry. How about we get you a few things and just spend the rest of the day being warm and cosy?” Nat offered as a pulled a stuffed animal from the shelf, nuzzling it against your cheek before putting it into the cart.

Your face lightened up a little and you found yourself keeping a little closer to her as the pair of you continued through the store, “You wanna get some ice cream for that poor throat of yours sweet girl?” She asked, but of course she already what the answer would be.

As you nodded eagerly, Natasha smiled, glad to see a hint of brightness returning to your expression. She led you to the freezer section, picking out your favourite flavour without hesitation. "Here we go," she said, placing it gently in the cart beside you. "Oh, and we should get some tea as well, all we have is that herbal stuff Wanda likes but it’s kinda bitter, you’ll feel better with something sweeter. I think.”

She kept her hand softly holding your own you both headed over to find the tea - occasionally pausing as Nat picked up some of the general groceries you needed but it was hard to miss how she kept adding in small treats for you along the way, your favourite drink, snacks she even chose your favourite scent of laundry detergent.

Eventually your fever raging brain felt too fuzzy to keep paying attention, so you switched off, trusting her enough to let her lead you along without asking questions.

Her voice seemed to echo and your vision blur before a hand cupping your cheek brought you back to reality. “Hey, earth to Y/N.” Natasha repeated herself, “You dazed out for a second there sweetie. Did you hear what I said?”

“Uh, no, sorry.” You answered sheepishly, warm embarrassment creeping up into your cheeks.

But Nat only smiled at you, her warm gaze making you relax, “I asked what tea you’d like baby.”

You nodded and turned to look over the assortment of boxes. You weren’t much of a tea person, in fact you never really drank it at all unless you were sick and Nat was definitely more of a coffee girl, herself. As you looked over the selection, a sudden sneeze caught you off guard, you stumbled back a little and bumped into Nat which made your girlfriend shake her head fondly as you sniffled in surprise.

“Bless you again. Looks like we’ll need some more tissues," She deducted, kissing your cheek swiftly before jogging back to the previous aisle, quickly returning with a few extra boxes and added them to the cart.

"You poor thing," Nat said sympathetically, as she opened one of the boxes in the cart and handing you a tissue. "Here, blow your nose love.”

“Thanks.”

“Berry-Bliss?” She read the name of the tea you’d chosen, after you’d finished blowing nose. “Is that one the kind you want?”

You shrugged sluggishly, biting back a groan as your muscles ached, “I’ll give it a try.”

“Worth a try.” She agreed, taking the box from you, not missing the chance to kiss your forehead as she did so. “You’re really warm baby. How about we pay up and get you back home sweetheart? I know you’re exhausted.”

As she suggested heading home, you nodded gratefully, taking her hand and letting her lead you towards the check outs. It wouldn’t take long to pay and get home but when you did, you knew you were in for an evening of cuddling and love.

Who could ask for more?

〖 Join My Taglist! 〗@sayah13 @mahalkitanova @romanoffskisser @scrambled-brain-eggs @natashamyl0ve @bloomingflowersthings @kathleenmikaelson @shamelessbearunknown @inluvwithfictionalwomen @citrussnz @fluffyblanketgecko @kljhsong @santana1437 @blackwidow-3 @asiangmrchk13 @lovelyy-moonlight @juiles @lots-of-pockets @sashawalker2 @natashamaximoff69 @observeowl @beholdagaywriter @widows201 @llovergirleraa @danveration @idkeithershawty @rainedontknow @poison-blackheart @loveshineslikethesky @somber-sapphic @lexasaurs634 @ahintofchaos @scarlettssub @paisley-yy @wandanats-goodgirl @nuianced-tck-enby @maomaoincomming @anne-lister @rianlovelygirl @taliiiaasteria @swaqcenix @inluvwithfandom

[tinkerbellini21]

Champagne Kisses

Eddie Diaz x plus size! reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: hurt and comfort, smut

Author's Notes: First Eddie fic, is a test run!

Prequel: Push My Buttons | E. Diaz Taglist | Masterlist

You giggle as you’re shoved up against the front door. Large hands grab your wrists, pinning them above your head. You moan at the sensual action, throwing your head back. The man that brought you home from the New Year’s party buries his face in the crook of your neck. 

***

You had been invited to Maddie’s younger brother, Buck’s, party to ring in the New Year. It wasn’t unusual for you to tag along with Maddie and Chim to events. 

You’d become Maddie’s best friend when she was working in Boston. She had taken you under her wing when you entered your first year of nursing at the hospital. You had become each other’s rock quickly. 

It also meant that you had gotten close enough to start recognizing the signs of abuse. Isolation from friends and family. Towards the end of their relationship, she started wearing long sleeves under her scrubs— even in 90 degree weather. She’d give life updates on her brother, a smile on her face but pain in her eyes. And after particularly bad nights, she’d show up with dark circles under her eyes. 

You took it upon yourself to help her get out. It took some convincing, careful planning, and then one day, she disappeared. Took a rental car, in your name, with cash, and left. Slipped the worker some money to not officially document where the car was going, explaining she was escaping from her abusive husband. It worked.

Shortly after she left Boston, Doug cornered you. He expected you to cower, telling him whatever you knew about her disappearance. But you stood straight, even if you felt every cell in your body shaking. Keeping your voice confident and neutral, you told him that you did not know where she went. She wasn’t answering your calls and texts. She had a new phone, but he didn’t need to know that. When you showed him the phone log and texts, confirming she hadn’t answered you, he left you alone. 

After three months, you followed Maddie to LA. To make it seem realistic, you had your charge nurse draft fake documentation, showing you had transferred to a hospital in Michigan. You had to wrap up any loose ends. You’d rather him try to track you down in Michigan than get anywhere near Maddie. 

You transitioned into trauma medicine when you moved to LA. Maddie now works as a 911 operator, and who could blame her for the career change when her past life was associated with domestic violence.

When Maddie had filed for divorce, you were already expecting fallout. The worst case scenario, you thought, would have been stalking or light threats. You were on hour 15 when you received the news that Maddie had been kidnapped. You doubled over in agonizing pain. She had tried to get away from him, under his control by filing for a divorce, and he took her. 

For a few weeks, you blamed yourself. You should have been at the apartment that night, but you picked up an extra 12 for a coworker. Maddie was supposed to go out on a date, and you thought it would be nice to have the apartment to herself. If you would have come home after your first shift, maybe you could have prevented him from taking her to a second location. 

With therapy, both of you slowly started to heal. Your sense of safety was taken away from you. He was dead, yet he found a way to loom over your lives. Eventually, with increased security, an updated self defense class, and lessons on how to use a firearm, you both were able to sleep at night again.

Now, nine months later, Maddie is in a happy and healthy relationship with Buck’s coworker, Chim. And you? Still as lonely and dry in the dating department. 

Your days are filled with work, picking up extra shifts when you could. Some weeks, you  pushed the limit, working the 72 hours California law allowed. 

While the money was wonderful and you were steadily building your savings account, you were wearing yourself thin. 

You desperately needed to find a life outside of work.

However, you never thought that kissing Eddie Diaz was going to be a part of the equation. 

***

Warm, wet kisses are pressed against your skin. Both of you smell of alcohol, champagne dancing on your tongues. Sliding a hand down, you grab onto the back of Eddie’s head. His kisses are harder, more deliberate now. The pressure on your neck feels great, the pain aching in the best way possible. Your favorite pair of underwear, soaked. 

“Been wanting to kiss you for months now. Every time I see you in those burgundy scrubs, with that Mickey Mouse badge reel to make kids less scared, I feel myself fall even harder.” His fingers slip under your blouse, the tips of his fingers grazing your stomach as they move up. “But that bun of yours. Every time— I, uh fuuck I just want to undo it. Kiss you. Take you from behind.’

Your free hand cups him.

“Do it.” 

“Mierda.” He groans in your ear, pulling back to tug your shirt off. Once bare, he trails kisses down to your shoulder. His teeth dig in, earning a firm roll of your palm against his length. Your head tilts onto his, keeping him there.

“Couch?” You offer breathlessly, not wanting to push any boundaries. 

His lips press against your shoulder again, slower this time. 

“Fuck no,” he says against your skin. “You deserve a bed.” 

When you make eye contact, you see the lust burning in his eyes. You don’t have time to react before your lips are captured by his. He grabs onto your curves, giving a firm squeeze on your hips before sliding them down your backside, landing on your lower thighs. 

“Jump.”

“What? No! Eddie, I’m too big.” You protest as he starts to lift you up. ”You’ll hurt yourself!”

“Cariño, jump up. You’re not going to break me.”

As soon as he looks up at you with those gorgeous brown eyes, you’re done for. 

You want to argue. But more than anything, you want this. 

You jump up, wrapping your legs around his waist. Your lips crash together, in a messy, hungry sync. He carries you with ease, pushing his bedroom door open. 

He turns around, his legs hitting the back of the bed. You topple on top of him, and he uses his strength to slide higher up the bed, tugging you along with him. 

You both move desperately, like you’re the breath that each other needs. His fingers are gripping your love handles with a bruising strength, firmly guiding you back and forth as you grind. Fingers digging into his shoulders, you throw your head back.

 The seam in your jeans rubs against your clit just right, a sheen layer of sweat covering your chest and forehead. He tears your bra off, tossing it aside without a second thought. His mouth immediately captures a painfully hard nipple, soothingly swirling his tongue around. 

“God Eddie, feels soooo good.” 

You should be embarrassed by how close you are, just from grinding against Eddie. But it’s been months since you’ve had any contact outside of your vibrator. Pressure builds, your walls closing in like a firm hug. 

A hand slides up your lower back, then his fingers dip into the seam of your jeans. He tugs on your thong, applying more pressure on your clit. You cry out his name, telling him not to stop. Eddie pushes you closer to the edge of bliss, starting to grind up against you.

God, when was the last time someone left you this satisfied? Have you ever felt as wanted as you do now? You can’t recall ever cumming from grinding against someone.

Eddie groans, and you feel his thighs shaking. You push back against him, pressing your chest against his. His hips jerk against yours, knees bending to push up, chasing his own high. It isn’t long before you join him, thighs squeezing around him as you gush. 

He cups your jaw, fingers tangling into your hair. The kiss is gentle, slow. A stark comparison to your previous urgency.

“Haven’t cum in my pants since high school.” Eddie murmurs, resting his forehead against yours. You place a humored kiss against his lips. “Eres preciosa.”

It’s silent. Comfortably silent. You’ve sobered up a bit, or you think you have. You lay your cheek on his chest. His heartbeat erratic in your ear. He gently rubs your back.

Then your insecurities hit like a ton of bricks. 

There’s no way that you just dry humped Eddie Diaz. Most guys that take you home have one goal in mind: to cum and go. This wasn’t going any further than one night. 

You swallow hard, painting a fake smile onto your face. Your mind starts to swing at your heart, slowly shattering it into pieces. 

Hookups weren’t your forte. You always wanted more than what they wanted to offer.

Eddie looked like that, and you looked like this. 

You become self conscious, your bare stomach making you feel exposed. You want to wrap your arms around your middle section, to cover yourself.

Then you mentally curse. Your shirt isn’t within reach. It was taken off by the front door.

But this was different, right? He was different, not like them. Right? 

So why does your chest ache like you’ve just been used and discarded?

You shift, trying to roll off of him, but his arms tighten around your lower back. 

“Where are you going?”

“To clean up. I’ll get an Uber.”

“What?” His inquiry is sharp, panicked. Your eyes water, fingers tracing up and down his jaw. You can’t look at him. A single tear falls slowly. His thumb wipes it away.

“No estoy hecho para aventuras de una noche, Eddie.”

He sits up slowly, tilting your chin up to look at him. 

“¿Hablas español?”

“Lo estudié en la universidad. Buena para enfermería.”

“No quiero solo una noche.”

“I can’t—” You laugh, voice shaking. Tears sting your eyes. “No, no friends with benefits, either.”

It’s so hard to look away from him. His gaze pierces through you, making you feel seen. The crack in your heart splinters even more.

“I should have asked you out weeks ago. Didn’t you notice me coming into the ER more? Even when I wasn’t needed?”

“I figured you were seeing someone else. Like Macie.”

He chortles, letting go of your head. The breath is knocked out of you as he rolls you both over, hovering over you. You lift your head, hair splaying out. The musk of Eddie’s cologne invades your senses. 

You’re trapped, in the best way possible. 

“She’s been trying to set me up with you.” His lips hover against yours, placing a kiss on the corner of your mouth. You whimper as he teases you, leaving hot kisses up your jaw. His teeth graze your earlobe, hot air being blown into your ear. “She’s definitely not into me— she’s dating a woman from another station. Lena.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He nuzzles his stubble covered cheek on your jaw.  “Now that’s taken care of, join me for a shower?”

“You don’t want to—”

“No. Call me old fashioned, but I’d like to take you out before— if that’s okay with you?”                                                                                                             

You give a dramatic pause dramatically, biting your lip out of fake contemplation.

“Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

With a smile and a shake of the head, he leans down for another kiss before pushing himself up, tugging his shirt off and discarding it by your head. 

“But if you’re okay with it, I’d like to makeout just a little bit longer.”

You wrap your legs around him, pulling his groin down to yours. You lightly trace your fingers up his side, watching a chill roll down his spine. You grin to yourself, voice hushed as you tease him.

“Only if you keep talking about my burgundy scrubs and my bun.” 

He lowers himself, whispering against your lips. 

“Oh, there’s plenty more where that came from.”

[fenya-scribbles]

Secret

Pairing: bf!HanJisung, gn!Reader

Other Characters: Lee Know, Felix, Seungmin

Summary: You’re sneaking around and Han comes to his own conclusions as to why. 

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort

Content warnings: anxiety, mentions of infidelity

Word Count: 2,964

A/N: You wanted this :3

The first time it happened, Han didn’t think anything of it. He’d been sitting on your couch with you curled in his lap, lazily running his fingers through your hair. “So”, he said, interrupting your mindless scrolling through Instagram, “you remember that I have the day off tomorrow?” “Sure babe”, you replied, turning so you could look at him properly. “I was thinking that maybe we could check out that new café you wanted to try?” You swallowed. “Oh babe, I’m sorry, I made plans with Yeji tomorrow. She’s finally back from her semester abroad.” Han looked disappointed for a second, but he understood. Yeji was your best friend and you hadn’t seen her in literally a year. “No, don’t worry, cupcake”, he said, brushing a loose strand of hair out of your face. “You sure?” He nodded. “I’m sure.” “I could come by in the evening? We can watch Howl’s moving castle”, you offered, putting a smile on your boyfriend’s face. “I’d love that, jagi.”

A few hours later, you were lying in bed. Han was sleeping soundly beside you, looking like the sweetest angel baby on the planet. Deciding it was time to sleep too, you went to plug in your phone on the charge beside your bed, when it lit up with a text. 

Seungmin: You’re sure he doesn’t know?

You smiled to yourself. 

You: He’s completely clueless. 

***

It happened again two days later. Han asked you if you wanted to hang out at the studio during his recording session. “I’d love to babe, but I have to run some errands for my mom”, you replied. And he shrugged it off again. It was no big deal right? It’s not like you tried to avoid him or anything. No, that was just his anxiety talking. “Alright babe, I’ll see you tonight then”, he said and pressed a sweet kiss to your lips. 

But as it turned out, that was only the beginning. Over the following weeks you started to blow him off again and again. You had a work project or met with Yeji or your parents needed you or, one time, you really didn’t want any company, which was concerning, coming from you. But Han didn’t want to doubt you. He didn’t want to admit, that it worried him, how you seemed to have less and less time for him. Because that was scary as hell, a fear that would set in his bones and make it absolutely impossible to breathe. So he brushed it off. You were still his girlfriend. His girl. His. 

***

“Girl, I’m telling you, this is so stupid”, Yeji said, her fingers tightly curled around the steaming cup of coffee in front of her. “It’s not that big of a deal”, you replied. “What if he gets suspicious, huh? He’s not stupid, you know.” Your best friend was not a fan of your current antics and you knew it. Most of Han’s members weren’t either, but you still stood by your decision. “I know, but he trusts me. He wouldn’t doubt me.” “I don’t know Y/N. Sneaking around with Seungmin like that...” Yeji sighed. “Just don’t come crying to me when it all blows up in your face.” “It won’t”, you said, trying hard to hide the hint of doubt that started to bloom in the back of your mind. 

***

Over time, Han turned needy. A lot more than usual. You didn’t mind, generally, because he was your boyfriend after all, but then he wanted to join in on your baking day with Felix. “Please, jagi”, he gave you his biggest boba eyes, “I’m sure Lixie wouldn’t mind.” You cupped his face and took a deep breath. It was incredibly hard to refuse him when he was pouting at you like that. “Maybe another time, babe”, you said, “I haven’t met up with Lixie alone in a long time and I want some quality time with my friend. You understand that, don’t you?” Han pouted even more, but eventually, he let out a defeated sigh. “But you bring home brownies, right?”, he asked. “Of course, babe.”

Later, when Felix opened the door, you still felt a bit bad for refusing Han. “He’s in his room”, Felix said, “And for the record, just because I’m baking you alibi brownies, doesn’t mean I like what you’re doing.” You pushed past him, leaving your shoes by the front door, and made your way to Seungmin’s room. Being judged by anyone was uncomfortable, but being judged by Felix just hurt your soul. Maybe they were right. Maybe you shouldn’t be doing this. With a deep breath, you pushed the growing doubts aside, and knocked on Seungmin’s door. After a moment, he called you inside. You found him sitting on his bed, guitar in his lap. With raised eyebrows he looked up at you, and said: “Are you still sure about this?” You nodded, doing your best to look certain. “I am. This is what I want.”

***

Three days later, you were at Felix and Seungmin’s place again, about to put on your shoes. Seungmin was standing beside you, lazily leaning against the wall. “Today was fun”, he said. You looked up from tightening your laces with a fond smile. “It was”, you said, “you’re a really good-“ You were interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. Both your heads snapped towards the door. “Are you expecting someone?” Seungmin shook his head. “No, must be for Felix.” He stepped past you and opened the door. “Han?” Your boyfriend looked at Seungmin - and then his eyes shifted onto you. “Jagi? What are you doing here?” You felt your heart sink, as an uncomfortable feeling settled in your stomach. Fuck. “Babe…I…uhm…”, you stammered. “She was bringing back Lix’s brownie box”, Seungmin swooped in. “Yeah, right”, you immediately agreed.

Han’s gaze shifted between the two of you, uncertain if he believed what he was told. “Right”, he said, drawing out the word. “Lix is in his room”, Seungmin quickly changed the subject, stepping aside to let Han in, but before your boyfriend could move, you squeezed past both of them. “See you at home babe”, you shouted over your shoulder as you bolted down the stairs, leaving both Han and Seungmin staring after you. That was too fucking close. 

***

It was late, way past midnight, and Han couldn’t sleep, the weird scene with you and Seungmin playing over and over in his head. He’d been watching you peacefully sleep beside him for roughly an hour now. You looked so pretty, so calm and innocent, so utterly unable to hurt him. And yet, something was stirring within him. There was this nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach, this persistent voice in the back of his head, telling him that something was up. Something was not right. You were hiding something. And he loved you, he loved you more than anything, and it hurt him to mistrust you. It hurt him to suspect you of anything bad. No, he wanted to believe things were fine. You wanted him to be with you by the end of the day, didn’t you? You asked him to spend the night, despite spending less and less of your days with him. You wanted him around, right? You still loved him. You still loved him? 

Han let out a sigh. Gently, he shifted towards the edge of the bed, making sure not to disturb you. Then he slipped out from under the covers and made his way to the kitchen. Maybe drinking some water would help calm him down. Seeing that the dishwasher had run, he opened it to grab a glass - and stopped right in his tracks. Sitting there, between cups and bowls, was a clear plastic box. A box he’d been eating brownies out of for the past three days. Felix’s box. The box you’d supposedly brought back to him earlier that day. But you hadn’t. It was right here. You’d lied to him. 

Suddenly, Han felt violently sick, as all of his fears seemed to come true at once. The picture of you standing behind Seungmin, utterly startled, staring at him like a deer in headlights, once again returned to Han, burning itself into the back of his eyelids. Why had you been that startled? What had you been doing there? With Seungmin? Han’s heartbeat accelerated so fast it left him dizzy, and before he knew it, he sunk down onto the kitchen floor, back pressed against the cabinets and knees pulled up to his chin. Oh no. Oh no. Were you cheating on him? With one of his best friends, no less? Was this where you went when you had no time for him? Han’s body started violently shaking as tears started to run down his face. This couldn’t be happening. You were his world, his heart, his soul. A part of him. You were everything. He couldn’t lose you. Han’s skin felt like it was on fire, his lungs struggled to let in air, his vision was beyond blurry. 

And then his body started to move on its own. He couldn’t stay here, in your apartment, for a second longer. He snuck back into your bedroom, grabbing his hoodie and his phone, avoiding to look at you at all costs. Then he slipped on his shoes and rushed outside. The way home was a blur, he got there purely by muscle memory, as his mind was racing with made up images. You kissing Seungmin. You in Seungmins lap. You tangled up in bed with Seungmin. It made him sick, his heart breaking over and over in his chest. This couldn’t be happening. You were his one and only. His forever. How could you do this? How could this happen? It couldn’t. He couldn’t lose you. No. No. 

He didn’t bother to be quiet when he entered his own home, the door loudly closing behind him. It didn’t take long for Minho to come out of his room, despite the late hour, looking like he’d just fallen out of bed. Because he likely had. “What the fuck, Hannie”, he said, rubbing his eyes. But as soon as he took a good look at his best friend, he knew. “Fuck”, he mumbled, rushing over. And then Han fell apart, utterly and completely, turning into a sobbing, shaking, broken mess in Minho’s arms. 

30 Minutes later, Han was still crying, curled up in Minho’s arms on his bed, as the older one rubbed comforting circles on his back. No word was spoken, Han was unable to even think of speaking, and Minho already knew what was going on. He knew what you’d been doing, and he’d also disapproved, precisely for this reason. But you had insisted, and now Han was inconsolable. Broken. Unnecessarily hurt. Minho cursed you in his head, pulled out his phone and shot you a text. 

***

You woke up early to an empty bed. Confused, you tapped your hand in the spot where Han should be. But he wasn’t. You let out a groan. It wasn’t unheard of that Han disappeared before you woke up, but you still hated when it happened. Groggily, you reached for your phone. Usually, Han sent you a text when he had to leave early. And there was a text on your phone, but it wasn’t from Han. It was from Minho and it had you sit up straight in a flash.

Minho: Tell him or I will. 

The time stamp read 3:47am. Even with your mind not fully awake yet, you could put the pieces together. Han had left your place in the middle of the night. But why? What had happened? Why was Minho telling you to spill your secret? Confused, you got out of bed and made your way into the kitchen. The dishwasher was still open - and there, sitting in the top drawer, Felix’s brownie box was basically staring at you. “Fuck”, you muttered, frantically running your hands through your hair. Han had seen that. And he’d run to conclusions. Oh no. No, no, no. Yeji had been right. As had Felix and Minho. You’d been so stupid, so careless. How could you have ever thought that sneaking around like that with Seungmin would work? Why did you allow Seungmin to lie? And then you agreed? Fuck. Fuck.

At light speed, you got dressed, grabbed your things and rushed out the door. Your heart was hammering in your chest as you made your way to Han and Minho’s place, hands sweaty and mind racing. The thought of Han hurting had your chest clenching painfully. He was the love of your life, your person, your Hannie. You cursed yourself over and over for your foolishness. This was not what you’d planned, this was not what you’d wanted. When you arrived at their place, your hands were shaking, and silent tears were streaming down your face. Nervously, you rang the doorbell. 

“About time”, Minho said when he opened the door. “How is he?”, you asked, voice shaky. Minho huffed. “What do you think?” He was staring daggers at you, but stepped aside to let you in. “He’s in his room. He slept a bit, but I couldn’t leave his side all night. You really fucked up, Y/N.” “I know”, you replied meekly, unable to meet his eyes. “Then go fix it.” Minho shoved you towards Han’s room, barely allowing you to take off your shoes. 

When you entered Han’s room, your heart broke at the image in front of you. Han was curled up in his bed, knees drawn up to his chest. His face was puffy and streaked with tears, his whole body looking utterly exhausted from crying all night. He looked defeated. Broken. A quiet sob escaped your lips as the weight of what you had done crashed down on you. Han didn’t move, but his eyes were open, staring at nothing. 

Cautiously, you made your way towards his bed, perching yourself on the edge. “Baby?”, you said softly, not yet allowing yourself to reach for him. You knew you wouldn’t be able to handle him flinching at your touch, so you didn’t risk it. At the sound of your voice, his gaze shifted towards you. His eyes were so swollen, so red, it sent daggers through your heart. He didn’t say a word, just blankly stared at you. The silence in the room was deafening, a heavy veil of unspoken assumptions.

“Do you love him?” When Han eventually broke the silence, he sounded rough and shaky. “Who?” It was a stupid question. You knew who he was talking about, you knew what he was thinking. But your stupid mouth was faster than your brain and so you made him say it. “Seung-“ He couldn’t finish, as his body convulsed with an earth shattering sob. At that, you threw all caution to the wind and rushed to his side, crawling into his bed beside him and wrapping him in your arms. “No”, you said, “no, baby. I don’t.” 

Han was crying again, unable to push you away, even if part of him wanted to, but the craving to be close to you was bigger. “I love you”, you said, “only you.” You tightened your grip on him. “I’m so sorry”, you said, “I was so stupid. I’m so sorry, baby.” And for a while, you stayed like that. Han slowly melted more and more into you, despite the bad thoughts screaming in his head, as you apologised over and over, reassuring him of your love, tightly holding him close. You didn’t know how much time passed, didn’t care either, you just wanted to comfort your boyfriend, who you had hurt so foolishly. 

When his sobs eventually died down, you allowed him to move back just enough to look at you. “Why did you lie?”, he asked, “About the box?” You sighed and brushed the tears from his face, his flushed skin hot under your fingers. “I’m so sorry about that”, you said, “it was so stupid. I should’ve just said that I met up with Minnie. We panicked, both of us. It was stupid.” Han looked at you, still utterly confused. “Why were you meeting up with him then?” You sighed again. “It was supposed to be a surprise”, you said, “but that’s not an option anymore now, I guess.” “A surprise?” You nodded. “Minnie was giving me guitar lessons. And singing lessons.” 

Han fully sat up, removing himself from your embrace and you immediately missed his warmth, half chasing after him. “He was teaching you?” You nodded again. “I wrote a song for you. For our anniversary. I wanted to be able to sing it.” Han stared at you, searching your eyes. But you held his gaze effortlessly. There was no sign of dishonesty, none of that look you had when you had lied the day before. Slowly, Han took in what you said, putting the pieces together. “That’s why you were so busy these past weeks?” Again, you nodded. “I’m so sorry, Hannie, I should’ve handled it better. I just wanted to surprise you.” You reached for his hands and he let you, curling his fingers around yours. “I love you so much, baby. I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you.” It was Han’s turn to nod, his gaze wandering to your intertwined fingers. He took a deep breath, as he decided to believe you. 

“You wrote a song for me?”, Han asked eventually, giving you those big boba eyes you loved so much. A soft smile spread across your face. “Yeah.” “Can I hear it?”

Fenya’s Masterlist

[just-some-random-blogger]

Accidental Targ

Scene III: i told you to hold my hand! | Masterlist

Daemon Targaryen x Modern!Reader

Summary: After coming to terms with the fact you were in King's Landing some two thousand years before your birth, you get reunited with your friend and try to manifest your way back to the present. For the meantime, Harwin Strong is your bodyguard.

Word Count: 4k+

Warnings: fem!reader, time travel au, descriptions of reader's hair, incestuous gremlin!daemon, very sus and innappropriate boss-employee dynamics, low key sugar daddy!otto hightower vibes, crackfic, typos, etc.

A/N: GUYS I DID IT. I FINISHED IT 😫 Also, its come to my attention that perhaps the way i planned out everything geographically is ??? bad but no its not just roll with it AND!! remember yall voted for him ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ i have a feeling you didnt read the prompt fully but whatever HAHAHAA i honestly have no idea where i meant to take this fic, so ???? enjoy?? HAHHAAH

Shoot me if I ever say it again, but for now: gods bless capitalism, specifically for it desecrating a national landmark.

Where once I was one of the people who protested against the building of the High Garden Centre, girl, was I thankful that the old ruins of the fucking Red Keep laid there as a little ol' artsy featurette.

"What's that sound?" Daemon asks as we stand from our spot.

I turn to my side, never before so relieved to hear and see, no more than two blocks away, a rave spilling out of a club, the very one Libby and I were at before we got into this shit show. "That, my prince, is called EDM."

I hurriedly run to Libby's side to pick her up, but Daemon does that himself. He get down and pulls the blue haired woman on his back, and I help him. At the same time, I feel a buzz from my satchel.

My phone!

Daemon watches me as I frantically claw for my device. The amount of texts and call notifications that pop up on my screen is overwhelming. I decide to just let it go off and grab Daemon's arm, "come on."

We walk down from the ruins, shifting through the shrubs and foliage around it. I catch the sight a mall cop and feel agitated when he looks over. He couldn't care less though, the site was open to the public after all, and with a literal club being right there, we were the least of his worries.

We pass the rusty chain fence surrounding it, and draw near Harrenhal (the club). Once we're there, a bunch of men hoot and holler at me. I ignore them as they say something about my 'Targaryen' hair and it dawns on me they were probably calling me princess and lady because I was still in a fucking Targaryen era dress.

Still, I ignore the stupid fucks as they ask to see my pretty skirt, opting to walk faster instead. I was horrified by how loud and violent Daemon's scream was.

He shouted so gutturally that I couldn't understand a lick of The High Valyrian flaming out of his mouth. The vein on his neck popped out and I literally had to hold him back from charging and dropping Libby.

"Daemon, please!" I whimper, heart racing, "Libby's still on you-"

"Grab her and I'll fucking ram steel down- COME OVER HERE AND SAY THAT AGAIN. SAY THAT-"

Steel? I look to his belt. Fucking seven hells, he brought Dark Sister?

I look back at him with wide eyes, feeling nauseous now that I've caught how maddened he looked.

In a panic, I gently pat his face while pulling his arm back, "Daemon, please."

He doesn't look at me.

My voice gets softer and my eyes water, "Daemon, I beg you."

He huffs and clenches his jaw, still not sparing me a glance.

"We don't have time for them," I whisper and keep my hand on his cheek, "I'm just going to connect to the club's wifi from here, then I'll can call us an Ubor."

Daemon does not tear his gaze from the men, who eventually waddle away to whatever sewer they came from, still hollering bullshit as they did.

"Kesan daor nārhēdegon naejot nyetodha aōha irosh," Daemon mutters. I will not forget to slit your throats.

The relief that washed over me was unparalleled when I booked an Ubor set to arrive in 3 minutes. I whimper and rub my eyes, "okay, not long now."

Daemon finally looks at me, still visibly pissed, and adjusts Libby on his back.

I wipe my face, "we're just going to get in the c-" Fuck... I should probably prepare him for the car.

"Okay," I raise my hands, "we're going to get in a metal..." I motion to the space, "... there's going to be a- a- carriage? But with no horse... but and when I get in, you just get in with me, okay?"

Daemon's expression is now one of confusion.

I sigh and place a hand on his shoulder, "it's going to be okay."

His lips curl, "... OK."

I screw my eyes shut and shake my head rapidly, "I mean alright. Alright! ALRIGHT!"

Daemon takes in my visible frustration and nods slowly, "OK."

To be honest, Daemon was a pretty good Ubor passenger, save for the fact his sword nearly cut me, Libby, him and the fucking car seats when he tried to sit without removing his scabbard first. We were lucky the driver seemed to be used to... ren fair people.

He also seemed to be used to driving people to the ER. I was too relieved to think realize how fucked up that kinda is in the moment. Needless to say, I gave him 5 stars and an extra tip.

With Dark Sister in my grip and Libby in Daemon's arms, we finally made it to Lannister Medical Center.

The moment we get there, I run inside the ER and break down at the first nurse I see. I infodump everything, how Libby got attacked, how Harwin lost her, how some maesters tried to help us, how she lost a lot of blood, how I'm afraid she's going to die, how Daemon ended up carrying her, and I just keep going up until I saw Libby's blue hair scattered on a stretcher and the nurse told me to sit down.

I didn't have much fight in me left to argue, so I sit myself down on the bench. But then I see the nurse speaking to Daemon, who, seemed to be explaining what had happened, and I panic all over again.

Before I could stand though, another nurse was there to accommodate me. He did a checkup on me, asked me how I was feeling, and asked if I needed anything to calm down.

I told him I was fine and proceeded to answer his other questions. Daemon eventually came to my side and eyed him.

The nurse gives me a nod and offers a smile, "you seem to be physically well. Just let yourself relax. The doctors have your friend; they'll do their best to help her."

"Thank you."

The nurse nods again. He gives me and Daemon one last look before walking off.

I grab Daemon's hand once it's just the two of us. I look up and shudder, "we did it."

He looks down at me, violet eyes solemn. He brings a hand to my cheek and swipes at my cheek, "ȳdra daor limagon."

"I don't know what that means," I mumble.

"I said don't cry, pretty girl," he kneels in front of me, "worrying will not save your friend."

I stare at him, feeling my heart race and belly roll because of the look he had. He brushes my silver hair back behind my shoulders, only intensifying the flurry in my stomach. Just as I opened my mouth to speak, suddenly, my stomach growls. Oh.

Daemon turns his eyes to my belly as I clutch it.

"You want something to eat... prince?"

Daemon reaches a hand out, "lead the way."

I take his hand, grab Dark Sister, and hand it to him. He fastens his scabbard as we exit the ER and I go through my satchel, fishing for my wallet. Just before I get it, I remember that I blew most of my money on the Ubor.

"Fuck," I curse and turn to Daemon, "I don't have enough money."

Daemon rests his hand on his sword and simply stairs.

"I don't have coin," I clarify. I look around the road and figure our chances of riding a bus at this hour was nonexistent. I give him a look, "do you mind walking home with me?"

Daemon raises a brow, "as opposed to swimming home with you?"

I raise my brows and sigh, "Daemon-"

"Lead the way," he nods and points, "I am not one to tire easily."

I nod and slice through air to drive a point, "okay. No matter what happens," I reach out to him, "you have to hold my hand, okay?"

He looks at my hand then my face, his violet eyes sparkle with amusement. He chuckles but he links his fingers between mine (overkill if you ask me). I'm glad goosebumps don't form.

Daemon smiles softly, "you take me for a child, riña?"

"This child knows how to cross the street," I squeeze his hand harder than necessary and begin to walk off, "I'm not sure you do, kekepa." Grandfather.

Daemon laughs, full-on throwing his head back, "how hard is it to cross? You jus-"

His words go dry when an empty school bus passes us. He was so stunned by the yellow contraption, I had to tug his arm to continue walking.

Just then, a Megatron looking-ass truck drives down the street. I hiss and curse the 14 wheeler for emitting such horrible smoke, eyeing it as it drives away.

Meanwhile, I catch the prince's stunned reaction and almost feel bad for finding it funny. Almost.

We arrive at my apartment about 20 minutes later.

I press the elevator button and turn to Daemon, "don't put your arm between the door, okay?"

Daemon gives me a look.

The elevator opens and we step inside. Daemon gives me a look, "we have lifts you know."

I pull my head back, "you do?"

"At the wall," Daemon retorts as the elevator door closes.

"The wall?" I think for a moment, "ahh. You're right."

A beat.

I knit my brows, "wait, you've been to the wall?"

"Of course I've been to the wall."

The moment we get to my place, relief washes over me. I take my shoes off and scoop my hair in front, "fucking rip this dress off me."

Without a single thought between his brows, Daemon's reaches out to undo the ties at the back of my dress.

Just before he does this, I hear him walk in with his boots and nearly have a heart attack when he passes my threshold.

"OH, ABSOLUTELY NOT!" I turn and shove him back, "take your crusty boots off now!"

Daemon looks at me in bewilderment but walks back and doesn't protest as he removes his shoes. He places his shoes on the rack along with mine.

Not wasting time, he catches my arm and yanks me towards him. He spins me around and immediately undoes the back of my dress. I hastily begin to tug my dress down once I can.

He chuckles, "eager girl."

I rather literally jump out of my dress when I can. Pent-up rage overcomes me. I turn around and start kicking the dress away, releasing all my frustration and anger out on the thing. I curse 8th century Westeros and the Red Keep in particular and assault the object until I'm out of breath.

I proceed to jump onto my sofa and allow exhaustion to finally take over my being.

A second later, I catch Daemon's expression and realize, he probably thought he was going to get lucky when I asked him to basically strip me naked.

"Ahh," I get back on my feet, "sorry about," I point to the dress, "that."

Daemon says nothing as he steps closer. He reaches out for my hip and I swat his hand away. I shake my head, "this is my house."

He chuckles as I evade him on my way to the kitchen, which was not nearly as far as it should have been. The prince eyes the space, "yes. An impressive little room you've got." He follows after me, "I'd love to see the rest of it."

I look at him as I reach my fridge and open the door.

Daemon squints at the light that radiates on me. I cuss at the fact I only had cereal (no milk) and some vegetables that have gone bad. I grab the paper box and hand it to him. He blankly stares at it as I discard the vegetables.

Daemon's brows contort at he box, "it's cold."

I wash my hands, "yeah, refrigerators do that."

"Gra'-nola," he reads.

"Granola," I correct as I dry my hands on my shift.

I'm suddenly struck with the realization his grubby has have never seen antibacterial soap. I snatch the box from him and motion to the sink, "wash your hands."

Daemon turns to the sink and purses his lips.

For a second, I debate if he'd melt if he uses something antiseptic, but then figure I should still take my chances.

I prop the cereal on the counter and exemplify him how to wash his hands. Daemon, with slight reluctance, pumps some hand wash on his palm, opens the sink, and rinses.

I excitedly applaud him once he was done.

"A hand towel," he raises his dripping hands.

I look around even though I didn't have a hand towel. I shrug, "I usually just use my pants."

Daemon shakes his hands by the sink, "your pants?"

"Yeah. They're like clothes that you put on your-"

He grabs my shift and pulls me closer. He wipes his hands on it, "I know what pants are, princess."

I push him off and smirks as he dodges. I make a face, "well, I do so beg your pardon, your majesty."

The prince lets out a low laugh, "don't get too brazen, or I'll have you begging till you weep."

I quickly change the subject, "get that damned sword off your hip." I shoo him and rummage through my kitchen cabinets.

Daemon watches this and chuckles again. He tilts his head as he eyes my legs. He undoes his scabbard, sets it on my dining table, and pulls out a chair. He sits down just as I find a can of Sbam. Huzzah!

I grab a chopping board and open the can. A small smile spreads on the prince's lips as stares. But then, his expression drops when I shake, or try to shake, the processed meat out of the can.

I huff once I've succeeded, and I begin to cut the Sbam chunk, "you know this was in created during the war," I slice a piece, "it saved a lot of people from starvation."

"Which war?"

I freeze when he says this. I open my mouth then close it, unsure if recounting the details of world wars to him was a good idea, "you know what, never mind that."

Once I was done with the Sbam, I got a pan and heat it up. I get a plate and a loaf of bread, then place it on the table.

I click my tongue at the sight of his sword, "off the table!"

Daemon watches as I take Dark Sister and replace it with the plate and bread. I place the sword by the shoes and he takes the plastic wrapped bread. He feels the material and opens it, "what is this?"

"Bread," I retort, going back to my pan.

"No, I know that, but what's it wrapped with?"

I give him a quick look, "oh, plastic," I begin to cook the Sbam, "it's made of carbon... I think- I dunno- don't quote me on that."

Daemon opens the bag and takes a slice of bread. He pulls his had back, "it's sliced."

I beam and jump excitedly, "it is! It's sliced bread! Betty White is older than sliced bread! And so are you!"

Daemon ignores this as he sniffs the piece in his hand. He takes a bite then and makes a face, "why does it taste like that?"

"Like what?"

His brows knit and his eyes narrow, "like a pretender."

I burst into a laugh. I flip over the Sbam with a spatula, "imitation bread?"

"It wants so earnest to be bread," he pushes the loaf away and shakes his head, "but it clearly isn't."

I laugh even harder.

He snorts at my reaction. He smiles as leans back on his chair. A few moments later, he grows serious, "you ought to dismiss your royal baker."

Oh. My lips twitch and I chuckle under my breath, "ah, yes. My royal baker. Yes, I will dismiss my royal baker for making horrible sliced bread. Yes."

The Sbam was now cooked. I present it to him on a plate, "bon app-- ... I hope you like it."

Daemon leans forward to scrutinize the dish.

I press my lips into a line as I sit down next to him. I take a slice of imitation bread and fold in a slice of Sbam. I realize just how hungry I was after taking a bite. Through half-full mouth, I mutter, "it's good."

Daemon watches me and follows suit. He takes some bread and Sbam, then chomps.

I stop chewing. Wait, what if he gets an instant heart attack because his living fossil-self can't handle processed food?

He licks his lips and chews. I begin to grow more agitated as he makes a face.

"It's delicious," Daemon says, going in for another bite.

My agitation turns into shock, "really?!"

"Well, it's no roasted pork, but it'll suffice," he mutter between chews.

I let out a soft laugh and nod, "I'm glad it's enough for the prince."

"I'm honored the princess herself made it for me."

Aw, fuck. Who's gonna tell him?

There is a knock on my door. At the same time, my phone rings.

Daemon is alerted by the sound and I dash away to finally answer my phone.

"What is that?" the prince asks.

"It's my phone. Remember? You can call people with it."

Daemon narrows his eyes as I rummage my bag for my device. The knocking on the door gets louder.

I turn to the door, "just a minute."

I find my phone and feel my stomach drop at the caller ID. The banging on the door persists.

I answer the phone and head for the door, "hello?"

"Fucking hells!" the voice is worn and apparently worried, "where the fuck have you bee-"

"It's not you outside, is it?" I cut him off as I head for the door.

"What?! No! I'm in the fucking North, dammit! Your friends have been calling me nonstop, since fucking Sunday! -"

I open the door and my face falls. Standing before me is a man in a dark teal suit; his tie was loose, his stubble was thick, and he held what looked like a dozen bags in his hands.

"- You and Libby have been fucking missing for days! Where-"

"Mr. Hightower," I lower my phone as the man on the other end continues to chastise me.

Otto Hightower looks me up and down, then sighs, "out of the way."

Without another thought, I step back to let him in. He expertly slips out of his leather shoes then heads towards my sofa. He places all the bags on the coffee table. I follow after him.

I hear my name being shouted from my phone. I close the door and follow after Otto.

I listen in on the call again and I hiss when the voice pierces my ear drum, "Jon, calm down."

"CALM DOWN!? HOW CAN I BE CALM WHEN YOU WON'T TELL ME ANYTHING!?"

I begin to panic when Daemon walks over.

"Who is that?" Otto asks me. He notices Daemon, then makes a face, "who are you?"

I look at Otto, then Daemon, and dash over to the prince, grabbing his hand. I watch in real time the recognition and disbelief that floods the Targaryen's features as he watches the other slowly remove his tie.

"Libby and I got stuck in the ren-fair!" I reply to my phone.

"WHY DIDN'T YOU FUCKING CALL?!"

"MY PHONE DIED, JON!" I shout back a lie.

Otto's brow raises. He looks at me and mouths, "Jon?"

I ignore that and groan "LOOK! I'm fine! Libby's-- ... Libby's," I whisper softly, "in the ER-"

"THE ER-"

"I'M TAKING CARE OF HER!"

"WHY THE FUCK IS SHE IN THE ER?!"

"Libby's in the ER?" Otto mutters.

I raise a finger to answer my phone, "Jon, please. I'll explain everything tomorrow."

He screams my name and I have to rip my phone away from my ear again. I vaguely hear him rant about how I should explain why his sister is in the fucking ER.

"Jon, Jon, I love you but I have to go," I quip and immediately end the call. I turn on airplane mode and throw my phone on to the couch.

I release a breath and find myself pulling a smile as the man in the suit eyes me. He's about to speak, but Daemon beats him to it.

"What was that?" the prince asks, pulling me by the arm to face him.

I turn to him and make a face. It's Otto that answers for me, "her ex boyfriend."

I turn to Otto as he tilts his head and raises a brow, as if daring me to correct him.

I do, "my best friend's brother."

Daemon eyes Otto; the latter makes a face, "who used to your lover," he crosses his arms, "I'm offended you take his calls but not mine."

"And who are you?" Daemon hisses, stepping towards him.

Without missing a beat, Otto meets his gaze and scoffs, "who are you?"

Daemon's pulls his chin back and chuckles dryly. His expression screamed FUCK AROUND AND FIND OUT.

I jump in front of him, my back presses his chest. I give a nervous laugh, "Mr. High- Director- Mr. Director- sir. This is Daemon."

Otto watches as I grip Daemon's hands behind me.

"And Daemon," I barely look at him over my shoulder, "this is... my... employe-"

"Otto Hightower," he cuts me off, bringing his hand into his breast pocket, "Director and CFO of King's Landing Holdings."

I wince, fuck.

"King's Landing?!" Daemon laughs out loud.

Otto produces a business card.

"It's a company!" I turn around and wave my hands, "it's a company! An establishment!"

Daemon does not tear his eyes away from him.

"He's my employer!" I explain.

Otto offers a piece of paper between his fingers.

The prince looks at it and slightly pushes me away, "what's he doing here then?"

"That's hardly any of your business," Otto retorts, tucking his business card back into his pocket.

Daemon laughs and finally turns to me. He mutters something in High Valyrian along the lines of 'let me do something' and 'stabbing'. I frantically shake my hand and push him back.

He thankfully relents and I sit him back down on my dining table.

My relief is fleeting when I realize the only reason Daemon didn't refute was because Otto was trailing right after me. My stomach drops when I feel a hand on my back.

Otto is right behind me. He places a few of the paper bags he brought on the table. He opens them, "I bought you dinner."

I turn to him, intent to tell him he shouldn't have.

"Amongst other things," he adds.

Daemon barks, "we have dinner."

"How did you even know I was home?" I say at the same time.

Otto's eyes flick to him, to the plate of Sbam on the table. His face is blank as looks back to me. He decides to remove his coat jacket, "I suppose you'd-" eyes Daemon, "-also think a candle equal to a campfire."

"Mister Hightower," I helplessly mutter.

He hangs his jacket on the backrest. He turns to me, "and you were missing--"

My expression sours.

"-- what did you expect me to do? I obviously utilized my connections. I'm offended you'd ask me such a thing."

Daemon mutters something in High Valyrian again.

"Of course, I had come see you myself," he looks at me through his lashes as rolls up his sleeves. My eyes dart to his sleeve tattoos and arm veins. When I begin to scrutinize the hairs on his skin, I realize I've stared to long.

In a panicked frenzy, I begin to unpack one of the paper bags. He, himself, brings out a stack of food containers and places them on the table.

The smell alone makes my stomach grumble.

Otto steps away and comes back with plates and cutlery. He places one plate in front of me, and has a prolonged stare at Daemon before placing the other in front of Daemon. He says, "I would hate for prince Daemon to be reduced to eating Sbam for dinner."

My expression drops. Daemon does not move an inch.

Otto turns to me and pulls out the chair. I take a moment before sitting down, because, really, did I have any other choice?

Otto opens the containers one by one and my mouth waters as I see lobster, lamb, and lemon cakes. He serves me meat and veggies, "I would assume you're not hurt like your friend."

I watch as he places food on my plate. I gulp before responding, "I'm just... tired."

"Then, I would also assume you'll not be attending work tomorrow," he takes my hand, putting the utensils in them. He scrapes a chair to my side and sits down next to me, urging me to eat with a motion.

I look at Mr. Hightower, "oh no- I will! I will-"

"You won't," he raises a hand, "see to it you're well rested."

I turn to my plate, feeling a flurry in my stomach over his words.

"Are you not going to serve your prince?" Daemon cuts in, raising his brows.

The lamb I was about to eat drops back to my plate.

The two glare, as if willing the other to spontaneously combust.

Before anything else could happen, I stand and reach out to Daemon's plate. I squeak when both grab me by the wrist.

My throat tightens.

My heart races when Daemon stands, "release her."

Otto raises his brows and tilts his head, "sit back down."

I rip my wrists out of their grips. Thankfully, neither put up a fight.

They stare at each other for what felt like ages. My agitation rockets when I see my boss begin to fidget with his hands the way he did when he was annoyed and ready to do something drastic.

I give Daemon a panicked look and grab his wrist, "kostilus." Please.

Daemon clenches his fist.

I continue to beg him until he sits.

I squeak when he grabs my chair by the seat and pulls me towards him. He mutters, "kesan daor emagon ao va bona run." I will not have you near that thing.

I turn to Director Hightower; I could see his annoyance building.

Fuck.

"Miste-" "Enjoy your meal then," he speaks as he stands. He grabs his coat and points, "I've bought some first aid things. I'm sure your friend can help you put that away."

I move to stand but Daemon stops me. He looks up at Otto in disgust, "do mind the steel contraptions on your way out."

I snap at Daemon, eyeing him hotly. He places a hand over my legs, ensuring I do not evade him. I watch as Mr. Hightower heads for the door, and in a split second decision, I turn to the prince and kiss him on the lips.

He is evidently taken aback, but it only takes him another second to get into it. Once he's put his guard down, I rip away from him and chase after my boss just as he exits my apartment.

"MR. HIGHTOWER!"

Otto turns around. I huff as I meet him just outside my door, "I'm really sorry about him. He's... he's just like that."

"You're not responsible for the actions of others," he retorts, nonchalant.

"I know. But still-"

"You are responsible for the company you keep," he adds.

I brush my silver hair back, "and you're not responsible for my well-being."

He snorts and shakes his head, "I'm your superior."

I press my lips into a thin line, deciding not to get into this conversation right now, "that, you are, Director."

We stare at each other for a moment. I examine his well-ironed suit, noticing how he didn't bother to fix his tie or buttons any more.

"I'll-"

"Is he not-" Daemon kicks the door open.

My eyes widen, "DAEMON-"

"-fucking gone yet?!" he points Dark Sister in an offensive stance. I yelp when he swings his weapon and scratches the door.

Otto's fight or flight instincts kick in and he takes flight down the hall.

"DAEMON-" I scream. I duck down and grab him by the torso, "STOP IT!"

Daemon screams out in High Valyrian. He laughs and lowers his sword, "yeah, you better run."

[miguelhugger2099]

Little Miguel, Big Miguel (Pt. 2)

Summary: Miggy meets a few people and he finally grabs the chance to speak with you again. Previous This chapter was so hard to write oml Art in the middle by LBY2K99 Miguel x GN!Reader, fluff, lowkey crack, not proofread at all, Word Count: 3, 106

Eventually Miggy and Jess walked through the entrance of the cafeteria, the threshold being much larger than he expected with various spiders on high beams or on a string of web. Others were normal and sitting at the many tables and booths the place had provided. 

Was that a T-Rex?

“You hungry?” She peered down at him after walking in front of a counter. Miggy shrugged despite his stomach growling.

“I could eat,” He huffed when Jess shoved a tray in his hand, a burger that had his variant’s mask plastered on the bun. His eyebrows raised in surprise. “Huh. A little more conceited than I thought.” He mumbled to himself. 

“Hi, guys!” Jess walked past and called out to a group of people sitting at a booth. They all turned and greeted her back before all of their eyes landed on Miggy. He squirmed slightly as Jess walked in front of him and Miggy followed hesitantly behind.

“Bloody hell. Did the boss shrink? That's jokes.” One smirks, chuckling to himself, his voice smooth and deep that melted nicely with his British accent. 

The other three are slack jawed, not believing what they’re eyes.

“Did he shrink?!” One with a blue headband gasps.

“No, Miguel didn’t shrink,” Jess rolled her eyes. “This is our new recruit, Miguel, obv–obviously. He's getting used to the place so,” Her hand stretches out to list their names. “Hobie, Pavitr, Miles and Gwen.” 

“Is no one finding this strange?” A teenager that looked a little older than him spoke out, his suit completely black except for the red stripes running down his arms. Miles, Miggy made sure to remember. “It's Miguel but…pocket sized.” The girl next to him softly smacks his chest with a warning look.

“He's a kid, Miles. We've met other variants of ourselves before so this shouldn't be different.” Her eyebrows furrowed and the metal piercing by her right glinted underneath the fluorescent lights. Gwen.

Miles pouted. “At least my variant was the same age.” He mumbled under his breath.

Gwen smiles. “Nice to meet you, Miguel.” 

“Ah–actually. You guys can call him Miggy or anything other than Miguel. Just to avoid confusion for the time being.” Jess intervenes awkwardly, helping Miggy into a seat by Miles and Gwen. All of them give their own greetings, welcoming Miggy in despite the strangeness of seeing a more timid and kid version of the man in charge.

“Qué tal?” Miles leans back in his chair.

Miggy brightens up. “Hablas español?” He asks Miles. Miles sits up, wide eyed and suddenly nervous.

“Y-yeah, I know un–un poquitito, y'know.” There was still a bit of an accent but Miggy didn't mind, simply chuckling and nodding, subconsciously showing off his sharp fangs when taking a bite of his burger.

“Woah, were those fangs?” Pavitr leans over the table to take a closer look. Miggy leans back. “Are they retractable too?”

“Uh, no. It’s–it’s just like that.” Miggy chuckled awkwardly after swallowing.

“How long you been Spider-Man for?” Miles asks and turns to him.

“Ah…almost a year, pretty sure.” He kept eating, taking another few bites.

“Are you on rapture?” Hobie tilts his head with a raise of his eyebrow, almost with a hint of concern in his eyes.

Bug-eyed and jaw slacked, Miggy snaps his head to Hobie, nearly choking on himself. “No!” He sputtered while Hobie nodded and leaned back as he relaxed. “Shock, what is wrong with you guys?” He wheezed out.

Pavitr laughs. “I like this new little boss.”

“He don’t got a stick up his arse, that’s for sure. Makes him ten times better than the geezer.” Hobie plays with his bottom lip ring.

“Be nice.” Jess warns with her arms crossed.

“I am nice. That was my nicest, actually.”

Jess’s phone pings in her pocket and she checks her alarm. “Shoot. I need to go. Miggy,” He turns his head to her. “We’ll have to finish orientation another time. I gotta head home. Guys, if you could just keep an eye on him till the end of the day?”

The group of young spiders nod up at her, all responding with their own variations of responses. Jess gives a lingering look to the group, eyeing them down to make sure she can trust them. Deeming them good kids, she sighs and waves, walking away to open a portal back to her dimension. Miggy shrinks in his seat, now being with semi-strangers and the only person he kinda knew in this place, left.

After she leaves, all of them begin to ask more questions like how old he was, if their Miguel’s universe was similar to his universe, etc, etc. Miggy tried his best to answer ease their curiosity with a gentle yet nervous smile. It had been a while since so many people have been kind to him.

Gwen mentions your name after thinking for a moment. “Do you think they know about him?” Miggy’s ear perks up at the mention of you. Where were you anyway? Did you leave? He wanted to see you again.

“Not if Miguel allows it. I can see him getting mad about this.” Pavitr rests his chin in his palm.

“Be a bit freaky if I were to see ‘em together anyway. Since they’re always around the big man.” Hobie crosses his arms on the table.

“I don’t think it’d be freaky. Everyone’s making a big deal about this.” Gwen frowns. Miggy droned out their talking, his eyes searching side to side to find and exit. Don’t get him wrong, these are nice people and he can see himself being friends with them, he just…really needed to see you.

Or maybe it was an excuse to escape their gossiping while in front of him.

Miggy slipped from his seat and escaped the flurry of whatever the hell they were saying while they chatted amongst themselves. He used his webs to swing himself to the ceiling with a small fwizz coming from his wrists. His claws poked out, clutching onto the metal as he crawled away, avoiding Spider-Monkey and out of the threshold. He failed to notice a pair of eyes watching his exit.

He hopped off the wall and landed on one of the many beams the building provided. Miggy took a few glances around him to make sure no one could bother him when he lifted his wrist to his face. He hesitantly raises a finger to the screen. Even though it looked like his universe tech, he still had no clue how it operated. Deciding not to break it accidentally, he brought it close to his lips. “Hey, miss…AI lady, ma’am?” He whispers to the watch.

Lyla suddenly popped up on top of the screen, her holographic body standing in front of many tiny floating monitors. Miggy yelped, covering his mouth with his other hand.

“What’s up little boss? Got a question? And no, you’re not allowed on any mission. You’re on babysitter protocol.” Lyla didn’t look up at him, choosing to look at each file and trashing the ones she deemed unimportant.

“Babysitter?” Miggy scrunched up his face in disdain.

She yawned. “Big boss doesn’t want you out and about to other universes yet. Sorry, kid. Now if you’ll excuse me–”

“Wait, wait! No! That’s–that’s not what I was gonna ask.” He panicked, gripping the watch with his hand. Lyla’s heart sunglasses slid down her nose as she turned her head over her shoulder to face him. “I was just gonna ask about…” He saw your form leave Miguel’s corridor before bumping into another spider person he didn’t recognize for a quick chat. He felt his little heart speed up and smiled. “...them.”

Miggy and Lyla both peered down to watch you smile and laugh with the other spider-man. Miggy noticed a redhead baby in his arms. Lyla glanced at him, back to you and then back to him. She stood up straight and crossed her arms after sliding her shades back on her nose bridge. “Oh, they’re way too old for you, kid.” Miggy frowned at the holographic lady. You had finished talking with whoever that was and waved him and the baby goodbye. Miggy’s heart raced as he prepared himself to jump off the beam.

“Whatever, pequeñita. Don’t need your help anymore. Catch a virus or something.” Miggy grinned mischievously down at her while Lyla gasped in shock.

“Hey–!”

Miggy switched her off and quickly used his webs to stick to the ceiling and swung down behind you, landing on his feet with a quiet thump. Hearing that sound, you turned around to check to see Miggy had stood up on his feet with a toothy smile. The sides of his hair had fallen out of place and he tucked it behind his ear as he walked up to you.

“Hey.” He placed his hands on his hips and puffed up his chest to appear more muscular. You huffed a small laugh, crossing your arms and tilting your head as you looked at him.

“Hi there. I didn’t think we’d meet again so soon.” You decided to amuse him. Miggy shrugged.

“Guess it was fate,” You snorted but Miggy continued anyway. “I was wondering if you had time for a chat? This is your universe I'm assuming? You could show me around the city. Maybe grab a snack together.” He grinned, looking at you with an innocent expression. But you knew better. Miguel would try the same thing in his own version once in a while.

“Uh-huh, yeah, right. Where’s Jess?” You placed your hands on your hips. Miggy stiffened but recollected himself.

“Busy.” He said, technically not lying.

“Sure,” You dragged out. “Well, I thought you came from a similar universe. I don’t think there’d be much new stuff to show you, kid.” You give him a playful pointed look with a tilt of your head. Miggy tsked, poking his cheek with his tongue in annoyance. He didn’t like you thinking he was just some kid. He was more than that, he’d prove it!

“Well, I beg to differ. I’m naturally curious, y’know. It’s one of my charms so I’d like to see if you’re right.”

“So you don’t believe me?” You raised your eyebrow.

Miggy hummed in thought, looking off to the side. “Not at all. Just a test.” He grinned.

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Alright, I’m not doing that,” Miggy’s face dropped. “But I am just heading home really quick and then coming back here. So, if you want, you can join me.” You offered and his face brightened up.

“Yeah! Yeah–sure, sure. That I can totally do.”

“Great. It’s actually not far from here so we could just walk to—”

“Woah, woah, woah. Walk? If you hadn’t noticed, I’m Spider-Man.” Miggy gestured to himself with a smug smirk, but your face didn’t falter.

“I see that.”

Miggy pouted. “I can carry you.”

You waved him off. “That’s really not necessary. I know you’re strong but–” You yelped as you felt Miggy grab your waist and pull your close. The height difference was a little awkward but he didn’t seem to mind one bit. He wanted to prove to you he was capable and strong. His webs shot out and stuck to the walls, swinging the both of you around while he tried finding an exit with a determined look. You wrapped your arms around him, hoping to the universe that you wouldn’t fall, and he felt his heart race a little faster.

“Directions, please!” He exclaimed, a smile in his voice while you screwed your eyes shut. You eventually felt the wind in your hair and the far away sounds of hover cars zipping past. “That’s new!” He dodged the cars with stealth, clutching you tighter to him.

Your legs became shaky and as soon as your feet touched the ground of your patio, you fell to your hands and knees with a giant huff. Miggy landed beside you, letting you take a breather.

“Estas bien?” He asked gently, his voice much softer than the persona he tried to maintain. He knelt by your side, hugging his knees to his chest.

“Fine, fine. Just…don’t do that again.” You helped yourself up and walked inside after opening the glass door. Miggy followed behind you, slightly embarrassed. He glanced around the area, seeing a void of color all around. Simple grays, blacks, and whites as the palette for couches, walls and the like. It was super different compared to back home. His mom usually did the decorations. Miggy thought this room felt very cold.

“This is your home?” He asked, feeling like this was a stark difference from your personality.

“Yeah, well kind of. I live here with someone.” You reply, rummaging through some things in a different room. Miggy perked up, his lips turning downward and feeling jealous.

“Who?” He asked, looking around to see if he could find anything that showed two people lived here.

You didn’t respond. Maybe you didn’t hear him, maybe you did. Miggy was distracted anyway as he walked slowly around the living room. In the corner of his eye, he saw a box that was out of place on one of the selves by the giant holographic TV. He strolled towards it, its dark purple color being the only thing attracting him.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go around touching things.” Your voice was heard behind him, making Miggy jump. He took a big step away from the box, becoming more curious but he respected you enough. “I thought you would’ve had enough manners to not go snooping in someone's home.” You tossed him a soda and he caught it, seeing that the name brand was slightly spelled different from his own dimension. He found it a little unsettling; still getting accustomed to everything.

“Sorry.” He mumbled, popping open the can with his talon. “What did you get?”

You shrugged. “Some things to help out the society.” You walked towards the couch and sat on the far right to rest yourself on the armrest. “Just give me a minute and we’ll head back.”

Miggy nodded along, shifting his weight from side to side. “What…are you to the society?” He asked quietly, almost afraid he’d offend you.

“What do you mean?” You looked over at him, patting the side next to you to offer him a seat. Miggy walked over and sat by you, a little farther than what you offered.

“Like…you’re clearly not a spider person, much less some powers, but yet you’re in the society. You know all those people yet you’re…a civilian?” You nodded.

“Yeah, I’m just a regular person. I can’t climb walls or shoot webs but…I think I have a right to be there.”

“You said you were special. What does that mean?” He peeked over at you, his soda faintly fizzing.

You avoided his question. “How about you tell me about yourself instead?”

Miggy tilted his head. “Me?” He asked. “But…I don’t think I’m much different from your ‘other me’.”

You waved him off. “I’m sure there’s some difference. C’mon, don’t be shy. I wanna know about the newbie.” You cross your legs and turn to face him.

Miggy looked apprehensive, not really sure if it’s the right time to spill his life story but you asked so he caved in.

“Well, I was bitten trying to save my, uh, bully.” He looked down at his drink and took a small sip. Your smile dropped.

“You were bullied?”

Miggy nodded. “Well, yeah. It, uh… didn’t end well,” He rubs the side of the can. “There was this huge explosion when checking out the spiders in Alchemax– my dad used to work there,” He doesn’t look up at you. “My dad’s boss and his kid were there. His son bullied me, sure, but when that explosion happened, somewhere in between I got bit and…I dunno,” He sighed, a clear heavy weight on his young shoulders. “Kron was there and I tried–I did– and I don’t even know why I did but he still…y’know.” He shrugged his shoulders. “It’s fine. I mean, it’s not fine but even though he died, he bullied me. But it doesn’t mean he should’ve passed, y’know? Then I woke up and they said my dad died too so it was all confusing back then.” He leaned back on the couch with a heavy sigh.

“I’m…so sorry,” You apologized grimly, guilt eating you up for asking. Miggy looked over at you and gave you a reassuring smile, his fringe falling out of place.

“It’s fine. It happened a while ago. The feeling is still there, just a little less. You didn’t hurt me, promise.” He then chugged the rest of the soda down his throat, feeling the fizz bubble down to his stomach. He crushed the can right after, his talons digging into it and showed you the marks he made. “I got sick powers and I can help my family more now. When they’re in trouble I can just put on the suit and make sure they’re safe.” He beamed with pride and you mirrored the same expression.

“You love your family?” You asked gently, taking the can from his hand and getting up to place it in the recycling bin.

“Mhm!” Miggy nodded. “Since the explosion, we all became a little more tight knit. My mom especially. She became more protective over my little brother since he’s still super little.” He looks up at you as you come back.

“What’s his name?” You hide your smile since you feel you know the answer.

“Gabriel.” Miggy beams. “He’s practically my shadow, which mom doesn’t like. Says I’m too reckless and doesn’t want him to be like me.” He blew raspberries to signify his mild annoyance at the thought.

You laugh and grab a backpack full of things that Miggy assumes were the things you came to collect. “After you swung me around, I think I agree with her.” You joked.

Miggy shot up from his seat and pouted. “Not cool.” But he enjoyed the way you smiled. “Gonna head back out now?”

Nodding, you slip the backpack on and walk with him back to the balcony. “Yup. Whenever you’re ready.” You look at him expectantly. He went a little wide eyed.

“You want me to swing us back?” Lost on why when you screamed earlier.

“Well, I’m prepared this time.” You and Miggy smiled at one another and he looped his arm around your middle. Your hands around his neck and he stuck his web to a building, jumping off the balcony and swinging back to HQ.

A/N: Please forgive me for this mid chapter i'll try to make the next one better i promise

{Taglist 🏷

@sassypotatomoosee @ihavemanyhusbandfandoms @arrozconpepitoria @nanarain @autismsupermusicalassassin @amberpanda99 @huniedeux @oharasfilipinawife @m0stergirl @maimedloveaffairs @glassracecar @lazy-idate @peachipeachy @palesatan @sleepingghoule444 @lizaistewdelulu @cicithemess @amelialysm @keigoloveminty @tatatida @peachyrue-777 }