#and this is what I'm talking about with accepting some grey

[tired-enby-thats-obsessed]

I think the worst part about the second season of Arcane is that like Caitlyn, Vi, The Fish Guy and the other two just get to use experimental chemical weapons in densely populated areas and there's no reflection on this at all.

I personally thought that was going to be the tipping point for Vi. Because what do you mean she went along with gassing the place she grew up in, doesn't even know the long-term affects of it and all we see is like one moment of hesitation before she's like yeah 'ends justify the means' when that's not her character before or after this decision.

And then that obviously leads to the fun take I've seen of "I don't understand why people like Jinx but hate Caitlyn. Caitlyn's not a terrorist that committed war crimes" what do you think using chemical weapons in a densely populated area for political purposes is?? Is it because she was enforcing that violence for the state?? Or because it's only shown to be used in the criminal dens and for reason you assume that gas is just gonna stay put and not move to the innocent buildings next to the deployment. Because if so, that's so stupid. We are told that shit is heavier than air, it's going to seep out.

The answer to that question by the way, is that Jinx doesn't pretend she didn't do the shitty things she does, and she doesn't blame her actions on being manipulated, and when Jinx does try to push the blame onto other people the show very clearly frames this as a bad thing.

But Caitlyn gets to blame chemical bombing areas with almost certain civilian casualties as 'just following orders' from Ambessa and for some reason people are fine with that excuse. Especially since Caitlyn developed The Grey completely of her own volition and just got Ambessa's approval. Wild shit.

So yeah I completely understand people liking Jinx more since the conflicts and complexities in her character are actually addressed and not hand waved by the narrative.

This is something that keeps annoying me about this show, especially after season 1 was so tight with stuff like this.

It's also why even though I want to like Caitlyn and Vi as a couple but I just can't, it felt like Vi became a bootlicker because that's what the story needed for it to match the league lore, and their final conversation about everything just wasn't satisfying, it felt like Vi let Caitlyn get away with the weakest of excuses and then they were cool again and it just wasn't satisfying.

If it was framed in a way where Vi was letting Caitlyn off easy because she herself was trying to justify her own role in that, then it would've been a lot better and I would've been able to accept that.

But again we don't see Vi grapple with that, but the fandom at large tends to agree that Vi was done dirty in the second season.

I'm not going to talk about the prison scene, everyone has talked about the prison scene. I will say though I did see someone somewhere say that Caitlyn should've been the one to take care of Vi in that scene, because it would've shown that Caitlyn is trying to take care of Vi the way Vi gives her all to the people around her. And I absolutely agree.

I'm also not going to talk about the fact that Caitlyn hit Vi because Vi didn't let her shoot at a kid. I will point out however it's telling the straight couple with a woman who violently lashes out didn't even hint at someone being hit, but the queer couple did.

Mel was also done so dirty too by the way, Ambessa was meant to be her foil and she got turned into a fucking furniture character and that still pisses me off so much. But that's a separate rant.

Anyway I do like this show, still believe with the set up in season 1 that the issue mainly boils down to not having enough time to actually tell the story they were trying too. But I'm still going to complain about the weird messages it sends in the final product.

Thank you for coming to my TEDex talk.

[dilf-docs]

You're a Daydream, Stay A While

jackson!joel miller x younger!reader

summary: you're jackson's designated bartender. well, your dad is, but after the arrival of a new face in town, maybe the inspiration to finally step up to your obligations kicks in.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, p. in v., oral (f. receiving), fingering, foreplay (mostly breasts), creampie, breeding kink (kinda), angst/comfort, insecure!joel (love touch etcetc starved), needy!joel, pov switch mostly joel (he's down bad as well), collected shitty puns from across the internet like thanos collected the infinity stones

word count: 6,136 words

side note: yk what's worst than simping for old men? simping for old men who don't exist. since y'all know, tlou II trailer dropped, which got me searching for joel's ***** to brace/prepare myself. umm so, why did no one tell me jackson!joel is the hottest thing ever? can´t wait to see pedro being senior citizen level of hot and dying (again) on his bday month! 😍 anyway, this is based on this request and well, yes! i too would flirt with an old ass if he looked like that™ hope u like it bc for some reason I'm not sure of it JSJDLKDFK also 400 followers GUYS STOP (pls don't)

The truth is simple: you hate working.

An apocalypse later, you figure there are more important things. But on Jackson, it feels like the world before fungus and violence, and everyone's got a role to play. As the daughter of Tipsy Bison's owner, yours is to help around the bar, something no matter how much your dad scolds you, you don't seem to care enough to even do a decent job.

Of course, it could be worse: patroling, keeping the cattle or crops, but not even then you're moved enough to give a shit about it.

Enter Joel Miller.

He, who made sure his arrival in Jackson didn't go unnoticed, making heads turn at it, not only because of his emotional reunion with Tommy, the little girl with him, or the fact that he left yet still returned. But also (mainly to you) because he was hot. Very hot.

Joel was the type of handsome that was rough in the edges, his closed-off demeanor and overall mystery adding to the thrill. His face seemed to be in a perpetual state of grief and darkness, sprinkled with grey and wrinkles, that in your opinion, didn't mean about age but just something that made his features all the more attractive.

It was a lie to say there weren't any boys your age in Jackson, good-looking too, yet you felt yourself gravitate towards Joel's musky presence. Yes, he could be your dad, but again, it's the apocalypse, and there are plenty of things to worry about than some age gap.

That doesn't stop the talking, anyway. It may be the end of the world, but gossip is just like cockroaches: it never dies.

The Tipsy Bison owner's daughter is in love with Tommy's older, much older, brother.

It didn't bother you, thought. You were pretty open about it, giving Jackson more to talk. Whenever Joel arrived at the bar, all heads would turn in your direction, ready for the shameless flirting and compliments you showered the oldest Miller in.

Maria had warned you, of course. She was the closest you had to a friend―sometimes being like a big sister, and she seemed to know what he was up to before, at the QZ in Boston, thanks to Tommy. Safe to say, you didn't care, despite listening to every word she had said.

Joel could break your heart, yet in a dying world, you weren't afraid to live.

Which is why now, as he enters the bar, you offer your dad to take his place.

"Go rest, I'll take this client" you offer with kindness, but he knows better. You're his daughter: in the end of the day, he's aware Joel is here, your shift in attitude warning him about Miller's incoming presence.

"If you will take this client, take the rest too" and before your dad can throw a speech about everyone being equal in Jackson, you're accepting to do the job properly, despite your grumbling and lack of interest to anyone who isn't Joel.

"Joel" you greet as soon as he sits, one of the many flirty smiles you have for him only adorning your face. He nods, avoiding your eyes that look at him like he could give you the world. He can't, so he keeps focused on the glass you're pouring in front of him.

"See? Didn't even need to ask. I already know" you seem proud of it, and the ghost of a smile brushes his lips.

"Well" he raises the glass, "it's an easy drink"

You feign hurt, "is that how you treat your bartender? I could poison your drink" Joel now truly smiles, knowing you could never, "or I could just strip you of your my favorite customer rights"

Now he feigns hurt, playing along for the first time in ever.

"Copied" he raises his arms in surrender, not before taking a gulp. You watch hypnotized the way his adam's apple bobs, the liquid sliding down his throat until it looses itself in the peak his two buttons undone give, of what looks to be a broad soft upper body, blessed with a patch of greying messy hair.

"Have they ever complimented you before, Joel?"

You. He refrains from answering, scared as to where little encouraging had led you and your shameless mouth to. He can feel the rest of the people behind him whispering, holes burning his neck. He can't let you win again: make him seem a pathetic excuse of a man who can't say no to a sweet doe-eyed delusional girl.

But you don't stop, despite his silence and the growing pit on your stomach.

"I'll take that as a no. Wanna know why?" he takes a much needed sip, "because all the good pick-up lines are taken"

This he can handle, Joel thinks. It's silly, proper of your age-

"But you aren't"

Ah, of course. Hasn't he learned?

You have the nerve to laugh, free as a wind chime softly carresed by the wind. His face burns, and even thought he's heard plenty of worse from you ("No pen, no paper but you still draw my attention", "Well, here I am. What are your other two wishes?" "You must be a dog person because you look fetching"), nothing had affected him this much.

Which is why he tries to pull the mask that had accompanied him since he first knew what grief was, so no feeling would ever made him weak again in a world hardened with pain. He's so good at it, wearing it like a second skin that doesn't scrub off no matter how much he wastes Jackson's water supply away, he sometimes sees the way your face is crestfallen at his indifference.

But you're young and stubborn, as so was he, before all the suffering and broken dreams.

So you won't listen to the past or doubts: the moment he stepped a foot into the community, you knew it was over, beating so loud you could barely hear your own breathing or him, when Maria introduced you and he shook your hand with his much bigger one.

"Joel" he'd said, with the sexiest voice you'd ever heard. His hands were covered in gloves, but despite that and the cold winter, the warmth that pooled from his palms had spread across your cheeks and chest. It had taken you a while to realize you hadn't said anything.

"Y/n" you hate the way your voice sounded small.

He nods, a way of saying Nice to meet you in his withdrawn nature. Then walks away, with Tommy and the girl, who looks curiously at you, Joel completely oblivious of how he's just turned your world upside down.

"Welcome to the museum!" you had said.

He tilted his head in confusion, Ellie's stare intense. "I thought this' Jackson?"

"This is a museum, because you're a work of art"

The tip of his ears instantly reddened, and the laugh Ellie was containing bursted like a bottle of champagne.

"Look at you, old man!" she laughed at him, making you wonder their relationship and how closer they seemed to be, despite initial assumptions. "Can't believe a girl gets the big, grumpy, scary Miller to blush like a boy"

You think that's the reason behind his apathy towards you, barely reacting to your pick-up lines or "subtle" flirting. It's probably not a reason as childish as that, but you'd rather be wrong than accept he may never feel the same way you do.

Because for a moment, despite the times you lived in, life made sense.

So no matter the stares, Joel's guarded posture and lack of reciprocation, you'll always be there, waiting: riding the roller coaster, enjoying the high.

The speed brings you closer, even if that means you'll crash.

Unfortunately for Joel, he knows who you are.

He's not even ten patrolling jobs closer to owning a bottle of whiskey of his own (he thinks earning it is bullshit, hasn't he done already enough?), so he's forced to go to the only place where he can get it.

And of course, there's you: a name and face he couldn't place upon his arrival, even if you had introduced yourself with your shitty line (which made him blush and Ellie laugh, so maybe it was a grudge what made him bent on removing you from his head) yet now is ingraned into his mind.

He doesn't know what's worst: your flirting or the fact that you seemed genuine about it. Or maybe it's the fact that he can tell you apart from the rest now, with a face full of life, always ready to give him your best smile and serve his glass the way he likes.

He needs to be the bigger person in this mess and stop it, Joel thinks. He isn't one to care about the talking, years of being brutal hiding any possible feeling that isn't rage. But then Ellie smuggled her way in his life, he found Tommy again, and Jackson was a reminder of old days when he would allow himself to feel anything else. So, in a way, he's become a bit susceptible to the talking behind his back.

How could he entertain a girl that could be his daughter? hushed, behind his stool. But then your fingers brush "accidentally", and his dick twitches between his legs when you bite your lip, pronouncing a Sorry like no one has said before: a tone so low and sultry, he's convinced wasn't even possible. Then you bat your eyelashes, and laugh (a sound both as delightful as addictive) before you're saying: "Don't mind them. They're just jealous you've got all my attention" and for a brief second, Joel let's himself believe he's special and worth of your time.

It's now a while since he's been there in Jackson, slowly settling into a life that doesn't involve running and fear.

If he thought your little crush was a phase, he's wrong.

You're still giving him time.

He's not supposed to get attached to you, Ellie, Tommy and Maria (future nephew in the way) more than enough. But then, when he's alone in a house too big for two people, Joel misses the way your loud voice fills the eerie silence that's followed him since death has been tracking his every step. Or how your interest on his life doesn't seem an act, listening to every word he says with tender eyes and soft smile, sometimes even making the effort of bringing things he's said before into new conversations; remembering. His heart flutter at your compliments, no matter how dumb they are, probably because he's not used to that stuff. As he lays awake at night, brain clogged with wounds too deep to bear, he finds comfort in things he has a feeling he's too old to get worked up about.

"Joel" you had said one day. God, he loved his name on your lips. The way you say it so sure, as if you'd follow him wherever he'd go.

He coughs. "Yeah?" and you smile, because at least he's looking in your direction.

"The chance of meeting a person like you is the only reason I talk to strangers"

The way your tone was straight, not flinching or faltering scared him. How something akin to sincerity dancing in the sparkles of your eyes, that now seemed to waver not out of whimsy but out of vulnerability, perfectly hidden in what could pass as another one of your attempts to woo him, but Joel's lived and seen enough to know it means much more.

So now, whenever there's darkness, he finds light on replaying those small moments on his head.

Dear God. What's he become? Ellie can't find out or he'll never hear the end of it.

But this things you don't know. All you see is a wall, and you're getting tired of hitting it.

The few words he spares your way are now a punishment you endure, cruel reminder that it's all you'll ever get.

Could you be in love forever? Could you even love?

It was a new feeling. Foreign, in fields of inexperience, but familiars in others. You may have never felt it, but the way your beat was steady when he showed up, worn out boots against the wood creaking under his weight, makes you believe when you know, you know.

"Hello, Joel" your father greets before you speak. Today, no matter how much you tried to shoo him away, he stayed.

You send a small smile his way, but he doesn't return it. You feel small, like a kid, undeserving of his attention. There's a bit of relief knowing your dad's there, so you let him take Joel for you.

There's always a first, and when both your dad and Joel notice, the latter feels a little sting on his chest.

But he's caused this, he thinks. It's what he wanted, after all: for you to stop chasing a man with scars in and out, bearing sins and blood where you had innocence and love.

"We're having a party tonight" he comments, making Joel quirk an eyebrow as he sips.

He gives you a brief glimpse, lost in the curve of your ass in those tight jeans, you giving him your back. He dryly scoffs on instinct at your deliberate choice to ignore him.

"Why's that?"

"My daughter's birthday"

He sees your body tense in the corner of his eye, wiping the glass in your hand with a bit too much force.

"Happy birthday" Joel speaks up, and you mutter a weak Thanks.

That's all he gets? No smile, no looking his way. Just a dry thank you that sounds more like something he would say.

Oh.

Was this how you felt?

"Time sure flies by" your dad sighs nostalgic, completely oblivious to the whole thing. "I feel if it was yesterday we came home from the hospital with you"

You smile, but it doesn't reach your eyes, despite the obvious adoration for your dad.

"Don't get sappy on me" you sound embarrassed.

"I don't care. Twenty-one years later and an apocalypse in the mix, you're still my baby"

"Dad!" your cheeks heat up, and Joel almost forgets he's there, his body back to life when your face goes back to its normal color and happiness.

"Which means" your dad goes back to Joel, "you're invited"

Your laughter dies and Joel's chest tightens.

"You need to stop saying that. All Jackson is invited" you respond, making him flinch. The bite is obvious.

You're not special, is what you try to say in between lines.

"I'll be there" tone daring, and your father feels something has shifted in the air.

You don't answer after that. What are you supposed to say? Don't come? I hate you for making me feel small? He doesn't owe you anything, but it still hurts.

"It's at seven" there's a sharp edge to your tone when looking at him.

"I'll be there" he repeats, still, but it sounds more like who he really is trying to convince is himself.

Joel is there, as promised. You don't know why, but after what happened earlier, for the first time ever, seeing him brings you dread.

He catches you in a corner, sipping on some drink.

"Hi" it's soft, the tone new, and it doesn't help the pit in your stomach.

"Hey"

"Why are you here?" he's curious., "ain't this supposed to be your party?"

It's funny, really. The way everyone else mingles around you, laugh and talk, yet here you are, bitter inside the shadows of your corner.

You raise your glass and chuckle dryly. "Well, cheers to that"

"You shouldn't be here" he insists, and you roll your eyes. Then, his voice goes soft. "Is... Is this because of me?"

You scoff, venom falling out of your bitter laugh. "Wow, big ego you got there. Newsflash: the world doesn't revolve around you"

He's so used to your pinning, it's hard to bear the change.

"I wasn't saying that, I just-"

"Please don't" you cut him off. "Don't ruin my birthday more than you already have, thanks"

You decide to walk away, but Joel won't let you.

"I don't want that" he insists, blocking your steps. "I want you to be happy"

"Don't bullshit me" your tone is icy, cutting like daggers. "Please, leave me alone"

"Not until you're fine"

You scoff at his incomprehensible behavior.

"Oh, now you care? Drop the act; you're just angry I'm not stroking your ego anymore like a lovesick puppy. Truth is, you don't owe me anything, Joel"

He looks like you've slapped him across his face.

"I know" his voice darkens, filled with tension. "But-"

You get tired at Joel's sudden insistence, overwhelming you with confusion. This is the same guy that has uttered less than fifty words your way, indifferent to your flirting and special treatment. Of course, it may have been a little silly of you to expect so much from a guy older even than your dad, but his apathy was borderline rude, and that you can't excuse. Or understand. Or let go.

So yes, you're being petty. And yes, it also feels good to have him begging to have your attention, the roles reversed.

"But what, Joel? Is there anything you can say, really? It's not that serious" you empty the glass in a chug, feeling dizzy. "Live a little and stop being so obssesed with me"

He shoots you a look hard to decipher. There is hurt: from all the emotions available, he chose the one thing you didn't think he'd be capable of feeling. Hell, he looked rather more like the cause than the affected on the other end. But then auburn fires flash behind his eyes, and the circle repeats itself, the danger and rage Maria warned you about.

"Obssesed with you?" his eyes carry a wild light in them. "If anyone is obssesed, well, it ain't me"

"I need air" you push past him, done with his shit.

"I'm sorry-"

The cold wind hits your face as you storm outside the bar. Is this a lesson to be learnt? Was this how heartbreak felt? The only thing you know is you need to get the farthest you can, even if your footsteps feel heavy with the weight of the snowed streets and frigidness of your heart.

"Y/n, wait!"

You turn around. Unbelievable: Joel Miller is running after you.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Joel?!" you shout, "why can't you just leave me alone?!"

"Because I-"

"There's nothing for you to say" you counter, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration. "If this is some sort of guilt thing, I need you to let it go. What I did- I mean, you should probably forget about the whole thing. It's my fault, and I'm sorry my reaction is immature and what not, but I should've known to read the signs. You're simply not interested in a girl who hasn't truly lived or known what pain is"

After you confession, you hear a laugh. You raise your eyes, anger and hurt flashing in tears.

"And you have the nerve to fucking laugh?! Fuck you, Joel" you want to walk away to save yourself from further embarrasment yet your feet seem to be stuck.

"Oh, sweetheart. I'm not interested?" you roll your eyes, but he pins you by your shoulders, as if knowing you'd walk away. "Listen, I need you to know somethin': I'm not who you think I am"

"I don't care" you interrupt, defiant. "You're right, I don't know who you are. But I want to. Who you where outside this walls... It doesn't matter, not to me. You did what you had to do to survive, and that brought you here. Jackson... think of it as a second chance. You can still be happy, you know?"

With me, dies in your throat, not wanting to give more of yourself away.

"It's better this way" Joel insists, "hell, you'll even thank me one day. There's plenty of young boys here who'd love to be with you, trust me"

"I don't want them, Joel. What's so hard to understand?" what makes you get closer to him, you don't know, but in a sudden rush of force, you find the courage to look at him, body standing still as you exhale, fears condense in the air. "I only want you"

"You don't" you should roll your eyes again at his stubborn character, but his voice comes out so small, almost as if resignated, that it tugs your chest.

"I do" you reply firmly, cupping his cheek with tender care. He leans in your touch, despite it revealing his true desires when it comes to you.

"Why me?" Joel whispers, bigger hand covering yours, as to prove it's real and the warmth isn't a joke. "Why not a younger, charmin', happy boy your age? Why a broken violent older man?"

His voice breaks after the admission, quietly seeping into heavy silence that falls like the snowflakes in his hair.

"Joel" you call his name softly, making those sad brown eyes look at you. You gulp, nervous at the storm of emotions inside them, "is it so hard to believe you can be loved?"

Your words make him falter, his grip loosing strength as he tumbles back.

"Love?" he repeats with disbelief, as if you'd just say some kind of tale. "There isn't love in this world left for me. Men like me don't deserve good things, especially if they comin' from a pretty girl as yourself"

You shouldn't be blushing at times like this, but the maroon splash on your cheeks betrays you, warm as the drink from before and red as the dim lights casted by Jackson's Christmas tree in the middle of the town.

"Joel" you call again, and he's surprised you're still there. That you hadn't turn your back on him, or looked into his eyes and saw the monster in him, running away to never come back.

"If you let me" you hold his hands to steady him even as they tremble, "I could"

I could love you.

The promise hangs unspoken in the air, the wind now barely above a humming.

"You'd take me" his voice falters, "with all I've done, knowing I've hurted people?" Killed people, but he can't bring himself to say it when you look at him like that: like he could learn to love you.

"Yes" your voice doesn't waver a bit, "every part of you"

"And you'd take me knowin' that I'm years ahead in hurt, age and life?"

"Yes, Joel" you giggle. "Are you making me do an exam on your life? Because that's not fair, you've barely spoken to me, or anyone else for the matter!"

He chuckles, shaking his head.

"I s'ppose life ain't fair, sometimes"

"But it could be" the moonlight of the now clear sky shines over your eyes, and Joel is sure that the stars would be jealous.

"It could" he repeats, as to believe it himself.

Silence settles again, but it doesn't feel suffocating anymore.

"You know, we should probably get inside"

You dissmiss his words. "Nobody has even noticed we're gone"

"What about the cake?"

Your chest feels warm at his concern. He may not believe it, but the old-world Joel, the one who was a contractor in Texas and had a daughter, is still there, somewhere.

"Jackson is real, but miracles not" you laugh, "we don't have those. The party really is just an excuse for dad to drink with his friends during labor hours"

"And yours?" Joel inquires, "where your friends at?"

"Left early" then you lean to his ear, hot where skin meets cold. "I told them to"

He tries, but all words die on his throat.

"Wanna know why I did it?" your fingers wander to his tense jawline, tracing your sharp nails until they descent to his neck, sprinkled with loose hairs from his beard.

"Why?" voice barely above a whisper, his cock painfully hard between his legs. That you don't know: just the glint of dark on his hazel eyes.

"Why don't we find out?" and your hand takes his to lead the way. When he doesn't move, you try other way.

"I'm the birthday girl" you tease softly, but your orbs sparkle with something akin to dangerous. "You better make it up to me"

You've walked this road so many times, yet it's never felt longer.

The house is alone, you'd say, and Joel followed you because well, he'd follow you anywhere. He notices you said 'house', an indicator you still live with your parents. He wonders if you're embarrased, but by the way you smile, inviting him inside, to a part of you intimate and unknown until today, he knows he's chosen right.

When you open the door, cold creeps in through the cracks of warmth. You lead the way to your room, and once you're inside, he thinks it's very you.

"Very me?" you giggle, taking a seat in the bed. Joel watches from the doorframe, his bulky arms crossed. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It's cute" and you think it's not a frequent word in his vocabulary, thanks to the pink dusting his cheeks.

"I'm cute?" you repeat delighted, and the shade of pink turns darker.

He just nods, avoiding your gaze.

"Joel" you call, then pat the spot next to you "why are you so far away? Are you scared?"

He grumbles something under his breath before walking over to where you showed. The bed creaks under his weight, and now that he's closer, you hear the wavering beat of his heart and ragged breaths.

"You are scared" you repeat, a statement now. He thinks you're mocking him, until your sure hand grabs his. "It's okay"

Before he can add on that, your face is too close, your breath tickling over his nose. He feels the moist of your lips press over the brigde of it, with a tenderness that brings ghosts of tears he has since long shade to his eyes.

Then they smoothly move to catch him in a kiss. He lets out a shaky gasp against your mouth, letting himself loose on the whiskey drops inside, an intoxicating mix against his own. His hands find your waist, gripping the soft skin with calloused fingers, refusing to leave it. He squeezes your curves while infiltrating your mouth with his tongue, until he pulls to breath, making you whine.

"Fuck, sweetheart" he nips your lower lip, "ain't you the sweetest thin' to ever exist?"

The kiss gets more heated, his hands now traveling to your face as they hold onto you for support, rough digits meeting peachy skin. Just the mere act of kissing makes him groan against you, too old to be shameful about the needy sounds coming out of his mouth.

"Joel" you whimper his name. He stops and takes the time to bore his gaze over your flushed face, your own dazed eyes mirroring his.

His fingers find their way to your hips again, pulling you closer. The moment caughts you and the bed off guard, the furniture creaking while your eyes move to the hardness visible on his worn-out jeans. You move your head to free your mouth to talk, but that doesn't stop Joel, who hungrily kisses the trace of your jaw and the road starting in your neck and finishing on your collarbones.

"Is that because of me?" Joel whines against your lips, yet you can't stop staring at the very big silhouette. "Oh, happy birthday to me"

Joel whines when you tear way from him, his hands loosing grasp on your body. You move up against the headboard, spreading your legs for him to put himself in between them.

You take off your clothes, and his eyes don't leave your body as if it's a show for him. He can drool at the sight of your breasts, rosy skin waiting for his tongue and teeth to sink on it. He leans closer, eyes looming at moles he could beg to kiss.

Now you, your expectant eyes plea. Joel's posture adquires a guarded air, as he grows self-conscious.

"Stop staring at me like that" he nervously chuckles.

"Is there something wrong?" your sweet voice inquires, laced with concern. He gulps, kind of afraid and embarrased of what you would say.

"I'm..." his voice comes out strained, "I just-"

His mind briefly wanders to Tess, how she never said anything, rather busy seeking the warmth of his body without commenting about it. The act mattered over the feelings, which where in her eyes but not his heart. But now, his heart beats in a different sound, one where he wishes you won't judge a body crossed with the roughness of scars yet the softness of extra weight.

"M' just warnin' you, doll" the nickname brings butterflies in your stomach, "this body's seen better days"

He removes the layers of clothing: flannel first, and then tight white long sleeved shirt. He's left in his jeans, unbuckling his belt that falls to the floor with a thud. His breathing turns to panting, afraid to meet you in the eye.

"Joel" you repeat his name, bringing him back to reality. "Look at me"

He's killed people, faced raiders as much as infected, and other countless things, so he dares himself to look up, breath hitching when he finds you eating him with your eyes.

"Fuck, Joel. I didn't know you were so pretty under those dirty ass flannels"

You knew he'd be handsome; that's literally the reason why you chose to flirt with him. But now that he's completely stripped off his layers of warm clothing, it's even better. You can't stop your hungry eyes from roaming his body, lingering on the soft swell of his stomach, hanging over the waistband of his underwear. A scar that looks deep is near his belly button, and you wonder if he'll ever tell you why. There's a patch of hair over his soft chest your tongue wants to lick. And of course, his strong arms packed with broad shoulders that make you want to scream.

"Stop lying" he chastises, but there's a smile adorning his features. A true smile on Joel fucking Miller's face. What a rare sight; you need to see it more.

"W-where your condoms?" he asks, nervous.

That catches you off guard, too busy cooing over how a man so big and sturdy could fold that easily, looking and sounding small.

"I'm not sure. I mean, maybe on my parents room but I-"

You cut yourself. Joel's concerned gaze finds you. "Yes?"

"I want you, Joel" the intensity of your stare terrifies him. "All of you"

He falls closer to you, forehead against your own. He can't bring himself to look at you, so he closes his eyes and dares to ask:

"Are you sure you want this?"

Are you sure you want me?

"Don't you trust me?" you're all smiles, even if your voice is soft. "I want you. I truly do"

He's hiding his face into your shoulder until you feel his lips pressing against your now bare skin, making you shiver.

"Where you want me, birthday girl?" he says between kisses. "Tell me, sweetheart. I'm all ears"

"Please, Joel" you unhook your bra, letting your breasts free. His lips begin to kiss his way to your breasts, tongue teasing the skin before nipping it. Joel's teeth catch the hardened nipple, grazing it lightly.

"S'pretty" he sounds drunk, and you love the way he looses himself in the pleasure haze.

He continues kissing your breasts before positioning himself right so he can hover above you. The kisses turn wet and sloppier, as if all his energy was to be spent into the rosy skin.

"Can I taste you, sweetheart?" he lowers his head to your entrance, already soaking wet with your arousal. "Fuck me, if this ain't a meal"

"The best in all Jackson" you joke, but the laugh dies in your throat when Joel's nose ghosts over your throbbing pussy.

"I- fuck, Joel" you moan when he licks your folds, his tongue an expert. For a brief moment, you think of who came before you, and if this is what they got or you're getting the best version. His saliva mixes with your dripping juices, making you whine as his tongue licks your swollen folds. His fingers then slowly inserted themselves inside at the same time, moving in and out of your puffy walls. His groans mix with the sound of your whines and the furniture creaking, the sounds obscene and feeling so far from the outside world.

"You're so good at this, baby" his sweat mixes with the blush on his face because of the nickname, nose pressed against your clit as he keeps up the ministrations. "D-don't stop"

"This pussy's so pretty" he says, "and s'only for me, yeah?"

"Yes, Joel. Only yours" you whine, your orgasm approaching. All of your body feels on fire, every touch inching the burn in your stomach closer as his head remains between your legs, tongue insatiable. You come all over his face, your hands digging into his damp locks as you scream his name to the air.

Joel raises his head to capture your lips on a wet kiss, the taste of you inside your mouth and dripping from his coated beard.

"Ain't you sweet" you open your legs further. "You're such a tease, sweetheart. Gon'be the death of me"

"I just like seeing you like this" you admit.

"Means?"

"So fucking needy"

A borderline primal grumble births from his throat. "You've a filthy mouth on you, sweetheart" he chuckles while wrapping your legs around his waist and lining himself up. Joel's tip runs up and down your folds, grazing your clit long enough to make you gasp.

"And you're s'fuckin' tight" he mumbles under his breath. You gasp for air as you try to adjust yourself to the huge size of his girth, afraid you bit more than what you can chew. His pace starts slow but gradually picks up a rougher and quicker pace. Joel grunts between thrusts, yet takes his time to make sure his lips kiss every mole sprinkled across your face and chest, his favorite just above your left eyebrow.

"I want ya' to come first, like a present" blush crosses through his face again. He leaves teasing kisses against your face, as you wail, finally hitting you.

"I'll wait for you" you whisper, your hips aiding you to sustain his sloppy thrusts, "want you to come too. Inside"

You feel his softening dick twitch, suddenly rock hard again. Oh, so he was into that.

"Don't worry, I have a pill" you explain. "So go ahead, pretty boy. Show me if the size matches the talk"

"Bet" his voice acquires a darkness to it. "Gonna fill you with all of it, until you milk my cock dry. Gonna fill this pretty pussy until it's full of my seed and it leaks for days"

He follows right after, groaning into your shoulder, where he bits the skin. His tongue wets the area, to relief the pain, yet you like it. Thick ropes of cum paint your puffy heat creamy, Joel panting as he stares down at you.

"What?" you chuckle.

Maybe Jackson was a safe haven. Heaven incarnate. Maybe second chances were real, and for the first time in years, he feels safe.

"I don't deserve you" he voices his thoughts, forehead pressed against yours as he tries to even his breathing, yet each breath seems more labored than the last.

Your hands travel to his face, cupping it with tender hands. He leans on the touch, because despite his crimes and past dawning upon him, he's a man: one seeking comfort on a pretty face and anything that'll remind him of distant emotions that can still exist despite what the world has become. Joel's hands travel to yours, thumb brushing skin free of scars and pain. He envies and loves the beauty in your face, eyes full of something akin to affection looking back, blurring the pain mirrored on his own. You kiss him again, and he can feel the emotions in the tip of your tongue.

"You're wrong" your voice holds a quiet determination. Time was a precious gift, but in Jackson, time could be, and the resolve longing tells him you'll be there. I'm not going anywhere, Joel. Not without you. "We all deserve love, Joel"

Joel Miller is a man who finds it hard to trust, yet, when he takes a look at your eyes―warm as rum, he allows himself to believe in you.

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @loregifs

[jellykyunnie]

˗ˏˋ Entry : 054 - Lovesick! Sung Jinwoo x Fem! Reader: Isekaing to the world of your favourite protagonist, but nothing is ever a coincidence. ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚ 𝕊𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕁𝕚𝕟𝕨𝕠𝕠 ˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

‼️[tw: Manipulation, Murder, Death, Yandere depictions, Implied assault but not executed, a darker Jinwoo overall. Also Kyunnie lowkey rambling ....]‼️

╰┈➤ ❝ [ He Would Find You No Matter How Long It Takes, And Once He Has You In His Arms— You're Never Leaving] ¡! ❞

You died from an accident in the streets, well, not really an accident. Some drunk bastard was stumbling across the desolate street you normally take to go home— But poor you as that faithful meeting lead to your murder.

The paramedics tried everything they could to save you, but alas, you were dead on arrival.

That's what you suspect atleast. After losing so much blood from the multiple stab wounds of course that would be your death.

Dying was such a cold, cold feeling. It felt terrible. But what were your last thoughts?

You only thought of a single person only: Sung Jinwoo, the protagonist that you were madly in love with.

That man died three times or more if you count regression as a form of death. You thought of what he must have felt in his first death was similar to yours. How his feeble body sprawled on the altar with his leg cut off and his arm mostly torn off— It must have been terrible for Jinwoo.

Back then, you can only speculate. But now? Now you knew what he felt as he dies.

The only regret you have was not finishing the manhwa for the fifth time of the week.

But then you suddenly shot up, and when you did, you were met with a kind smile from a nurse, telling you that you passed out while doing a raid in an E-ranked gate from overexhaustion.

E-rank? Gate? What?

You were livid, feeling absolutely dizzy as you tried to ask the nurse. So you feigned temporary memory loss and asked the nurse what happened and why you're here.

As she had said, you passed out from raiding an E-ranked gate because of fatigue. You yourself, are a hunter, an E-ranked one.

The laughable rank your beloved once had.

You tried to wrap your head around it, tried to make sense of it all that you must be in purgatory, that this was all an illusion after death and the gods just had mercy on you and granted you your truest wish.

You tried to sleep it off, tried to bang your head to get you out of this illusion. But everything was real. You did normal human activities, and every pinch of a needle pricked onto your skin hurt like the way it did when you were alive.

You are alive

You didn't know whether to cry or laugh, you were in a world similar to Jinwoo's.

Jinwoo?

"Hello, are you alright?" A kind voice asks you out of nowhere, pulling you out of your daze. "Ah, I thought you passed out while awake!"

A boyish almost childlike face, pretty and cute with unkept fluffy hair that has grown too much and has a weird sort of mushroom-like appearance. Wide, innocent, puppy-like grey eyes full of wonder and life.

You knew that color of grey, that lovely shade that has placed you in a complete rampage of obsession and love.

"I'm Jinwoo, nice to meet you" He stretches his hand out to you, offering a friendly shake.

You accept his hand, trembling as you do so but he doesn't seem to notice as he shakes your hand so kindly while you shakily state your name to him.

Calloused, his hands were calloused.

He then sits down on the empty spot beside you, chatting you up.

Your heart was pounding like crazy as you two talked, you were for sure about to pass out anytime from the overflowing euphoria filling you up.

You don't know how you survived the conversation. But somehow you did.

And Jinwoo himself even offered that you two should team up as E-ranked hunters.

Ecstatic, of course you were, you were so joyous you jumped in bed and rolled around like a madman.

Jinwoo was here. Your Jinwoo.

Your Jinwoo before his ascension as a monarch, your Jinwoo that is still childish and soft.

You loved teaming up with him.

But something was weird.

Already, he had exceptional knife skills, his expertise with using a dagger was too good. Too uncharacteristic of the Jinwoo you know in his earliest days. Is his puberty coming a bit too early?...

That's just it,

,... Right?

Surely it is.

It's not weird that Jinwoo is extremely flexible and fast, that he is sharp and seemingly has such an advanced spatial awareness, that he easily cuts through the hard skins of various monsters.

...Really.

It's not weird at all.

꒰ .... ꒱

It's another hunting day where you accompany Jinwoo yet again in a raid. But this time he seemed a bit more guarded against the raid team you both had signed in for just to experience a higher ranked gate.

"Stay close to me, yeah?" Jinwoo leans down, smiling gently at you that made you forget the chilling expression he had just a second ago.

"S-sure?" You smile awkwardly, growing bashful at his distance.

Why is he a bit antsy anyway? The team you both signed up for isn't the Hwang.... Hwang dong.... Who?

The team of Hwang Dongsoo's brother? That bald headed bastard's family? Ah... You can't really recall his name.

Dead men don't matter anyway.

The only thing you really remember was how hot he was when he ultimately lost his mind momentarily and became absolutely ruthless.

To this you mourn the lack of psychotic Jinwoo in the manhwa.

Do they not see the potential?

This man has the temper and charisma to pull off a serial killer vibe.

So why not?

Why the hell not?!

"!!!"

Your thoughts are suddenly interrupted when Jinwoo suddenly placed him in between you and the approaching hunter who had a displeased look on his face after what he did.

"I'm only trying to check on the little miss" The hunter smiles wryly, but Jinwoo was unmoving.

"Really now?" He remarks, his tone sneering even. "Does that involve you luring us into this isolated part of the dungeon with your team surrounding the exits? Sure."

"Ah you're no fun buddy!~" The hunter laughs, patting his shoulder to try and get Jinwoo to relax. "It's just us here, why not have a little fun? She's a pretty one."

Oh right.

Being a hunter is dangerous.

But what had always been dangerous in the first place?

Being a woman.

Ever since society recovered from the shock of the gates arriving— There is a significant uptake in death counts, crime rates, and missing people mia after entering a gate.

And what is the gender of 70% of those missing people?

Women.

If one wanted to do a crime, the best way to do it is in a gate. Rumours spread that disgusting fiends would lure women with a promise of a hefty sum by a small hunting group.

After that? All the women seemingly disappear.

And with the lack of a body and evidence to imply malpractice in the dungeons— What can the law do?

Nothing.

Dead corpses dont talk.

And as the hand reached out over Jinwoo's shoulder towards you—

It suddenly flew off with a swish

The severed limb took it's sweet time floating on the air before plopping on the floor with a wet splotch.

"...."

Everyones gazes were locked on the motionless hand on the floor before a bloody scream rang out from the C-ranked hunter.

"Y-you!" He sobs, gripping his empty wrist as it sheds a copious amount of blood. "I was nice to you by hiring you useless E-rankers and this is how you repay me?!"

He then turns to the rest of the members who were left frozen, "What the fuck are you bastards doing standing there? GET HIS FUCKING HEAD."

"It's always bastards like you who pull this kind of bullshit off" Jinwoo sighs, as if the whole situation right now is troublesome for him as a dagger materializes into his hand.

It was gleaming a mad crimson, as if the blade itself was made of a bloody moon's fragments.

Kamish's Wrath.

Daggers gifted to him by Thomas Andre as an apology for the trouble Hwang Dongsoo and the overall situation they were on. A symbol of peace between them and a sign of friendship between them.

He isn't supposed to be having those until later.

Unless The Jinwoo in front of you isn't the E-ranked Jinwoo who is slteadily climbing the levels at a rapid fast.

Jinwoo's blade seems like it's merely flying with how fast he is moving. Everytime he moves he just tilts his body a little for them to miss him narrowly.

And while everyone else is screaming in frustration, Jinwoo just throws them a sly smile, as if he is reveling in messing with them.

It was obvious he was teasing them, making them overly frustrated where they want to hit him but can't quite reach him at the way he expertly dodges them narrowly.

And when he's already bored of them?

He slices their limbs one by one and letting them bleed to death on the floor.

By the end of it Jinwoo is standing atop a pool of blood with crimson splatters sliding enticingly down his handsome features.

Whoever said Jinwoo isn't charming even in his baby-faced era must be blind.

Because even in the lack of his significant height, even when his cheeks are a bit chubbier, even if his eyes are a bit rounder and that his build is nothing more than bone and flesh— He has this haunting beauty to him that makes him look like a mischievous fae about to drag you into the abyss he calls his home.

"Do you understand now?" Jinwoo asks, his blank and empty grey eyes looking down on you as he lefts you cheek with his calloused hand. "Why I told you to quit being a hunter before?"

"I-I..." You sputter, unable to find the words from the shock of seeing your beloved murder people live in front of you.

"I'll get a rank evaluation after a month as soon as I fix this blasted body" He said, pressing his forehead against yours. "You're scared, aren't you? If I wasn't here, what could've happen to you?"

"....."

He's right.

What would've happen if Jinwoo isn't here? What would've happen if Jinwoo lets that man's hand go over to you?

The vision of it makes you falter, tears prickling your face as it slowly sunk in— That the only thing awaited you was unspeakable horrors had he not step in.

"Sssh..." He comforts you sweetly, pulling you into his arms and kissing the top of your head. "You must have been scared, hm? I know, I know. I took care of it, didn't I? Don't be scared anymore."

You don't have to know the fact that he orchestrated all of this.

That Jinwoo himself is the reason why you died and was brought to this cursed world.

That he was well aware of what the hunters have been pulling off whenever they sign contracts with women.

He just wanted to scare you a little, really.

What better method can he do to make you reliant on him?

To make you extremely dependent on him and paranoid of him not being there?

The world of hunters is a cruel and unforgiving world.

He knows that himself.

Jinwoo isn't blind to any of the darker side of this path you both choose to thread on.

Except that right now his intention is to make you too scared of ever stepping into a gate.

That the thought of ever stepping into one makes you shiver into cold sweats and becoming sick at the mere thought of it.

And if this plan doesn't shake you enough?

Then he'll just do it again.

Shake you to the core, make you have a glimpse of hell and then swoop in the second he sees you frightened enough.

You'll be in his arms, weeping and completely afraid.

And he would drill it himself in your head:

You only need Jinwoo.

Just like right now, where you're too shaken to even process the fact the timeline is all wrong. That somehow the Jinwoo in front of you right now already has two hearts with the beat of two organs in his chest. One heart belongs to him, the other belongs to the late Ashborn who chose him as his heir.

Nothing is making sense right now, but you're stuck sobbing in his arms and seeking for solace and safety.

"We'll have to pretend to be hurt when we go out, hm?" Jinwoo lifts your face up with the palms of his warm hands, his expression hauntingly saintly despite the muddled color of grey in his lovely eyes. "Can you do that for me?"

You nod, sniffling, earning yourself a kiss on the forehead as a reward for your obedience.

"Good girl."

꒰ 🪼 A/N: What better way to start off my 2025 with a Lovesick Sung Jinwoo fic? Hahah, my beloved<3. No matter who I put into my extensive list of sweethearts Jinwoo will always be on top of everybody else! I love him it's unhealthy. I might make a lads post after this or a wholesome sylus fic that has been brewing in my mind for a bit? I wanna branch out more when it comes to my fics wwww!!! So aside from Hsr there will be the lads boys. ꒱

ʚ(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ .｡✧: ~ —! stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.

[merrinla]

Cut lines from Solas and Rook after Weisshaupt. None of these are voiced, so only text. Some are rewritten in the game.

Solas: You once told me that you would stop the gods without getting "thousands of innocent people killed."

Solas: You once told me that you would accept whatever consequences came from your battle.

Solas: You once told me that the consequences of your battle would be a problem for "Future Rook."

Rook: Yeah.

option: Don't mock me, okay? Rook: Whatever your big trickster-god lesson is, could we just... not? Solas: Why not? What makes this time different? Rook: Weisshaupt? Solas: You have seen death before.

option: I let the team down. Rook: I went to Weisshaupt to stop the gods... with a team of people I'd recruited.

Rook: Davrin, Lucanis, all of them... I convinced them to join. I told them we could win. Rook: And right now, it feels like I lied to them.

option: I was in command. Rook: But I've never been in charge. And this time...

Rook: I punched the First Warden in the face and made everybody listen to me.

Rook: I got the First Warden to listen. I got him to believe in me.

Rook: And then I... I couldn't get it done. I failed. And Weisshaupt fell.

option: This time broke me. Rook: This time, I feel... nothing. Solas: And still you hide your feelings.

Rook: No, I mean... I try to think about what I'm feeling, and I just... there's nothing there. Rook: If I think about what happened at Weisshaupt, I just... stop. Like I could go to sleep and never wake up. Rook: And I can't afford to do that. Solas: Why not? Rook: Because I let everyone down once already. I can't do it again.

Solas: There it is. The grief of having not lived up to the trust that others placed in you. Solas: It is a pain worse than any Elgar'nan or Ghilan'nain could inflict, and if you let it, it can help you. Rook: How?

Solas: There are those who hold their emotions at a distance to avoid the sting of failure. Solas: To defeat Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain, there can be no distance. You must be committed. Rook: What, you think we failed because I didn't want it enough? Solas: I cannot say. But you chose this battle, and in so doing, you chose these consequences. Solas: Regret is the price we pay for acting when no one else will. Solas: Without regret, we would not be driven to correct our mistakes, to improve. To get it right.

option: I'll get it right. Rook: Next time, we won't miss. Solas: I believe you. Solas: And I believe that if you listen to me, then Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain will fall.

option: I don't want to feel this. Rook: It still hurts. Solas: I have lived thousands of years and made countless mistakes. It always hurts. Solas: If you listen to that feeling, perhaps you may never need to feel it again so keenly.

option: I'm not here for this shit. Rook: I didn't come here for your philosophical bullshit. I came for help! Solas: What did you think my help would look like? Solas: I cannot promise that our talks will be easy. All I can promise is that if you listen to me, Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain will fall.

option: I need some support. Rook: Could you be hopeful Solas instead of smug Solas right now. Rook: I don't need you to convince me how bad things are, okay? I get it. I really, really get it. Solas: You have finally met the Evanuris in battle.

option: I have to act confident. Rook: Yeah, we met the gods, and now I have to act like we're not completely screwed and this was a good step forward. Solas: Why? Rook: We lost a lot of Grey Wardens. We lost Weisshaupt. If we lost all of that, and I didn't accomplish anything? Solas: Then what? Rook: Then there's no way I can win. I should just start running now. Rook: But I can't. I have to keep acting like there's some way to win. And that's... terrifying.

Solas: Good. There it is. The fear. Solas: You finally see the consequences. You know the stakes. That fear, the terror of what you face now, can help you, if you let it. Rook: How does admitting I'm terrified help?

option: And I'm in charge. Rook: And somehow, I'm supposed to go up against them again, and everyone is looking to me for a plan. Solas: The plan will come. Once you have marshaled your forces...

Rook: I had a legendary assassin, a dragon hunter, and an army of Grey Wardens, and we still failed! I still failed. Rook: People keep asking me what we do now, and I have no idea. And that is... terrifying.

option: They're too powerfull. Rook: Yeah, and it turns out that when you're fighting a god, terror is a perfectly rational feeling!

Rook: And don't give me that "Evanuris" crap. You can turn people to stone with your eyes! Solas: Yes, and yet I wield far less power than Ghilan'nain or Elgar'nan. Rook: The world is going to end up a blighted wasteland unless I stop them, and... I don't think I can.

option: This is your fault! Rook: No. You don't get to come in here all superior. A whole lot of people just died, and that's on you! Solas: I have made many mistakes, but I did not free Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain. Rook: Fine. Whatever. Solas: No. This is important, Rook. Solas: Your fury is real, but you can only defeat it if you identify its source. Who are you truly angry at?

option: Everyone! Rook: I'm trying to save the world, and everybody's kicking me in the shins while I'm doing it!

Rook: Tevinter and the Antaam would rather fight each other!

Rook: The Grey Wardens wouldn't listen until I punched their leader in the face and took over!

Rook: The First Warden wouldn't listen until the enemy was stomping all over his courtyard!

Rook: I can't do this alone! I need people to shut up and do what I tell them for once, or I'm going to fail again!

option: Ugh. Myself! Rook: I know who I'm angry at. It doesn't matter. Solas: Of course it matters. You must learn who you are.

Rook: The whole world is gonna know who I am! They're gonna make statues of me!

Rook: "In honor of Rook: He/She/They almost saved Weisshaupt!"

option: Bad luck? Rook: I don't know! Fate, luck, something! This whole mission has been one disaster after another. Solas: And how would luck help you? What is it that you need?

Rook: I need a break! I need one damn thing to go right for once! Solas: Because you deserve it? Rook: Because I can't do this! Rook: But if I don't, nobody will. So I've gotta keep banging my head against this wall like an idiot hoping for a miracle!

Solas: There it is. The anger. The frustration at having failed. Solas: Properly channeled, that rage can flare hot enough to burn away any impurities. Rook: Fine! I'm angry! How does that help?

option: We made progress. Rook: I'd hoped we'd take down Ghilan'nain, but we did kill her Archdemon. That's a good start.

Solas: "A good start." I wonder if your fellow Wardens would agree.

Solas: "A good start." I wonder if the Grey Wardens would agree.

Solas: Does this truly feel like even a partial victory, or does something uncomfortable lurk behind that easy smile?

option: No. But being sad won't help. Rook: No, of course it doesn't feel like victory. But that's what leadership is. Rook: It's putting your own feelings aside so the team doesn't collapse. Solas: And what is so dangerous that the mere sight of it would destroy your team? Rook: That I was wrong.

option: I'm tryung to believe. Rook: It has to feel like a partial victory. If it doesn't...

option: I need to seem confident. Rook: How do you think I feel? But the team needs me to look like I know what I'm doing. Solas: And what do you need?

option: Thanks, Past Rook. Rook: Sounds like something Past Rook would say. He's/She's/They're kind of an asshole.

Solas: (Chuckles)

Solas: You use humor a great deal.

Solas: "The elven god of sarcasm."

Solas: "This is the reason nobody likes you."

Solas: "Killing an Archdemon is the easy part."

Solas: Is all of this really so amusing, or is that wit the blade with which you keep less comfortable feelings at bay?

option: It's that or cry. Rook: I'm doing the best I can to hold it together. Sometimes that means stupid jokes. Solas: And when those fail? Rook: Then I probably start ugly-sobbing. Snotty nose, blotchy face, the whole deal. Solas: Why? You are no stranger to death. You have seen warriors fall in battle before.

option: It's that or panic. Rook: Well, I don't think uncontrollable screaming is gonna help anything, and that's the only other option. Solas: Uncontrollable screaming at what?

option: It's that or rage. Rook: Yeah, there's a pretty good chance the jokes are how I cope. Solas: And beneath those jokes? Rook: Why does that matter? Would me yelling right now help anything? Solas: It might help you know who you are.

option: It's a lot to accept. Rook: I was thinking I'd be accepting hurt feelings, not a whole fortress falling to darkspawn. Solas: Sometimes the hurt feelings are worse.

option: I guess? Rook: Weisshaupt could've fallen without us killing Ghilan'nain's Archdemon. That would technically be worse. Solas: Technically.

option: That's still true. Rook: And I stand by that. Solas: Truly? You watched a fortress fall and Wardens die, and it touches nothing within you?

Solas: I expect that you call it professionalism.

Solas: No hesitation. "We stopped you. We'll stop them."

Solas: No concern. Just targets. "Any other surprises we should know about?"

Solas: What are you so desperate to avoid feeling?

option: Numb. Rook: Nothing. Solas: So no fear, no anger, lurks beneath the surface?

option: Terror. Rook: Ghilan'nain was so much worse than anything I expected. She's a god.

option: Fucking furious. Rook: I am so fucking tired of being the one who has to do this while the rest of the world ignores the problem!

Solas: And while your grief is valid, the situation is not as dire as it seems.

Solas: And while your fear is valid, the situation is not as dire as it seems.

Solas: And while your frustration is valid, the situation is not as dire as it seems.

Solas: You have slain an Archdemon, a feat only a few have accomplished over the centuries. Solas: Ghilan'nain is now mortal. If you can find her and catch her unprepared, you can kill her. Rook: So how do I find her? Solas: Your team has ties to organizations with connections you lack. The Shadow Dragons in Minrathous, the Veil Jumpers in Arlathan, and so on. Solas: Strengthening your team will strengthen those groups. Prove your value as an ally, and they will give you the openings you seek. Rook: Okay, I'll see what I can do. Solas: Good. And Rook... I am sorry for the necessity of this lesson.

option: No, I appreciate it. Rook: You don't have to apologize. I know you're trying to help, so... thanks. Solas: Don't. Don't thank me. Solas: Our talk today will lead to Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain falling, but it is not a kindness. Solas: Good luck.

option: It's not wholly unexpected. Rook: You talk with the Dread Wolf, you gotta be prepared to bleed a little. Solas: A painful assessment, but more than fair, especially today. Solas: If I knew some other way to prepare you for what lies ahead, I would do so.

option: Whatever. Goodbye. Rook: We're done here. I'll talk to you when I know something. Solas: Of course. Then I will simply wish you good luck.

[jayktoralldaylong]

One of my favourite things about Arcane is that all the couples can be read as toxic, which is GREAT.

I'm tired of people bringing morality debates into dark media. Let dark media be fucking dark. You guys wouldn't survive a day in the TMA fandom, needing everyone to be as good as gold. How are they going to make for enjoyable complex characters if they're not morally grey. In fact, I wish there'd been more expansion on just how morally black they can become!

"CaitVi is so toxic" According to lesbian statistics, that sounds just about accurate. 💀 Heck, I wish Caitlyn had done more (Not really, but it would have been nice to further explore the darkness in her heart). Isn't it adorable how she immediately folded as soon as Vi called her cupcake? Caitlyn's like one of those villains that will consistently do the most....until it comes to someone else hurting her girlfriend. The only one allowed to hurt her girlfriend is her. 💀

Then let's talk about Vi. Someone pointed out how Vi never cared about Zaun's independence in the first place and many people yelled that they were wrong. But actually, they were right. Vi never wanted Zaun. Zaun was Silco's dream, and Jinx inherited that dream cause Silco would never shut up about it. Vi wanted Piltover to take responsibility for all the shit they allowed to happen in the Undercity. That's a part of the reason she joined up with Caitlyn in the first place. Let's not forget she wasn't dissuaded when she dragged Jayce down to fight with her and he killed a child. Children been dying, it's been her whole life. Someone needed to do something about it, and Zaun would have just isolated the people from all the privileges that Piltover SHOULD have been providing for them. Some people just can't accept that Independence cannot in fact solve every problem, and sometimes independence is colonisers running away from the responsibility of fixing the mess that they started in the first place.

Besides, we all know Vi joined up with the Enforcers because "I feel like I am worthless if I can't be of service." She'd already run out of family members to serve, Caitlyn was the next best thing. She's just like Jayce.

And speaking of Jayce, let's talk about his violent levels of codependency with anyone who'll give him attention. People LOOOOVE to talk about Mel, but it's there with Viktor too. When bro wasn't basing his worth on his inventions, he was centering it around Viktor.

Viktor who decided at some point in his life that he would not LIVE without Jayce. He was fine dying without him, but living without him was unacceptable. Oh how healthy. 🙄😂 Viktor be the kind of toxic ex to threaten divorce 500 times over, then burn the world when you actually leave him. Jayce is no better cause he's the kind of guy to keep going back to his toxic Ex.

Yes, Mel is manipulative. That's what I love about her. How are you guys failing to give this woman the praise of being an outsider in Piltover, but running their entire council. 💀 Girl raises her hand once and the whole government starts spinning. She was the best sugar mummy Jayce and Viktor could ever ask for. She kept the whole city running. Literally the entire of Piltover dancing on her palm. And yes she manipulated Jayce but let's not forget she thought that was a love language. 💀 You wanna be mad at someone, be mad at Ambessa for raising her that way.

I also don't think it's fair to blame her for the Undercity situation, she's not native. Monkey see, monkey do, and not a single one of those Council members actually cared about the situation down there, it was deplorable. 💀 Jayce did way more in his two weeks as Councillor than any of those drug pushing, money laundering, Piltovian heads of government.

And that just covers MelJayVik, we don't even need to get fully into TimeBomb, cause we know what's wrong there. 💀 Surely we have not forgotten the many teammates Jinx has killed, but making sure to never kill Ekko cause that's her man. Ekko has a lot to unpack, like how his consistent and unwavering love for Jinx is an indication of a lot of doors he might not be ready to open. I know they dynamics go crazy and I love to see it.

Ambessa and Sevika are a crack ship but I'm sure we all know bedroom dynamics go crazy with Mrs. Warlord and Miss Liberation. I love it when characters clash in a toxic heap. It's insane and should be explored.

Quit saintifying my toxic ships with your woke morality debates. If you want everyone to be sunshine and rainbows then you should be watching literally anything else. 💀 "It's not healthy." GOOD, I like it that way. 💀 Angst, spice and trauma are the recipe for a plethora of explorative fanfiction. Any of their dynamics can be taken in any toxic direction and I want that EXPLORED.

[rayasslicker]

xviii. scream

Once upon a time at a tender age of fuckin’ seven or whatever; a fairytale of a lovely little Princess and her Prince met with ardent eye contact and a brush of their fuckass little grandiose carriages was introduced to you. The soulmates’ bullshit locked in when the briefest moment of them meeting eyes happened.

And you, the embodiment of child innocence itself, wholeheartedly believed it was a tale soon to be true in your fate.

A motherfucking smirk as indigo eyes met yours; virulent, abhorrent, malicious, repugnant (and all the synonyms of the words) sparked between the two of you, “aw, poor little fruitcake, simmering in her own beggary.”

‘A tale soon to be true in your fate.’ What a load of horseshit.

Now, listen. It was a delightful morning with the sunlight blazing at dawn when the pavement had you walking down the road all the way to your café when the familiar scrumptious noise of a certain Porsche pulled up just a few meters from the sidewalk.

(We're not going to include the fact that you jumped out of your skin, instantly recognized the car, and then went on a whole 5-minute mumbling tirade about how oh my fucking god, the Porsche logo really is there in the light bar—and—holy shit, the door handle is actually fucking sleeker than the 911 models—and—what the fuck, did the asshole actually choose the panoramic roof? you would've thought he'd gone for the classic painted roof considering it makes his porsche look a bit more luxurious and. well, elegant just like his—and the like.)

And with the tinted window rolling down, your twink-a-fuck rival made its appearance with that same goddamn scowl, a thin veil of exhaustion beneath those fucking eyes, and a raspy ass voice which easily told you that he just fucking woke up.

Yeah, that's what it was. Not the tale you were told to believe which was supposed to have two soulmate fuckers meeting in some romantic carriage despite the briefest of time they held eye contact in that shitty ass window.

“Good morning, fucker.”

Oh, great. Is he here to fuck up your day at literally 6:00 in the Ante Meridian hours? Seriously?

No, wait..

You discreetly pinched yourself at the thought, deciding to give the Asshole the benefit of doubt considering your interaction with him yesterday was acceptable by means, “...is this an invitation to your Porsche, or..”

And in an instant, his countenance scrunched up into a face you'd make if you drank a whole flask of lemon, “Gods, no. Don't get ahead of yourself, dipshit. And anyway, I'm running late. See ya later, fuckass fruitcake.”

Then, the engine whirred, coming to life, and took off; sending a trail of grey smoke in the meantime.

Under the usual circumstances, you would've blown off by now, but instead of that, all you let out was a sigh. Resigned, dead, and fucking hopeless. It's still early in the morning, and exams are coming the week after next week, and you cannot be losing your shit this early in the fucking morning.

And, frankly? What the fuck were you expecting, anyway?

(We're also not going to include the fact that your heart immediately melted down to disappointment when he ran off, because come on, who wouldn't want to ride a Porsche, no?)

–

When the jingle bells for many the fuck times, you're greeted to a whiff of caffeine and cinnamon, and a brief thought that your grandma opened the store quite early enters your thought before—

“Oh, hey, Ms. Latecomer is here.”

And… right. Your eye twitched. With that, a silent beg for mercy was sent above as you worked your way to the corridors.

The Asshole peeked his head out of the counter, “I tweaked out your fuckass laptop, by the way! Also, you might wanna check out your granny; she made shitty coffee for you.”

You flipped him off in response, and well—

Didn't he mention something about your laptop yesterday? A frown twisted your expression, digging through memories of yesterday.

You went on the shift. Talked about some fucker’s pedophile allegations. Got called a monster (this is why you hate kids). Then… and then, what!? Clearly, you remember going home after the shift, putting your phone on DND and passing the fuck out (it completely slips your mind at the verity that your friends are probably blowing up your phone at the moment). Now, here you are, trying to open the fuckass staff room’s doors and, holy shit, is that coffee.

A bubbly beaming smile greeted you, and you could feel the warmth in your stomach fluttering, “oh, [Name], dearest! What a lovely morning, no? Here, have some coffee.”

Smiling in reciprocity, you reached for the coffee, “is this cinnamon coffee? I smelled cinnamon earlier.”

Your grandmother affirmatively hummed in response, attention now fixated on doing the taxes and bills (you remember asking to help with the thing only to receive a blank, monotonous look before you awkwardly asked to piss). In silence, you made quirk work in changing out of your clothes. Then, for conversation’s sake ‘cause holy fuck, “I've been wondering if I should ask you this but, are you okay with the As—er.. Scara changing the playlist? I know it's only been a day, but..”

She perks up, glasses sliding down before she pushes it up with a smile, “ah, that young man. His music is quite extraordinary, I must say.”

Extraordinary..? Come to think of it, what kind of songs did the asshole listen to? You’ve never really had the time to fucking play, “Guess my music taste!” with the little fucker, so you never really knew. But then again, he did quote a lot of Nirvana and Pierce The Veil songs in his captions (not that you were stalking him, of course, shut up). He's probably into.. Pop-Punk? or Alt-rock? Was it alt-rock?

“Dear, mumbles, again.”

A sheepish gasp, then a chuckle, “right, sorry.”

Then, a cough, “what kind of songs did he put?”

At that, she flashes a very ominous smile as she sets her glasses down with a ‘thunk!’, “songs that piqued my interest. They're very nice, dear. They used to be so popular, ya know? Speaking of that, I want you to listen to Silver Chair for me if you have the time.”

‘Silver Chair, huh?’

“Is it going to play in the speakers?”

“Hm, I guess so? He did adjust a few things—like, look here! I can watch movies now, dear!”

A sudden thrill of unease coursed over you as you instantly leaned over to check, because you swear to whatever fuckin' god is up there that if that Asshole decided to introduce your grandmother to illegal websites, you're going to skin that shithole alive—

“See, dear! Oh my, I remember this actor! I met him once, you know? He was very handsome for his age!”

You curiously blinked at the blaring screen, confused at the lack of, “Jennifer has a message for you! 18+ only!” with the fuckass wink emoji (fuck you, Jennifer, really), only to pathetically stifle a noise of mirth and disbelief at the bright red logo that clearly says, “Netflix” all over.

Did Scaramouche really just buy your grandmother goddamn Netflix?

–

Despite your epiphany, you don't mention anything of it in the morning shifts. And, hey, speaking of morning shifts, it's not as vigorous as you thought it might have been. Plus, the fact that the tension between the two of you had, more or less, simmered down to a bearable degree. Well, contrary to what you were shown in the last shifts you've done with him, this one is more.. subdued? Of course, the bumping hips and shoulders still happens once in a while, but the receiving end you get out of it at most is all but a glare, and a, “watch where you're going, you fucking idiot”.

Which is really fucking weird, considering that earlier this morning, the Asshole just decided to wish heaven on your said delightful morning that was tainted with the likes of him. And, god. You sound like a masochist, but it genuinely rubs off the wrong part of your guts when he's not pulling pigtails with you. Not only that, when you said you weren't going to lose your shit because of the catalyst being a certain Asshole, you didn't mean going through an entire shift of nonverbal arguments, and a proverbial cold-shoulder bullshit.

You've gone through that a week ago, and you're not doing it again.

Which brings up your plan supposedly yesterday being that you take out Scaramouche as a means of, “getting along with him”.

There's completely no faults in that plan. Like, absolutely. The only obstacle is that you have a study thing going on. Like, for the examinations. Yeah. And with that, here comes the scene;

You, absolutely being internally drowned with cement that comes into some shitty form of exhaustion, are perched behind the counters, with your back hunched as you numbly press over the buttons.

“Here's your coffee,” you monotoned, an obscene ‘whirr’ resonating beside you which clearly told you that the Asshole is making some sort of fuckass espresso.

The Pretty Lady waved you off as she took her coffee, sympathy radiating at the sight of fucked up Senior Students working despite the exhaustion (really, why does that sound as if you're being coerced into working.)

Slowly by slowly, the line gradually dissipates into none as patrons also take their cue to eat food in a proper diner instead of a café, and with that, the two of you are left alone.

Well, not necessarily left alone, but just alone in the same room, considering your grandmother is just a few feets above the two of you.

Frankly, you're a bit surprised the speakers haven't gone off yet, but you're way too fucking busy with whatever Arithmetical Bullshit Carl Friedrich decided to invent in 17s something. Because, right now, you're situated on a cyan-ish bean bag with Test Problems #102 papers scattered everywhere (because your dumbass forgot to bring the fuckass staplers and you dare not use the café’s worn-out ones) on the laminated fuckass coffee table.

It's a little past 1:00PM when you decided to not waste time brooding over the hang-out and instead, worked on the Mathematics Sheet—each respective teacher of said subject—laid out on each student in preparation for the Math Quiz Bee.

And, fuck, how the fuck am I supposed to find a¹⁵ if this fuckass equation remains constant but it doesn't depend on N? It's supposed to depend on N, for fuck’s sake! Oh, wait, fuck no, I'm stupid. C is a constant which means C + 1 is also a fucking constant! ffffuckkk, I'm stupid.

A loud ass, ‘thump’ and a sight of stacked papers interrupts your spiralling dilemma, subtly frowning at the, ‘Test Problems #123’ at one of the papers shoved into your face.

Holy fuck, that's just fucking Quadratic Formulas.

You discreetly straightened up to find the Asshole hunched over at one of your papers scattered, a keen and calculating gaze settled onto his countenance as he absentmindedly reads, “Let {an} be a non-constant arithmetic progression. a¹ equals to 1 and the following holds true: for any n is greater than or equal to one…”

So on and so forth. God, just hearing about the problem out loud is enough to send the parietal lobe part of your brain into a fucking seizure because of how bad it is.

“You shitfuck,” he drops the paper with a sigh, flopping onto the red beanbag across the coffee table as he reaches across for the scrap paper you've been abusing the past half an hour, “D is a fucking two, not four. You used the wrong variable; hell, how the fuck did you even reach division?”

For once, you don't fight back, but you do respond with an aggravated grunt, “I thought it would work…”

“Well, it didn't. Now, listen here, you're supposed to denote this,” he gestured at the longgg equation, then scribbles out a few equations at the corner and you swear to the living fuck, you lose two braincells just watching him do it, “to that.”

You stare, and stare, completely bamboozled before realizing what the fuck he did, and in a fit of profound relief, you scream with your arms out, “oh! you added one to both sides!”

A snap of his fingers with a cock-eating smirk but this time, you don't reprimand or glare at him to save face, “that's fucking right, fruitcake. good job.”

You ignore the golden swarm of butterflies blooming in your stomach at the praise. Resolutely, so, because, what the fuck.

It agonizingly takes you a solid hour of mindless trivialities—such as lightly kicking the leg of the table with your socked feet when an equation doesn't go right, quietly drowning in the numbers’ sorrow, muttering up a whole fucking storm about “why the fuck does this variable go here then!?”, and a few smacks to the shin when you get too loud—to finally finish the Test Papers.

The fucker did often interrupt you with a shocking dubious amount of the same variety of, “shut up! I can't think, you mumbling mess of a fuckasser!”

It completely flew over your head that this whole—entire situation that's happening right now is what you would call a study hang-out (or a study date). And, well. Maybe you did have the idea when the Asshole impelled you to help solve his Test Problem.

The whole afternoon is uneventful, really—save for the small instances wherein your grandmother comes down sometime for a snack and very covertly sends you a wink (what was that for!?) and the occasional customers that coos at the sight of two students studying together (for fuck’s sake..)—so, there wasn't anything note-worthy, or anything. Until..

A buzz in the air catches your attention, and you perk up from your seat. Was it just me? You asked yourself, discreetly turning to the hunched Scaramouche who's quite literally dying over what seems to be electrochemistry (ha, that shit’s fucking difficult) in his papers.

There was silence before the buzz started again, and this time, you frowned before instrumentals started booming on the speakers with such intensity.

You instantly met eyes with the fucker, before the indigo eyes you landed on curled into a duchenne smile, and holy fuck, it really is Slipknot playing in the fucking speakers.

It's not like you mind, but this isn't really the right place to.. play.. alternative metal in a homely café, right?

Oh, gods, is grandmother really okay with this type of song?

Then, just as the devil spoke of, a fuzz of grey hair peeked into the corner of your peripherals and you whipped your head to your grandmother that's… humming.. happily..?

“Didn't know your granny fuc—forked with metal music, until this morning,” a chuckle, bordering between the lines of mischief and content.

A crick in your neck twitched as you turned to the Asshole with a look that vehemently screamed, ‘are you fucking serious. what the fuck did you do to the playlist.’

Dull silence passed before the familiar creakings of the stair broke it off, and the Asshole merely shrugged, “I did say 80s songs are way too fucking overrated. And at least, your granny liked it. Fucking hell, you should learn how to explore music like she did. Might help you sometime, you know.”

“..The customers aren't gonna like it. There's elderly in here with sensitive hearing,” you hissed at the word “elderly” all the whilst ignoring his mockery. Usually, the speaker’s volume was at a constant position of twenty. And any louder than that would definitely guarantee a 1-star review to the café.

A few seconds slipped before slight pain bloomed into the side of your ankle—that you did not know was pressed onto his shin—and he simply smirked at your snarl, “then let's keep the volume at fifteen, dumbass.”

Frowning, you straightened up, “listen, I don't have anything against your.. taste of music, but I think it's safer that we don't play metal on the speakers.”

“..Boring,” he forbearingly drawled out after seconds, crooking over the coffee table to go back to his work.

It was a crystal form of affirmation in your book of Scaramouche Language and you let out an audible satisfactory hum in response.

Then, it struck you, “Do you have 'Sleeping with Sirens’ in your playlist too?”

His half-lidded gaze peered over to yours—and holy fuck, danger alert, that is so fucking dangerous, stop beating for fuck’s sake—and a scowl plasters itself to his face (which thankfully got rid of the annoying danger alert), “Oh? So, what if I do?”

You slightly, slightly grinned, shifting from your seat to form an apple cross position, “Really? What's your favourite song? or, album!”

The scowl dissipates at least, “the entire ‘Let’s cheers to this’ album.”

Oh. Your tastes were not matching.

“I don't like the album.”

“What? Fuck, fruitcake, your music taste sucks ass.”

“Shut up, you can suck my ass instead. And, hey, the only songs I like in the album are, “If you can't hang,” and “Do it now, remember later,”. It's really not that bad, is it?”

A conspicuous silence as you indignantly glared at the Asshole, before his forehead suddenly hit the table with a comical ‘thunk!’, and you subtly flinched at the rattling, “Scara?”

“Please fuck off. Kill yourself. Die. Jump. Suck Santa’s dick, or whatever.”

“..What is wrong with you?”

“Fuck off. Shoot yourself. Get a damn noose, and die. Please, just.. fuck off.”

“Did you get a boner, or something..?”

“Piss off!” He furiously exclaims, arms quickly folding onto his head as he starts kicking you beneath the table (so childish, frankly), and well. The only thing coursing through your mind at that moment was how reddened the ear that peeked out of his hair was.

Huh. Curiouser and curiouser.

–

Buttery sunlight draped over the curtains of the arched windows of the café; it was the 4:00PM golden shower, and fuck, you do not feel showered with warmth right now. It feels fucking hot.

Scaramouche’s ugly fucking face swam back into focus, as you squirmed in your seat; already feeling the telltale signs of back pain blossoming onto the higher part of your spine, and eugghhh, I gotta ask Tig to massage my fuckass back again, ugh.

“That's enough studying, fruitcake. Turn off that laptop, put those shitty papers away, and fucking eat,” a hefty smack on the head and you briefly showed him the finger before he continued, “we fucking skipped lunch today because of your dweeb ass.”

“I’d prefer the term, ‘hard-working’. Thanks, though,” you sluggishly replied, leaning back on the beanbag as you rolled your neck. God, there's probably a knot near your neck somewhere. And, oh, is that Maximum the Hormone in the speakers?

A scoff, snark so crisp, “sure, I don't go through the whole afternoon studying and doing homework.”

“Hard-working.”

“Fucking whatever. Anyway, there's onigiri on the counter,” The Asshole looked down on you with a sneer, and then to the table with his thumb poking out, “eat.”

“Later.”

“Eat.”

“Ugh.”

You, feeling disproportionally like a dog, scurried over to the table with a drowsy sway, and lo and behold! It's your [favourite fuckass flavor] onigiri plastered on the marble counter like a shitty treasure.

Snatching the onigiri, you scoured for your phone; eventually finding it on the top shelf of your cups. Then, sending a cursory glance to the Asshole who's currently stationed in one of the barstools that's just a few feet away from you, a content huff left your nostrils as a ping resonated from your phone.

And, voila! Ninety-Nine-Plus fucking notifications. Christ, you swear by the universe you had your group chats muted.

“Mistress, my ass,” you murmured as a scoff left your lips.

Then, you unceremoniously dropped your phone into the marble, the sound loud as a fuckin’ toad and the Asshole snaps his head to you with a tacit, ‘what the fuck’s your problem?’

The screen is probably cracked, but who gives a fuck. That's the most extraneous bullshit juxtaposed to the contemporary dilemma going in your head right now, which is—

“Hang out with me. Now.”

All in all, the hang-out didn't even cross your mind one bit, ere long the previous hang-out was mentioned. And, honestly? You're pretty fucking down for some shitty proverbial ‘hold hands and apologize’ kind of bullshit.

“No,” he simply says, the rejection clear as fucking daylight.

A sullen countenance twisted your expression just the slightest bit as you furtively scooted all the way until he was infront of you, “why not?”

“The question should be; why the fuck should I?”

"Erm.” You tried. You failed. “I mean, we get to hang-out? I'll take you to Wangshu Inn?”

A raise of a brow, then he drops his pen and leans in with a palm on his chin, “‘s that so? mind enlightening me on what incentive I get in going to this hang-out?”

God, why does this fucker talk like a fucking professor being asked to do a fucking backflip?

You deadpanned, “shut the fuck up, and stop talking like that.”

“Not until you tell me why you want to.. hang out first.”

“I mean, seriously, why not? No customers for the last hour usually means a temporary customer churn. It really is just for fun and I've done my homework.”

You absolutely, and obviously cannot tell him that this is just a means of hoping to get along with him.

“That's not my fucking concern, fruitcake,” he sighs as he reclines on his chair, “you were up and going in hopes to bite my ass earlier. Whatever happened now, hm?”

You fucking ignored the fuckass heat travelling through your shitty neck at the hum, “I’ll.. buy you yakult? There’s a store nearby?”

For a moment, only silence stood between the two of you as comical three dots materializes right at the side of his head before a scoff and a, “Fine, you look good begging to fucking hang out, by the way. I should have you beg everytime you decide you want to fucking do a shitty hang out.”

A disgusted slant set itself to the edge of your lips, and nausea rises, a familiar thing once again, “That's so gross. Please don't say that to me ever again.”

“Not my fault. You asked for it,” he snickers behind a palm, then sticks his tongue out before going to the corridors to change which reminds you that, ‘holy fuck, isn't Xiao in the Inn right now? Goddamn, should I message to tell him that I have company over? Fuck, it's a 15-minute walk from here, wait hold on, I should have the Asshole ride the Porsche, so I can—’

“I can fucking hear you mumblin’ from here, you useless fuck of a windbag!”

–

Not long after a whole wrangle over, “we should just ride your your porsche!” — “the fuck? no way!” — “come on, please? It's a really cool car and–” — “I can hear you fucking swirling those shitty ass fucking saliva, you fuckass!”, the two of you eventually ended up walking. Much to your dismay and to his satisfaction. What a goddamn asshole, really.

“Was that a fucking raccoon?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You guys have raccoons here?”

A shrug as you kicked at one of the rocks, “it's pretty normal in here, you know. This place is really rural, and because of that, the government or whatever is trying to preserve this place’s rurality; including its animals.”

Scaramouche hums, flicking off a fly, having finished up his incentive minutes ago, “That's cool as fuck. Kinda want that in our hometown..”

You briefly wonder if that last part was meant to be whispered, but you send a glance at the man behind you nonetheless, “honestly, the animals in here gets scarier at night..”

A rekindling memory sparks in the hippocampus of your brain, “Which reminds me! There was actually a rumour in Wangshu Inn that a little girl haunts the entire building! And I have this one friend that apparently talks to her, and it's so fucking weird, because how the fuck do you even talk to ghosts?”

He absently hums, a stifled chuckle caught between his lips, “Huh. Sounds like total bullshit to me.”

A snap of a finger, “exactly! I can't tell if they're fucking with me or not, but I have two damn friends who keeps on insisting that ghosts are real, like what are you talking about, missy and mister?”

“Missy and Mister?”

“Xiao and Hu tao. I'm guessing you don't know who Xiao is, but he's a childhood friend of mine. Totally clueless when it comes to social cues, by the way. So, don't curse too much infront of him.”

A breeze whistles past, ruffling your hair and you squint at the dust hovering over your eyes—

Sunsets. Orange seeping through ridges of mountains and sending a therapeutic view as the Inn stood by as the receiving end of endless sunlight. You can already see Xiao standing near the railings, and admiring the view.

God, it never fails to ease the guts in you when visiting Wangshu Inn.

Which. Reminds you.

“Scara—!” Your smile faltered, body going frigid as you slowly registered the sight infront of you. Totally ignoring the fucking propensity your heart is doing by racing the fuck up and then dying the fucking down only to fucking pick up again, and fucking repeat.

And, well. The calamity in which what's causing your heart to go into cardiac arrest?

Sunkissed Scaramouche with an ugly ass fuck Pout™ on his fucking shitty crappy face. His bottom lip shines as they're marginally jutted out, and there's a slight crease between his eyebrows, and there's also that burning gaze that's increasingly getting darker as it drills into you and fffuckkk, pretty, pretty, pretty—the motherfucker of a goblin in your brain helpfully supplies.

“Shut up,” your Common Sense says outloud, and the sight of… horseshit immediately shatters like glass as he snaps his head away from you with an ugly scowl.

“Er,” he angrily clears his throat, “Are we supposed to just.. fucking stand here and get grilled by the fucking sunset, or what?”

You gulped, already making a heavy U-Turn, both mentally and literally, “No, of course not, dumbass. We gotta go to the, uh, Inn.”

“..Right.”

The Fawkward Silence lingered as the two of you made your way to the Inn. Branches cracking beneath the sole of your feet as the bridge finally comes into view, and—

“[Name]?”

Voila! Mr. Clueless-Ass-Fuck makes his appearance with a goddamn leaf on his hand, posing as if he's on a fuckass magazine!

A scrunch of your nose as you slowly stopped in your tracks, “eugh, Xiao, do you just stand there posing like a model until someone asks for your number?”

You can feel the Asshole’s curious eyes drilling into you as if saying, ‘and you told me not to curse..’

“No, but it is a needed daily quota. What are you doing here?” So he says, briefly glancing past your head then flickered to yours as if saying, ‘who’s that?’

You rolled your eyes, and the look on Xiao’s face clearly asks if you could see your brain right now (He's always been witty like that. Damn the asshole, really), “My boyfriend, what else? It's my fucking co-worker, of course, you dimwit!”

The smooth plane of golden eyes relaxed to a deadpan, “Wow, awesome introduction.”

“..Eugh, Xiao, this is the Asshole, aka; Scaramouche,” you turned your head to meet the Asshole’s gaze with a glare before immediately flitting to Xiao’s, “Asshole, aka; Scaramouche, this is Xiao.”

“Your monikers never fail to make me laugh, ha. ha,” Xiao monotoned, completely blank. God, one thing you always found interesting about the guy was his tendency to act so serious despite the sarcasm laced in his tone.

“Are you..” an indignant harrumph in the air as heat radiated from beside you, and as instinct, you leaned away with a scrunch of your countenance, “Are you two fucking dating?”

Your brain momentarily short-circuits, and so does Xiao as the two of you meet eyes with uniform bewilderment. Because, genuinely, what the fuck? The question has always been a constant incidence often asked on the relationship you built with Xiao, and god, are you tired of hearing the same ass question. You never expected to hear that from the Asshole, though.

This is probably the 14th time someone asked you the same question.

Yet this time, instead of the usual aggravated: “No, we are not dating. I think Xiao is gay though. Probably. I don't know!?”

Xiao opens his mouth with a deviant simper as his eyes narrow to a teasing glint, and whaaat? “Damn, [Name]. If you were my supposed girlfriend, I would've paid more attention to you. Tell me, are you Xiao-Deprived? Do you miss me?”

“Ugh,” the Asshole let out a Pseudo-Gag, suddenly hauling you by the arm, and holy fuck, the touch burned against your skin, “Already hate this assbagger. Let's go to the top, I’d like to appreciate some fucking stars, instead of wasting time watching you two nonverbally swap spit.”

“Huh,” murmured Proclaimed Assbagger, an inquisitorial lilt in his voice, and you cock your head to the side in confusion as you let the Asshole shove you past Xiao.

“Bye, Xiao! Text ya later!”

Then, jokingly, jokingly, you impishly asked the Asshole as Xiao’s figure gradually disappeared into the hazy sunlight, “were you jealous?”

A jolt, a small one, before the edges of his lips curl to an ugly as fuck smirk, “who’d ever be jealous of a pipsqueak like him?”

You ignored the small shiver of—of.. disappointment? yeah, no, “Don't go there, dumbass. The front desk is there—no, not there, yeah—”

“You fucking suck at giving directions,” a scoff as he tightened his grip on your forearm, guiding you towards the desk until you forced your arm away from him with a leer.

“It's literally just right in front of you!?”

“Boo fucking hoo, fruitcake. There's a fuck ton of entranceways here, how the fuck am I supposed to know which is which?”

“You look at the damn sign, idiot, and it's so obvious which one is the entrance. Are you blind?”

“Obvious, my fucking ass. You've lived here your whole shitty fuckass life; of course, you’d know which one’s the crappy entranceway!”

“No, you're just blind. How come the tourists can easily find where the entranceway is, then? Just admit you suck, dumbass.”

“You suck my dick, you fuckass loser—”

A harrumph abruptly shatters the tension, and the familiar kind (bordering on pissed because of how strained it looks) face of the receptionist slowly comes into view. And holy fuck, why is he so fucking close to my fucking face—

Then—Verr Goldet. Uh, what the fuck? Oh, right.

You made a tentative noise between a chuckle, and a huff as you recoiled away from the Asshole with a scowl, “Hey, um.”

And in a swift motion, she instantly pressed a few buttons on the computer before her composed gaze flickered over to yours in a tacit, ‘who?’

“Co-worker. Just at the top, by the way. Thanks.”

Scaramouche scoffed just right behind you, the breath fanning against your head and Verr raised slightly a brow, interest glinting in the corner of her irises, “is that all?”

Holy fuck. No way. Nope. Nope. Nuh uh. No way are you letting her get to know Scaramouche. Hearsay is a total bitch around here after all.

“Uh huh, yeah. Yep, that's all,” you hastily wiped the sweat on your brow, immediately shoving the Asshole through the cramped stairway albeit his half-hearted protests.

Verr all but simply sent you a knowing glance that made you wish for death. Seriously. And as you ambled your way into the seemingly endless stairway, your mind fizzled into a static of spiralling thoughts.

‘God fucking hell, I don't remember the stairway being this long, like ever. Wait, hold on, what time is it? Is it a full moon today? Was it a full moon? I will seriously kill myself if the clouds are gonna be up and dangling today, like seriously. Fuck, what if there is clouds? It's gonna ruin the view! Fuck, fuck, fuck. There's also that chemistry assignment Hu tao mentioned—’

Then, a sharp sting coming from the space of your forehead halted you from your thoughts, and the Asshole’s moonlit face slithered into focus, and fffuckk, so fucking pretty that fucking eyeliner and fffuckk why does he look so.. prettyprettypretty—the traitorous goblin yet again whispered like a mantra into the depths with a mischievous glint.

Inwardly, you flipped the fucker off before focusing back into the present and with a frown, “what was that for!?”

“That's for fucking mumbling, fruitcake,” he scoffed indignantly, the sound oddly.. fond? Yeah, fuck, no.

A boiling ardor squirmed in your gut at the thought of the F-Word, and without a way to let it out; you went for the Easier™ and Reliable™ option.

Option being; shove past the Asshole, and kick his goddamn knee while you're at it, LMAO. And the reward being? him stumbling and gripping the rickety railings for life, as he bent backward. A pathetic scoff from the depths of the road known as Dignity and Pride shot through you at the sight.

And with one look at his moonlit face, you knew you were doomed.

You ran for life.

“Wait! We can talk this out! It was your fault in the first place—”

A hook in your left, dodged, “Fuck off, fruitcake! It was just a goddamn flick—”

“A flick, my ass—” a jab by the elbow on his sternum, barely dodged.

“And you decide that: oh! pushing him off is going to be an awesome revenge!? Fuck off with that, you little—” an attempt of a headlock, was not able to dodge.

His lips stretched to an ugly shit-eating smirk as he tightened his grip, “Finally caught you, you little fuckass.”

You returned a grin of your own, evil and wicked, “You look real fucking ugly, right now, you know?”

“What—”

Then, a large thump. A concerningly loud one, it seemed. Considering it rattled some of the hanging pots, and your pride immediately bit a huge chunk of satisfaction at the fact of it and the sight of the Asshole on the ground with his lip busted.

Still. Moonlit. And his eyeliner is more patent. God.

“How's that, huh? Your headlock sucks, by the way. Might wanna work on that,” you replayed his words from back then with a sardonic smile, relishing in the way the Asshole averted his gaze with a resigned scowl.

“Where'd you learn to escape like that?”

“Koko taught me. She takes martial arts often, and she got so excited that she taught me some,” a shrug of your shoulders as you reach a hand out, “I forgot most of it, anyway. I only remembered this one ‘cause it reminded me of when Tig put me in a headlock and I had to escape by using that technique.”

Indigo eyes flickered over to your outstretched hand, skepticism written all over the hues within those irises and you rolled your eyes, “You're not gonna die if you hold my hand for one second, now hurry up. The clouds are clearing.”

He clicked his tongue, before frigid cold meets yours and you shivered at the unexpected contact, “you didn't have to flip me like that. Shit, I felt my back fucking crack.”

A smirk tugged at your lips, letting go of his hand and heading to the railings alongside a hum in your teeth; and with a beckoning tilt of your head, he quickly trailed over with an irked scowl. How docile, really.

“Yeah, well. That's what it felt like when you pushed me off the stairs the first time,” you replied back.

“Ugh. Get over it, fruitcake,” so he said, grunting as he leaned towards the railings, gaze transfixed into the sky.

Shrugging, you slightly nudged at his shin, “No way. I should have revenge next time, you know.”

“You already got your revenge, for fuck’s sake; my back hurts, my lip is busted as shit, and I can feel a bruise coming into my sides. Seriously, fuck you, [Name].”

A chuckle left your lips as a chilly breeze flew by, “You're just a loser, it seems.”

“A loser you can't get enough of.”

“Can't get enough of, my ass. Everyone is tired of you, shithole.”

“Says you. You're clearly enjoying my company right now, aren't you?”

Just as you're about to retort that usual: no, of course not, you damn Asshole—a purple star shot across the sky like a huff from the universe—sudden, bright, and gone before you even knew you’d witness the thing.

And, you know what’s sent your heart into crazy pumping speed? The fact that it was purple. Fucking purple like his fucking goddamn eyes. For fuck’s sake, the Asshole really is going to be haunting your ass for-fucking-ever, isn't he? Hell, the universe even fucking said it.

Heat burned into your cheeks, and you sucked on teeth before breaking the silence with a, “did you make a wish?”

A scoff as he fidgeted on one of the leaf hanging over his head, “I fucking wished for some shitty ass co-worker slash rival to leave me the fuck alone.”

Way to ruin the fucking mood.

You deadpanned, gaze shifting to his, “You're the one who won't leave me alone, dimwit.”

“You wish,” the sound final, before the glint of his eyes shifted to a monotonous one, “Besides, this whole shooting star thing is just a whole corporate scheme, anyway. It's not like it's something real.”

“Some things like that doesn't have to be real, you know? Sometimes, people are just.. I don't know? Superstitious?”

“Yeah, well, I hate superstitious people.”

“Mona would hate you.”

“I hate her ass too, don't worry.”

You stifle a chuckle at that, eyes roaming over the universe plastered on the damn sky, “You hate a lot of people, don't you?”

His face twisted into a scowl, eyes drilling holes somewhere in the universe, “Yeah, of course. But, I'm fucking serious. That little shit keeps blaming my personality on the damn Zodiac Sign. Like, fuck off Crystal-Ball-Shithole, just because I'm a Sign-Something doesn't mean my personality’s going to be a fuckboy who likes to fuck girls in their Daddy’s car every saturday night.”

“..You gotta admit it's fun sometimes, though.”

“You can suck the fun out of my ass, how about that, huh?”

Bile rises up to your throat at even the mere thought of it, and you shift from your spot to glare at the Asshole with such disapproval, “Please retract on your words, and contemplate what you just said. Because genuinely, what the fuck?”

His lips, bloodied, chapped, and silvery, tugged into a shit-eating smirk, “Well, fruitcake, I retracted and you know what I think? It's still as perfect as fucking ever.”

“Please die.”

“Not unless you do it first.”

“Kill yourself, and just a reminder, you might wanna get that lip treated becore it gets infected.”

The Asshole sunk back towards the railings, chin resting on the surface as a tired groan left his lips, “God, this is your damn fault. Ei’s gonna kill me for this.”

A raise of your brow, “You know, I've always wondered; what's exactly your relationship with.. your mom? Or Ei.”

And at that question, he arched a brow of his own, indigo irises flicking over to yours in silent question, “She's an ass. That's all I can say.”

“Don't wanna ruin your mommy’s reputation, huh?” You derisorily tittered, and he rolled his eyes away from you.

“Can you fuck off,” the Asshole grunted, racking a hand into his hair, and the fucker of a goblin whispers near to your ear in wonders of how soft his hair must be—and, nope, “She's more like a boss, than my relative. Hell, I'm closer to Yae than her.”

“Who’s Yae?”

“Ei’s crappy assistant. Sometimes, I question if they're dating or not.”

“Oooh, is she hot?”

“You haven't seen her?” He asks, meeting your eyes in question.

You replied simply, offering a smile, “Nope. Why, is she hot?”

“Now, I'm questioning if you're fucking gay, or not.”

In a few minutes of wonder, you eventually answered in a low whisper, “Well, I don't know. I just like who I like. Who gives a damn about sexuality, anyway? Because I certainly don't.”

Silence uncomfortably lingered for a few seconds, and your head slightly cocked to shoot a glance at the unusually quiet Asshole.

Only to find two pairs of blinking indigo eyes staring right back at you.

Your gut involuntarily squirms.

“W-what?”

He leans on the railings with a palm situated on his cheek, scarily similar to how he leans on the sturdy machines of the café, and a flicker of scrutiny shimmers in the hues of his eyes, “I like your answer.”

Oh, yuck.

You recoiled, nose scrunching as you waved in a meaningless gesture vaguely resembling a surrender, “Well, I don't like you. So move on, Asshole. God, that was so bad. Do you realize how embarrassing you are whenever you pull that shit?”

Scaramouche snorts, all hints of prior scrutiny dissolving, “So fucking defensive. And to answer your question, Yae looks like a fucking fox.”

“That's hot,” you replied simply.

“Acts like one, too.”

“Will she jump on me?”

And at that, the Asshole goes all, “What the fuck did you just say.”

A hysterical pressure boiled in your sternum area and you only managed to stifle some of it before a few left your lips in a breathy chuckle, “Come on, with the way you described her, she sounds like she's the type to pounce on ‘em.”

His face scrunches into disgust, “Ew, no. Are your types foxes, or shit? Is that why you like Childe?”

You averted your gaze into the sky, lips jutting out before it twists into a cheeky smile, “Maybe. He's hot, you know?”

The Asshole lets out a Pseudo-Gag™, “Ugh, gross. Eugh. Fuck, you goddamn fruitcake. Stop hitting on my friends, you dickweed.”

“Dickweed’s a new word.”

“Yeah? Well, how about I call you, Shit Launcher?”

You stared at him, long, long and long, “Isn't that just a hippo? Are you calling me a hippo?”

You can clearly see how it gradually registers into his mind, until he fully processes it and laughs. Like, full-on throwback with the head, quivering shoulders, and moisture gathering at his lash line.

Somewhere along the way, your heart fucking flutters in that fucking propensity it fucking does, and your chest is starting to fucking clench, and the half part of your brain goes into full Alarm-Mode going all, ‘God, is this a panic attack? Am I going to die?’

Whereas the other part (the fucking goblin) chants like a mantra, ‘Prettyprettypretty, oh my god. He's so fucking pretty, fuck fuck fuck, oh my god, he covers his face when he laughs that's so fucking pretty, shit shit fuck fuck what the fuck, he's so pretty under the moon fuckprettyprettypretty—’

You don't know long you've been making a fool of yourself by unabashedly staring at the Asshole with what Albedo usually dubbed as, “demonic stare inherited from Lucifer itself”, but from how the Asshole halted himself from laughing and barely forcing the scowl through, you guessed that it might've been long. Like, so long.

Fuck, this is embarrassing. You willed your heart to stop beating for fuck’s sake.

An awkward silence lingered, and your eyes remained glaring into the miniscule ounce of tear track into the Asshole’s cheek, and your heart fluttered once again.

Then, a harrumph and a nasty leer shooted at your face, “What the fuck are you staring at? Just because I laughed..”

Hastily, you floundered, “N-no!? I was just! I was thinking about how… how.. p-pretty—uh, ugly! you looked. You looked pretty ugly laughing. Yeah.”

He sent you his most monotonous and deadpanned look, “uh.. huh. Is that so?”

“Yeah! Uh, haha.” You scratched the back of your neck, whispers of profanities between your lips as you averted your gaze.

“With how flustered you look right now, I'm starting to think you were looking at me all in love.”

Your gut squirmed uncomfortably.

“Me? You? In love? In your dreams, asshole.”

“Did you fall for me?”

You grit your teeth, and forced out a spurious smile, all fluttery wonderful things drowning in the flood of your immense odium, “No. Don't delude yourself.”

“Aw, come on, fruitcake. I know you were struck by cupid when you saw me—wha—hey! You little shit, don't fucking turn around and leave me here—oh, that's it, you're fucking dead, you piece of—”

───────────────────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────────────────

|| previous episode - next episode. ||

───〃★tunes of your heartbeat masterlist

synopsis: in which your fate somehow gets entangled into a messy jumble between punk music in cozy cafés, intense rivalry, cherished yakults, parallelograms and quantum physics, competitions in contests and rainy days. or in other words; the universe seems to fucking hate your guts for whatever reason and decided to curse your love life with your awful crass emo twink-a-fuck rival. the question is; did the curse work?

taglist (50/50): @toekissers , @raineyun @localscarasimp , @potteraep , @shutingstar , @feiherp , @scaraenthusiast1 @dazqa , @wraithisd3adinside , @x-hihihi-x , @court-jester-stuff , @automaticpatroltragedy , @lalalaloveallmydays , @trulyylee , @jayzioxx , @featuredtofu @kazemiya @help-whatdoimakemyusername , @skyoverkill1 @phoenix-eclipses , @anqelkoz , @miyakomari @saechiro @franaby , @swivi , @vixialuvs , @heusalettle @kunikissr @yomishen @mywillt0live , @baldrapunzel @jiminscarmex @sushitushi, @liuaneee , @shynsgore , @mechanicalbeat1 , @marivaudages , @okukura , @azzumei @lucid1tty @iloveescara @usagiarchive @kyouzki @theunhingedmf @kangyeonie @mi2ukiss @bubblebellaz @eternallykira-143 @lumiicch

• featured song - floral & fading by pierce the veil

• notes - i love the meaning of this song bc hello???? down bad vic??? man i love his relationship with his girlfriend so baddd also the reason why i chose this song is bc haahahhzhHBbbb moonlight... moonlight........ mooonnnnliggghhtttt....

authors' notes - long ass chapter that i pulled out of my ass and shat it out in perfect plating? hell yes. gold among the trash they fucking say🙂‍↕️ also i cant believe ive only posted like three chapters within the summer break and my goal was like fuckjng seven😭🙏🏻

p.s - ngh (if i ever hear any of u fuckers go into the server and send a fuckign, "hey guys how r u!!!" i will send you to the moon and hell. im so serious. the "hi guys how r u" is banned in this server btw. ask if we jerk off in sundays on the server or not, just do NOT present that Totally-Professional™ convo starter kit bs)

(ask to be added or removed)

[witherby]

how would the family and conner react to a rich douchey alpha trying to court omega mousey?

also LOVE the sickbed series!!!!

hope your doing well and eating and drinking enough!! 💜💜💜

-🐈‍⬛

Thank you!! I also hope you're doing well!!

How would the Batfamily + Conner react to a rich and douchey Alpha trying to court you?

Alpha!Bruce:

Money? He's posturing around and acting like a big, tough alpha because he has money? Bruce laughs this man out of your face. He wipes his ass with toilet paper that costs more than this guy's total net worth, and you are a Wayne. You don't need any fucking money, and for this guy to think he can win your heart like that is nothing but a total joke. You are more than financially provided for, and if this guy's whole personality is nothing but money then he can leave, immediately, forever.

Omega!Hal:

If he's around you the same time the Alpha is there, he's bitching about smell the whole time. I'm talking "god DAMN it's musky in here. Someone needs a bath. Pronto." He will not shut up about how bad the alpha pheromones stinkkkk. "The douchier the alpha, the worse he smells by the way." Especially if the Alpha is doing it on purpose.

Will offer him scent patches. Will offer him soap. Will eventually look him in the eye, uncaring if it incites a Challenge, and say "hey man, we get it. You smell interested. But I like breathing clean air and we're choking on your nasty posturing bullshit right now. Please relax. Or leave. Actually just leave."

Alpha!Dick:

Refuses to tolerate any douchebag posturing behavior. Entitlement? Just because his baby sibling is an Omega? Bye. See ya. Do not pass Go. Turn right around and fuck off. Nobody gets to rock up in Mouse's personal space and try to coerce them into a relationship just because of caste. What a shitty way to navigate through life. Oh, you're still here? Challenge accepted, prepare to get your shit rocked.

Omega!Jason:

He's throwing hands. Sorry, he doesn't have the patience to bitch the guy away or even have a conversation; he's just putting his hands up and throwing two to the dome. Fuck outta here, for real.

Beta!Tim:

"Oh, Mouse watch out, this guy's got 30 thousand dollars in his checking account and he held the door open for you once he realized you were an Omega! Don't swoon too hard or you'll fall on the floor!.....anyways —"

Douchebag is asking Tim how he knows exactly how much money he's got in his account right now. He's being real pushy about it, too, trying to intimidate him into deferring. But Tim just rattles off his social security number, tells him he knows exactly how he got that dirty money, and requests that he walk away before things get real sticky for him, legally-speaking.

Omega!Damian:

CanNOT be near this alpha. He WILL bring out his swords and stab him to death.

He will kill him. He will dunk him in the Pit. He will kill him again. It's bad enough Damian used to think that was acceptable and normal behavior in the League, and now that he's seeing that behavior being targeted on his baby sibling, he's not having it!!! Alphas pressuring Omegas into courtship just because they're "biologically superior" is bullshit and he will fuck him up!!!!

Beta!Alfred:

He called Conner. Brandishing his shotgun is easy and effective, but it's not entertaining. Some overconfident Alpha garbage is daring to sully his grandchild's person just because of secondary sex characteristics? Alfred doesn't need to do a thing, not because he doesn't want to, but because he knows that not only are you more than capable of defending yourself, and you also have a perfectly polite Kryptonian Alpha to clean up this filth for you. And Alfred will get to watch the carnage unfold with a cup of Earl Grey.

Alpha!Conner:

The definition of "is this guy bothering you? Do you want me to fucking kill him?"

Conner defers to you. He completely ignores the existence of this idiot asshole until you tell him how to proceed. Ignore him and walk away together? You got it babe. Challenge him non-lethally into leaving you alone? You got it babe. Cook his ass with laser vision? You got it babe.

And if you happened to be alone, without any family around for backup, you'd have simply stuffed him in your pocket dimension and then spit him out somewhere across the country. Fuck right off with the douchebaggery please, because there's not enough patience in the world to deal with it.

[kimberly-spirits13]

Batboys Dating Cat-like Reader HC (Request)

Warnings: mild language

Note: not really sticking to a request list or anything but I thought this would be a good one- Still on the Damian and Jason trains so expect some more of stuff for them in the future I think. Also, y'all the recent tumblr drama kept me up so late last night, I was fully enthralled by the circus that was last night 💀

Dick Grayson:

He definitely isn't the chill laid back type- Dick is the bubbliest person you could know and it translates onto the field

The two of you have known each other since he was Robin so he's familar with all of your facets

He jokes that you're two different people when it comes to personal life and fighting

You're total opposites in the regards that he likes to go full throttle, brights colors kind of personality, and you're fine laying back and reading a good book for the entire day

Dick appreciates that you teach him to settle for a moment before jumping around to something new

When the two of you first fought together, he was shocked to see you be almost as serious as Bruce

Had to do a double take

You were swift and calculated, not taking a moment to relax and stay in place

You scolded him for paying attention to you rather than the fight at hand and he snapped out of it but couldn't stop thinking about it

When he found out about your ability to transform into a cat, he was thrownnnn

he thought he was confused seeing you fight? now he's just bamboozled

It isn't often that you use these abilities, but it comes in handy for collecting information on people

There's nothing inherently suspicious about a stray cat roaming around shady allywaya or docks in Gotham City so no one is suspicous towards the feline after Nightwing comes crashing in unexpectedly

He's a total tease about it too- has probably pointed a lazer at you to see if you'd react before having his dreams smashed by your intense eye roll and the book that smacked across his forehead

Jason Todd:

Probably the type to seek out a laid back person as a partner

He wants someone to sit around with so that he can read Jane Austen in comfortable silence

Favorite spot is infront of the fireplace in the library of Wayne Manor

always joked that you were drawn to the heat like a cat in the sun

He thought he was kidding until the first time during patrol that you shrank down into a little grey and white cat before jumping off the ledge of whatever you were on to get a better idea of what two goons were talking about

When you came back up and reverted to regular form and told him that Penguin was planning a jewelry heist, was dead still trying to process

"what the fuck Y/N?" his brain is going at 100mph going "huh, how what, why, when, HUH?"

"I was just kidding about you being like a cat..."

You grin at him and he accepts that he's seen weirder and moves on

When it comes to fighting, he likes that you're not playing around about anything

There are times where he's worried that you could hurt yourself in the intensity of the entire affair, but you sooth his worries by promising that you wouldn't do anything stupid if there wasn't a good reason for it

If he's feeling funny one day, he will totally wave a string of yarn in front of you with the most devious look plastered on his face

"Really, Jason?"

"What?? I'm just checking!"

he likes that he often finds you curled up on the couch doing something engulfed in his clothes

like, they're comfortable, what are you gonna do?

Jason loves that you're able to get him to sit back and take a breath when he's worked up instead of letting him think that the world is going to come down on him

Sometimes he just needs a bit of a reality check

Tim Drake:

Loves, LOVES that you're fine just sitting with him while he works on cases

You don't nag him about things and are content keeping him company without pushing him to do things that he either doesn't want to do or can't do

You're often metaphorically talking him off the ledge and making him see things through a more realistic perspective instead of the end all be all that he can wrap his mind into sometimes

Thought that this would all translate into sparring until he's pinned on the mat with no way to escape

Not only is he sore and tired after the first sparring match that he has with you, he's confused

like- what?

consider him more confused when you offer to stalk out a few goons he was tailing by shifting into an inconspicuous cat

"you can do that?"

"yea Tim. This isn't new love"

well then..

He often asks that you do this for the sake of gathering information, but he secretly feels guilty because he's worried that you could get hurt somehow

He'd definitely notice if a cat was stalking around and then all of his plans were foiled everytime

You assure him that it's not hard to mimic an actual cat and that the goons are often too stupid to notice anything

Besides, it's not like you don't blend in with the rest of Gotham's stray cat population

Tim finds peace in the fact that he doesn't have to worry about you getting hurt in the field due to inexperience or lack of effort

He's more worried for the run of the mill underpaid goons who just got swept up in the whirlstorm of your patrol

Damian Wayne:

I feel like it would take him a second to get used to the cat thing

sure he knows Beast Boy, and that's not weird to him anymore, but at first it was a bit torturous considering that he wasn't a massive fan of his demeanor but still really likes animals

the difference here is that Damian vibes super well with your demeanor

He doesn't worry about you running around and acting a fool

Loves that you're basically always in his company, even if it's in silence

He likes to sit and either read or draw/paint while you're doing your own thing

it's a peaceful presense that he knows won't get ripped away by some instability or shift in the world

He didn't realize that this calmness didn't translate into fighting until you're sparring for the first time

he offers to teach you and improve your skill so you play along

"Try to attack me." He said with a tone of confidence

There's not a moment for him to think before you've laid him out of the mat and knocked the air out of his lungs

"How was that?" You asked with a smirk in your voice

"that was... unexpected."

That moment ends the era of him worrying so much about you on the field

He doesn't tense up as much when you suggest that you could collect information by stalking the suspects as a cat

He knows that you can certainly handle yourself without his assistance

Wouldn't mind if you curled up in his lap as a cat, but he would never voice that outloud

at least not for a LONGGG time

you have caught him intensely observing your interactions with Alfred the cat

He wants to know if Alfred will have either some sort of reaction to you, or like you more than the average person

Don't tell him that you know about these "little observations" or he'll sink into himself and die out of embarrassment

[lover-of-mine]

Hi, hi, hello, I was making an edit and I ended up noticing a repetition of patterns and then I started thinking about this meta by @stagefoureddiediaz (🫶) about the pinstripes with Buck now I'm here.

My thing right now is about this.

When I made the big post about the callbacks in 817, the similarities in instances Buck was wearing this powder blue color were in the back of my mind, but I didn't get it yet. I even wrote a post about it, but I think I have more to say because I was focusing too much on the grey of this color and it was stopping me from seeing the blue.

Moments I mentioned before were around his arc in season 6. The search for deeper meaning and the way Buck keeps externalizing that in the hopes that it will fix him.

Like 602 when he's asking Hen about the secret of happiness, or when we find out that Kameron is pregnant in 609.

But something I neglected paying attention to when saying that the conversation Buck has with Pepa is calling back to 612 when Buck expects Eddie to have the answers, is the way that Buck is also in this powder blue type color when he's at the doctor's at the end of the episode and gets a clean bill of health, when he goes to McArthur Park again, and when he talks to Maddie about the hoovering.

And same as the 817, in 612, it seems like they took advantage of the way the shirt is lost between being blue or grey depending on lighting, to put Buck in that in-between space where he doesn't know where his life is going from there.

It comes back to the way Buck forces himself to move past things and ends up hurting himself and the people around him in his tendency to assume everyone else knows better and he is a burden. He wouldn't talk to people about how death messed him up, he wouldn't talk to people about how losing Bobby messed him up, because at Buck's core he is terrified of life-changing things actually changing his life. So he refuses to ask for the things that will help him adjust and it usually ends up with him going on a tangent that gets him away from the path of actually figuring out what makes him happy. Being a sperm donor? Didn't fix him. Dying? Didn't fix him.

Okay, but why did I bring up Kym's meta?

Kym explains the way that Buck is in a light colored pinstriped shirt when the life-changing thing happens. The shooting, when Taylor moves in, when he decides he's happy with the chair, the coma dream, and the coffee date. The thing here is the play with the way Buck is seeing things clearer in these moments, and it would lead to significant moments where he learns more about himself and his journey. (Kym explains it all, please read her meta lol)

But these moments have a darker shirt counterpart, that is harming his personal growth. Jumping into a relationship with Taylor, the awkward I love you that leads to the mess their relationship becomes, when he agrees to be a sperm donor that harmed him in many ways, the first date with Tommy, the 710 date with Tommy, and I think in some ways also the glee speech shirt, because those come back to the way Buck is projecting this idea that being with man will fix him.

It's when he stirs away from that clarity and keeps creating these obstacles so he won't see what he actually wants from life. Yes, the path here leads to Eddie and Christopher, these stir him away from that. From accepting his role as a parent and from seeing that he's in love with Eddie.

So now we circle back to the blue and yellow of it all. One of the blue and yellow scenes we have is the couch conversation in 601. And Buck is in a pinstripe powder blue.

This is the shirt that forces Buck to reflect and leads him to the realization that he needs to be happy in his own skin. In a similar way that the powder blue is trying to evoke in other moments it comes up.

Kym and I have been talking for ages about Buck and the search of blue and the way that we will know that Buck will get it right in a shade of blue. That shade of blue was presented to us during the coming out scene, another heavily blue and yellow scene.

But in a similar way that the clarity of pinstripes has counterparts where Buck moves away from the goal, I'm starting to think that the powder blue of facing the issue has the grey of hiding behind it. And it all adds up to the pinstripes and the color game they play with the blue.

The clarity from the shooting is the parenting clarity that he needs to step up for Christopher as a parent, which is reflected in the parenting maroon when Buck talks to Chris. (meta on the blue and red and parenting here)

That has as counterpart the 409 "i'm your friend grey" from when Chris runs to Buck. And this combo also establishes that Buck's relationship with Chris needs to exist outside of Eddie. Because, yes, the 3 of them have their dynamic, but all the sides need to exist individually in their family to fully establish it.

That comes back in s6 both in 613 when Buck is taking a casual parenting role with Chris and the cookies but not really acknowledging that's something he wants amid the donor baby plot, since Chris is the answer for that dilemma AND during the birth scene where he is still not acknowledging the consequences what being a donor parent would do to him and he wants.

The greys also shows up with the clarity from the coma dream, that needs to live for himself, because both in the hospital after he wakes up, and in Eddie's place, he knows what's happening fundamentally changed him, but he is hiding behind what happened so he won't be forced to get the answers himself even thought that was the whole point of the coma dream.

And this plays out in an interesting way with the ambiguity of the powder blue showing up now, especially when considering the clarity that Buck is being forced into by Bobby's death. Various shades of blue have been tied to Buck's s7-8 arc but coming back to this particular shade without the Buck hiding aspect it's interesting when considering that the first time this blue comes into play is when Buck is literally observing the thing he wants the most for the first time aka 203 after the earthquake.

But also because this leads to the red jacket this time. (more detailed meta on this jacket)

Yes, it's a more orange tone than we are used to, but it comes back to 2 major moments. 208 and Buck deciding to actively figure out what he wants and needs from love.

And 518 when he actually defines it.

The thing with Buck is that he constantly ends up passive in his own love life. He takes only what's offered to him, sometimes at the expense of actually chipping away bits of himself and being okay avoiding the problems forever. But the red jacket/white shirt combo is directly connected to "you don't find it, son, you make it" and the way that Buck is very much aware of the way he needs to fight for it but has no idea of how. And it's interesting that it both leads to him having that "I wanna take it easy to see what can happen" that leads him to Ali and it ends up blowing up when the dude jumps like always does and gets the loft because Ali needs a place to stay and to realizing that he can't force it to happen as much as he wants it.

And the way this is showing up when Buck is moving out is making me go 👀 because this shows up when he's very much aware of the root of the issue he's having, but he goes nuclear to fix it since he works in extremes.

This is a very long winded way to say I'm very interested on seeing if the whole Buck moving out thing is gonna pick back up with Buck backsliding into the extreme and hiding from is wants, or if the red is an indicator that Buck does know what he wants (Eddie and Chris) but thinks he can't get it, so he's running from the temptation before it can catch up to him.

Anyway, if you read this, I love you 💜

[finelinefae]

the final [tennisplayer!harry x tennisplayer!y/n]

synopsis: y/n and harry reach the final in the academy slam

word count: 12.2k

contains: fluff, enemies to lovers, slow burn, tennis rivals, smut (oral f-receiving, first time for h and yn, size kink, mostly just soft), travel anxiety, brief medical talk

a/n: extremely sorry for the wait but i hope this is worth it. thank you for being here and reading this little series. it means the world and I'm obsessed with all of u <33

this is the final part of the game, read part 3 here

. . .

In any relationship, Y/N had always believed she was the dominant, reliable, independent partner. In all of her friendships, family dynamics and even teamwork, the people around her looked to her for something that sometimes she couldn’t even give. Y/N was constantly pulling pieces of herself apart to give to those around her and at the end of the day she found herself with nothing left for herself.  She was constantly burnt out, running on little energy to make it through to the end of the week. 

But with Harry, her whole world felt like a sanctuary, a blue sky hidden from everybody else by grey clouds. 

When she thought she knew all there was to know about herself, she was learning so much more through her relationship. 

She learnt that it was important to share things, that just because Harry could read her face better than most people doesn’t mean he could read her mind. She hadn’t realised how closed off she was about her problems until Harry had found her panicking outside her classroom before an exam. It was that moment when he told her he needed her to communicate these things so he could help her in any way he could. 

She learnt to accept that her love language was physical touch. She couldn’t keep her hands off of her boyfriend. No matter what they were doing or where they were standing, she was desperate to touch Harry in some way and he was obsessed with it. He loved how much she wanted him to hold her and how often she’d gravitate towards him to put her hand on his arm or hook their pinkies together. It was probably the reason why her lips were constantly chapped because she was always desperate to kiss him whenever they were near each other. Harry had told her once that our love languages developed from what we didn’t receive so much of as children, which made sense because Y/N couldn’t remember the first or last time her parents had held her. 

She learned that arguments were healthy, even when they didn't feel like it in the moment. Just because Harry was her boyfriend and their feelings for each other were strong, they still ended up bickering over little things. It usually happened when one of them was having a bad day; they were both people who felt things very strongly, and sometimes that clashed. But they made a promise that, no matter what they were arguing about, big or small, they'd never go to bed angry with each other.

The biggest lesson Y/N was learning was something that she had yet to come to terms with. Having feelings for somebody was already a new thing for her, especially feelings as strong as the ones she had for Harry. She’d never been so attached to somebody in her whole life.  Sometimes when she looked at him she felt like her heart was going to explode from how much it ached to be right by him. Y/N had always believed that she couldn’t feel much more than what she felt already, that this was how good it would get- and she was okay with that. But with every passing day, Y/N found herself floating higher and higher above ground as her heart began to inflate with such an intense emotion. Every morning, she felt like she was levitating right out of bed at the thought of seeing Harry. 

It wasn’t until one particular day that she realised she was in love with her boyfriend. 

She had woken up before him for once. Harry had always been an early bird, and so was she before him, but she loved staying in bed with him, basking in his warmth as he cradled her to him like he was cocooning her from the rest of the world and keeping her to himself for those brief few hours in the early morning. 

She was going to wake him up to get ready for school but she stopped herself. Y/N had seen many versions of Harry her entire life but this was the first time when she looked at him and saw the person who had carved a nook into her heart for himself looking so peaceful and relaxed. She’d never really thought too hard into it before, willing to let herself fall into this relationship and see where she ended up, but that morning when she looked at him - really looked at him- she realised there was only one person in this entire world who could make her feel like she was still dreaming and that was the person she loved. 

Of course, she hadn’t told him that. Never. Y/N felt genuine fear at the thought of having to tell him how she felt because everything she had ever truly loved she’d had to either work for or it had never loved her back as much. Surely loving someone as much as she loved Harry couldn’t be this easy. 

“Hey,” Sarah beamed, leaning against the lockers as Y/N replaced her books for her next classes. 

“Hey,” Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed as she glanced at her shirt, “What are you wearing?”

“Do you like them?” Sarah grinned, proudly. 

It was a white t-shirt with a tennis racket and a cut out of Y/N’s head plastered onto a tennis ball. The words ‘Y/N 4 court queen’ were written in red. 

“Please tell me you only got one of these?” Y/N begged, feeling embarrassed.

“Well they’re prototypes so there’s only four,” Sarah explained and as she did Mitch walked towards them wearing the exact same shirt. 

He put a hand around Sarah’s shoulders and kissed the side of her head before looking at Y/N, “How do you like the shirts? Me and Sarah spent all week designing them?”

“You designed these together? Aren’t you meant to be like horny teenagers or something?” Y/N tried not to laugh at their matching shirts as they stood side by side. 

“We can be both,” Mitch shrugs. 

“Who else is wearing these?” A throat cleared from behind them and Y/N turned around to find her boyfriend wearing his white school shirt unbuttoned to reveal the same t-shirt underneath. 

“Hi baby,” Harry grinned, walking towards her and kissing her lips. Y/N’s hands went to his waist as he pushed her up against the lockers. 

“And I thought we were bad,” Mitch said, “C’mon babe, I’ve got a few ideas for some more items we could sell.” 

Harry pulled away as Mitch and Sarah walked away. Y/N looked up at him as he loomed over her, he was just so goddamn tall. “Missed you,” He murmured, kissing her quickly. 

“You saw me this morning,” Y/N giggled.

“Hmmm,” He hooked his finger around her necklace and pulled her closer, “Do y’ like my shirt?” 

Y/N laughed, “I can’t believe you actually wore it.”

“Anything to support my girlfriend,” He winks. She’d never get tired of hearing him call her that. “Did you hear anything about the Academy?”

Y/N shook her head. After winning against Astrid, she was now onto the final where she would play Courtney Avalon the only girl in the competition who had been picked to compete in a Junior Slam at fourteen. Y/N wondered who thought it fair for her to compete but she wouldn’t let it ruin her chances of winning, she’d just train even harder than she already was. 

Unlike the previous games, the final wouldn’t be hosted at one of the academies instead it would be hosted elsewhere at a tennis club where professionals would play. There was no way of knowing where they’d be going, it could be in a different country for all they knew, but the final was a little under a month away and she still hadn’t heard anything about it. 

“S okay,” Harry knew she was overthinking the situation as he traced his thumb over her pulse the way he always did when she was nervous about something, “We just train the way we always have,”

“Do you think I’ll win?” Y/N asked.

“I know you will,” Harry replied. 

That same afternoon, Y/N was sitting in the library after school to finish her English essay on her computer when a notification appeared in her email. Her heartbeat hastened as she clicked on the email with ‘Academy Slam Final Location’ written in big bold letters as the subject headline. 

She clicked on it and her eyes flicked through the long-winded introduction before they landed on the location. 

Paris, France. 

She was going to Paris. 

With Harry. 

She tried to keep her excitement at bay as she threw all her belongings into her backpack and slung it over her shoulder. She made a quick exit out of the library and ran towards the parking lot where she knew Harry would be. 

Her eyes landed on him and she couldn’t help but laugh before running over to him and leaping into his open arms. “Paris,” She said and his eyes lit up. 

“We’re going to Paris?” Harry asked, seeking confirmation. 

Y/N nodded, “The same place they play the French Open.”

Realisation dawned on both of their faces as they understood the significance of this moment. Y/N would be playing at the same club where Harry was supposed to play before his injury. She waited to see his reaction, and a small grin formed on his face before he leaned in to kiss her.

“You are going to win this,” He says like a promise. 

She nods, the weight of the moment sinking in deeper. The pressure now felt even greater than before, driven by a desire to win not just for herself, but for Harry too. 

. . . 

Y/N sat on the bonnet of her boyfriend’s Audi with her boyfriend standing between her dangling legs as they made out, “Are you actually going to teach me anything?” Y/N laughed, pushing him away. 

Harry pretended to check the invisible watch on his wrist before shrugging, “We have time,” He leaned in to kiss her again but she playfully pushed his face away and slid off the bonnet. 

They walked hand in hand to the court where Y/N put her bag down on the ground and pulled out her racket. Her eyes caught sight of Harry taking a bucket of tennis balls out of the storage shed. He looked particularly cosy today in his navy sweater and white shorts he was wearing, his hair was a little dishevelled mainly due to the fact that she had run her fingers through them for the past thirty minutes. 

“Okay, so should we do a few drills?” Harry posed the question.

Y/N shook her head, “I wanna try something different today,” Harry frowned as she passed him a racket, “I want to play against you.”

She could tell Harry seemed unsettled as soon as the words left her mouth, “Y/N, you already know about my injury,”

“Just a little back and forth, if it hurts too much we can stop straight away,” She tried, hoping he would say yes. 

Harry took one look at his girlfriend, seeing the pleading look on her face. Even though he knew she wasn’t forcing him, he couldn’t find it in himself to say no. “Fine, one game.”

Y/N squealed and ran to the end of the court she always played on, getting into position. She watched as Harry rolled his ankles and bounced up and down to get used to the feeling of his feet on the court. He took a tennis ball out of his pocket and bounced it on the ground. 

With a playful chuckle, Harry tossed the ball into the air and served. Y/N lunged for it, returning it with a swift swing of her racket. The rally began, and each shot was met with cheers and laughter from them both.

Despite Harry's injury, he moved across the court with surprising agility, his competitive spirit shining through. Y/N knew he was at a disadvantage but still, she was in awe of how quickly he responded to her hits. Every time Harry would run for the ball, she’d find herself distracted by the muscles in his calves and thighs and the concentration on his face when the ball would go to her end of the court. 

In the end, Y/N came out on top with one score above Harry’s when they decided on the last round as Harry could tell the pain was beginning to stir in his leg. She walked over to him and put out his hand to shake his, “Great game,”

Harry rolled his eyes, taking her hand and pulling her into him, “You’re too pretty, you distracted me.”

“I’ve heard that one too many times before,” Y/N smirked.

“From who?” Harry frowned.

“Oh just people,” She began to walk away but Harry quickly ran up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and spinning her around. 

“Harry,” Y/N laughed, loudly, both of them ignoring the watchful eyes of passing students leaving school late. 

He placed her back down on the ground and she looked up at him again, biting her lip, “Get back to those drills,” He shook his head. 

“Yes sir,” She saluted but Harry stilled.

“I didn’t know you were into that,” 

“What?” Y/N frowned before realising, “Ew don’t be so gross Harry,” She hit him on the arm and stormed away. 

“What else am I supposed to think?” Harry threw his arms up in the air, biting back a laugh. She turned around and threw a tennis ball at him before grabbing another one and doing the same again, “Oh c’mon baby, I can live out your coach/student fantasies if that’s what you're asking,”

“You’re an animal!” She hissed.

Harry laughed and jogged towards her, kissing her quickly and running through their usual training. 

. . .

Two weeks had passed until Y/N and Harry were finally on their way to Paris. Mitch and Sarah had dropped them off at the airport in the early hours of the morning with sleep still in their eyes. Y/N would be lying to herself if she said she wasn’t nervous about playing without her best friend cheering for her in the stands. But Sarah promised she would watch every second of the live stream from their dorm room and cheer her on from there. 

She’d also tried to call and text her parents to tell them she had made it to the final and she’d be going to Paris, inviting them to come along even though she already knew they would decide not to. She hadn’t spoken to them since the dinner and even though she was the happiest she’d ever been, part of her ached, wishing her parents cared enough to see her that way. 

Harry stood beside her as they waited in line to board the aeroplane. They had originally booked economy flights but Harry was insistent they upgrade even though the flight was only an hour long. 

They were both dressed rather comfortably for the flight. It was Y/N’s first time wearing a piece of his clothing, a brown knitted sweatshirt he offered her to wear this morning. She couldn’t deny the rush of excitement she felt when he tugged it over her head and kissed her forehead, “Pretty,” He said and smiled. 

But despite their comfy attire, Y/N couldn’t seem to stop fiddling with Harry’s fingers as they stood in line. She was nervous, biting the inside of her cheek and trying to ignore the sounds of the planes taking off outside. It was her first time flying and even though she was excited about going away to Paris, she hadn’t considered the prospect of flying and how nerve-wracking it would be. 

“Harry,” Y/N tugged on his sleeve, looking up at him. He was holding both of their carry-ons, his black bag in his hand and her duffle on his shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, sensing her nerves. 

“Will we be okay?” She blushes, feeling embarrassed at her question, “On the plane I mean?”

Harry’s eyes soften, “Of course,” He assures, “It’s the safest way to travel.”

“Okay,” She nods, before saying his name again, “Harry?”

“Yes baby?” 

“You promise we’ll be okay?”

He smiles, putting their bags on the floor and taking both of her hands in his. He squeezes her fingers when he feels how cold they are, “Promise, promise.” 

“Okay well if you’re lying I’ll probably never speak to you again.” 

Harry chuckles, “I mean if I’m lying and the plan crashes then that’s probably true.”

Y/N frowns, “Don’t talk about crashing,” 

“What? You bought it up.”

When they finally board the plane, Y/N immediately feels claustrophobic when she realises how small it is, “They’re loading us into a sardine can,” She mutters to herself and hears Harry laugh as he walks in front of her. 

They finally reach their seats with Y/N right by the window and Harry in the seat next to her. Harry places their bags under the seats in front and moves to buckle his belt. “Harry?” Y/N says his name again. He glances at her and sees how pale her face is, “I’m really nervous.”

He felt his heart clench, it wasn’t often that Y/N admitted to feeling nervous or afraid of something. Hearing the shake in her voice made him consider getting off the plane and taking her back home again. 

“Hey,” Harry cupped the side of her cheek, “Y’ got nothing to be afraid of sweet girl, everything’s gonna be fine. Might feel a little strange when the plane takes off but we’re safe and I’m right here with you.”

“I don’t know about this Harry,” Her eyes dart around and he knows she’s getting into a panic the more she thinks about it too much.

“Y/N,” Harry says her name gently, “Look at me baby,” His thumb rubs the skin under her eye and her eyes dart to him, “Can you feel this?” He gently wraps his fingers around her wrist and moves her hand to wrap around his own wrist until the pads of her fingers find his pulse. 

Y/N nods, her eyes glistening, “Can you feel that?” He hopes the feel of his pulse will calm her down, “That’s it, just breathe and calm down everything’s gonna be fine.”

“It’s going to be fine,” She echoes his words as though trying to inscribe them into her own mind. 

“M right here,” He comforts her, “You think I’d let anything happen to you after I just got you?”

Y/N smiles at that, “No,” She whispers, “You’re too stubborn.”

Harry grins, “Only when it comes to you.”

Y/N’s nerves were overwhelming as the plane began to move. She glanced out the window, watching the ground blur as they gained speed. Harry noticed her unease and reached for her hand, squeezing it reassuringly.

“What the fuck!” Y/N blurted when the plane lifted off the ground, loud enough for everyone to hear, “This is so not normal.”

Harry snorted a laugh, “Y’ doing just fine baby,” He rubbed soothing circles on the back of her hand.

Y/N’s eyes squeezed shut as the plane tilted, a whimper escaping past her lips when she took one peek out the window to see the clouds in the sky. “Isn’t it pretty?” Harry asked, ignoring how tightly she was squeezing his fingers until the point of turning blue.

“It’s a lot prettier with my feet on the ground,” Y/N responds, refusing to relax until the plane landed.

. . .

Y/N was in awe as they stood in the hotel lobby of the hotel they would be staying in for the next week or so. Harry had insisted he be in charge of choosing where they were staying as he had been to Paris plenty of times and knew all the best spots. Y/N didn’t argue with him, it gave her one less thing to stress about and she was never any good at making decisions anyway. 

The receptionist handed him two key cards and Harry rolled both of their suitcases into the elevator as Y/N followed closely behind. “Are our rooms next to each other?” Y/N wondered, admiring the lights in the elevator as they went up to the seventh floor. 

Harry’s eyes widened for a second but then they twinkled with mischief. She noticed him biting the inside of his cheek like he was trying not to laugh. “Is that what you want two rooms?” He asked and Y/N’s cheeks flushed. 

“W-well I d-didn’t want to assume,” She stuttered, feeling embarrassed. 

Harry handed her both room keys, “Room 764,” He motioned her out of the elevator when it reached their floor and she walked ahead, scanning the numbers on the doors as she did.

Eventually, she got to room 764 and stopped. Harry was still rounding the corner with both of their suitcases so she waved the key over the scanner and saw the light turn green but instead of opening the door, she waited for it to lock again. Switching to the other key, she repeated the action of waving it over the lock only to see it flash green again. 

This time she did walk through the door, putting both their bags on the ground as soon as she stepped inside. Her mouth fell open when she saw the room they’d be staying in. 

Y/N had stayed in fancy hotels before thanks to her parents but this was something she had never seen before in her life. It had a high ceiling and a chandelier hanging in the middle. White curtains hung from the windows with a view of Paris right outside their window. She walked into the bathroom to see marble countertops and a deep bathtub with a separate glass-enclosed shower. 

After taking everything in, she walked back into the bedroom where her eyes landed on the king-sized bed - one bed for two people. 

The sight of it made Y/N’s mouth dry. It was her first time sharing a space with any boy, let alone her boyfriend, for longer than one night. Although she’d been spending a lot of time together, this was the first time Y/N would be sleeping beside him, waking up next to him, and getting ready with him. In fact, this whole trip they were all each other had. 

“Do you like it?” Harry came up behind her and squeezed her shoulders, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck. 

Y/N spun round and clung to him, “Thank you,” She whispered, hoping he couldn’t feel the nerves radiating from her. 

“I was thinking we go out and get something to eat and then maybe walk by the river. We’ll be training for the next few days so,” She sighed, longing to just stay in the room with him holding her the entire time. 

“I’d like that,” She sighs, eyes closing. 

Harry chuckles lowly, she feels the vibrations from his chest, “Y sure?” 

“Mhm,” 

Harry smiles even though she can’t see, “Or we can order room service and stay here?”

Y/N seems to melt against him as he rubs circles on her back, “I like that idea a lot more.”

She was pretty sure Harry had ordered everything off the menu in the time it took her to unpack her suitcase. She smiled to herself when she saw their shoes side by side at the door when she went to put her trainers beside them. 

It wasn’t long before hours passed and Y/N was wrapped up in a plush, white bathrobe with Harry’s shirt and her pyjama shirt on underneath. A cart with empty plates of what once was full of an array of desserts and sides was cast off to one side as Y/N lay on top of Harry with a full belly. The TV played lowly in the back, Harry's hands playing with the ends of her long, loose hair. The sky had turned dark with the lights of Paris lighting the city. 

“Y’ sleepy baby?” Harry murmured, cupping her cheek and lifting her head like she was a little kitten so he could see her face. 

Y/N hummed, nuzzling her cheek against his hand and curling into his side. Her hand slid up his torso to fiddle with the cross necklace around her neck. “Go to sleep,” He kisses the top of her head, “Got a long day tomorrow.” 

Tomorrow they’d be off to the tennis club to train for the final at the end of the week. Harry had picked a hotel that was a ten-minute drive away just in case they ended up spending long hours into the night working on Y/N’s technique like they did when they were at Crestwood. 

Y/N’s eyes fluttered shut as Harry rubbed soothing circles on her hip to try and lull her to sleep. The outside world seemed irrelevant in that moment, he felt as though he could lay there forever in this comforting bubble they had created together. 

“Goodnight Harry,” Y/N mumbled, clutching his t-shirt. 

“Goodnight baby,” He whispered, feeling the happiest he had ever been.

. . .

“Somebody pinch me, I feel like I’m dreaming,” Y/N gaped as they walked through the tennis club. She felt Harry pinch the skin above her elbow, “Not literally,” She huffed. 

After a blissful night's sleep, Y/N awoke to her face buried in the crook of Harry’s neck as both of his arms held her tightly to him throughout the night. Sleep had always been Y/N’s worst enemy but she genuinely considered calling off today and just laying there with him. 

They booked a cab before getting ready which would take them to the tennis club. They had planned a morning session of training so they could spend the remainder of the afternoon exploring Paris properly this time instead of looking out the window of the back of a taxi or from their hotel room where they had spent yesterday afternoon lounging around. 

Harry smirked, “You haven’t even seen the best part yet,” He leads her to a big glass window in the lobby. 

Y/N immediately gasps, pressing her nose against the glass wanting it to disappear so she could walk straight through it and across to the Roland Garros which just so happened to be right next door. 

“I’m going to be there one day Harry,” Y/N says with the upmost determination in her voice. 

Harry nods in agreement, “You will,” He says and that makes her believe it even more. 

They walk hand in hand to the courts, Y/N in a white tennis dress and matching visor and Harry wearing a white polo shirt and white shorts. They were both wearing black sunglasses to cover their eyes, Harry snaked his arm around her shoulders, Y/N’s fingers automatically threading through his, as they walked outside. 

They seemed to pause at the same time when they saw one of the courts already occupied. The sound of the ball speeding through the air and hitting the racket of the girl running to hit it in time broke through the air. 

Y/N watched as the girl moved with such agility and force, meeting every hit made by her coach with her own. It was like nothing she had ever seen before, no one she had ever played against. 

With one final hit across, the ball landed somewhere past her opponent and the game ended. The girl grabbed a towel and wiped it across her forehead, smiling as she took a waterbottle from the cooler. Her head raised, Y/N’s eyes casting away in hopes she wouldn’t come over but it was too late and she was already walking towards them. 

Harry gave Y/N’s hand a gentle squeeze as if to say "be nice," already familiar with her temper. However, she had put up a guard, uncertain whether to trust this girl or not.

“Hi,” She said, “I’m Courtney,” She held a hand out to which Y/N slowly responded, “You must be Y/N, I’ve been watching your games. You’re good.”

Y/N felt her jaw tick at the tone she used in trying to compliment her like she didn’t think she was a good player at all but she was trying to be nice about it. 

“Thank you,” Y/N decided to not act out and instead remained civil.

Courtney flashed a pearly white grin, “Yes well my coach thought this whole Academy competition would be good training for the Junior Slam next year. It’s not often something I would participate in but no one can deny the glory of winning something no matter how easy it is.”

Y/N forced a smile, “You’re right, it seems every game just gets easier and easier. I’m sure this next one will be a walk in the park.”

Courtney smirked, her eyes drifting up to see Harry, “Harry,” She acknowledged, “I haven’t seen you since your injury? How is it?”

“Good,” Harry nodded, “Besides the fact I can’t play anymore, I’d say it’s going pretty well.” 

Courtney’s smirk deepens, “Is that why you’re doing this? Since you can’t play you’ve got a little pitbull to carry the torch for you.”

Y/N’s fists clenched, her nails digging into her palms, “You know, I’ve been watching you too Courtney.”

Courtney’s expression turned smug as she crossed her arms, “Oh really?”

Y/N nodded, her eyes narrowing as she looked at her nose like she was inspecting it, “Your nose is looking a little crooked after last season. My mother knows a doctor who can fix that if you want their number?”

Courtney scowled and spun on her heel to storm away from them after being reminded of her embarrassing moment from last season where she hit herself in the face with her tennis racket and broke her nose. 

Harry chuckled from beside her, “I’m sorry, I know I’m not meant to but she pissed me off when she started talking about your injury like that.”

“It’s okay, if I didn’t think you had it covered I would have said something myself.” Harry began to walk to their side of the courts, “Now c’mon my little pitbull, let’s get to work.” 

Y/N scowled at his choice of words but followed him anyway. 

. . .

Throughout the entire week whenever they weren’t training - which was less often than they had hoped for but also the reason they were here in the first place - Y/N and Harry spent their evenings exploring the city. 

Y/N was thankful Harry had been to Paris plenty of times before, enough to show her around and take her to some of his favourite spots. 

Together they went to Harry’s favourite cafe each morning to pick up croissants and pastries to eat outside on the little tables and chairs. They visited the Eiffel Tower where they attempted to take photographs of each other holding it in the palms of their hands. They walked over to the Louvre where Harry paid for them to have a private tour in the evening and they would spend most of their evenings walking hand in hand as they strolled along the Seine. 

This must be what being a kid feels like. Y/N thought to herself as Harry lay in between her legs as they sat on the grass right in front of the Eiffel Tower. He was reading a book he had bought from a small, indie bookstore they had come across as they walked through the streets. 

Everything in her life had always been meticulously planned or she had to work hard for it, even at the age of eighteen. Both Y/N and Harry had been made to grow up quickly because their parents had raised them that way but together it felt like they had regressed back into their simplest forms. Life felt easy and colourful and magical. Each day, Y/N felt like her heart was shedding hardened skin and was slowly turning into this beautiful ball of light that weighed hardly anything inside of her chest. 

She paused her train of thought when she felt Harry’s lips press a kiss to her arm, “Let’s go out to dinner tonight,” He murmured. 

Tomorrow was the final and Y/N had been a nervous wreck all day hence why they had attempted to do things that might help her relax. Harry had woken her up with breakfast already carried in by one of the housekeepers and had offered to take her to the spa in the hotel but Y/N was desperate to escape the indoors and go outside so they ended up walking through the streets and stumbling into different shops on multiple street corners. Harry had even bought a baguette to put in his tote bag that they had been nibbling on all day. 

“I don’t know if I can handle eating right now,” Y/N admitted, the nerves getting the best of her. 

Harry shifted and turned around so he was lying on his stomach, his chin resting on her belly, “You’ll regret it if you don’t eat baby,” He kissed her exposed stomach from where her shirt had risen, “Even if it’s just a little something, y’ can’t go to bed hungry.”

Y/N knew he was right which is how they ended up in one of the fanciest restaurants Harry could have possibly picked from the many Paris had to offer with two plates of pasta and a shared basket of garlic bread between them. 

At one point, midway through making her laugh, Harry pulled out his phone to quickly take her picture. Y/N's cheeks tinged pink as she asked, "What did you do that for?"

Harry bit back a grin, “Because you’re my girlfriend and sometimes I take photos of you to make sure this is real,” Y/N rolled her eyes, “What? Do you want to see the whole album I’ve made for you too?”

“A whole album? Ew weirdo,” She teased. 

“Not a weirdo, ‘m just obsessed with you,” He says, “Wait until you’ve seen all the playlists I’ve made over the years I’ve been pining for you behind closed doors.” 

Y/N’s lips part, “You’re lying,”

“I’m not, I swear,” Harry chuckles, “Remember that box of chocolates you found in your cubby in fifth year on Valentine’s Day?”

“That was not you,” Y/N refused to believe it, “Sarah and I sat in the park after school eating them on the swings after she broke up with Byron.”  

“It was,” Harry nodded, his cheeks turning rosy but he carried on, “The day you asked me to teach you to play tennis I felt like I was floating on a cloud at the big old age of eight.”

“But you said no,” 

“Yeah because I figured you’d never leave me alone until I did and low and behold here we are today.” He says like he’s been planning this exact moment in time all his teenage life. 

“Ah so you’ve been scheming ever since,” Y/N joked. 

Harry shrugged, “I may have put things into motion but I think you were always meant to be a part of my life, Y/N.”

Y/N’s heart warmed like he was holding a candle beneath it, “I don’t think I remember anything good that you weren’t a part of.” 

He reached for her hand across the table and kissed the inside of her wrist, “You are my good.”

. . .

Harry leaned against the doorframe of the hotel bathroom as he brushed his teeth whilst Y/N lay on the bed in just a towel and underwear having just finished showering. Both their gazes were fixed on the television with re-runs of previous tennis matches playing with the volume down. 

Harry’s eyes softened when they looked at Y/N who watched the TV with so much awe on her face. He felt a sense of pride wash over him for both his girlfriend and for himself. After his injury, he thought himself damned and that nothing would give him the rush of playing tennis against big names like he did before but now he had Y/N and life before today seemed non-existent - maybe he hadn’t really been living at all.

He spat out his toothpaste and turned the bathroom light off. He stopped in the doorway in just his boxers when Y/N switched the TV off and there was nothing but the soft, warm glow of the lamp lighting the room. 

Her eyes looked up at him, vulnerability shining from them, “If I lose tomorrow will you still look at me the same?” She asked.

Harry frowned, “What do you mean?”

She sighed heavily, sitting up and pulling the towel closer to her to hide her naked chest, “Will you still like me?”

Harry’s eyes softened. It wasn’t often she shared such a vulnerable side with people so whenever he got a glimpse of it, he felt himself spiralling out of control like he was completely at her mercy, “No,” He starts and walks towards her squatting down before the bed and reaching a hand out to hold her cheek, his thumb smoothing over her cheekbones, “But I’ll love you a little harder than I do right now,”

A breath escaped from Y/N’s lips as they parted, her heart pounding, “What?” She breathed. 

Harry’s lips curved, “I love you.” 

She still couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing, “You do?”

Harry said nothing other than a small nod as he waited for her to respond, “I love you too,” She whispered, her eyes glistening, “More than anything in this world.”

Harry didn’t need to hear anything else as he surged forward to kiss her, his bottom lip sliding between hers. Y/N held his face in her hands as she kissed him as hard as she could whilst he crawled onto the bed. 

She fell back, feeling the soft sheets beneath her as Harry held himself up above her. The towel around her had loosened her pulse racing as she realised what was happening. “We don’t have to-” Harry started but Y/N kissed him quickly to shut him up.

“I want to,” She murmured against his lips. 

Harry nodded, his curls falling around his face as his cheeks tinged pink, “I-I can’t promise I’ll be good,” Y/N immediately shook her head, pushing his curls back and looking him straight in the eye.

“I love you, Harry,” She saw the way his eyes twinkled as she spoke those words, “Whatever we do will be perfect because it’s with you and nobody else. Just us.”

Harry smiles, “The way it’s always been. You and me,”

Y/N mirrors his smile before kissing him again, running her hands up and down his back with nothing but the sound of their lips connecting and their heavy exhales filling the silence of the room. 

As Harry kissed down her neck, Y/N felt her nerves escalating as an idea formed in her mind. The towel around her was the only barrier preventing their skin from touching, and she yearned to feel the warmth of his bare chest against hers. 

Before getting lost in a spiral of self-doubt, Y/N loosened her grip on the towel. Harry paused his assault on her neck and they both froze, “Holy shit,” Harry whispered maybe to himelf but she wasn’t quite sure, “Okay give me a second,” His eyes squeezed shut and Y/N waited. 

Suddenly, Harry’s head glimpsed down at her naked form lying beneath him. The only piece of fabric left on her was a pair of red, lace panties, “Fuck,” Harry cursed, “This isn’t real, pinch me so I can wake up,” 

“Harry,” Y/N laughed.

“I’m sorry baby but you’re just gonna have to give me a moment because- Holy shit.” He exclaimed, “This is way better than I imagined,” He muttered, loud enough for her to hear.

Harry was in awe of the girl that lay beneath him, every curve of her body and inch of her soft skin looked as thought it was sculpted by tender hands. His hands gripped the bottoms of her thighs and he felt the hard muscle from months and months of playing tennis and yet, despite all that, her skin was still so damn soft. 

Harry couldn’t think up enough words to praise the temple that was her body so he sealed his lips with hers, his tongue darting out filled with lust and need. His fingers slid up her thigh to grip her ass and when his hips rolled against hers she felt him - all of him. 

Y/N let out a moan as he kissed down her body, he pulled her into him until her breasts were pressed against his chest. Her arms looped around his neck, her fingers playing with the curls at the nape of his neck. 

Y/N hummed, her eyes fluttering shut, as Harry kissed and touched every inch of skin. She felt like all the heavy parts of her were being taken out of her body and only her heart remained. He cupped her breasts in his hand and squeezed, her nipples hardening despite the warmth of his touch.  She felt like dough, fluffy and light, and no matter what he did to her they would somehow mould together perfectly. 

She felt Harry’s thumb hook the waistband of her panties when he kissed the inside of her thigh, “Harry,” Y/N gasped. It seemed to be the only word she had left inside of her empty head. 

“Do you want me to stop?” He asked, his green eyes peering up at her.

“No,” She said, too quickly, “You can do anything y’ want to me.” She trusted him that much. 

Harry shuddered at her words, his heart expanding three sizes inside of his chest. He didn’t think it was possible to feel this way about somebody, to feel like all his calloused skin was peeling off of his body and now he was someone completely new. 

With shaky hands, he removed Y/N’s underwear, seeing the way her chest rose and fell. His hands gently pushed her plush thighs apart, “Fuck baby,” He groaned. 

“Please Harry,” Y/N mewled, her hips wriggling in hopes the action would propel him to do something. 

“Calm down lovie, jus’ admiring how pretty y’ are,” He smirks, his thumb trailing up her slit until it reached her clit. He stopped, hearing her weighted breaths before he began to rub it in slow, teasing circles. He caught the stutter in her breath, watching when her hands fisted the blanket. 

Without warning, Y/N feels his warm, wet tongue run between her folds. The sensation feels foreign but she’s overcome by intense pleasure as he begins lapping her through her folds. She feels her lungs deflate as the air escapes her, unable to breathe when he teases her clenching open. Her toes curl as his other hand travels to her hip to hold her down and nuzzle his face harder against her. 

Hearing her whines and feeling her writing beneath him, Harry feels his cock throbbing in his boxers, he could feel the damp fabric against his skin as he pressed himself into the mattress with his head still in between her thighs. 

“So good,” Y/N babbles, her body shivering when she felt the coil begin to tighten in the pit of her belly, “So, so good Harry.”

Before she could find her release, Harry pulled away his chin glistening with her juices. Y/N’s hands grapple for him but she can barely reach him and feels too floaty to try any harder. Harry’s hair is a mess as he crawls up her bare body and kisses her. She tastes herself on his tongue when they brush against each other, “I need to be inside of you,” He slurs against her lips, “I need you so bad Y/N, I think I’ll go crazy if I don’t.” 

Harry’s head hangs, his curls falling in front of his face. Y/N automatically pushes them back, her hips rolling against his. She can feel the damp spot against his boxers despite her own wetness covering her thighs, “I’m on birth control,” She tells him. 

Harry groans, his forehead pressing against her collarbones, “Of course you are,” He says, “Always so fucking prepared, aren’t you?” He drawls, “My best girl,”

Y/N’s heart flips and spins at his words, but the reality of the situation sets in when she feels him removing his boxers. She gasps as she feels his hardened length against the inside of her thigh. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but Harry was big; she had no clue whether it was normal for someone to be as thick as he was, and she wondered how she was meant to fit it all inside of her.

“Is this okay?” He murmurs and Y/N nods, “I feel like we should high-five or something,”

Y/N can’t help but laugh, “What?”

“Well we’re both virgins about to lose our virginity, shouldn’t we like boost morale or something?” He jokes and Y/N laughs so hard her cheeks ache. 

After they both settle, Harry kisses her quickly as he lines his cock up to her pussy, “Harry?” He hums a reponse, “It’ll fit right?”

Harry groaned, his mind still picturing her small, wet glistening pussy that he had just had his first taste of, “Yes baby, it’s your first time so it’ll hurt a little but if you want to stop we’ll stop and if you say go we’ll go and if you want me to leave you alone for ten minutes, I’ll leave for five. Whatever you want.” 

“Okay,” She nods, fully determined, “I love you,”

Harry’s eyes soften, “I love you too, lovie.”

Y/N smiles, “I like that name,”

“Yeah?” Harry’s lips curve. 

“Yeah,” Y/N loops her arms around his neck and tries her best to relax when she feels the tip of his cock brush through her folds. 

Harry kisses her forehead, “Take a deep breath,” He says and as she does, she feels him push his hips down and his tip gently ease into her. She gasps, feeling her pussy throb as he moves achingly slow, inch by inch inside of her. A thin layer of sweat covers Harry’s forehead, his jaw clenching as he feels her walls squeezing him tightly. 

She feels a sting of pain as his thick length pushes through her, her pussy stretching to accommodate his size. 

“Baby,” He murmurs, the tip of his nose brushing over her cheek, “If you keep clenching around me I’m gonna cum before I’m all the way inside of you.”

Y/N’s eyes widened, “You’re not all the way in yet?” 

Harry cringed, “M sorry, do you want to stop?”

Y/N immediately shook her head, pulling him closer to her, “Keep going,” She whispered despite the fact she was wondering if she even had enough room to fit him inside of her when she already felt so full. 

Harry eased into her a little quicker this time, kissing her soothingly and whispering sweet, encouraging nothings into her ear. He even began to rub his thumb against her clit in hopes it would ease some of her discomfort. 

Eventually, he found himself all the way, deep inside of her, her walls squeezing him tightly with his hips pressed against her own. “Are you okay?” He murmured. 

“Mhm,” Y/N could barely keep her eyes open from how blissful she felt. It was like nothing she had ever felt before, her entire body was just full up of him in ever sense of the word, “Can we stay like this for a moment,”

He kissed her shoulder and along her collarbones, “Whatever you want lovie, doing so well,”

Although he was trying to remain calm for her, Harry couldn’t believe he was buried deep inside of the girl he had loved for so long. He couldn’t feel any part of his body apart from where they were both connected, slotted together so perfectly like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. 

Her hair splayed out around her on the pillow, her lips were plushy and swollen, and her cheeks were red, the colour of two, crisp apples picked right off a tree. She was a dream, the love of his life. 

“Okay,” She murmured, “Y’ can move now.”

“Are you sure?” He would hate himself if he caused her any more pain but she nodded. 

A hiss escaped her lips as Harry began to slowly move out of her. He paused, “I just need to get used to it is all,” She assured. 

Harry nods, waiting for her to tell him to move again and when she does, he moves gently out of her before carefully thrusting back into her again. Now that she was getting used to the feeling of him inside of her, Y/N could feel the ridges and veins of his cock brush her walls, the tip of his cock pressing into her g-spot as he moved inside of her. 

“God Harry,” Y/N whines. 

“You’re m’ dream girl,” Harry slurs, biting his lip when he takes in how tight she is as she clenches around him. He grabs one of the hands still placed around his neck and kisses her wrist. He intertwines their fingers and settles their hands beside her head needing to feel her touch, “M’ best girl, I love y’ so much.” He whispers. 

“Love you,” She sighs, her eyes fluttering shut as he thrusts over and over again, each one more perfect than the last. 

“Y’ pussy is so perfect baby, made for each other, aren’t we? Hmm? Y’ my perfect, dream girl.” He groans, his head falling forward. 

Harry pulled his hand away from hers to smear his thumb over her clit. Y/N whimpers and writhes beneath him at the added pleasure, “Faster,” She whispers, “Please.”

Harry presses messy kisses along her jawline, “Don’t have to beg baby,” He hastens his rhythmic thrusts, their moans filling the air. 

“Can feel y’ clenching baby?” Harry seemed to already have an idea of when Y/N was about to cum from the way her body shivered beneath him, “Y’ gonna cum?” 

“Yes Harry,” She gasps, “Please Harry, it feels so good,” Her eyes pinched with tears at the overwhelming pleasure that filled every part of her. 

“Cum round my cock baby, make a mess hmm, need y’ to cum so I can cum too yeah?” He was almost pleading, words tumbling from his mouth as his thrusts began to speed up the closer he got to his release. 

Y/N could feel that same coil begin to tighten in her belly, she could see her vision start to blur and all her muscles tighten until it snapped and her back arched into him. He swooped one arm beneath her, pulling her into him and burying his face into her neck as he groaned into her, “Fuck,” He heaved, releasing into her. 

Y/N could barely get any words out as he collapsed on top of her. Her eyes were fixated on the ceiling, her lips parting with small puffs of air escaping her. She felt like she was floating, levitating off the bed and leaving her body behind, “Y’ okay baby,” Harry murmured, kissing her cheek, “Come down for me yeah?” He presses a hand to her forehead.

“Harry,” She whimpers, the first word to leave her lips after coming down from her high. She loops her arms around him and he scoops her up into his.

“You did such a good job, m’love,” He coos, moving her matted hair out of her forehead and admiring how beautiful she looked under the soft light of the lampshade. 

“Was so perfect,” She whispers, meeting his soft, green eyes and lifting a hand to brush his hair out of his face. 

“Yeah?” He smiled, holding her to him like she was something so fragile he was afraid he might break her.

“Mhm,” She hums, curling into him.  “I love you,” She kissed his chest and felt his heart thudding against her hand.

“I’ve loved you for a long time,” Harry replied. 

They lay tangled together amongst the sheets, waiting to float back down into their bodies but basking in every second they had in that moment where their hearts were the same. 

. . .

Y/N lay in bed that same night with Harry’s t-shirt now covering her bare form. Harry laughed as he re-entered the bedroom having just taken his second shower of the evening. 

She was watching a tennis match on the TV again. 

“You’re watching tennis?” He smiled, falling on the bed beside her, clad only in his boxers. “Is this your version of cigarettes after sex?”

Y/N grins, “What can I say? It’s my addiction.”

He reaches for her hand and mindlessly plays with her fingers but his ears prick when he hears his name from one of the commentators, “This is my game from last year,” Harry speaks, seeing his face appear on the screen. 

They watched as Harry walked onto the court exuding confidence as he shook hands with his opponent before the match started. He then pointed his racket at the middle of the stands where the audience was watching. 

“Why do you do that?” Y/N wonders, “Before every game, you’d always point your racket at the middle of the audience.” “Every game?” Harry poked her side. 

Y/N rolled her eyes, “Yeah, yeah, I’ve watched every single one of your games so what?”

Harry smiled, kissing her bare shoulder and answering, “Because you used to sit there.”

Y/N stilled turning her head to look at him, “What?”

“Whenever I would play at any of my tennis matches, I always looked out for you in the crowd and I’d always find you sitting right in the middle of the bleachers to watch. Eventually, it just became a thing, before I even set foot onto the court, I’d find you sitting in the exact same spot with the exact same expression on your face. I thought you were a good luck charm because whenever you weren’t sat there I’d lose. When I went to matches that you weren’t going to be watching, I just started pointing down the centre courts like my own superstition or something.” 

“Is that really the reason?” Y/N’s eyes glistened. 

Harry nodded, his eyes casting downward, “S embarrassing I know,” 

Y/N shook her head, cupping his face in her hands, “You’re so perfect,” She mumbled, the both of them falling back onto the mattress, getting lost in each other all over again. 

. . .

Y/N couldn’t focus on anything other than the crowd gathering in the stands as she sat in her plastic chair on the left-hand side of the umpire’s seat. Harry stood next to her, barely saying a word but offering her his presence to ease her nerves. 

Today was the final, the day Y/N had been working towards all these months and it didn’t feel real. The air was hot and humid, Y/N could already feel her skin sticking to the chair as the sun beat down on her. 

After waking up this morning, Y/N felt a blissful ache between her legs from her night with Harry. In some ways, she was thankful for it because for a moment it helped her forget what events lay ahead. Their night together had been magical, there was no other way she could describe it. She had no idea what could happen to a person after being so vulnerable with another but she felt lighter and even more in love with Harry than she had ever been before. 

Harry placed a hand on her shoulder, “We’ll be starting soon,” He murmured, squatting in front of her to meet her eyes. 

They had gone to the gym first thing in the morning to warm up for the day's big event. Harry had tried to distract her mind from the doubts that consumed her by playing bad music or challenging her strength on the bel bars but Y/N’s mind constantly drifted. 

“Right,” Y/N felt the pit in her stomach cave inwards, consuming all her insides and mushing them altogether. She felt a wave of nausea as Courtney walked onto the court and everyone applauded her. 

“Y/N,” Harry grasped her hand in her lap and squeezed, “You are going to win this. I wholeheartedly believe in you.”

Her shoulders drop, “If I don’t-”

“There’s no ‘if’,” Harry interrupted her before she could finish her negative train of thought, “You can and you will. Courtney may be a good tennis player but her ego outweighs all of that.” 

Y/N nods, “Okay,” She says. 

Harry stands, his hand cupping her left cheek to lift her head. He grins, “I love you.”

Y/N knows her heart is still intact at least from the way it flips and spins inside her chest at his words, “I love you too.”

A twinkle shines in his eyes until they drift over to the stands. His lips curve, “I think there are some other people here who love you too,” He motions his head towards the crowd and Y/N casts her gaze over in that direction. 

She feels her eyes prick with tears when she sees Sarah, Mitch and Adam in the front row of the stands all wearing t-shirts with her name and face plastered onto them. Sarah immediately spots her and waves, pointing to her shirt with excitement and pride for her best friend. 

“Did you bring them here?” Y/N asked, looking up at Harry.

He shrugged, “Sarah was insisting she came,”

Y/N squeezes his hand,  “Thank you,” She whispers, “For all of this. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.” Harry holds her feeling her heart hammering against her chest as too many emotions consume them both. 

Unfortunately for her, Harry couldn’t stay at her side for the entire game but he was in the front row of the stands, directly in the middle exactly where she would sit whenever she would watch any of his games back home. 

When the umpire announced the game would begin, Y/N walked over to Courtney and shook her hand, “Good luck,” She said. 

Courtney scoffed, “Yeah, thanks.”

Y/N rolled her eyes.

As the match began, Y/N and Courtney faced off on the court. The crowd hushed, watching intently. Y/N felt jittery as she waited for Courtney's first serve.

Courtney tossed the ball and swung her racket, sending the ball flying towards Y/N who responded quickly, hitting the ball back with a loud smack.

The game was on. Y/N and Courtney traded shots back and forth, each trying to outplay the other. Y/N felt confident with each move she made, pushing away her earlier doubts until she noticed Courtney begin to counteract her moves when she took in how Y/N responded to each shot. 

With one hard-hitting strike, Courtney sent the ball straight past Y/N’s shoulder. 

Courtney had the first point. 

Y/N glanced over at Harry, seeing him watching with intense focus but his eyes were glued onto her as if she were the only person on the court. 

Ignoring Courtney’s smug expression, Y/N served the ball sending it straight into the air and hitting it back with all the force and aggression she could muster. The rally started up again, each stroke a testament to Y/N’s hard work over the past few months. Except this time, the winning prize was closer than it had ever been before. 

Y/N aimed the ball and landed it in the corner, Country struggling to reach it in time before it bounced off. 

“Fifteen all.” The umpire speaks. 

Her ears caught the cheers of her best friend in the crowd, Harry stood and clapped for her but she could still see how tense he was since the game had only just begun. 

This back-and-forth continued for the next few rounds. Every time Y/N would move, Courtney would match it. The scores were inching closer and closer to the end. Y/N watched when Courtney served the ball once more and aimed to respond, wrapping both her hands tightly around her racket and running towards the ball as it flung through the air but then she felt it. 

An intense pain travelled through her entire body coming from her shoulder and travelling down her arm. 

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion, the ball landing right by her as she dropped to her knees and her racket fell from her hands. Y/N let out a pained scream as she clutched her shoulder.

Medics ran onto the court, people gasping in their seats as they watched the events unfold. “Harry,” Y/N whimpered, “Harry,” She was saying his name like he was looking out for him. 

“Stop moving,” One of the medics urged when Y/N tried to stand up. 

“Harry,” Y/N sobbed, tears falling from her eyes. 

She wasn’t sure what hurt more - her shoulder or her heart breaking from the thought of all this being over. 

“Y/N,” Harry was out of breath as he approached her, pushing the security out of the way when they tried to stop him. He collapsed to his knees beside her, searching for the damage.

“Harry,” Y/N cried, the only word she could possibly seem to say in a moment like this.

Harry didn’t know what to do. He felt helpless as he waited for the medics to finish checking out her arm. He held her head to his chest, covering her ears as though it would be enough to shelter her from all that was going on around them. “It’s okay baby,” He whispered, trying to remain calm despite the panic he was feeling. 

He felt as though this was all some kind of nightmare he couldn’t seem to wake up from. Flashbacks from his own injury came to the forefront of his mind as he sat beside her, his shirt dampening as her tears seeped through. “You’re going to be fine,” He told her, repeatedly like he was trying to make himself believe it too. 

“It’s ruined, I failed.” Y/N sobbed. 

“Hey,” He held her face, trying to smooth some of the tears away, “You’re not a failure and you didn’t ruin anything. You played so well, the best I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s over,” She couldn’t take in anything he was saying and he knew that.

He knew what she was feeling - how the pain of losing everything outweighed the physical pain of an injury. “I love you Y/N, you’re going to be okay.” Was all he could say. 

“Y/N, it's a mild dislocation,” one of the medics explained.

“What?” Y/N tried not to scream as they moved her arm.

“We need to take you to the hospital to get it reset,” they advised, but Y/N shook her head immediately.

“No,” she whispered urgently, “Do it now.”

“Y/N—” Harry couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

Ignoring him, Y/N locked eyes with him and insisted, “Put it back in now, and I can finish the game.”

“Y/N, this is crazy,” Harry protested, shaking his head, “I won’t let you go out there in this much pain.”

“You’ve done it before,” she reminded him, “I watched you dislocate your shoulder and keep playing.”

“This is different,” Harry argued, remembering his own injury.

“If I don’t finish this, I would hate myself,” Y/N insisted earnestly, “Please.”

“Y/N, you’ll be at a disadvantage. You’d have to play the entire game with one hand.”

“I know, and I know how to do it,” Y/N reassured him, her eyes softening, “Because you taught me.”

Harry struggled with a gut feeling that this was a terrible idea. “Okay,” he relented, brushing her hair back gently, “Okay.”

“Are you sure?” the medic asked, clearly apprehensive.

“Just do it,” Y/N spoke through gritted teeth.

Harry held the back of her head as she buried her face in his neck, clinging onto his hands tightly. “I’m gonna be so mad at you for this later,” he whispered into her ear.

“That’s okay,” Y/N attempted a smile, but it quickly faded as the medics reset her shoulder. She wailed and squeezed Harry’s hand so tightly he thought it might fall off.

As the medics stepped back, Y/N raised her arm, feeling the pain subside but still present. “Are you okay?” Harry asked, concern etched on his face.

“No,” Y/N said, “But I have to do this.”

The crowd gasped when Y/N stood, picking up her racket with one hand and flipping it in her hand. Harry stood, glancing over at Courtney who was equally as shocked as everybody else. 

He stood in front of Y/N, “I’m so pissed at you right now,” He huffs, “But you better win this.”

Y/N shot him a sad smile, “I’ll try my best.”

He hastily kissed her lips before she could walk away to carry on playing, “That’s all I ask,” He murmured against her. He walks back to his place in the stands, Y/N watching as he goes. 

She pushed away the pain that was shooting down her arm and stood on her end of the court to finish the game. Courtney seemed unsure, scanning the way she stood and seeing her limp arm beside her. 

Y/N glanced at the academy trophy, feeling like it was now out of reach. 

The umpire announced the final round and the tension fell thick in the air. Y/N inhaled a shaky breath and got into position, watching as Courtney threw the ball into the air and hit it with her racket. 

Even though one of her arms wasn’t exactly working, her legs worked just fine as she ran for the ball, hitting it with her racket in her one hand. She gritted her teeth when the pain increased with her movements and met Coutrney’s rallies as best as she could. The match raged on, each swing of the racket echoing with the intensity of her cries as Y/N hit the ball. 

With each shot, Y/N poured her heart and soul into the game, her movements fueled by sheer determination. The crowd held its breath, watching in awe as she defied the odds with every stroke.

As the pain intensified, Y/N's desperation for the game to end grew. She couldn't understand why Courtney hadn't already sealed the win with one final move. However, Y/N was slowly wondering whether Courtney was using her pain as a way of satisfying her own ego. Y/N noticed whenever she winced or faltered in her movements, Courtney's smirk widened as if she was intentionally prolonging the game to relish in Y/N's discomfort.

A surge of anger ignited within Y/N at the realisation. Harry had been right about Courtney's ego, and now Y/N was determined to turn it against her. 

With gritted teeth and a steely determination in her eyes, Y/N squared her shoulders and focused solely on the game. She blocked out the pain, channeling every ounce of her strength and skill into each swing of her racket.

Courtney's smirk faltered as Y/N's resolve became palpable. The crowd sensed a shift in momentum, their cheers growing louder. With each stroke, Y/N felt herself gaining ground, her movements becoming more fluid and precise. 

And then, with one final, decisive shot, she sent the ball sailing past Courtney, landing squarely within the boundaries of the court.

Y/N fell to her knees, tears falling from her eyes as she realised she had won the entire game. 

Harry, Sarah, Mitch and Adam all leapt from the stands and ran towards her, embracing her carefully so to avoid her aching shoulder. 

Harry picked her up, holding her tightly and kissing her face, “You did it,” He grinned, “You won.”

“I did it,” Y/N sobbed in disbelief and then a smile took over her entire face as realisation hit her. 

She had won. 

. . . 

Y/N stood by her locker with Sarah, her arm wrapped in a sling whilst wearing her school uniform. Banners littered the walls of the hallway with ‘congratulations’ written in golden handwriting across them. 

“I can’t believe you won’t be coming with me to UCL next year,” Sarah huffed, “How am I meant to do anything without you?”

Y/N smiled at her best friend, “The tennis academy is a twenty minute walk away from UCL so it’s not like we’ll be away from each other.”

“I know but who am I going to roomie with next year?” Sarah sighed, “It won’t be the same. We’ve been roommates since we were five, I can’t trust anybody like I do with you. I mean, you even accept my white noise machine.”

Y/N hadn’t accepted it, she hated that thing, but Sarah was her best friend so she put up with it, “Well how about we get an apartment together?” 

Sarah almost gasps, “Seriously?”

Y/N nods, “I was thinking maybe me, you, Mitch and Harry could all move in together since we’re going to be living in the same city.”

Sarah’s entire face lights up at the idea, “Have you told Harry about it?”

“We spoke about it last night.” Last night when she stayed the night at his apartment and spent most of the night tangled up in one another. 

Sarah squealed, “I have to tell Mitch, he is going to love that idea. Don’t tell Harry this but the other day he started crying at the thought of having to leave him when the year ends.”

They walked out of the school building together, Sarah rambling about how she wanted to decorate their non-existing apartment as Y/N nodded intently to each of her ideas. 

Since the Academy Slam, not much had changed other than the fact that Y/N was now going to be spending the next two years at the Tennis Academy in London. The school newspaper had done another interview with her but this time she didn’t mind so much that Harry shared the front cover with her, pride on his face as he looked down at her. 

Even though she was achieving her dreams, nothing compared to the relationship she had with Harry. Everyday Y/N felt like she was floating whenever she woke up in Harry’s arms in his apartment or in her tiny dorm bed whenever Sarah wasn’t around. 

A smile covered her entire face when she saw Harry looking like every girl’s wet dream, leaning up against the bonnet of his audi as he waited for her. When he did, his own smile mirrored hers, “Hi baby,” He spoke, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Hi Harry,” Y/N stood toe to toe in front of him, clutching her books in one arm. 

He wrapped one arm around her waist beneath her blazer and pulled her into his chest, kissing her lips softly, his breath tasting like mint chewing gum, “How’s m’ girl?”

Y/N bit down on her lip to stop herself from smiling so much, “Good, I had a test today.”

“Did you smash it?” He smirked. 

“Yes but I probably could have done better if somebody hadn’t kept me up all last night.” She rolled her eyes. 

His lips went to her neck, “Don’t lie, you loved what I did,” He mumbled against her skin as he suckled on her neck, surely leaving a mark. 

“These late nights are getting out of hand,” Y/N made a feeble attempt to push him away. 

“Mmm,” He hummed, pulling away, “Need I remind you that you were the one to initiate it,” 

“I did not,” Y/N gaped. 

“Uh huh,” Harry smirked, “Whatever you want to believe.”

“No you were the one who-” 

Harry’s smirk deepened, “Who what?” He watched as Y/N’s cheeks turned pink and her mouth open and closed as she struggled to say something. 

“Shut up,” She huffed, walking to the passenger seat of his car,  “Take me home please,” 

“Whatever you want,” He beamed, loving the way she called his apartment her home. 

He drove away from the tennis courts, a spark of joy igniting within her every time they came into view. Harry held her hand over the console as they drove down the streets to his apartment, feeling more at peace than she had ever been before. Not only was she going to be going to her dream school but she’d also be with Harry and her best friend too. 

For a long time, Y/N believed that tennis was the only love of her life but now she had Harry and if she had to choose between the two, she would pick him every single time.

taglist: @storyschanging @lilbredsticc @esposa-do-harry @st-ev-ie @itschelseacisneros @hermionelove @tenaciousperfectionunknown  @hesvoid34 @writersarenotartists @ayeree1 @sassamanda77 @estaticheart

[prettyfilmz]

SWEET LIKE CANDY 4 • JEY USO

author's note: hello my loves! we have made it to part four🫨 I am not gonna lie to you...this ending is gonna hurt(i'm sorry!☹️) but I promise you it will be worth it for part five, happy reading and I hope you enjoy💗

synopsis: in which a celebration at the strip club leads to the beginning of a love affair between a wrestler and a dancer.

pairing: jey uso x black fem!oc (cherise aka candy)

tags: 18+(MDNI), slow burn, flirty banter, fluffy lovey dovey shit, mentions of death, mention of miscarriages, talks of past predatory behaviors and grooming, use of the n word, teasing, kissing, lots of touching, lotsssss of dirty talk, pussy eating, jey is a certified munch ™, daddy kink, morning sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it guys!), missionary, backshots, biting, fingering, spanking, multiple orgasms, daddy kink, pet names ( pretty girl, baby, mama, baby girl ), slow, sensual, and rough sex, squirting, creampie, aftercare, heavy angst at the end.

word count: 7k words (buckle up y'all🤫)

read part one here!

read part two here!

read part three here!

soundtrack playlist

Cherise stretched under the warm weight of her blanket, her body still heavy with sleep, her limbs tangled in soft cotton sheets that smelled faintly like vanilla and something masculine. Something like…

Jey.

She blinked against the morning sun filtering through her blinds,  wincing at the delicious soreness between her thighs. The memories of the night before rushed back all at once—his hands gripping her waist, his deep, filthy groans in her ear, the way he held her after, like he didn’t wanna let her go.

Her thighs pressed together instinctively, a pleasurable throb still lingering between them from the way he’d taken her apart.

Damn.

A small, satisfied smile started to creep onto her lips as she reached out across the bed…only to find his side empty.

Cold.

The smile faded instantly.

Of course.

Cherise exhaled, sinking back into the pillows as disappointment settled in her stomach. She should’ve known better, should’ve expected this. Jey had his life, his own world full of championship belts, WrestleMania main events, and people screaming his name in sold-out arenas. He wasn’t about to change that for some stripper he met in a club.

And yet…

She bit her lip, staring at the empty space beside her, willing herself to accept it for what it was.

A good night. A great night even. Nothing more.

She could handle that.

Probably.

With a soft sigh, she rolled onto her side, fingers mindlessly smoothing over the fabric of the sheets then suddenly, the faint sound of something clinking in the other room made her freeze.

Her brows furrowed.

“What the hell?” she muttered to herself. Before she could even sit up, the bedroom door swung open, and there he was.

Jey standing in her doorway holding a breakfast tray. Shirtless, grey sweatpants on, tattoos on full display, chains sparkling around his neck in the morning light like he belonged in a damn perfume ad.

He grinned when he saw her. That lazy, cocky grin that made her stomach flip in the most annoying way.

“Mornin’, mama,” he drawled, stepping inside like he hadn’t just nearly given her a damn heart attack. “You sleep good?”

Cherise blinked, her brain still trying to process what was happening.  “You’re… still here?” Jey smirked, setting the tray down on the nightstand before climbing back into bed, stretching out like he owned the place. “Damn, ma. That how you greet a man who made you breakfast?”

She shot him a look, but the warmth spreading through her chest was undeniable.  “…You made breakfast?”

“Hell yeah. I ain’t no scrub, baby.” He tapped the tray. “Eggs, turkey bacon, French toast, lil’ fruit on the side ‘cause I know you tryna be healthy and shit. I even found some syrup in your cabinet, so go ‘head and give me my props.”

Cherise huffed, shaking her head, but she couldn’t hide the smile tugging at her lips. “That’s… really sweet, actually.”

Jey’s grin widened, eye crinkling.  “I know.”

She rolled her eyes, sitting up, the sheet slipping slightly off her shoulders as she reached for the tray. Jey’s gaze dipped for half a second on her shirt covered torso before he licked his lips and focused back on her face.

“Mmm, baby, you gon’ have me forgettin’ about this food real quick…”

Cherise laughed, playfully shoving at his shoulder before picking up a fork.  “Eat some damn breakfast, Joshua.”

Jey smirked but grabbed his own fork, stealing a piece of bacon off her plate like a menace.

They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, Jey occasionally stealing more of her food while she pretended not to care (but she cared, the audacity.).

Then, out of nowhere, he spoke.

“So, tell me somethin’ real, baby girl.”

Cherise glanced up mid-bite. “Like what?”

Jey tilted his head, watching her. “Like you. Who really is Cherise?”

She hesitated, stabbing at a piece of fruit with her fork. “You already know me.”

“Not really,” Jey murmured, chewing a piece of bacon. "You don’t talk much about you."

Cherise raised a brow. "I talk plenty."

"Nah," he shook his head. "You talk around shit. I be tellin’ you everything, but you always keepin’ me at arm’s length."

Cherise bit her lip.

She didn’t talk about herself much. Wasn’t used to people caring enough to ask. But something about how Jey gave his undivided attention to her, seeing her for who she is outside of the fantasy she created..he made it hard for her to hide.

Then, between bites, he asked “What made you wanna be a nurse, baby?”

Cherise hesitated. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to tell him.  It was just…no one had asked in a while. No one had cared to ask.

She exhaled. “My mom.”

Jey tilted his head.

“She died giving birth to me,” Cherise said quietly, rolling her fork between her fingers. “Preeclampsia. The doctors didn’t catch it early enough.”

Jey stilled, setting his plate down.  “Damn, baby…I’m so sorry.”

Cherise managed a small smile. “She knew it was a risk, though. She had a few miscarriages before me, but I guess she thought she’d be okay. She wasn’t. That’s…part of why I became a nurse. I always wanted to help women, especially Black women get better care. Too many babies goin’ home without their mama y’know?”

Jey was silent, watching her carefully, his fingers tracing idle circles into her thigh. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t rush her. Just let her talk.

“She wrote letters to me. One for each birthday up to twenty-one.  Always felt like she was still with me somehow.”

He nodded solemnly, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.  “That's beautiful. That’s why you got that soft heart under all that tough girl shit, huh?”

She snorted, nudging him. “Hush. Anyway, her favorite craving was cherries when she was pregnant. Ate ‘em like crazy. So she named me Cherise. It’s French for cherry.”

Jey smiled softly. “That’s cute. Fits you, too.”

“Yeah? How?”

He smirked playfully, fingertips drifting lower down her spine. “Sweet, but a lil tart when you wanna be.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes. “Boy, bye.”

He chuckled, then turned serious again.  “So your pops…?”

“Died when I graduated high school,” she murmured softly.  “Just been me since. Had a boyfriend years ago but I had to end it. Been navigatin’ the world alone for a minute.”

Jey shook his head. "Not no more, baby girl."

She looked at him then, eyes locking with his, her heart stupidly skipping a beat.

"Jey-“

"Nah." His voice was firm. "I mean that shit. You ain’t alone no more, mama. I gotchu, you hear me?"

Cherise pressed her lips together, trying not to let that get to her. But damn it…it did.

Jey then leaned back, stretching his arms behind his head.  “Aight, my turn. What you wanna know?”

Cherise tapped her chin, smirking. “If you weren’t wrestling, what would you be doing?”

Jey didn’t even hesitate.  “Easy, football coach.”

Her brows lifted.  “Oh?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “Played linebacker in college. I was good, too.  Almost went pro, but…fucked up my shoulder.” He shrugged.  “Still love the game, though. Wouldn’t mind coachin’ one day when I retire.”

Cherise hummed, watching him. “I can see that. You got that whole ‘Coach Carter’ vibe going on.”

Jey smirked. “Oh, you peeped that, huh?”

She rolled her eyes. “Boy, shut up.”

Jey chuckled, then his gaze dipped back to her lips. “Mmm…you got work or school today?”

Cherise blinked. “I’m off, why?”

Before she could finish, Jey laid her down on her back, his body pressing her into the mattress, his lips trailing hot kisses down her throat.

“‘Cause I need you again, baby,” he murmured against her skin.

Her breath hitched.  “Boy—”

His mouth was on hers before she could even get another smart remark out, swallowing whatever little control she thought she had.  He kissed her deep, slow, but possessive, like he was trying to brand her with every slide of his tongue, every bite of her lips.

Cherise whimpered into his mouth, fingers threading into the short curls at the nape of his neck, pulling just enough to make him groan against her lips.

"Mm, you like when I kiss you like that, huh?" Jey smirked against her mouth, his voice low, taunting, his hands sliding up to cup her jaw, tilting her face just the way he wanted.

She didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

Her body did all the talking.

She was already soft and pliant beneath him, her thighs spreading just a little more on their own, her back arching when he slid his hands down her waist, gripping the soft curve of her hips.

Jey chuckled darkly.  "Mmm, I love that shit," he murmured, his lips trailing down her jaw, slow, teasing, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of her throat.  "You talk all that shit, but soon as I touch you, you foldin’ on me, huh?"

Cherise hated how much she liked the way he was playing with her.

"I ain’t foldin'," she muttered, but her voice was softer now, breathier, already betraying her.

Jey hummed, amused, his tongue flicking out against her pulse before biting down, hard enough to make her whimper.

"Nah?" His hand slipped between her thighs, fingers brushing over the damp heat of her panties, feeling the warmth that was already seeping through the fabric.  "So what’s this, then, huh? Why you already drippin’ on me, pretty girl?"

Cherise’s breath hitched.  "Jey-“

"Nah, tell me." His lips dragged down her collarbone, slow, teasing, his fingers just barely pressing against her through the thin lace. "You get wet for me that fast, baby?"

She bit her lip, refusing to give him that satisfaction.

Jey exhaled a quiet laugh, knowing she was fighting it, knowing she was stubborn.  But she was already squirming, her body betraying her, her hips subtly rolling into his teasing touch.

"Yeah, that’s what I thought," he murmured, his voice smug. "Go ‘head, open up for me, baby."

Cherise sighed through her nose, hating herself for listening to him.

But she let her thighs part a little more.

Jey smirked against her skin. “Good girl."

Before she could say something smart, he was gone.

Sliding down, settling between her legs, dragging her panties down slow.

"Mmm, damn, mama…"

Cherise swore her whole body clenched at the way his voice dropped, dark and heavy with heat, his gaze locked between her thighs like she was the best thing he’d ever seen.

Jey licked his lips, his hands gripping her thighs, spreading them even wider. "Shit, baby girl… look at you," he murmured, running a thumb over her slick folds. "All this for me?"

Cherise whimpered, her hips jerking at the first press of his fingers.

Jey groaned.  "Ohhh, baby…" He dragged a finger through the mess between her thighs, slow, teasing, coating his fingertips before pressing them against her clit. "Look how fuckin’ wet you are, damn."

Cherise shuddered..“Stop playin’ Jey c’mon…”

"Shhh, mama. I got you," he hushed her. "Lemme take care of you, baby girl."

And then he lowered his mouth on her. A sharp, shattering gasp ripped from Cherise’s throat the second his tongue flattened against her clit, licking slow, deliberate, his grip on her thighs tightening.

"Ohhh, fuck..”

Jey hummed into her, sending vibrations straight through her. “Mmm, yeah, there we go, baby." He wrapped his lips around her clit, sucking slow, deep, like he had all the time in the world. “Can’t get over how sweet this lil’ pussy is.”

Cherise couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe even.

Her thighs trembled against his broad shoulders as his tongue moved with expert precision flicking, swirling, sucking, teasing the swollen bundle of nerves until her stomach tightened and her breath hitched.

Jey groaned against her, devouring her like a man starved, his tongue dipping lower, fucking into her tight hole slowly before dragging back up to her clit.

"J-Jey—"

"Mmm, that’s right, baby, say my name." He gripped her thighs, pulling her even closer to his mouth. "Let me hear you, pretty girl."

Cherise whimpered, her head tipping back against the pillows. "Oh my God…”

"Mmm, yeah, you like that, huh?" He chuckled darkly, his fingers replacing his tongue, sliding into her pussy, curling just right against that spot that made her back arch.

"Ohhh, fuck—fuck—Jey, I’m gonna—“

"Go ‘head, mama," he groaned, his lips wrapping around her clit again, sucking just hard enough to push her over the edge. "Lemme feel you cum for me, baby."

Cherise snapped.

Her whole body tensed, her thighs shaking, her mouth parting in a breathless cry as waves of pleasure crashed through her.

Jey groaned, feeling the way she squeezed around his fingers, the way she soaked his hand.  "Ohhh, that’s it, baby girl, look at you… So fuckin’ pretty when you cum."

Cherise twitched, her entire body buzzing, her fingers tangled tight in his curls.

Jey sat back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning like the devil himself.

"Mmm, damn, mama…" He kissed her inner thigh, voice thick and lazy.  "You taste even better than I remember."

Cherise exhaled shakily, blinking up at the ceiling, barely processing what the fuck just happened.

Jey crawled back up her body, his hands pinned to her thighs, his hard, heavy length pressing against her, teasing, waiting.

"You ready for me, baby?"

Cherise nods eagerly.

Jey smirked, his lips brushing hers. ”Gimme words… you ready, mama?"

Cherise swallowed hard, her hands gripping his shoulders. "Mhm."

Jey exhaled a soft chuckle, sliding slowly inside her, stretching her open inch by inch. "Fuck, baby…" 

"Ohhh, fuck—" Cherise’s nails dug into Jey’s broad shoulders, her breath stuttering as he sank into her slow, inch by inch, stretching her out in a way that had her legs trembling around his waist.

Jey groaned, his forehead dropping to her shoulder, his fingers tightening around the plush curves of her hips. "Mmm, shit, mama… You feel that? You feel how deep I am?"

Cherise’s lips parted, but no sound came out, just a breathy whimper, her mind hazy from the pressure, the way he was spreading her open, filling her too good.

"Mmm, yeah…" Jey shuddered, his abs flexing as he rolled his hips forward, burying himself completely inside her. "Takin’ me so fuckin’ good, baby… all this dick, huh?"

And she sure did take him good. 

She felt every pulsing, throbbing inch of his cock stretching her walls, pressing into her so deep that she swore she could feel him in her damn stomach.

Cherise whimpered, her head tilting back against the pillows.  “J-Jey..”

"Shhh…" Jey pressed a soft, teasing kiss to the corner of her mouth, pulling back just slightly, only to thrust back in slow, deliberate. "I got you, baby girl. Just relax and lemme feel you.”

He rolled his hips slow, deep, grinding into her, making sure she felt every inch, making sure she took it.

Cherise’s breath hitched.  "Ohhh my God—"

Jey chuckled darkly, lifting his head to watch her.  "Mmm, you talkin’ to Him, but I’m the one blessin’ you right now, pretty girl."

Her cheeks burned, but she had no smart comeback—not when he was stroking into her like that.

"You know what’s crazy, mama?" he murmured, his voice smooth and taunting. "You act all tough, all independent… but soon as I get up in this lil’ pussy, you turn into my good lil’ girl, huh?"

Cherise whimpered, her breath coming out in soft, needy gasps.  “S-shut up..”

Jey smirked, pressing a wet, open-mouthed kiss to her throat. "Nah, baby, you love that shit, huh?You like when Daddy talk to you like this? Like when I tell you how good you takin’ me?” 

"J-Jey—"

"That’s right." He pressed a kiss to her jaw, his teeth grazing her skin.  "Sound so fuckin’ pretty when you say my name, baby girl."

Cherise couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do shit but take it as Jey moved above her, his body pressed so close, his weight anchoring her to the bed.

"Ohhh, fuck—" she gasped, gripping his biceps as he pulled back, leaving only the thick tip of him inside her, and snapped his hips hard, the sudden force making her moan loud and sharp.

"Mmm, yeah, there we go…" Jey grinned, his fingers gripping her waist, holding her still so she could feel every inch as he set a slow, deep rhythm. "You like that, baby? You like when I fuck you just like this?"

Cherise could barely form words just desperate, breathy whimpers, her body trembling with each slow, heavy thrust.

Jey groaned.  "Damn, baby girl, you fuckin’ squeezin’ me…" His jaw clenched, his pace faltering for half a second as he felt the way her walls clenched tight around him. "Shit, you tryna make me nut already?"

Cherise whimpered, her head spinning from the stretch, the pressure, the overwhelming pleasure building between her thighs.  "Jey, I—"

"Ohhh, baby…" He groaned, gripping her waist, his pace turning rougher, deeper, his hips snapping into hers, pushing her higher “and higher. You ‘bout to cum for me, huh?"

“Yesss Daddy, fuck—“

"Go ‘head, baby girl," he murmured, his thumb pressing right against her swollen clit, circling slow, knowing exactly what it would do to her.  "Lemme feel it.  Cum all on this dick, mama."

Cherise snapped.

Her whole body tensed, pleasure crashing through her like a wave, her back arching, her mouth parting in a wrecked, breathless cry.

"Ohhh, fuck—fuck—fuck!"

Jey groaned, feeling the way she clenched up around him, the way she soaked him, dripping down his thighs, leaving a messy, filthy wet spot beneath them.

"Mmm, that’s my girl," he murmured, gripping her chin, tilting her face up so she could see him.  "Look at me, baby."

Cherise barely had the strength to open her eyes, but when she did…The way he looked at her with such admiration, sweet brown eyes shining down on hers with lust , made her body shudder.

Jey smirked, his lips brushing hers, teasing, taunting.  "Yeah, that’s right, mama.  You feelin’ good now, huh?"

Cherise nodded, her body shaking beneath him.  "Mhm…"

"Mmm…" Jey smirked, loving the way she was already falling apart under him. "That’s cute, mama.  But we ain’t done yet."

Before she could even process what he meant, Jey sat back on his heels, grabbing her thighs and flipping her onto her stomach. Cherise gasped, her cheek pressing into the pillows as he hauled her hips up, angling her exactly how he wanted.

"Mmm, there we go…" Jey ran his hands over her ass, squeezing, gripping, spreading her open before lining himself back up. "You gon’ take this dick just like that, huh, baby?"

Cherise whimpered, pressing her face into the sheets.  “Yes Daddy..”

"Uh-uh." Jey smirked, gripping the back of her neck, forcing her to lift her head. "Keep that pretty lil’ face up for me, mama. Lemme see you."

He tapped the head of his cock against her sensitive folds gaining a few whines from her, then he pressed back inside her.

"Ohhh, fuck Daddy!”  Cherise’s entire body trembled as Jey filled her up again, the new angle making it deeper, making her feel every inch of him.

"Mmm, yeah, that’s what I’m talkin’ about, baby…" Jey groaned, gripping her hips, his fingers digging into her soft flesh as he started to move—slow at first, long, deep strokes that made her thighs shake.

“P-please…“ She mewled softly, hips bucking from overstimulation at her previous orgasms.

"Uh-huh, I know, baby." His free hand smacked her ass, the sharp sting sending a jolt straight to her clit. "I know you sensitive now, huh?  This what you needed, baby girl?"

Cherise whimpered, her body arching back into him.  "Mmhmm…"

"Mmm, that’s right…" He grinned, rubbing over the spot he just slapped, his fingers trailing up her spine.  "Takin’ it so fuckin’ good, mama. This my pussy now, huh?"

Cherise’s breath hitched.

And then he slapped her ass again.

"Answer me, baby."

"Y-yeah fuck! Yes, Jey it’s yours!”

“Damn right."

Jey’s movements turned rougher, his hips snapping against hers, deep and unrelenting, his thick cock dragging against her most sensitive spots, making her whimper with every stroke.

"Mmm, I love this shit, baby girl…" His voice was low, dark, husky.  "Love watchin’ you take this dick. Love hearin’ you sing for me, mama."

"Ohhh fuck,” Cherise gasped, her fingers gripping the sheets as heat coiled tight in her stomach.  "J-Jey, I’m gonna—“

"Mmm, I know, baby girl." He snapped his hips harder, his grip tightening on her waist. "Gon’ give me another one, huh? Gon’ make another mess for me, honey?”

Cherise cried out, her entire body clenching up as the pleasure exploded inside her, her thighs shaking as she came hard, gushing around him.

Jey groaned, feeling the way she soaked his dick, the way she clamped around him.  "Ohhh, fuck, baby…"

His hips stuttered, his rhythm turning erratic as his own release slammed into him.  "Shit baby, you gon’ take this nut, baby, fuck—"

With one final, deep thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, groaning loud as he filled her up, his arms wrapped around her waist, his forehead dropping to her shoulder.

"Mmm, fuck, baby girl…"

Cherise’s body trembled, her breath shaky, her limbs weak.

Jey chuckled softly, pressing lazy kisses to her shoulder.  "Yeah…it’s a good morning now huh, mama?”

Cherise exhaled, her lips curving into a tired smirk.  "Guess so."

♡

Jey should’ve been gone thirty minutes ago.

His phone had vibrated on the nightstand twice, his lock screen lighting up with a text from Jimmy talking about, “Uce, where the fuck you at? You got training.”

But Jey?

Jey was still cozied up in Cherise’s bed.

Still tangled in her sheets, one arm lazily draped around her waist, his face buried in the crook of her neck like he wasn’t supposed to be halfway across town by now.

Cherise sighed, running her fingers through his curls.  "Joshua…"

Jey hummed, lips pressing a lazy kiss to her shoulder.  "Mmm?"

"Ain’t you late?" she teased, her voice still groggy from earlier events, still soft from everything they’d just done.

Jey smirked against her skin, nuzzling closer, pulling her body back against his chest.  "I’on care."

Cherise rolled her eyes.  “Hunter gon’ care when you walk in there late as hell, smellin’ like me."

Jey chuckled, his lips trailing up her neck, slow, teasing.  "And what if I like smellin’ like you, baby?"

Cherise’s stomach flipped.

She bit back a smile, shaking her head. “Boy, get up and shower.”

"Mm-mm." Jey tightened his grip. "I think I like it right here, mama."

Cherise sighed, but she didn’t move, didn’t try to push him off.

Because if she was being honest?

She liked it too.

Liked how warm he was. How comfortable this felt.

Jey sighed against her skin, pressing one last kiss to her shoulder before finally rolling onto his back, stretching with a deep groan.  "Damn, baby girl… you really tryna kick me out?"

"I ain’t kickin’ you out." Cherise smirked, propping herself up on one elbow.  "I’m just reminding you that you a whole WWE superstar and you got shit to do."

Jey grinned, reaching over to smack her ass, his fingers squeezing deep into the plush curve of her thigh. "Mmm, you right… but damn, you really got me tryna call out today."

Cherise laughed, pushing at his chest. "Go to work, Jey."

"Aight, aight…" He finally sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, stretching again before standing.

Cherise immediately missed the warmth of him.

She watched as he padded toward the bathroom, completely naked, stretching his muscles with a lazy yawn.

"Damn," she muttered under her breath. "Thick ass…"

Jey heard that.

He smirked over his shoulder, flexing just a little as he disappeared into the bathroom. "I know you watchin’, mama."

Cherise huffed, rolling her eyes.  "Boy, shut up."

♡

Jey stood at the front door, finally dressed, his duffle bag tucked under one arm. Cherise leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, trying not to look like she was already missing him.

Jey tilted his head, his eyes roaming over her, lazy, warm, teasing.  "Damn, baby, why you lookin’ at me like you mad?"

Cherise rolled her eyes.  "I’m not mad."

Jey smirked, stepping closer, his fingers tilting her chin up. "Mmm, you mad I gotta leave, huh?"

"Boy, please."

"Awww, look at you, baby girl…" He leaned down, nuzzling her cheek.  "You catchin’ feelings for me?"

Cherise pushed at his chest, laughing.  "Joshua, if you don’t get the fuck out my apartment…”

Jey chuckled, but his hands didn’t leave her hips. “Say you gon’ miss me, baby girl."

Cherise lifted a brow. "You that desperate for validation?"

Jey grinned, making her heart skip a beat. "Ain’t nothin’ desperate ‘bout it, mama.  I just like hearin’ you say it."

Cherise sighed dramatically, shaking her head.  "Fine." She grabbed his keys and tossed them for him to catch  "I’m gon’ miss you."

Jey caught the key with one hand, placing them in his pocket.  "Damn, that was real unenthusiastic, baby."

Cherise smirked. "Want me to write it in a love letter?"

"Nah, just say it nice for me, baby girl." Jey stepped closer, his lips brushing her jaw, his voice dropping to that slow, deep rasp.  "Say it real sweet, mama."

Cherise shivered, biting her lip.

Jey smirked, sensing her resolve melting.

"Mmm, yeah, there it go." He chuckled, low, smug. "You gon’ miss me, huh?"

Cherise sighed, knowing she lost this round. "Yeah, Jey. I’m gon’ miss you."

Jey grinned, pressing his lips to her forehead.  "That’s what I like to hear, baby girl."

She rolled her eyes, but her stomach flipped.

Jey stepped back, adjusting his duffle bag, glancing down at her one last time.  "You be good, aight?"

Cherise smirked.  "I ain’t makin’ no promises."

Jey exhaled a soft chuckle, shaking his head.  "That’s my girl."

And then he finally stepped out the door.

Cherise watched him go, arms still crossed, fighting the little smile pulling at her lips.

Then she glanced at the couch.

Where his hoodie wasn’t.

She blinked.

…Did she just—

Her stomach flipped.

She turned quickly, grabbing the hoodie from where she definitely hid it behind her back, clutching the thick, warm fabric to her chest.

Her lips twitched.

"Oh well."

Jey could worry about it later.

Cherise sighed as she finally shut the door, pressing her back against it.

Her body still buzzed from Jey’s touch, from the way he had looked at her before he left, from the way he kissed her forehead like she was his—like he would be back.

She exhaled, shaking her head as she pushed off the door, running a hand through her braids.

She needed to clean up.  Maybe take another shower. Definitely eat again after the way Jey had worked her out—

Her eyes landed on the coffee table.

And she stopped.

Her books.

Her notes.

Her pens.

All of it was… organized.

Neatly stacked, everything in place, her color-coded highlighters lined up in a perfect little row.

Her heart skipped.

Because she knew she hadn’t done that.

Cherise slowly stepped toward the table, fingertips grazing the newly arranged pages.

Jey had done this.

Somewhere between ruining her and making her breakfast, he had organized her damn study materials.

She swallowed, blinking down at the neatly stacked notebooks.

She didn’t know why that made her chest feel so… warm.

So full.

It was just a small thing.

But it wasn’t.

Because nobody ever took care of her like that.

Nobody ever stuck around long enough to.

Cherise exhaled, dropping onto the couch, her legs curled beneath her as she finally let herself smile.

And then she reached for her phone.

She had one person she needed to call.

She curled up on the couch, still wrapped in Jey’s hoodie, pulled the thick fabric over her bare thighs, and tapped Trinity’s contact.

The phone barely rang twice before Trin picked up.

“Uh-uh, girl don’t even start."

Cherise blinked, her lips parting.  "Huh?"

"I know that ‘I just got my shit rocked’ voice when I hear it." Trinity’s tone was smug as hell.  "And you sound real damn relaxed, sis. What, Jey put you to sleep?"

Cherise groaned, pressing the phone to her forehead.  "Why do you know my life?"

"‘Cause I know you," Trinity cackled. "Now spill, Cher. Did he put it down or did he put it down?"

Cherise sighed dramatically, a slow, lazy grin creeping across her face.  "Girl."

"Oh, it was like that?!" Trinity gasped, her voice full of amusement.

"Like that," Cherise confirmed, shaking her head.  "I can still feel him, Trin."

“Well then-“ Trinity cackled. "Not my girl walkin’ funny. Jey did not lay you out like that!"

"He did, though!" Cherise buried her face in Jey’s hoodie, muffling a groan. "And then this man had the audacity to cook me breakfast, like he wasn’t just rearranging my spine six hours ago."

"Not the full boyfriend experience!" Trinity squealed, the sound of something clattering in the background.  "Damn! I knew he was feelin’ you, but that’s some real husband behavior."

Cherise bit her lip, stomach flipping.  "You think so?"

"Girl, yes!" Trinity scoffed.  "You think Jey cookin’ breakfast for everybody he smashin’? Nah, sis. You different."

Cherise felt warmth bloom in her chest, but she quickly shook it off, rolling her eyes. "You say that, but this man still play too much."

"Oh, what he do now?"

"Girl, tell me why I was dead ass thinking he dipped before I woke up?" Cherise huffed.  "I reached over, and his side of the bed was empty, and I was like, ‘Welp, I knew what it was.’ But then he walked in with a whole ass breakfast tray like some kinda domesticated Samoan husband."

"Bitch, I know you was ready to be sick!" Trinity cackled.

"I was," Cherise admitted, groaning.  "Like, I was really tryna play it cool in my head, but deep down I was hurt, Trin. Thought he hit me with the ‘Aight, I’mma head out’ after all that."

"See, that’s how I know you like him!"

"I didn’t say all that—"

"Girl, shut up!  You don’t gotta say it!  It’s in your voice!  The way you was feelin’ when you thought he left?  The way you just admitted you was gonna accept it, but deep down you didn’t want to?"

Cherise was quiet.

"Yeah. That’s what I thought," Trinity said smugly.

Cherise groaned again, tugging the hoodie tighter around her.  "I hate when you’re right."

"Mmm-hmm. And I be right a lot."

"Don’t hype yourself up, damn."

Trinity laughed. "Nah, but for real, Cher… You think this could be somethin’?"

Cherise chewed her bottom lip, staring at the ceiling. "I don’t even know, Trin."

"Why not?"

"‘Cause what if I get caught up in it?" Cherise exhaled, her voice quieter now.  "What if I start really feelin’ him, and then he just… disappears?"

"Aht aht, see—" Trinity clicked her tongue. "You do that every time, Cherise.  You don’t even let yourself have shit ‘cause you always think it’s gon’ get taken away."

"And has it not?" Cherise challenged, her voice sharper than she intended.  "Trin, every time I start trusting somebody, every time I let myself think maybe… they prove me right.  People leave."

A beat of silence.

Then, Trinity sighed.  "I get it, Cher. I really do. But girl… what if he don’t?"

Cherise’s chest tightened.

She wanted to believe that.

She wanted to believe Jey was different.

But did she really want to risk being wrong?

"I dunno, Trin," she murmured.  "I don’t wanna overthink it."

"Then don’t," Trinity said simply.  "Just feel it. Enjoy it. And if it turns into somethin’ real, then it was meant to."

Cherise sighed, running a hand down her face.  "I hate that you make sense."

"I know," Trinity teased.  "Now, tell me somethin’—"

"Hmm?"

"You kept his hoodie, or nah?"

Cherise smirked, gripping the thick fabric in her lap. "Oh, this mine now.  He can worry about it later."

"Mmm-hmm," Trinity chuckled.  "That’s what I thought."

They both laughed, the tension slipping away, the easy comfort of best friends filling the silence.

But then—

Knock, knock, knock.

Cherise turned toward the door, her brows furrowing.

"Trin, lemme call you back I think my scrubs got delivered.”

“Okay girl, talk to you later.”

She went to open her door and was met with what could be described as a splash of ice cold water.

Cherise felt the blood drain from her face.

Her stomach twisted, something filled with disgust creeping up her spine as she stared at the man standing in her doorway.

Her ex.

Tremaine.

The same man who once whispered sweet nothings in her ear, who told her he had her back, that he’d take care of her—until she realized she was nothing more than a profit to him.

The same man who pushed her into a world she never wanted to be a part of.

The same man who stole everything from her.

And now he had the audacity to show up here, smirking like he belonged.

"Damn," Tremaine drawled, his dark eyes sweeping over her lazily.  "You ain't even gon' say hi?"

Cherise’s grip on the doorknob tightened.  "What the fuck are you doing here, Tremaine?”

His smirk widened, like he was amused by her hostility.  "Damn, that’s how you greet your man? What happened to all that sweetness, Candy?"

Cherise flinched.

That name.

She hated it. Hated how he said it, hated how he was the reason it existed in the first place.

She never wanted to be Candy.

Not at first.

Not when she was young, broke, struggling, with no parents doing whatever she had to do to make ends meet. It was his idea. Tremaine was the one who planted the seed in her head, who fed her lines about how stripping was empowerment, how she’d be making her own money, how she could do it her way.

But it was never really her way.

Not when he controlled her schedule.

Not when he took his cut of her money like she owed him.

Not when he ambushed her at his boy’s bachelor party, threw her on stage like she was some kinda party trick.

That night? That was the night something inside her snapped. The way they all watched her, laughing, cheering, grabbing. The way Tremaine sat back and let it happen, enjoyed it. The way she realized..he never cared about her at all. And him running off with all of the money she made, that covered all of her semesters of school, truly shown the extent of how predatory he was towards her. 

"Don’t call me that," she spat, her jaw clenching. "You lost that privilege a long time ago."

Tremaine chuckled, leaning against the doorframe like he had all the time in the world. "Lost it?  Shit, girl, I gave you that name. And from what I heard, you still usin’ it."

Cherise swallowed hard, her nails digging into her palms.

Fuck him.

"You still ain’t answer me," she said coldly. "What the fuck are you doing at my door?"

Tremaine tilted his head, studying her. "Just checkin’ in on you, baby."

She laughed sharp, humorless.  "Checkin’ in? Like you give a fuck?"

Tremaine clicked his tongue.  "Damn. You really that bitter over old shit?"

That hit something in her, white-hot anger bubbling up in her chest.

"Old shit?" she repeated, her voice deadly quiet. "Oh, you mean when you—"

She caught herself, stopped before she could say it.

She wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of dragging her into old wounds.

But Tremaine saw it—the flicker of rage behind her eyes. And he grinned like he won something.

"Relax, ma," he said smoothly. "Ain’t gotta act so cold.  I just wanted to see how you was holdin’ up. Heard you been busy… entertainin’."

Cherise’s stomach twisted.

There it was.

This wasn’t some friendly check-in.  He came here because he knew.

Somebody had been watching.

Somebody had told him about her and Jey.

And now he was here to fuck with her.

"What do you want, Tremaine?" she asked, her voice edged with exhaustion.

He smirked.  "Ain’t about what I want, shorty.  I just think you need to be careful. Dudes like that? Wrestlers?" He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "They ain’t built for you. He gon’ chew you up and spit you out just like all the other ones."

Cherise’s heart clenched, but she didn’t let it show. "You don’t know shit about him."

At all. 

The way he looked at her. The way he touched her. The way he cleaned her damn table like he was already invested in her success. The way he listened to her. The way he called her by her name, not the one some man had chosen for her.

He had made her a choice, not a convenience.

"Don’t I?" Tremaine raised a brow. "I know he got you wide open already. Letting him take you out the club. Textin’ you. Stayin’ the night."

Cherise’s breath caught.

"Yeah," Tremaine murmured, his smirk widening.  "I know."

Her jaw tensed. "You spying on me now?"

"Nah." He shrugged.  "But I know people who know people. And those people said you was out here actin’ all cozy with this nigga like you forgot how the game work."

Cherise hated how fast her heart was beating.

Hated how much the words got to her.

"And what game is that?" she snapped.

"Alright, bet." He stepped closer.  "Let me ask you somethin’ how many times he tell you he ain’t like the other dudes?”

Cherise stiffened.

"Mmm. Thought so." He clicked his tongue.  "Baby, I was there when you used to talk big shit about dudes like him. You hated clients who tried to act like they was better than the other ones. And now?" He gestured to her. "Look at you."

Her breath was slow.  Controlled.

"I was never your client," she said through gritted teeth.

"Yeah?" His brows lifted. "And how you know that? You think he see you different? Think he don’t got boys tellin’ him about you?  Think he ain’t hearin’ about how you move in that club?"

A sharp, cold weight settled in her stomach.

Her silence must’ve pleased him, because he stepped even closer, his voice dropping lower.

Cherise hated that the words slid right into the cracks of her deepest insecurities.

"He got you second-guessin’ me right now, huh?" His tone was mocking.  "But tell me this, Cher… when’s the last time you had a client leave you a lil’ tip, then double back three months later pretendin’ they missed you?"

Her throat felt tight.

"When’s the last time you let one of ‘em up in your bed?"

Her fingers trembled.

"You think he came back for you?" He let out a cruel laugh. "Baby, he came back ‘cause he remembered how you moved on his lap that night.  ‘Cause he knew what this pussy was sittin’ like."

Tremaine saw the apprehension in her face she tried to hard to hide. Knew exactly what he was doing.

The same thoughts she had tried to push away when she woke up thinking Jey had left. The same doubts that whispered to her every time she got too comfortable.

"I ain’t sayin’ this to be a dick," he continued, stepping just a little closer.  "I’m just keepin’ it real with you, ma. You think he gon’ take you serious?  You a stripper. You really think that man want you in the light? You think you gon’ be wifed up? Goin’ to wrestling events, standin’ next to his family? You think you fit in that world?In his world?"

Cherise’s nails dug into her palms so hard they could bleed.

And then—

She smiled.

Slow.

Cold.

Dangerous.

"You still mad you can’t eat off me no more, huh?"

Tremaine’s expression faltered, just a little. "What?"

"That’s what this is about, right?" Cherise took a slow step forward.  "You showed up at my door ‘cause you saw me wit’ somebody who actually sees me. ‘Cause you realized you fumbled a bitch who don’t need you."

Tremaine’s jaw ticked.  "Ain’t nobody—"

"Oh, but you did," she murmured, tilting her head. "Let’s not act brand new, Tremaine. You ain’t come here ‘cause you care.  You came here ‘cause you still see me as yours. As something you owned."

Her voice sharpened.

"You used me."

Tremaine’s jaw tightened.  "Ain’t nobody use you—"

"You took everything from me." Cherise’s voice was ice now.  "You put me in that club. You made me depend on it.  You took cuts from my money like you was my fuckin’ pimp. And then?"

Her voice trembled, but she didn’t let it break.

"Then you took everything I saved. Everything I worked for. You let your boys humiliate me, made me dance at that fuckin’ party, then ran out with all my money."

Tremaine didn’t say anything.

"You left me with nothing," she whispered, her fists clenched.  "And now you at my door, tryna tell me about a man who’s done more for me in one night than you ever did in our whole relationship?"

Tremaine scoffed, looking away, jaw tight. "Man, fuck outta here wit’ that sob story."

"Yeah?" Cherise smirked, crossing her arms. "Then why you so pressed, Tremaine?”

His eyes flickered.

She had him.

Finally, he exhaled, rolling his tongue over his teeth.  "Aight, Cher.  I see you. You feelin’ yourself now, huh?"

"I been feelin’ myself, motherfucker,” she shot back. "You just late to the party."

A long, tense silence stretched between them.

Then Tremaine took a step back, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Aight." He smirked. "When he leave? Don’t say I ain’t warn you."

And then he turned, walking down the hall, disappearing around the corner.

Cherise slammed the door shut.

Her hands shook.

Her breath came out in quick, uneven bursts.

And when she turned back toward the apartment, the quiet wrapped around her like a noose.

And the worst part?

Tremaine’s words were still there.

Still echoing.

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[tammyu-2]

I LOVED UR LAST ONE how about 2012 donnie introducing his gf to everyone for the first time how would that go

OOOOO okay so I'm gonna do a different way Donnie and you meet if that's cool?

TMNT 2012 DONNIE INTRODUCING YOU TO HIS FAMILY

Mentions of Y/n, feminine labels, usage of she/her pronouns, some swearing, not proofread.

I adore his face in this gif

You had met Donnie at the dump. That's right, I said it. He was trying to find more parts for his machinery, and you had lost a precious family heirloom. So after misunderstandings and someone almost getting tazed (Donnie), you guys talked things out. After that, you met again when he was in battle. He insisted on you guys actually properly hung out.

So after one hang out became two and two became three. Soon, hangouts became dates, and soon, you guys were two peas in a metaphorical pod. The way he asked you is by trying to show you a project in disguised as him asking you out. Of course, the turtles didn't know, so he did it at an abandoned garage that he found was close by. (He later on used it for any projects he didn't want his brothers ruining.

"Watch closely my dear assistant!"

"Uh Don? Is it supposed to be letting Grey steam out?"

"I assure you I know what I'm doing."

"But the vial is shaking-"

"Trust in me!"

You know, in cartoons, when stuff blows up, leaving the black gunk on everything but the safety glasses? Yeah, that's what happened. He then explained what it was meant to do, and you were flattered at his attempt and accepted his proposal.

Now, his brothers had no idea that you existed other than the time you were a hostage for the kraang one time. But they really didn't bat an eye on how you already knew Donnie's name cause they were too busy saving you and the others. Plus, they were suspicious when Donnie's obsession with April suddenly stopped.

"Yo Dontron what's wrong with you? You didn't even bat an eye at April today!"

"I have no idea what you are talking about. I did blink several times like normal."

"He is saying that you didn't go all goo-goo eyes for her."

"Oh! Yeah, no, I have a girlfriend now."

"Ha! Nice joke. What nation is she from? Your imagination?"

"I'm serious."

"Sure you are."

So he brought you around to show that he indeed was serious. You would be lying if you weren't a little scared to meet his family. I mean, what if they like to banish you from ever meeting Donnie again because you coughed wrongly in their house or something???

Though Donnie assured you that their opinion doesn't matter to him. Not really easing your spirits, though, because he still didn't clarify that you shouldn't be afraid of MEETING them. More or less that he didn't care if they did disapprove.

"Everybody! This is my absolutely wonderful girlfriend Y/n. I thought you guys would want to meet her."

You politely waved at them with a gentle smile.

"How much is he paying you? Cause we don't have money at all, he's scaming you."

"Are you like a robot or something? I don't see your wires."

"So are you being held hostage if so blink twice."

"GUYS WHAT THE FRICK!?"

Fr tho- guys have faith in your brother that he has some game

Donnie quickly goes to apologize to you only to see you absolutely losing your shit and failing to hold in your laughter. After a few moments you gather yourself and clarify that you are Donnie's human girlfriend by choice.

"Are we talking about the same Donnie right now?"

"I'm right here!"

They are all too confused to say that they approve.

"How did Donnie pull you?"

You try not to laugh as you explained how you met him.

"What do you mean you met him at a waste disposal???"

Trust that they are secretly making notes to compare later because they have no faith in Donnie boy at all.

After all the commotion Master Splinter had entered. And Donnie was quick to introduce you to him. Donnie is basically bouncing on his feet.

"Hello sensei! This is my lovely girlfriend Y/n. Y/n this is my father I was talking about."

Splinter mumbles a simple greeting and bow his head while you copy his actions showing respect for him. Splinter is a man that sees to believe so he doesn't really say anything remarkable or worth noted on your first meeting. More or less that he hopes Donnie is treating you right. But after a while of getting to know you he likes you.

"She's a good one, son. Treat her well."

"There's no doubt in my mind that I won't sensei."

The turtles are okay with you and so is Splinter. They love when you bring pizza around though for them.

"You sure you're here against your will?"

"Mikey!!"

That's it lovelies. That's my new nickname for you guys hope you like it

I loved this it was so cutesy

BAI ;*

~Tammy<3

[mytheoristavenue]

KNY Boxer!Gyutar Shabana x Chubby!Reader - Float Like a Butterfly - I

Summary: Following a rough breakup, you've decided to get into shape. When you finally go to the gym with your friend, Mitsuri, you accidentally meet 'The Inkblot'- the gym boxing league's up-and-coming champ.

Warnings: Violence, strong language, body negativity, mentions of toxic relationships

"There's no way this is healthy," Mitsuri sighed, sitting at your bedside, petting your hair. "C'mon, you and Kai broke up like forever ago!"

"It's only been nineteen days..." You mumbled back into your pillow.

"You've been counting??" She gasped dramatically.

It was true, though. You'd counted the days since Kaigaku dumped you. You'd counted every photo with every skinny girl he'd posted on instagram. You'd counted every missed call he'd sent to voicemail. And you'd counted every calory you'd consumed in the mean time.

"I'm gonna get skinny and win him back," You grumbled.

"Honey, no-" Mitsuri sighed. "You don't need to win him back, he's the loser here!" She finally relented, knowing she won't be able to talk you out of your funk. "You know what?"

"What...?"

"Let's get you in shape." She said victoriously. "C'mon, we can diet together, go to the gym, keep each other accountable!"

"I don't know..." You mumbled, glancing up at her. "I don't wanna be looked at."

"Sure you do!" She contradicts. "We'll get you some of those super cute leggings that make your butt look good! You'll love it!"

-----

Despite how you argued, here you were. At the gym she frequents- Red Light Fitness, signing up for a long term mebership so you can't back out of it. In those magical booty TikTok leggings and an oversized Deftones t-shirt with worn out sneakers. After paying your dues, Mitsuri dragged you all around, giving you the grand tour, frequently stopping to talk to her fellow gym-rat friends for much longer than you'd like. You'd stand awkwardly to the side and politely nod when she motioned to you.

When she got to the back of the gym, she herded you into another room that had a boxing ring, space for chairs, and a small training room to the side. "We call this the Red Light Arena!" She chirped, gesturing to the ring. "On Friday's at seven, people from the gym's boxing league fight! People pay to get in and it helps fund the gym!"

"That's pretty cool, actually." You remarked with a small smile.

"Heck yeah it is!" She grinned. "I'm training so I can join!"

"You're wicked strong, I'm sure you'd do great." You encouraged warmly. Accepting your words, she leads you to the training room. You could see a few sandbags and dummies, but before you could observe too deeply, a tall, buff man sauntered over.

"Mitsuri, where ya been, pretty girl?" He beamed, wrapping an arm around her neck and digging his fist into her hair affectionately. "Who's this little lady?"

"Tengen, hi!" Mitsuri laughs, hugging him before stepping away. "This is my friend (Y/N), she just joined the gym!"

Tengen's attention fell on you, a mischievous grin on his face. "Well, aren't you the cutest little thing?" He offered you a hand, brightly colored fingernails drawing your gaze. "Tengen Uzui, a pleasure."

You nodded sheepishly and shook his hand. You knew this guy, your friend Suma was dating him- or so you thought? "(Y/N) (L/N)," You muttered shyly.

"No need to be nervous, baby, we don't judge here!" He laughed heartily, and Mitsuri joined in. You were working on a response when the door opened again. Another tall man with a terrible slouch and an imposing physique wandered in. He had shaggy black hair with green tips pulled into a top knot and sickly pale skin. He was covered head to toe with a black long-sleeved muscle shirt and grey sweatpants that cuffed at the ankles, sitting just about high-top Nike's. He was wrapping his hands with tape as he strode in confidently, giving you a sharp glance.

Tengen, upon noticing him, made a bee-line for the man, raising his hand to offer a high five that was ultimately ignored. "Gyutaro, my man, how's it goin'?" He beamed. "Don't leave me hanging!"

"Hi, Gyutaro!" Mitsuri waved sweetly, earning a curt nod. "That's Gyutaro Shabana," She whispered as she turned back to you. The name was familiar, you knew and Ume Shabana- not that the pair of you were quite fond of each other. "They call him 'The Inkblot' because of his birthmark." You peered over her shoulder to see him staring back, obviously able to hear the conversation. But you understood now. He had a big black birthmark that splattered across his face like ink flicked on a blank page.

"How fitting," You mumbled, taking your eyes off him.

"Right?" Mitsuri laughed lightly. "He's one of the best boxers in the league, he's literally undefeated!"

Glancing back at him, you weren't surprised. Even despite hiding his body, you could tell he was lean and quite muscular. Probably one of those protein-packed meatheads, you assumed.

Just as you were about to dismiss him, Tengen wandered back over with Gyutaro in tow. "Gyu, this is (Y/N)," His voice boomed, startling you as you hadn't seen him approach. Your attention snapped up to find the talented boxer just a few feet away now, eying you down like a dog might a rabbit. But aside from his scary, crooked teeth, stern gaze, and unsightly birthmark, one thing stuck out ot you.

He had beautiful eyes. Deep cobalt with long black lashes, like the legs of a tarantula you'd seen in a National Geographic magazine. His hardening gaze let you know you'd looked a mite too long, and you suddenly glanced away. "H-Hello," You mumbled, extending a shaky hand which he ignored.

"Don't sweat it," Tengen laughed. "Inkblot here's just shy around cute girls!" Gyutaro muttered something contradictory under his breath, but in truth, Tengen was absolutely right. He hated talking to girls, especially cute ones. They would always give him that look- the kind of look you give to someone you know is wreched to view, but you're too polite to make it obvious. But what was worse than talking to silently judgmental cute girls was talking to girls like you. Chubby, shy, and insecure.

Gyutaro's eyes shifted, sternly to the ceiling, and you assumed it was to spare himself having to look at you. You were half right. He wanted to keep his gaze from tracing your figure, his mind from wondering what was under that old Deftones t-shirt. Did you even listen to Deftones, or were you a poser like most people who wear band shirts to the gym?

After a few more minutes of agonizing small talk, Tengen eventually allowed him to sneak away and he tried not to admit to himself how hard he was showing off in front of you. Methodically adjusting the tape on his hands before sliding his gloves on, working the sandbag like it owed him money. He wanted so badly for you to notice him, to see the sweat dripping off him, to see his tight movements and controlled power.

Unfortunately, he didn't get the satisfaction of seeing you swoon for his skills as you turned away, following Mitsuri out of the training room and back into the main gym. Gyutaro didn't see how your cheeks flushed with a girlish embarrassment at his macho display, but Mitsuri did.

[sturnioloszn]

OLD TOGETHER - C.S

summary; you and chris are reminiscing on the day you adopted trevor and how everyone has grown old together.

warnings; noneee, it's a fluff!

a/n; it was bound to happen that i'd write a oneshot with trev. also, i'm gonna try to write a few more fluffs for NNN (lmaoo, i'll still do a few smuts, i wont starve u sluts dw) but yeahhh, enjoy!

The triplets were finally back in Boston, and they asked if I wanted to hang out and have a movie night with them. Of course, I accepted. The triplets and I have been friends since elementary, and we used to see each other every single day. But ever since they moved to La, we've seen each other a lot less. So, whenever the opportunity presents itself, we hang out as much as possible.

Nick and Matt were currently out grabbing the pizzas and snacks for the movie night, whereas Chris and I decided to stay back. We were sprawled out on the couch, mindlessly talking to each other. I missed this. I miss being able to come over whenever and just hang out. I missed their company. I missed them.

After a few minutes, the conversation died down, and we were enjoying eachothers comfortable silence until a soft snoring was heard from the left of me. Chris and I both look up from our phones and look to see who was snoring even though we already knew who it was.

Trevor was curled up under a grey blanket on his dog bed, which was kept on the couch. God, this dog is sooo spoilt. We watch as he sleeps, his gentle snores being the only noise in the room. Chris and I exchanged a small glance and laughed under our breath, trying not to wake up Trev.

"Do you remember when we first got him?" I ask, looking back to Chris. He had his phone in his hand, recording Trevor as he slept.

"Of course I do. How could I forget?" He smiles, ending the recording.

-

"Come on, Nickkk, it'll be fun," Chris whines. We had just finished the school day, and Chris and I were begging to go to the animal shelter, but Nick and Matt were not convinced.

"No, mom said to come home straight away," Nick states. He looks over to Matt before speaking again, "Isn't it mom said that?" He asks, raising his eyebrows at Matt.

"Um... yeah. Chris, let's just go home," He pleads, not wanting his brothers to fight. Chris stomps one of his feet and shakes his head, his blond hair falling into his eyes slightly.

"Y/n wants to go too, and mom won't care if we come home like ten minutes later," He says, looking over to me. Now, all three of them are glarring at me, waiting for me to pick a side.

"How about me and Chris, go to the shelter for a couple of minutes, and you guys go home?" I say, trying to stop the fighting and make everyone happy.

"Fine, when mom takes your playstation away, I'm going to laugh at you," Nick says, sticking his tongue out to Chris and grabbing Matt's hand before walking away. Now it's just me and Chris standing outside the animal shelter.

"Are you sure we won't get in trouble?" I ask, looking into his innocent, blue eyes. He looks back at me before shaking his head and grabbing hold of my hand. We walk to the door of the animal shelter and struggle slightly to push it open, but when we do, a small bell rings.

As the bell stops, a girl with long brown hair comes out to the front. She looks at us before giving a warm smile, "Hi kids, what can I do for you guys?".

We both smiled back before I opened my mouth to answer her, "we were wondering if we could look at some doggies?" I question, with a hopeful gleam in my eyes.

"Of course," She chuckles, leading us to the back where all the animals are kept. There's a few dogs, cats, and even a bunny. But before she could explain anything the bell to the front of the shop rang again. "Sorry guys, give me a sec," She says hurrying to the front.

We take the opportunity to start looking at all the animals. There was a small white dog but it looked a bit crusty and next to it was a really big black and white dog.

"Ooo, this one is a husky," Chris says, reaching his hand into the cage to stroke it. He pets the dog's head and it instantly gets super excited and starts to wag it's tail. I wonder if these animals ever get lonely? Thinking about this makes me sad and I feel tears in my eyes. "Y/n, come here, come pet it," he says, turning around.

That is when he sees that I'm are crying and instantly stops petting the dog. "Why are you crying? What's wrong?" He asks, putting his arm around my shoulders. I cover my face with my small hands, trying to hide the tears but they keep flowing.

"It's sad, what if they get lonely and nobody pays them any attention?" I sniffle and try to wipe my tears away. He looks at me for a moment as if deep in thought.

"I'm sure they're not?" he tries to reassure but it doesn't really help. I keep sniffling trying to fight any more tears from falling when the girl comes back in with a puppy in her hands. She takes a look at me before asking the same question Chris had asked moments ago.

Chris explains to her that I'm sad because I think the dogs are probably lonely and want some love. "Awhh sweetheart, it's okay. I promise they get plenty of love. Here, how about you hold this fella," she says passing the puppy that was in her arms into mine.

The small dog was brown with a little, black button nose. I cradle the dog in my arms and pet it softly. Chris reaches over to also show him some affection.

"What's his name?" Chris asks the girl.

"He actually doesn't have one yet, he was just brought in, he's a puppy," she says, watching me hold the dog close to my chest. A smile down at the dog, it is so cute. I wish I could keep him but my mom would never allow it.

"Chris, d'you think your mom would let you keep him?" I ask, mentally crossing my fingers and toes that he'd say yes.

"Hm, maybe? Let me go ask!" He says, before running out the door. I didn't even have time to react before he was already out of eye-sight. He was probably running down the street, back to his house to ask if they could keep him.

I kept cradling the doggy and the girl reassured me that all the animals are very loved even if they don't have a 'forever home' yet.

Before I knew it Chris comes speeding back, dragging his mom by the hand; Nick and Matt trailing behind them.

Me and the girl both move back to the front to meet with everyone else. "Look mom! Isn't he the cutest?" Chris asks, pulling the dog into his arms to give his mom a closer look. She closely examines the dog before turning to the woman behind the desk.

"How big will he grow?" She asks. Nick and Matt move closer to us to take a closer look at the dog.

"I guess he's kinda cute," Nick admits, still salty about the argument from earlier.

"Nick you can't lie, he's really cute," Matt agrees, coming to also pet him. We were now all surrounded by the dog petting him and showing so much love.

The dog didn't mind all of the attention, he just yawned and settled into Chris' arms.

"Not big at all, he's a pug and beagle mix, so he won't grow too much bigger than he is now," the girl explains. I watch their mom pull out her purse from her bag and take out a card.

The woman behind the desk smiles and looks back over to us before speaking, "hey guys, he's all yours,". We look back and forth between us before all running to hug their mom. She laughs and hugs as all back.

"But you guys have to promise you'll stop arguing now, alright?" She says, shaking her head with a smile. Nick must have told her about the disagreement the four of us had earlier. We all agreed to her condition before we began throwing names around so that we could figure out what to name our newest friend. Amongst all our chatter, Chris speaks up so he can be heard.

"Y/n and I should be the ones to name him because it's technically our dog, we wanted him!" He says, making all of us stop speaking. Nick goes to open his mouth to disagree but their mom stops him.

"How about we all agree on a name, hm?" She says, leading us out of the shelter and on the walk back to the triplet's house we agreed on the name Trevor. When their mom heard the name she laughed and questioned it but Chris said he randomly thought of it which made us all laugh.

-

We share a smile, remembering our childhood and how crazy it was that we've had Trev for so many years now. We've all grown up together which was almost enough to bring tears to my eyes again.

Out of nowhere, Nick and Matt burst through the front door, "GUESS WHO BROUGHT BACK PIZZAAAA!" Nick exclaims, as if we didn't know.

Matt follows behind him, shaking his head. We spend the rest of the night, laughing, eating, and enjoying eachothers company. It makes me sad that we are getting older and that we're leaving our childhood behind but I can't wait to continue to grow old together and see what the future brings us.

a/n; thank you for readingggg, I hope you enjoyed it and lmk if u have any suggestions for future fics! love you all <33.

Taglist; @idrk2292 @mattsfavseason @aalicats87 @045696 @forgottxen @mattsturniolover

[gyuswhore]

the story of us ✦ j.w.w x reader

the story of us looks a lot like a tragedy now - the story of us

synopsis: So many walls that you can't break through; except you do.

wc: 2.1K

contains: best friends to lovers, angst, fluff, humour, happy ending, alcohol, arguments

masterlist

Support creators by reblogging!

[a/n]: im exhausted, im loopy, im hungry, but i really wanted to post this so here you go my babies I'm sorry i haven't fed you in so long (ty @toruro for making sure i wasn't talking out of my ass in this ily)

[edit; 11/04/24]: grammar and spelling.

Jeon Wonwoo was nearing boiling point when he watched you push him away from yet another conversation.

He tried to understand, just like he always had. But it was proving near impossible at the five-month mark. 

There were clear signs you exhibited when you needed space, for whatever reason, Wonwoo knew you would tell him when you recovered. So he gave you what you needed.

And yet, when he finds himself pushed away from what looks like a casual conversation between your mutual friends, he finds his mild annoyance grow into something hotter. 

There’s a clench in his jaw as he tries not to squeeze the red cup in his hand with too much pressure, even when all the spiteful bit of his brain wants to do is to pour its pigmented contents all over your cream outfit. He manages to control himself, choosing to get up and exit the premises entirely. In complete silence, he refuses to acknowledge any yell of his name from passing acquaintances. 

Jeon Wonwoo refused to respond to any of your advances after that. 

Invitations to lunch were left on a jarring sent, the notification sitting in his log until he chooses to open it too late. His response was bare when you asked for help on some accounting concepts, pushing you over into Jihoon’s hands to fulfill your requirements. There’s a blatant shrug when you touch his shoulder, concerned, asking why his behaviour had become so distant in the past weeks; he responds with a mumble of, “just tired”.

The great divide happened a few days proceeding your birthday, one for which Wonwoo did nothing for but send you a quick message during the evening, never to see you throughout the extended day. 

“I can’t believe you’re putting this on me!” you all but yell, eyes wide and expression exasperated at the situation.

“Are you blind? Or just plain stupid? Because I didn’t tolerate months of your shit attitude to have you say it isn’t your fault.” Wonwoo is breathing heavily, hands motioning towards your entire figure with equal disbelief.

“What attitude?” you emphasize. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know I couldn’t be upfront with my best friend.”

“There’s a difference between being in a mood and blatant disrespect. I’m tired of having to put up with your mood swings like it’s my responsibility to coddle you. When was the last time you genuinely asked me how I was doing?”

“All the time!”

“Yeah, after you realize there's nobody else to whine and wail to!”

“Wonwoo, you’re being ridiculous.”

“Fine. If I’m clearly so unhinged, I’ll leave you to your liking.” 

The dwindled interactions, from messages to hellos, went from sparing to nonexistent — just like that. 

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t expect for you and Wonwoo to reconcile in the matter of a few days, if not a couple weeks.

But when the distance did nothing but grow larger, there was a settle of resentment in the pit of your stomach as you accepted the feud you were in. 

A text was sent from your phone a couple days after the incident.

[You]: can we talk?

But when you see no sign of the grey Delivered on the end, you knew he had blocked you. 

This was all nothing less than baffling to you for a number of reasons, starting with how you had never witnessed Wowoo acting this way. 

Wonwoo had done nothing but reprimand you the rare chance you suggested blocking an apprehensive individual, something about not showing that you cared. His voice seemed redundant after a certain decibel, the rarest chance to witness him yell at a failed video game or a frustrating professor. 

You know better, which is the only reason you’re ruling off paranormal possession. 

The claims against you came as an afterthought, not, however, rendering them any less strange. There’s a part of you that pondered if your shield of annoyance blocked you from seeing the truth in his words and in your behaviour, finding yourself overwhelmed with emotions when the thought crossed your mind, tears of frustration immediately blurring your vision. 

You did not understand, you could not. And when it all got too much, you allowed the hurt and confusion to turn into something more dangerous. You replaced it with anger, in the same place that once occupied a more delicate emotion. 

There was an uproar in Wonwoo’s mind when he sees you walk into the lecture hall, unaware of your overlapping schedule in the new semester. He watches as your eyes pass over the moderately packed space, briefly glancing over where he sat; if you saw him, you did nothing to bring a reaction out of it. You take a seat a few rows up front, right in front of him where he’s able to see the back of your head for the next two hours — for the rest of the semester. 

He wonders if it’s too late to switch classes. 

“Wonwoo, I honestly think this is getting out of hand.” Jihoon munches on his cashews, leaning against bark of the tree they were both sat under. 

“Did you want me to keep tending to her bullshit then?” he grumbles.

“That’s not what I’m saying, you know it’s not.”

“That’s what it sounds like.” Wonwoo’s retort is brisk.

Jihoon is suddenly snapping his fingers in his face at the reply, a flinch accompanies Wonwoo’s already sour expression. 

“See! See how frustrating it is when somebody isn’t making sense?” 

“How does this—” 

“Wonwoo, did you try talking to her about how you felt, you know, without the screaming?” 

Jihoon watches as Wonwoo’s expression clears out, his eyebrows unfurrowing and the scowl fading. He doesn’t speak, choosing to let the realization kick in.

“No.” 

Jihoon sighs, taking another pause. “I’m not saying what she did wasn’t uncalled for, but you need to talk shit out before deciding you hate each other.”

“I don’t hate her.”

“Right, so can we wrap this up quickly and have you confess your undying love so we can all relax.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Heat crawls up Wonwoo’s cheeks.

“What? If you don’t hate her, it’s gotta be the opposite.”

Did Wonwoo like you? Yeah, he probably did. Did he ever let himself ponder upon it? No, because he was downright mortified of the mere thought. He finds himself a hypocrite to say it was to preserve your friendship, but he figures he’s fucked it up in a way that’s arguably worse. 

Regardless, Wonwoo walks away from that conversation with two things: a stark realization, and an even starker admittance. 

Everything was going wrong. At least that’s what it felt like when you hear the clang of your water bottle hit the pavement, rolling off into the oncoming traffic as you sprint to grab it. You nearly cause a vehicle pile-up, swallowing a couple profanities from braking drivers. 

You’re stuffing the darn thing into your bag when you trip on a loose brick on the path, nearly landing on your face. The glare you send into the pavement costs you even more when a hard shoulder bumps into your side, sending you another couple steps back. You don’t bother to see who the perpetrator is, too preoccupied with your attempts to take in deeper breaths amid the blankness of your mind. 

There are no hiccups after that, what you might owe your more conscious mind to. Stomping up the library steps, you thank nothingness for the air conditioning that meets your hot face, slowing down as you take in the crowd. 

Scanning the room for an empty seat is harder than you’d anticipated, hoping the heat would keep students away from the building as you left to get work done. Approaching a table, you set down your bag with a huff, pulling the chair out to finally take the seat you’ve been needing for so long. 

The universe seems to have other plans. 

It’s almost funny the way you and Wonwoo make eye contact across the other table, the recognition sending a jolt through your stomach. 

You’ve never moved so fast, pushing the chair back in with a screech that earns you a few looks, grabbing the handles of your bag as you turn around to leave the building you’d just entered. 

No way you'd sit there. Not when he was around.

You're bounding down the steps when somebody passes you, murmuring something without slowing their stride.

“I’m leaving, you can go inside,” Wonwoo says, and the sound of his voice has you halting almost immediately.

Whipping your head around to search for the sound, you watch as he takes a turn at the end of the steps, slowly moving out of your vision. 

There’s a swirl of something in your chest, and you realise in that moment how much you missed hearing his voice. 

Chiding yourself, you blink back the water that wells up in your eyes, embarrassed at how quickly you were losing yourself.

But the damage was done. And you wanted to be reckless, regardless of how desperate it made you look. A split second decision is made in that moment, one that lightens the heavy feet that you’ve planted on the concrete. 

You’re back to bounding down the steps, but this time with aim. 

Taking the same turn you saw Wonwoo take, you break into a sprint as you see his figure move farther away. You keep running, continuing to bump into both objects and people, hurried "sorry"'s the only thing you choose to throw their way. 

“Wonwoo!” Your voice comes out stronger than you’d intended, the sharpness having him turn around in search, eyes landing on your accelerating figure. 

Both of you realize too late how fast you’re really going, the velocity taking you directly into his outstretched arms, hands grasping the sleeves of his shirt as you come to screeching stop directly into his chest. 

You don’t have the time nor the patience to be embarrassed, pulling your face back to look directly into Wonwoo’s bewildered eyes to huff out your next words.

“Why did you block me?” you ask, voice gruff and slightly out of breath.

Wonwoo’s mouth opens and closes like a fish, words refusing to come out. 

“Why are you so mad at me? Why are you being nice to me if you’re mad at me?” You don’t stop, the direct questions tumbling off your tongue in desperation. 

You search his face for an answer when his mouth fails, but all you find is the remnants of shock yet to ebb away. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for making you feel like you weren’t important, I’m sorry for taking your presence for granted, I’m sorry for hurting you, I’m sorry for…for… I don’t know! I’m just really sorry and I don't know how else to make this right.”

“I’m sorry, too,” you hear him say and you feel the moisture return to your eyes. 

“Huh?”

“I should’ve…” he pauses, looking sheepish. “I should’ve talked to you before I, y’know, went off on you. I should’ve managed my feelings better, I’m sorry.” 

You're silent for a few tantalizing moments before you raise your fists, and pound down on his chest with everything you have. You do it again, and then again, and again—

“What?- Ow!” 

“When are you gonna stop bottling up your feelings for fucks sake, it’s landed you everywhere but good!” you say, nearly yelling.

Wonwoo whips his head around to see who’s listening, palm to mouth in attempts to silence you. 

“I’m sorry! I know! I’m working on it,” he rambles, trying to get you to quit struggling. “Jihoon and I talked, that’s why I realised I was being dumb.”

“Are you gonna unblock me now or do I need to pay Jihoon to sit down with you again?”

Wonwoo’s eyebrows furrow. “You payed Jihoon to sit with me?”

“No, you idiot. But I should have because you can’t seem to figure out how to feel emotions.” 

Wonwoo can’t help himself when he breaks out into a grin, letting out a breathy chuckle that has you asking “What?”.

He pulls you in, heart to heart in an embrace, holding you tight to make up for the weeks of no contact. He breathes in your scent and feels as though he hasn’t in years. 

“I’m not gonna come running up to you the next time you decide you hate me,” you mumble into his shoulder, pouting slightly.

“I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” 

“No.” Wonwoo pulls away but keeps you in his arms, looking at you, “I love you. Like, the kind of stuff that makes you wanna live together forever. I love you.” 

It’s your turn to gape like a fish. 

“W-what?”

“You told me not to bottle up my feelings.” 

“Yeah, but—wow, um.” 

“Did I make another mistake?” 

No! You wanted to scream. But you don’t. You instead lift your hands up to come around his face, cradling it. And you kissed him. 

“I love you, too. Like the live together forever kind.” 

[pastelchelle]

I had this crack idea at midnight that I discussed with my friend in May, which turned into a funny little thing. Have at it!! Jason Todd Shenanigans

=====

So basically Jason Todd is aware that he is legally dead. However he does NOT want to go through the process of getting himself new documentation, he very much likes the name Jason Todd. So before he gets back to Gotham, he goes to the nearest non-Gotham police department and asks if they can take his blood samples and stuff and get legalized as a living being again. And get this, a news reporter over hears this and is like "Oh?? Tea??? And I'm the only one who knows?!?!?" They chase Jason down and demand an interview because Jason Todd is alive! and not dead! and they want to be the first person to broadcast this shit.

And Jason? Oh he's going to have a fucking blast.

"Actually, you know what, hell yeah!"

Lo and behold less than 24 hours later a small News Channel is suddenly gaining a LOT of traction when the words "Former Wayne Son Jason Todd is Alive and Well." are being spoken through every TV in Gotham

Here is what I have amateurly cooked up!!!

========

"Mr. Todd, would you like to confirm your blood results with us?"

"Hell yeah! Here's the paper that claims me no longer dead and even some finger prints, not showing you the important stuff though, those get blurred out right?" An affirmation is hummed off camera.

"So Mr. Todd, or do you prefer Mr. Wayne? I probably should've asked sooner--"

"Actually, I don't go by Wayne anymore, I wanted to keep Todd. Just Todd."

"Right! So would you like to go in depth on the reason why you were falsely labeled as deceased?"

"Oh, I did die."

"Oh... I'm sorry to hear that. How uh..."

"Oh yeah that's probably confusing. I believe sixth months after my death is when I woke up in my coffin. It's very brutal so I won't go into depth on the process of coming out of that situation."

"...."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah! Yeah yeah uhm, continue."

"So I left the graveyard and I did get hit by a car at some point, I think there were quite a few witnesses when that happened and during the process I was transferred to one of the Gotham hospitals."

"That sounds awful! Where was your family when this happened?"

"Oh... uh. It's kind of hard to talk about but I think Bruce ended up taking in a new kid sometime while I was still in the ground and since no one knew who I was when I was in the hospital they just labeled me a John Doe. I had severe brain damage at the time so I was borderline catatonic, if not that. It was a... rough year."

"But there's been a three year gap, and you, pardon me for assuming, look to be a very healthy young man. What changed?"

"Oh I was stolen off the streets after I wandered out of my hospital bed by someone and taken to an unknown location. There wasn't much I remember until I did suddenly come back to my senses, and by then a year had passed since I died. The person taking care of me used some sort of miracle medical magic, I'm not going to question it, but she took care of me for some time and I've come to accept her as a mother."

"That sounds like it turned out better than the average statistics, but are you sure this person is safe for you? Being stolen out of your hospital bed and then forced to a place you have never known sounds like a grey area."

"Yeah, she's... My mom can be hard at times but she provides me with everything I could ever need."

"Is there a reason why you haven't talked to Mr. Wayne since you've come back to Gotham?"

"Well, I'm pretty mad at him and refuse to see him so this is going to be the first time he knows that I'm alive."

"Oh my, I know that'll be a shocker to hear!"

"Oh you know it! I'd kill to see the look on his face!"

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Do I? I'm in a very good mood to be honest which has been drastically different from how angry I've been the past few months so why not!!"

"Well thank you for your willingness!"

"Hey, to be honest I'm just really comfortable right now. It helps that they let an intern do this that's my age, and you're a new group. I don't like having shiny things and fake faces talking to me."

"Oh shit you're nineteen, right? Oh crap sorry for the language." Someone from offscreen dismissed it with with a laugh.

"Yeah actually, turned nineteen not that long ago. What was your name again?"

"Jessica! Jessica Steward, intern newscaster!! An anchor here at Gotham Local, Young Stellar News! But, you can call me Jess."

"Hey Jess, my names Jason, you can call me Jason because, well, Mr. Todd was my father and I don't really want any association with him. Or Wayne."

"You got it Jason! Now, would you like me to start anywhere or would you like to lead?"

"Ask away! I'm very happy to answer anything."

"Alrighty! So what happened to you? I feel like that's a loaded question, but give any answer you'd like!"

"Oh man, that is a loaded question, but let's not digress." Jason paused on camera and his face went through a flood of expressions before he looked back at the interviewer with a small smile.

"Before I get started, I'd like to say that while I may have problems with my father Bruce, please don't use any of this information to attack him in any way."

"We'll do our best to get the message across. Hopefully viewers watching mind your words."

"Thanks Jess."

"As for what happened, I should probably start from the beginning."

"You can start and stop any time you want."

"I guess we can start from my death. I did end up dying overseas in Ethiopia, the news did get that right. However I was killed by the Joker. This is around the time he ended up becoming a temporary ambassador of the UN." A wince came from behind the camera as Jess made a grotesque expression. Jason drank from the provided teacup they handed near the start of the interview.

"I think I remember that... thank god he's not anymore!"

"Ha, yeah, small mercies." Jason said this with a bitter smile. He continued.

"I was in Ethiopia because I was looking for my biological mother."

"Oh? Why is that?" Jason seemed to pause at the question, mulling it over with a crease in his brows.

"I... I thought I was going to get kicked out. I'm not.... I wasn't the best child... I thought that I was..." Jason stopped talking as his eyes seemed to drift off into a memory. Jess wringed her hands together as she let out a small cough. Jason came back quickly before smoothing it over with an awkward chuckle.

"Sorry. Got lost in thought."

"That's alright. Take your time. You don't have to answer that question if you don't want to." Jason smiled before looking down at the tea he cupped in his hands. It was finished. He set it down with a clink. Jessica made a motion to the unseen crew to grab more with the wave over her fingers.

"Joker beat me to near death with a crowbar which is how I ended up with bad brain damage." Jessica had to stop herself from staring at the quick subject change into darker territory.

"I was bleeding out, but it was the smoke from the explosion that did me in. I died alone, and honestly, it made me angry for a long time. I still am angry, but it's not as bad anymore." Someone came by and set another teacup in front of him, steam coming off from it.

"I'm sorry to hear that." Jason shrugged at the condolence.

"It's fine. It happened. It wasn't as bad as when I woke up six months later buried in the ground. Again, I won't get into specifics on how I got out but it did involve a belt that I was dressed in." He didn't comment on Jess' frown.

"I didn't get too far from the cemetery until someone accidentally hit me with their car."

"Man, you just can't catch a break huh?"

"HAH! Tell me about it." Jason reached for his tea and took a test sip. Once setting it down he cleared his throat.

"I was put in the hospital for a good amount of time. I was able to gather any information I could get my hands on as soon as I became fully conscious and found out that the doctors have my stuff on record but just didn't have the means of figuring out who I was. I was in the hospital for a while before my body just decided to get up and leave. I wondered the streets of Gotham for a time before I got... picked up."

"I feel like that's putting kidnapping in lighter terms."

"Yeah it is, but honestly I ended up becoming fully aware after she picked me up so what can a guy do? I'm not complaining."

"And when you came to?"

"I think the first thing I thought of was something angry. I don't know exactly what, I'm not usually an angry person, but I wasn't really in the right headspace when I died. I was terrified, alone, sad, and angry. So fucking angry. If I stayed dead I feel like I probably could've become some sort of poltergeist or something!" Jess laughed with him, but her voice was a little more strained at the dark humor.

"What made you come back to Gotham?"

"Well, everyone knows that Gotham is the most crime riddled city in America, but I grew up here. It's home. I think it wouldn't have mattered if I had died. I probably would've stayed in Gotham."

"I get that a lot from Gotham citizens. You all are a different breed." Jason laughed at that.

"Yeah. We are." He sat up straight.

"That's not the whole reason though. I came back to Gotham because I have unfinished business I need to take care of." Jess made a sound of interest.

======

(Possibility #1)

"Yeah? And what kind of business is that, if you don't mind my asking?

Jason looked at Jess with a smile before turning to the camera. He reached under the table when he started talking.

"I love my father, but him and I have differing morals. Different codes we live by." Jason brought his hand up front underneath the table and lifted his suitcase he brought with him.

"But I'm not afraid to make choices that may not be morally acceptable." He clicked open the suitcase and flipped it up, but the back was facing the camera so no one but him and the reporter could see it. Jess' eyes landed on it and her face morphed into shock.

"Woah."

"So, I'm sorry if this isn't how you wanted the interview to end and I'm sorry if this is inappropriate, but I address all Gotham citizens and those who may see this." He spun the suitcase around.

"I am offering twenty million dollars to the person who kills the Joker."

=====

(Possibility #2)

"Yeah? And what kind of business is that, if you don't mind my asking?

"I want to see if this newscast gives Bruce a heart attack."

Just then, Jason's phone rings. He answers it.

He lets out a dejected sigh.

"Unfortunately, it did not."

======

I didn't think it was that long...