#barefoot and free (ic);

[nekoashiii]

How’d Dragon sylus react to us being sick?

Pairings: Dragon!Sylus x Reader

Notes: I actually did not expect yall to eat dragon sylus up but here you go.

Click here for my Masterlist

The night the storm came showed that it was no weak, brief storm. It tore through the thick trees scattered across Sylus’s forest with violent howls, shaking the mountains, caves and flooding the valley paths. Sylus had gone out that night, scouring the woods for dry firewood and hunting to feed you. He had told you to stay in the den, the one lined with soft pelts and dragon-warmed stones—but the winds rattled the entrance, and rainwater slipped in through cracks in the cave mouth. You’d tried to keep the fire going, shivering despite your efforts. When Sylus returned, drenched and wild-eyed, you were already curled up in a thick blanket, coughing faintly and sniffling.

Sylus was not a beast who feared much. Not man nor beast nor blade. But the sound of your cough? The paleness of your face? Those sniffles? That made his blood turn to ice. His claws, still wet from the storm, shook as he reached for you. His nostrils flared as he inhaled—too warm. Your body radiated heat, not the kind he loved and purred for in his sleep, but the kind that screamed of fever. His pupils dilated into slits as he stared down at you, a soft rumble building in his throat, protective, panicked.

Sylus wasted no time. The moment he realized you were ill, he sealed the cave with massive boulders from the outside. leaving only a small space for airflow and for him to squeeze through, No more wind. No more water. The den became a fortress. He reinforced it with clawed Fingers and scorching dragonfire. He even wove layers of thick leaves, moss, and hides over the opening to keep the storm’s icy breath away from your fragile human body.

He refused to leave your side. Not even for a minute. Whenever you coughed, his tail curled around you, trying to wrap you in his warmth. When you whimpered in your sleep, he huffed at the shadows. He didn’t sleep, His glowing red eyes stayed locked on you all night, unmoving, his breath shallow as he counted every rise and fall of your chest. Every time your fever spiked, he let out an anguished, low snarl, pressing his forehead to yours as if he could draw the sickness out of you and into himself.

The moment your fever drops, even a little, Sylus melts. You wake up to his heavy head resting against your stomach, wings tucked in and relaxed for once, breath even and calm. He still watches you, but the panic is gone—replaced by exhausted relief. He touches your face gently, claws careful not to scratch. “Better,” he rumbles. “You smell like you again.”

Once you’re well enough to sit up, Sylus becomes twice as clingy. He insists on carrying you to the nearby hot spring he guards in his free-of-humans territory, letting the mineral-rich water soak your muscles. He refuses to let you lift a single rock, fetch a single log, or even touch the cold floor barefoot. He builds a second fire beside the first. Reinforces the den with even more heat-holding stone. Stockpiles on plants that smell like herbs. every time the sky darkens or the wind howls, his body stiffens and he pulls you closer, whispering, “Not again.”

[elryuse]

Seven minutes of heaven with your tomboy cousin Ryujin turns you from best friends to incestuous fuck buddies

Seven Minutes Of Heaven

Ryujin X Male Reader

Tags : Cousin-Love, Tomboy Ryujin, Sweet, Lovey-dovey, Lustful, Teasing, Lots of sex, Teens, Young and Free

Words : 6,868

Hope you guys liked it. More Requested Fics, On The Way.

You hadn’t been back here in years.

The train hissed as it pulled into the station, the countryside stretching endlessly behind it — all green and gold, the scent of pine trees and dry grass sneaking in through the open windows. Cicadas buzzed like they were trying to drown out your thoughts, and the heat pressed against your skin like a heavy blanket.

You grabbed your bag and stepped onto the platform, blinking against the sun.

And there she was. Leaning against a pole with a piece of candy in her mouth and an annoyed look on her face, Ryujin didn’t even wave. She just gave you that same look she used to give when you stole her last bite of ice cream as kids — equal parts unimpressed and vaguely amused.

“Yo.” Her voice was raspy, a little lower than you remembered, and filled with a casual confidence that hadn’t existed when you were both twelve.

You stared for a second. Ryujin had changed.

Her once bowl-cut hair was now shoulder-length and messy, tucked under a faded baseball cap turned backwards. A white tank top clung to her frame, loose and stained near the hem. Her jean shorts looked like they’d survived three wars. And her knees were bruised. Still as tomboy as ever.

And yet, there was something else now — something grown-up, something wild in her grin. “I almost didn’t recognize you,” you said.

She popped the candy out of her mouth with a click. “That’s ‘cause I got hotter.”

You snorted, shouldering your duffel. “Still annoying, I see.” She bumped her shoulder into yours. “Still slow.”

And just like that, it was like nothing had changed. The walk back to the house was filled with awkward silences and the crunch of gravel under your shoes.

“You got taller,” she muttered, stealing glances at you.

“You got more violent,” you muttered back, rubbing your shoulder from where she hit you.

Ryujin laughed, loud and unfiltered, like she wasn’t trying to be polite. “What, did you expect me to run into your arms or something? Cry tears of joy?”

You shrugged. “I expected you to at least pretend to be happy to see me.”

“Dude, I am happy,” she said, grinning sideways at you. “I just don’t do the whole emotional ‘hug me, cousin I missed you!’ crap.”

“Clearly.” The sun beat down on your back as the familiar house came into view — the same wooden gate, the same rusted wind chime that made that off-key ting whenever the wind blew.

A part of you had been scared to come back. After everything. After growing up.

But Ryujin made it feel easier. Even if she was a chaos goblin in denim shorts.

You dumped your bag in the guest room. Same futon. Same tiny fan.

Your aunt and uncle were both still at work, so it was just you and Ryujin for the afternoon.

You hadn’t even finished unpacking when she barged in without knocking.

“Come on,” she said, arms crossed. “We’re going out.”

You blinked. “Going where?”

“Anywhere but here.” She rolled her eyes. “You didn’t come all the way out here to sit around and sulk in a dusty room, did you?”

You opened your mouth to argue, but she was already halfway down the hall.

You sighed, grabbed your phone, and followed.

She took you to the lake. You remembered this place — vaguely. A giant reservoir hidden behind a mess of trees and tall reeds. Back when you were kids, your parents never let you swim in it. Too dangerous, they said. Too deep.

Now?

Ryujin stripped her tank top off like it was nothing, revealing a black sports bra beneath. She toed off her sneakers and stood barefoot in the grass, eyes bright.

“I swear to god, if you don’t jump in, I’m pushing you.”

You hesitated. “I didn’t bring a change of clothes.”

“Neither did I.” She took a running start and cannonballed into the water with a scream.

You cursed under your breath — but something about the way she laughed, like the world couldn’t touch her, pulled you in.

The water was cold and sharp and perfect.

You surfaced beside her, blinking water from your eyes, and she immediately splashed you in the face.

“Ryujin!”

“Come on, loser! Fight me!”. And you did. You wrestled in the water like kids again, laughing until your sides ached. Until you were both floating side by side, the sky spinning above you.

Ryujin let out a sigh. “Told you it’d be worth it.”

You looked at her, water in her lashes, a soft smile on her lips.

“…Yeah. You were right.”

That night, you both lay on the roof, eating watermelon and pointing at stars.

“I thought you’d be boring,” Ryujin said, mouth full.

You rolled your eyes. “You say that like it’s a compliment.”

“It is. Boring guys make the best straight men for chaos.”

“You planned this, huh?”

She grinned. “Hell yeah I did.”

A silence settled between you — not uncomfortable, just familiar. Easy.

You glanced at her. “You’ve really grown up.”

Ryujin didn’t look at you.

“You haven’t,” she said. “Still soft. Still kind. Still trying to keep up.”

You smiled faintly. “Is that a bad thing?”

She turned her head then, just a little. Her voice was quieter when she answered. “No. It’s not.”

And under the stars, with the scent of watermelon and the cicadas screaming into the night, you felt something shift.

Something small.

But undeniable.

You wake up to a text from Ryujin.

7:03 AM wake up, slowpoke. we’re racing today. 🏁🚲💨

Your eyes squint at the screen. You’d stayed up until nearly 2 AM last night after stargazing, barely speaking but not wanting to go inside either. It was… nice. Peaceful.

This, however? This was war.

You step out into the hallway and immediately get hit by something soft — a rolled-up pair of socks smacks you right in the face.

“What the hell—”

Ryujin grins from the end of the hall, one foot planted on the wall behind her like she’s modeling for a 90s skate brand. “You looked too comfortable. Thought I’d fix that.”

You throw the socks back at her. She ducks.

“You said we’re racing?” you ask, brushing your teeth while she leans against the doorframe.

“Yeah. Bikes. Old route. You remember the one behind the rice fields?”

Your brain flashes to a dirt path cutting through green, sharp turns, dragonflies darting like missiles. “Barely.”

“Perfect,” she says, already slipping on fingerless gloves and tying her hair up. “No excuses when I destroy you.”

You end up on your uncle’s dusty old mountain bike, and Ryujin’s already two blocks ahead by the time you start pedaling.

“You absolute demon!” you shout.

She cackles over her shoulder, long legs pumping, wild hair flying out from under her cap. “You snooze, you lose!”

She cuts between trees like a local. You try to keep up, but she’s always just a little ahead. You catch glimpses of her through branches — the flex of her back muscles, her voice echoing through the woods.

It’s like she belongs to the chaos.

Eventually, you both stop at the top of the old hill overlooking the river.

She hops off, panting, and plops down in the grass.

“Told you I’d win.”

You collapse beside her. “That wasn’t a race. That was attempted murder.”

“Same thing, really.”

You’re sweating. She’s glowing.

You steal a glance at her — sun on her face, lips slightly parted as she catches her breath. Her sports bra clings to her skin, and you look away fast, heartbeat doing weird gymnastics.

“Hey,” she says suddenly.

You turn.

She grins. “You were looking at my chest just now, weren’t you?”

You sputter. “N-No!”

“I didn’t say it was bad,” she teases, leaning closer. “Just surprising. Didn’t think you had the guts.”

You nearly fall backward. She just laughs.

God, she’s trouble.

That afternoon, Ryujin drags you to the local store.

You haven’t been there in ages, but it smells the same — dusty wood, candy wrappers, and sun-warmed soda.

“Two mango sodas and those shrimp chips,” she says, tossing everything on the counter. “He’s paying.”

“Wait, what—?”

She elbows you. You shut up and pay.

On the walk back, she tears open the chips with her teeth and sticks one between your lips.

You blink at her. “I can feed myself.”

She shrugs. “I’m spoiling you. Don’t get used to it.”

That night, Ryujin barges into your room with a flashlight.

“Come on,” she says, tossing you a hoodie. “Bonfire time.”

Outside, near the riverbank, she’s already stacked twigs and paper and broken-up boxes. You help her light it.

She hands you a bottle of cheap cola. Sits close.

Too close.

The fire crackles. Her eyes shimmer orange in the glow.

“You remember that time we both fell into the koi pond?” she asks out of nowhere.

You smile. “You pushed me.”

“You pushed me first.”

“Yeah, because you cut my hair in my sleep!”

She laughs, full and loud. “It was a prank! You looked great.”

You shake your head. “You were a menace.”

“I am a menace.”

She falls silent for a beat. Then:

“But you never got mad. Not really.”

You look at her. Her expression is unreadable, the flames dancing in her eyes.

“You just… stayed.”

After the fire dies down, you lie on your backs in the grass. It’s cold. You can feel her elbow barely brushing yours.

“Truth or dare?” she whispers.

You snort. “Seriously? How old are we?”

“Pick.”

“…Truth.”

She turns to face you. “Do you like anyone right now?”

You freeze.

There’s a long pause. Then:

“…Maybe.”

She smirks. “Ooh, city boy’s got secrets.”

“Your turn.”

“Truth.”

“Same question.”

She turns away from you, staring at the stars.

Her voice is soft. “Yeah.”

You hold your breath.

She doesn’t elaborate.

Neither do you.

The next day is different.

The air feels heavier. The sky is clouded, and Ryujin’s unusually quiet. She doesn’t poke fun at your sleepy face. Doesn’t make you race her again. Just walks beside you, hands in her pockets, eyes somewhere else.

Eventually, you sit together on the porch, the sky threatening rain.

“You okay?” you ask.

She shrugs. “Just thinking.”

“You? Thinking? Must be serious.”

She laughs, but it’s a little hollow. “You ever feel like… the older you get, the more fake everything feels?”

You look at her.

She continues, “Like we’re all pretending. Pretending to be okay, pretending we know what we’re doing.”

You nod slowly. “Yeah. I feel that.”

She looks at you then — really looks.

“…But when I’m with you, I don’t have to pretend.”

The wind shifts. The first raindrops fall.

And for a second, you want to say something.

But she’s already standing.

“Race you to the shed,” she says, taking off.

You chase her.

Because that’s what you’ve always done.

Inside the tiny garden shed, both of you soaked, she tosses you a towel.

You dry your hair, heart pounding.

She sits on the bench, knees pulled up, watching the storm rage outside.

It’s quiet.

Then she says, “I liked you. Back then.”

You freeze.

She doesn’t look at you. “I don’t know if it was a cousin thing, or just because we were always together. But I liked you. Like, liked liked you.”

“…Ryujin.”

She finally turns.

And smiles — not her usual smug one, but something smaller. Sadder.

“I don’t think it ever went away.”

You don’t answer.

Not yet.

Because you don’t trust your voice.

Instead, you sit beside her, the rain thundering above you.

And she leans her head against your shoulder.

Just like that.

No teasing.

No jokes.

Just closeness.

And maybe — just maybe — you feel the same way.

Summer keeps going.

Days blend into nights, and the air grows thicker with each passing sunset. You fall into a rhythm with Ryujin — a rhythm of late-night bike rides, lazy mornings, watermelon slices, and quiet little wars in the form of teasing remarks.

But something’s changed.

You feel it in the way her eyes linger a second too long when you’re laughing. In the way she’ll shove you, but then her fingers curl around your wrist just to hold it there a moment longer. In how her silence now feels heavier — more charged — like there’s something always on the tip of her tongue.

And maybe you're the same.

Maybe you’ve started watching her too closely. Memorizing the lines of her smirk, the freckles on her shoulders, the way she throws her head back when she laughs like she doesn’t owe the world anything.

Maybe you’re starting to fall.

No — not starting.

You already are.

It happens on the third Thursday since you got here.

You’re helping Ryujin patch a flat tire on her bike, grease staining your fingers. She's crouched beside you, hair tied up in a haphazard bun, an ice pop dangling from her lips like some sort of bribe.

"You know," she says casually, "I don’t hate having you here."

You glance up at her.

She’s not looking at you. Just focused on the tire.

"That’s probably the nicest thing you’ve said to me all week," you joke.

She shrugs. "Don’t get used to it."

But her voice is soft. The kind of soft she only uses when she means something and doesn’t want you to know she means it.

You hand her the wrench.

She takes it — and her fingers brush yours.

And she doesn’t pull away.

Neither do you.

That night, there’s a fireworks festival in town.

Ryujin shows up at your room in denim overalls and a sleeveless black crop top, holding two cans of soda like it’s no big deal. Her hair’s still a mess. Her nails are chipped. Her lips are cherry red from the popsicle she had earlier.

You’ve never seen anything more beautiful.

“You gonna keep staring, or are we leaving?” she says.

You don’t answer. You just walk beside her.

The festival is all noise and color — lanterns strung between trees, kids running barefoot, the smell of grilled squid and sweet syrup hanging in the air.

You and Ryujin sit on the hill above the main square, legs stretched out, shoulders almost — almost — touching.

The first firework explodes overhead.

Ryujin tilts her head back, lips parted in wonder.

You should say something. You should tell her.

Instead, you ask, “What’s your biggest fear?”

She blinks. Then laughs. “What kind of firework-date-question is that?”

“Come on,” you nudge her. “Humor me.”

She’s quiet for a moment.

Then: “I’m scared I’ll lose the people who make me feel real.”

You glance at her.

She’s not watching the sky anymore.

She’s watching you.

Later that night, you’re walking back.

The fireworks are over. The town’s lights are dim. The cicadas have returned in full force.

Ryujin reaches out and loops her pinky through yours.

She doesn’t look at you when she does it. Just keeps walking like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

Your heart nearly stops.

The air between you and Ryujin feels charged, like the moment before a thunderstorm. Her pinky is still looped through yours, a small but undeniable connection. You don’t pull away. Neither does she. The cicadas hum in the background, their rhythm steady, almost hypnotic. The night wraps around you both, heavy and warm, and for once, there’s no teasing, no sarcasm, no chaos. Just this.

Just Ryujin.

You glance at her. Her profile is sharp in the moonlight, her jawline softened by the faintest curve of her lips. She’s not looking at you, but you can feel the weight of her presence, the way she seems to anchor the entire world around you. It’s unnerving. It’s exhilarating.

“You’re quiet,” she says suddenly, her voice cutting through the silence like a knife. “That’s new.”

You swallow, trying to find your voice. “Just… thinking.”

She laughs, a low, raspy sound that sends a shiver down your spine. “Dangerous.”

“You’re one to talk,” you shoot back, your voice steadier than you feel. “You’re the one who started this.”

Her grin falters for a split second, and she finally turns to look at you. Her eyes are dark, unreadable, but there’s something in them—something raw, something vulnerable—that makes your chest tighten.

“Maybe I did,” she says quietly. “But you’re the one who’s still here.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and electric. You don’t know what to say. You don’t know if you can say anything. All you know is that Ryujin’s hand is still linked with yours, and for some reason, that feels like the most important thing in the world.

She breaks the silence first, her voice lighter now, but not quite careless. “Race you back?”

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

She smirks, the familiar mischievous glint back in her eyes. “You heard me. Last one to the house is a rotten egg.”

Before you can respond, she’s already taken off, her laughter trailing behind her like a challenge. You stare after her for a moment, stunned, before snapping out of it and sprinting to catch up.

She’s fast—faster than you remember—but you’re not about to let her win. Not tonight. Not when it feels like everything’s on the line.

You’re both breathless by the time you reach the house, Ryujin collapsing onto the porch with a triumphant laugh. “Told you I’d win.”

You lean against the railing, trying to catch your breath. “You cheated.”

She shrugs, unbothered. “All’s fair in love and war, right?”

You don’t miss the way her voice hesitates on the word love, the way her eyes flicker to yours for just a second before looking away. It’s subtle, but it’s there. And it’s enough to make your heart race all over again.

She stands, brushing herself off, and heads inside without another word. You follow, your mind still spinning, still trying to make sense of everything that’s happened tonight.

But when you step into the living room, Ryujin’s already there, leaning against the couch with that same unreadable expression on her face. She doesn’t say anything, just watches you, her eyes dark and intense.

You stop, feeling like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff. “What?”

She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she takes a step closer, then another, until she’s standing right in front of you. Her presence is overwhelming, her warmth seeping into your skin, her scent—citrus and something wild, something uniquely Ryujin—filling your lungs.

You can’t breathe. You can’t think. All you can do is stare at her, your heart pounding in your chest as she tilts her head slightly, studying you like you’re a puzzle she’s trying to solve.

“You’re different,” she says finally, her voice soft but firm. “Why?”

You swallow, your throat dry. “I don’t know what you mean.”

She raises an eyebrow, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. “Yes, you do.”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Because the truth is, you do know. You’ve always known. And now, standing here, with Ryujin so close you can feel her breath on your skin, it’s impossible to ignore.

She reaches up, her fingers brushing against your cheek, and you close your eyes, trying to steady yourself. Her touch is light, almost hesitant, but it sends a jolt of electricity through your entire body.

“Tell me,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

You open your eyes, meeting her gaze, and for the first time, you don’t hold back. “I’m thinking about you.”

She doesn’t say anything, but her eyes soften, her smile fading into something more serious, more intense. And then, without warning, she closes the distance between you, her lips brushing against yours in a kiss that’s both tentative and undeniable.

Your breath hitches, your hands instinctively finding her waist as she deepens the kiss, her fingers tangling in your hair. It’s messy, it’s chaotic, it’s everything Ryujin is—and it’s perfect.

When she finally pulls away, you’re both breathing heavily, your foreheads resting against each other. She looks at you, her eyes searching yours, and for a moment, you’re afraid she’s going to pull away, to laugh it off like it’s just another one of her pranks.

But she doesn’t. Instead, she smiles—a real, genuine smile—and says, “About time.”

You laugh, a little breathless, a little dazed. “You’re impossible.”

She grins, her usual mischief back in full force. “Yeah, but you like me anyway.”

And the thing is, she’s right. You do. You always have.

But before you can say anything, she’s already pulling away, her hand slipping into yours as she tugs you toward the stairs. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?” you ask, though you already know the answer.

She looks back at you, her grin widening. “You’ll see.”

And just like that, the chaos begins again—but this time, you’re ready for it.

Ryujin stops abruptly at the foot of the stairs, her fingers tightening around yours. She turns, her gaze locking with yours, and there’s a flicker of mischief that makes your stomach twist. “Actually,” she says, her voice low and teasing, “let’s go this way instead.”

Before you can even process her words, she’s pulling you toward the kitchen. The house is silent except for the sound of your footsteps and the faint hum of the refrigerator. Your heart pounds as she leads you into the dimly lit room, her grip firm, almost possessive.

She stops in front of the counter, her back to the sink, and turns to face you. Her eyes are dark, intense, and they never leave yours as she steps closer—so close you can feel the heat of her body against yours. You swallow hard, your breath catching in your throat, as she presses you back against the counter.

“Ryujin…” you start, but she silences you with a finger on your lips.

“Shh,” she whispers, leaning in until her lips brush against your ear. “I’ve always wanted to do this.”

Her hands slide down your chest, slow and deliberate, and you shiver under her touch. She smells like summer—like sunscreen and sweat and something sweet, something distinctly her. Your hands find her waist almost instinctively, anchoring yourself as she tilts her head, her lips grazing the side of your neck.

“Do what?” you manage to ask, though your voice comes out hoarse, barely audible.

She pulls back just enough to meet your eyes again, her lips curling into that familiar smirk. “This.”

And then she’s moving, stepping away just long enough to reach into the pantry. She pulls out a jar of honey, holding it up like it’s some kind of prize. Your brows furrow in confusion, but before you can ask, she’s already unscrewing the lid.

“Ryujin,” you say again, your voice trembling. “What are you—?”

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she drizzles a thin line of honey down your chest, starting just below your collarbone and letting it trail down to your stomach. The sensation is cold at first, sticky and strange, but then she sets the jar aside and leans in, her tongue following the trail.

You groan, your head falling back against the cabinet behind you as her lips and tongue move over your skin, warm and wet and electric. She takes her time, savoring every inch, her hands gripping your hips to keep you in place. Every stroke feels like fire, lighting up every nerve in your body.

“Fuck,” you breathe, your fingers tangling in her hair as she works her way down. Her tongue flicks over a sensitive spot just above your navel, and you jerk involuntarily, your hips pressing forward.

She chuckles against your skin, the sound vibrating through you. “You like that, huh?”

“You’re such a menace,” you mutter, though your voice is shaky, and you’re pretty sure you’re not fooling anyone.

She pulls back just enough to look up at you, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “And yet, you’re not stopping me.”

You don’t have a response for that—mostly because you’re too busy trying to remember how to breathe. She smirks, clearly pleased with herself, and then she’s back at it, her tongue tracing patterns on your skin that leave you gasping.

“Ryujin,” you manage to say, your voice strained. “This is—”

“What?” she interrupts, looking up at you with those dark, teasing eyes. “Too much?”

You shake your head, your hands tightening in her hair. “No. Just… not enough.”

Her grin widens, and she shifts closer, her body pressing against yours as she licks the last traces of honey from your skin. “Good.”

She leans in then, her lips brushing against yours in a kiss that’s soft and slow and utterly maddening. Her hands slide up your chest, sticky from the honey, and you can’t help but groan as she deepens the kiss, her tongue sliding against yours.

You’re not sure how long it lasts—seconds, minutes, hours—but when she finally pulls away, you’re left breathless, your chest rising and falling rapidly. She looks at you with a mix of satisfaction and something else—something deeper, something that makes your heart race even faster.

“You taste sweet,” she murmurs, her thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

You laugh, though it’s shaky and uneven. “That’s the honey.”

She shakes her head, her smile softening. “No. It’s you.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you don’t say anything at all. Instead, you pull her back in, your lips crashing against hers in a kiss that’s hungry and desperate and filled with all the things you’ve both been too afraid to say.

Her hands slide down your back, gripping the hem of your shirt and yanking it over your head before tossing it aside. Her own tank top follows, leaving her in just her sports bra, and you groan at the sight of her skin—smooth and golden and perfect.

“God, you’re beautiful,” you whisper, your hands skating over her sides, feeling the warmth of her beneath your fingertips.

She smirks, her hands sliding up your chest again. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

You laugh, but it’s cut short as she pushes you back against the counter again, her lips finding your neck as her hands explore your body. You’re helpless against her touch, your hips pressing forward as she grinds against you, her breath hot against your skin.

“Ryujin,” you gasp, your hands gripping her waist tightly. “We can’t—someone might—”

“No one’s home,” she interrupts, her voice low and filled with promise. “It’s just us.”

And just like that, any lingering hesitation evaporates. You kiss her again, hard and deep, your hands roaming over her body as she does the same to you. The kitchen falls away, the world narrows to just the two of you, and for once, everything feels right.

She pulls back just long enough to grab the jar of honey again, and this time, she drizzles it down her own chest, her eyes never leaving yours. “Your turn,” she whispers, her voice dripping with challenge.

You don’t need to be told twice.

You don’t hesitate. Your lips crash into hers with a hunger that surprises even you. Her hands tangle in your hair, pulling you closer as your tongues dance in a fiery rhythm. The taste of honey on her lips is intoxicating, sweet and sticky, and you can’t get enough.

Your hands move on their own, sliding down her back, feeling the heat of her skin beneath your fingertips. She arches into you, her body pressing against yours in a way that makes your breath hitch. You grip her hips, lifting her onto the counter with a strength you didn’t know you had. Her legs wrap around your waist instinctively, pulling you closer, and you can feel the urgency in the way she clings to you.

She moans softly into your mouth, a sound that sends a jolt of electricity straight to your core. Your hands roam her body, exploring every curve, every dip, committing her to memory. Her nails dig into your back, sharp and possessive, and you groan against her lips, the mix of pain and pleasure driving you wild.

You grind against her, the friction between your bodies sending waves of heat through you both. She whimpers, her head falling back as you trail kisses down her neck. Your teeth nip at her collarbone, and she gasps, her fingers tightening in your hair. “More,” she breathes, her voice a desperate plea.

You don’t need to be told twice. Your hands move to her chest, fumbling with the clasp of her sports bra. It comes undone with a soft click, and she shimmies out of it, her breasts spilling free. You take a moment to admire her, the way her chest rises and falls with each ragged breath, the way her nipples harden under your gaze.

Leaning down, you take one nipple into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it as she gasps and arches her back. Her hands grip your shoulders, her nails leaving faint crescent marks as you give her the attention she craves. You switch to the other nipple, your teeth grazing it gently, and she lets out a low moan that vibrates through your entire body.

“God, you’re—” she starts, but her words dissolve into a whimper as your hands slide down her sides, settling on her hips. You grip her tightly, pulling her closer as you continue to work her with your mouth.

Her legs tighten around your waist, and you can feel how much she wants you, how much she needs you. It’s intoxicating, the way she responds to you, the way she melts under your touch. You’ve never felt this kind of connection before, this kind of raw, unfiltered desire.

You pull back just enough to meet her eyes, her lips swollen from your kisses, her hair a wild mess around her face. “Ryujin,” you murmur, your voice rough with need.

She looks at you, her eyes dark with want, and smiles that mischievous smile that always drives you crazy. “What? Got something to say, city boy?” she teases, her voice a little breathless.

You smirk, your hands moving to the waistband of her shorts. “Just wondering how much trouble I’m about to get into.”

She laughs, low and throaty, and pulls you back in for another kiss. “You have no idea,” she murmurs against your lips.

You undo the button of her shorts, sliding them down her legs along with her underwear. She kicks them off, and suddenly, she’s completely bare before you, her skin glowing in the dim light of the kitchen. You step back for a moment, just to take her in, and she raises an eyebrow at you. “Like what you see?” she asks, her voice laced with amusement.

“You’re perfect,” you say, your voice hoarse with emotion. And you mean it. Every inch of her is perfection, from the way her hair falls over her shoulders to the way her chest rises and falls with each breath.

She rolls her eyes, but there’s a hint of a blush on her cheeks. “Enough staring. Get over here.”

You don’t need to be told twice. You step back between her legs, your hands on her hips, and she wraps her arms around your neck, pulling you down for another searing kiss. Her legs tighten around you, pulling you closer, and you can feel how wet she is, how ready for you.

You reach down between your bodies, guiding yourself to her entrance, and she gasps as you press against her. “Ryujin,” you murmur, your voice thick with need.

She looks up at you, her eyes dark and filled with desire. “I’m ready,” she whispers, her voice trembling slightly.

You push into her slowly, giving her time to adjust, and she lets out a soft moan, her nails digging into your back. She’s so tight, so warm, and it takes every ounce of self-control you have to keep from losing yourself in her completely.

“You feel amazing,” you murmur, your voice rough with need.

She laughs softly, her breath hitching as you start to move. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she teases, her voice a little shaky.

You start to move, slow and steady at first, letting her get used to the sensation. But then she digs her nails into your back, and the sound she makes is enough to make you lose control. You start to thrust harder, deeper, and she moans, her head falling back as she arches into you.

Her hands roam over your body, exploring every inch of you as you move together. Her fingers trace the muscles of your back, your shoulders, your chest, and every touch sends a jolt of electricity through you.

“Faster,” she breathes, her voice filled with need, and you oblige, picking up the pace. Her legs tighten around you, pulling you deeper, and she lets out a low moan that sends a shiver down your spine.

You can feel the tension building in her body, the way she clenches around you, and it drives you wild. You grip her hips tightly, pulling her closer as you thrust into her, and she lets out a cry, her nails digging into your shoulders.

“I’m close,” she gasps, her voice trembling with need.

You lean down, capturing her lips in a searing kiss as you drive into her, the sound of your bodies coming together filling the kitchen. She moans into your mouth, her body trembling as she reaches her peak, and you follow her over the edge, the force of your release leaving you both breathless.

You stay like that for a moment, your foreheads pressed together, your breaths mingling as you both come down from the high. She smiles up at you, her eyes soft and filled with something you can’t quite place.

“So…” she says, her voice teasing, “was that worth the wait?”

You laugh, pulling her closer. “Absolutely.”

She grins, her fingers tracing patterns on your chest. “Good. Because I’m not done with you yet.”

You raise an eyebrow at her, a smile tugging at your lips. “Oh yeah? What’s next, then?”

She leans in, her breath hot against your ear. “Let’s just say… you’re about to find out.”

And just like that, you’re pulled back into the chaos, the heat, the endless, breathless spiral of her. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Her fingers tighten around your wrist as she pulls you down the hallway, her bare feet padding softly against the wooden floor. The house is quiet except for the faint hum of the ceiling fan in the kitchen, still spinning from your earlier escapade. Ryujin glances over her shoulder, her hair falling in a messy cascade, her lips curving into that familiar, mischievous grin.

“Where are we going now?” you ask, your voice low, still catching your breath.

“You’ll see,” she says, dragging you toward her bedroom. The door creaks open, and she shoves you inside, following closely and shutting it behind her with a soft click.

Her room is exactly how you remember it — chaotic in the most Ryujin way possible. Clothes are strewn across the floor, a skateboard leans against the wall, and posters of bands you’ve never heard of cover the walls. The scent of her — something sweet and wild, like strawberries and pine — fills the air.

She turns to face you, her eyes dark and playful. “You’ve been holding out on me, cousin.”

You raise an eyebrow. “How so?”

She steps closer, her hands sliding up your chest, her touch sending shivers down your spine. “You’ve been acting all innocent, like you didn’t know exactly what you were doing back in the kitchen. But I know you. You’ve been thinking about this for a while, haven’t you?”

You swallow, your throat suddenly dry. “Maybe.”

She laughs, soft and low, and presses herself against you. “Good. Because so have I.”

Her lips find yours again, eager and demanding, and you sink into the kiss, your hands tangling in her hair. She tugs at your lower lip with her teeth, pulling a soft groan from you, and then she’s pushing you backward until the back of your knees hit the edge of her bed.

“Sit,” she commands, her voice thick with desire.

You obey, your heart pounding as she straddles your lap, her thighs pressing against your hips. She leans in, her breath warm against your neck, and whispers, “You’re mine now.”

It’s not a question. It’s a statement. A claim. And you don’t argue.

Her hands roam over your chest, her touch feather-light but electric, and you can’t help but shudder under her. She kisses you again, deep and slow, her tongue teasing yours, and you lose yourself in the taste of her, in the heat of her body against yours.

“Ryujin,” you murmur against her lips, your hands gripping her hips.

“What?” she whispers back, her voice teasing.

“You’re driving me crazy.”

She smirks, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. “Good. That’s the point.”

Before you can respond, she’s sliding off your lap and standing in front of you, her fingers hooking into the waistband of her shorts. She wiggles out of them slowly, deliberately, her eyes locked on yours, and then she’s standing there in nothing but her sports bra, her skin glowing in the dim light of the room.

You stare, unable to look away, your breath hitching in your throat.

She grins, her hands on her hips. “Like what you see?”

“You know I do,” you say, your voice rough.

She steps closer, her hands sliding up your chest again, and then she’s tugging at your shirt. “Fair’s fair, cousin.”

You pull it off, tossing it to the side, and she lets out a low whistle, her fingers tracing the lines of your abs. “Damn. You’ve been working out, huh?”

You smirk. “You’ve noticed.”

She laughs, shaking her head, and then she’s pushing you back onto the bed, climbing over you until she’s sitting on your hips. Her hands brace on your chest, and she leans down, her lips brushing against yours. “You’re not gonna be able to walk straight tomorrow.”

You groan, your hands sliding up her thighs. “Promises, promises.”

She kisses you again, hard and hungry, and you respond in kind, your hands roaming over her body, memorizing every curve, every dip. She pulls back, her breathing heavy, and reaches behind her to unclasp her bra. It falls away, and you’re left staring at her, your chest tight with want.

“Ryujin,” you say, her name a prayer on your lips.

She smiles, slow and wicked, and then she’s leaning down, her lips trailing down your chest, your stomach, until she reaches the waistband of your pants. Her fingers undo the button, the zipper, and then she’s pulling them off, leaving you bare before her.

She looks up at you, her eyes dark with desire. “You ready?”

You nod, unable to speak, and she grins, her hands sliding up your thighs. “Good.”

Her touch is electric, and when her lips wrap around you, you swear you see stars. Your hands tangle in her hair, your hips bucking against her, and she hums in approval, her tongue teasing you in ways that make you forget your own name.

“Ryujin,” you gasp, your back arching off the bed.

She pulls back, her lips slick, and grins up at you. “Not yet.”

Before you can protest, she’s climbing back up your body, her lips finding yours again, and then she’s guiding you inside her, her breath hitching as she sinks down onto you. She moans, her head falling back, and you grip her hips, helping her move, your bodies moving in perfect sync.

“You feel so good,” she whispers, her hands braced on your chest.

“You’re incredible,” you say, your voice strained.

She picks up the pace, her movements becoming more desperate, more urgent, and you meet her thrust for thrust, your hands roaming over her body, pulling her closer, deeper. Her nails dig into your chest, and you groan, the sensation only driving you wilder.

“Close,” she gasps, her voice trembling.

“Me too,” you say, your grip on her hips tightening.

She cries out, her body tightening around you, and you follow her over the edge, the world shattering around you as you both collapse into each other, breathless and spent.

Her head falls against your chest, her breathing ragged, and you wrap your arms around her, holding her close.

“That was…” she starts, her voice muffled against your skin.

“Amazing,” you finish for her.

She laughs, soft and sleepy, and presses a kiss to your chest. “Yeah. Amazing.”

You both lie there, tangled together, the room hushed except for the sound of your breathing. After a moment, she lifts her head, her eyes meeting yours.

“You’re not gonna be able to walk straight tomorrow,” she says again, her grin returning.

You laugh, shaking your head. “Worth it.”

She leans in, her lips brushing against yours. “Good. Because we’re not done yet.”

[kitkat13001]

i think being in love with denki feels like summer.

like cherry popsicles and ice cream dripping down your hands. like the sun warming your face. like a cool breeze that moves your hair in the hot evenings. like the smell of chlorine and sunscreen that lingers even when you’re home from the pool. like songs from ten years ago that play on the radio that remind you of childhood. like the giddy feeling you get on the last day of school, knowing you’re free for the next few months. like the waves that lap at your feet at the beach. like the midnight texts you send, knowing you can sleep til noon the next day. like the delighted cry you make as you spike a beach ball over an invisible net. like the smell of fresh-cut grass in a sunny park. like running barefoot on the concrete sidewalk with chalk-covered hands. like a backseat lovers song. like an indie coming-of-age romance, like the kind of love a garage band sings about in a backyard show you go to, holding hands with denki like this summer’s never going to end.

[fear-is-truth]

❛ WHAT YOUR FAVOURITE EVAN PETERS CHARACTER SAYS ABOUT YOU ❜

ft. tate langdon ‧ kit walker ‧ kyle spencer ‧ jimmy darling ‧ james patrick march ‧ kai anderson ‧ austin sommers ‧ peter maximoff ‧ colin zabel ೯⠀⁺ ⠀ 𖥻 𝗢𝟭 ⠀ᰋ

꣑ৎ ‎ :‎ masterlist﹒request / chat w me ! ﹒꒱ note. this just for funsies—i don’t mean to offend anyone

────୨ৎ────

TATE LANGDON:

your taste in music & fashion is fire.

apart from the murder house, you probably wanna live in the pink palace from coraline.

you might be interested in true crime.

not sure if you’ve watched zero day (2003) but if you have, pretty sure you’d fw cal gabriel too. or not.

deadpan sarcasm.

haunted porcelain doll vibes.

you enjoy movies like coraline, donnie darko and everything directed by tim burton.

bright but hate school.

you don’t have the best relationship with your parent(s). :((

autumn is your fav season.

ben harmon hater (aren’t we all)

hobbies: thrifting, art, vinyl collecting, taxidermy, poetry, photography.

you spend too much time searching for violet harmon exacts online. (i hope you find the one you want at a fairly reasonable price)

────୨ৎ────

KIT WALKER

the Mom Friend™ of the group.

free spirited and has a heart of pure gold.

you cry at movies that tug at your heartstrings.

more of a dog person than a cat person.

your cooking is probably wicked good.

running barefoot on a grassy hill.

until i found you by stephen sanchez is basically about you and your guy.

you like animal crossing or stardew valley.

cozy aesthetic. embroidered pillowcases, half-buttoned henleys, a fridge covered in little notes and polaroids, herb garden, clean laundry that smells like sunlight.

────୨ৎ────

KYLE SPENCER

you have great taste in guys. he’s not just a ‘green flag’ he’s a goddamn forest. in a world of boys he’s a gentleman.

hopeless romantic.

your love language is quality time.

activities i imagine you doing with your ‘kyle’: walk on the beach, ice skating, trying out new cafés or bakeries, drive-in movies, boardwalk (he wins you the giant stuffed animal you’ve been eyeing), build-a-bear, baking cookies, feeding ducks at the park.

belle is your favourite disney princess.

your hogwarts house is probably ravenclaw.

you’re kind of an introvert.

pinterest whore <3

light academia + soft girl aesthetic. white button-ups, bows/ ribbons in your hair, love letters with lipstick kisses, varsity jackets that belong to your bf, iced matcha. spring.

you collect sanrio plushies and seashells.

you listen to gracie abrams, taylor swift (especially lover AND evermore)

you like the summer i turned pretty and/or to all the boys i loved before. and probably jane austen.

────୨ৎ────

JIMMY DARLING

you’re outspoken and a total badass.

did i mention that you’re super sexy?

your hogwarts house is probably gryffindor.

trinket collector!!

the first thing you notice about a person is their smile. bonus if they have dimples.

you have a thing for men in leather jackets.

your fav movies include the outsiders, stand by me, top gun.

you like stevie nicks.

────୨ৎ────

JAMES PATRICK MARCH

pretty sure at least one of your fictional crushes is a vampire.

you want to be worshipped like a goddess—as you should !!

you like quotes that romanticise cannibalism as a metaphor for intimacy.

you listen to lady gaga.

slytherin. no questions asked.

BLOOD !!!!! gallons of the stuff-

you’re turned on by etiquette, quoting shakespeare, men/women covered in blood, a velvet gloved hand tilting your chin up, a sexy accent.

you’ve probably reblogged one of the following aesthetics on your blog: dark red. blood. wine. pomegranates. daggers. long flowing white nightgowns. vampires.

────୨ৎ────

KAI ANDERSON

questionable taste but i totally get you.

you listen to lana del rey, ethel cain or nicole dollanganger.

your hogwarts house is 99% slytherin.

at least one of your male celeb crushes is considered ‘problematic’.

“…. but he’s hot though.”

plagued with paranoid thoughts.

you have more knowledge about the manson family than the average person.

you are the divine convergence of self-awareness, shame, and delusion.

you either dissociate OR overanalyse until you wanna put your head through the fucking wall.

you can easily see through gaslighting because you’re kind of a pro yourself.

addicted to pepsi and chicken tenders.

you probably enjoy films like buffalo ‘66, american psycho, natural born killers.

────୨ৎ────

AUSTIN SOMMERS

you grew up very precocious, clever, and a little too sassy.

you’re probably bisexual.

very artistic soul.

brooklyn baby by lana del rey is about you.

low tolerance for mediocrity. you want genius or nothing.

you can flirt your way out of messy situations; but it’s the flirting that got you into trouble in the first place.

platonic flirting with your friends.

you have immaculate taste in a everything—art, literature, cinema, fashion.

you analyse everything. so you are likely an avid user of letterboxd or goodreads.

────୨ৎ────

PETER MAXIMOFF

you use humour as a coping mechanism.

your playlists have no cohesion but every song is a banger.

you prefer wire headphones rather than wireless ones.

your sleep schedule is totally fucked.

sporty.

the most loyal person in the world.

keychain hoarder.

you have a huge sweet tooth.

funky socks and graphic tees.

love love LOVE video games.

probably the type of person to fall in love with your best friend.

────୨ৎ────

COLIN ZABEL

you’re gentle with others but brutal with yourself.

a professional yearner.

cat person, bookworm or film buff. or maybe all of the above.

have a little people-pleaser streak that you’re trying to unlearn.

chronically self-effacing. if someone compliments you, you’ll either make a joke or downplay it.

generally soft spoken and introverted but you have some wildly funny/ inappropriate thoughts going on in that head of yours. (i mean this in a good way)

great sense of humour.

your (fictional) crushes gravitate towards slightly awkward men with good intentions and deep emotional wound.

you probably like the show fargo.

you say “sorry” way too often. i mean like if you bump into furniture you’d prolly apologise.

[unabashegirl]

The Cover | part 4

Y/N and Harry, lifelong best friends, pretend to be a couple for a family wedding weekend in Edinburgh. As they navigate the event, old feelings resurface, and what starts as an act turns into something real, leading them to confront their true emotions for one another.

Author's note: Hello everyone, here is the final part of the cover. I've decided to keep the smut exclusive to my Patreon subscribers. I hope that is okay with you. Also remember that this is a shorter version of the original.

I'm trying to come up with new ideas for one shots. Pls vote! Especially if you are subscribed to Patreon! Help Decide the Next One-Shot!

I'm still trying to gather the money to continue my journey to medical school in January. I've only gotten 1% of my goal. I'll leave the link here in case you would like or are able to help me. Please I am desperate! 🥺 https://ko-fi.com/mariabernal8706

Collections on Patreon!: These are ⭐️one-time purchases⭐️ that give you access to specific stories or series, even if they’re not fully finished. 👉🏻 You’ll get all the chapters available so far and automatically receive any new chapters as they’re posted. 👈🏻No membership needed! It’s perfect for those who want to enjoy a specific story without a monthly subscription. Plus, it’s a great way to support my work while getting exactly what you’re excited to read. Head over to my Patreon, find the Collections section, and grab the one that speaks to you. Once purchased, the content is yours to enjoy as it’s updated.

check out my patreon (starting at $2) and get full access to the rest of the chapters, various one shots and much more :)

As the evening wore on, the rehearsal dinner turned into a carefree celebration under the soft glow of fairy lights. Laughter filled the warm air, wine glasses clinked, and the once-formal atmosphere relaxed into something more boozy and free-spirited. Most guests had trickled out, leaving behind only close family and friends, including the bride, who was barefoot and swaying on the grass.

Harry sat at the large wooden table, eyes on the makeshift dance floor where family members stumbled over each other, laughing. His blazer was discarded over his chair, the top buttons of his shirt undone, a sheen of sweat glistening on his chest. The summer night was humid, and the heat from earlier hung in the air, clinging to everyone like a heavy blanket. Harry ran a hand through his tousled curls, the dampness at his hairline a reminder of how sticky the night had become.

Harry leaned back in his chair, one arm draped over the backrest, the other holding a glass of whiskey, now mostly just melted ice. He hadn’t been drinking much since the toasts, but the buzz from earlier still lingered, making him feel a little lighter than usual. His shirt clung to his chest, damp from the heat, and he unbuttoned another button to catch some air.

Across the yard, Y/N spun in her floral dress, laughter echoing in the warm night air, blending with the upbeat music from the DJ. Her cheeks were flushed, hair wild from dancing and drinks. She was the brightest thing in the yard, a glowing figure of joy among the family still hanging around.

Harry took a slow sip from his glass, his gaze never leaving her. She was magnetic—the way her dress swayed, the way she threw her head back when she laughed. It was impossible not to be drawn to her.

His shirt collar felt tight again, and Harry absentmindedly tugged at it, his eyes tracing the way Y/N’s dress hugged her in all the right places. There was something about the way she moved tonight—so free, so completely herself. It was like watching the most beautiful thing in the world, no filters, no pretenses.

He exhaled, a mix of admiration and frustration settling in. They hadn’t confessed anything yet—no love, no admissions of the truth that lingered between them. Watching her from the sidelines, it hit him just how deep he was in it.

Y/N’s cousin twirled her on the "dance floor," and for a split second, she stumbled, giggling as she caught herself. Beth, now barefoot, joined in, and the three of them—Y/N, her cousin, and Beth—started dancing in a clumsy circle, arms around each other’s shoulders.

The group’s laughter rang louder than the music, and even Y/N’s cousin—who had spent the evening showing off her fiancé and trying to impress Harry—was caught up in the happy, drunken haze of the night.

Harry sighed, rolling his shoulders and sinking back into his chair, the sweat on his skin cooling in the evening air. His gaze never left Y/N as she moved, effortlessly beautiful. It struck him again how out of place she seemed here—surrounded by these people, with their petty remarks and forced conversations. She was so much more than that. Watching her dance, carefree and full of life, made his chest tighten.

Then, as Y/N spun in the circle, her eyes met his. For a moment, her smile softened, more intimate, before she waved at him playfully, inviting him to join. Harry shook his head, raising his glass in a half-teasing salute.

She pouted, narrowing her eyes at him before rolling them and letting her arms drop from her cousin and Beth. Without missing a beat, she marched toward him, the fabric of her dress brushing her legs with each step.

“You’re really just going to sit there all night?” Y/N teased, standing in front of him with her hands on her hips. Her voice was light, but the challenge in her eyes was undeniable.

“I’m enjoying the view,” Harry replied, his voice lower than he meant to. He grinned, but there was no mistaking the heat behind his gaze.

Y/N’s lips curved into a knowing smile, and she tilted her head, studying him for a moment. “The view’s better up close,” she said, holding out her hand.

Harry stared at her outstretched hand, the challenge and playful spark in her eyes tempting him. It was impossible not to be drawn in. His heart raced, the idea of crossing that line between friendship and something more pulling him in.

For a moment, he considered brushing her off with another excuse. But something shifted. A decision settled in his chest, heavy but certain.

Without another word, he reached out, his hand taking hers. Instead of getting up, he tugged her gently toward him. Y/N gasped in surprise as he pulled her close, his grip firm but careful. She stumbled slightly, and before she could react, Harry pulled her down onto his lap.

“Harry—” she whispered, voice breathless, the protest fading before it even left her lips.

Harry wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. Y/N's legs draped over his lap as she sat sideways on him, his other hand settling on her thigh. The warmth of his touch seeped through the fabric of her dress, the floral print fluttering slightly as she adjusted. The delicate pattern contrasted with the intimacy of the moment.

His heart raced, but he kept his voice steady. “Thought you’d look better here,” he murmured, his words laced with both playfulness and something deeper.

Y/N looked up at him, wide-eyed and speechless for a moment, her cheeks flushed from the sudden closeness. She shifted in his lap, slow and tentative, the nervous energy between them thick and palpable. Neither of them had fully acknowledged the tension before.

Her hands found his chest, fingers brushing against the open buttons of his shirt. She swallowed hard. “Harry, what are you doing?” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. Was it a challenge? A question? Or just a way to steady herself in the chaos of emotions between them?

He smirked, though his heart felt like it might burst. "I don’t want to dance," he murmured in her ear. "I prefer being here with you."

Her breath hitched at his words. For a moment, she didn’t know what to say. She’d always hidden her feelings, pushed them aside, but this felt different. It felt real. The way Harry’s arms held her, the way his breath brushed against her skin—it was as if they’d always been this close, even when they hadn’t.

Y/N bit her lip, her nerves taking over for a moment. She wasn’t sure if this was just Harry being playful or if something had really changed between them. But as she sat in his lap, his hand on her thigh, the truth felt undeniable.

Harry could feel her hesitation, the tension in her posture, caught between leaning into him and pulling away. His thumb brushed over the fabric of her dress, a small, reassuring touch, silently telling her it was okay to stay.

“Relax,” he whispered in her ear, his voice low and soft. “Just… stay.”

Y/N exhaled, her body melting into his as she allowed herself to give in to the moment. She leaned her head back against his chest, their breaths syncing as they sat close and quiet, the fading party around them.

The world blurred into a soft hum, the laughter and music fading into the background. All that remained was the warmth of Harry’s embrace, the steady beat of his heart beneath her hand, and the electricity of their unspoken feelings finally surfacing.

Y/N closed her eyes for a moment, her hand resting over Harry’s on her thigh, fingers intertwining. “What are we doing, Harry?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he tightened his hold on her, his lips near her temple. “I’m not sure,” he murmured, “but I don’t want to stop.”

Her heart fluttered at his words. For the first time that night, she allowed herself to believe—just a little—that maybe he felt the same way she did.

Y/N took a deep breath, summoning the courage she needed. The alcohol made her head spin, but it also gave her the boldness to act. She knew if anything was going to happen, it had to be now.

Suddenly, she stood up from his lap. Harry looked up at her, surprise and curiosity flashing in his eyes. Y/N reached for his glass, brushing against his fingers as she took it. Without breaking eye contact, she downed his drink in one swift motion.

Harry’s gaze was intense, a mix of desire and uncertainty in his eyes. Y/N’s heart raced, but she ignored the nerves and extended her hand to him—an invitation, a challenge, all in one.

For a moment, Harry hesitated, his eyes searching hers. Then, slowly, deliberately, he took her hand. Y/N felt a jolt of electricity as their fingers intertwined. With a gentle tug, she pulled him up from his seat, their bodies close, the tension between them undeniable.

Without a word, Y/N led Harry away from the fading party, through the quiet halls of the house. The sounds of laughter and music drifted behind them, their footsteps echoing softly in the silence, their heartbeats quickening in sync.

They reached the door to their shared bedroom, and Y/N paused, her hand on the doorknob. She turned to face Harry, her eyes searching his.

His gaze was intense, a mix of desire and something deeper. He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. The simple touch sent shivers down her spine.

“Are you sure about this?” he whispered, his voice low and husky.

Y/N nodded, her voice barely audible. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

With that, she turned the doorknob, and they stepped into the room together, closing the door behind them. The night was far from over, and whatever happened next would change everything.

Y/N woke up before Harry, her head pounding slightly from the drinks of last night. The dull throb of a hangover tugged at her, but the memories of the night before were as vivid as ever. Every touch, every whispered word, every lingering moment—it was all clear in her mind.

She lay there for a moment, blinking against the soft morning light filtering through the curtains. Her gaze drifted to Harry, lying beside her on his stomach, completely naked. The sheet had been kicked off during the night, leaving him uncovered. His broad back rose and fell with each slow breath, muscles relaxed, his messy curls falling across his forehead. He looked peaceful, vulnerable, and breathtakingly beautiful.

For a brief moment, Y/N let herself admire him—the smooth lines of his back, the curve of his spine, the way his body seemed perfectly at ease. A warmth spread through her chest, not just from the memories of their night together, but from the way Harry made her feel in this quiet, unspoken moment.

With a sigh, she slipped out of bed as quietly as possible. Grabbing a pair of pajamas from her suitcase, she slipped them on, the soft fabric comforting against her skin. Her mind buzzed with thoughts of the day ahead—the wedding, the ceremony, the reception.

Y/N cast one last glance at Harry before tiptoeing out of the room. She needed a moment to herself—and some breakfast—before the chaos of the day began.

Heading downstairs, she stepped into the dining room, still feeling the faint throb of a hangover, but the promise of coffee and food was enough to offer some relief. She spotted her cousin and Beth immediately. Both looked worse for wear after last night's festivities. Beth was lounging in her chair, sipping a Bloody Mary with a smug expression, while Y/N’s cousin—the bride—was nursing her headache with a cold compress pressed to her puffy face, slowly nibbling on toast.

"Morning," Y/N greeted as she made her way to the coffee pot, pouring herself a steaming cup. She sat down at the table, hoping the caffeine would kick in and help her survive the day ahead. Beth’s eyes sparkled mischievously as she took another sip of her drink.

"So," Beth said, leaning forward with a sly grin. "Where did you disappear off to last night?"

Y/N’s cheeks flushed with heat, the memory of waking up next to Harry still fresh in her mind. She tried to play it cool, taking a long sip of her coffee before responding. "We just... went to bed early," she said, keeping her tone casual, hoping to brush it off. "Nothing exciting."

Beth’s grin only grew wider. "Uh-huh. Sure. You just went to sleep, huh?" She leaned in, lowering her voice like they were sharing a secret. "Come on, Y/N, don’t be shy. You’re a dirty girl now, aren’t you?"

Y/N nearly choked on her coffee, her face burning even hotter as she shot a glare at Beth. "Beth, seriously," she muttered, feeling more exposed than she wanted to admit. Before she could say anything else, her cousin, the bride, spoke up.

"I’m actually glad we have a moment to talk alone," her cousin said, setting down her toast and focusing her attention on Y/N. Her voice was sweet, but there was a sharpness in it that immediately put Y/N on edge. "I’ve been wanting to bring this up for a while now."

Y/N’s pulse quickened as she turned to face her cousin. "Oh?"

Her cousin smiled tightly, pressing the ice pack harder against her swollen face. "I’ve been meaning to say… I’m a bit surprised, to be honest." She gave a small, pointed shrug before continuing. "That someone like Harry would notice… well, someone like you."

Y/N’s heart sank, though she’d braced herself for comments like this. Hearing it still stung. Her cousin’s words were dripping with condescension, like she couldn’t believe Harry would even look twice at Y/N, let alone be interested.

"Someone like me?" Y/N echoed, her voice calm but guarded, forcing herself to keep her tone even.

Her cousin waved a hand dismissively. "You know what I mean. You’ve always been so quiet, so reserved. And Harry’s... well, he’s Harry Styles. A global superstar. It’s just... unexpected, that’s all."

Y/N’s stomach twisted as insecurity rose to the surface. She’d always known Harry’s fame was a shadow that loomed over everything, especially in situations like this. But hearing it like this? It felt personal. It felt like her cousin was questioning her worth, her place beside Harry.

Before Y/N could think of a response, Beth cut in with a sharp laugh. "Oh, shut up," she said, dismissing the bride’s thinly veiled insult with a wave of her hand. "Harry doesn’t care about all that. If anything, he’s lucky Y/N even looks at him."

Y/N shot Beth a grateful glance, feeling the tension shift slightly in the room, but her cousin wasn’t done. She leaned back in her chair, sizing Y/N up with an unreadable look. "Well, I suppose we’ll see," she said, her voice laced with skepticism. "But it’s just... different. I never would've guessed."

Y/N swallowed, trying to keep her composure, but her cousin’s words hung in the air like a cloud she couldn’t shake. She took a deep breath, forcing a smile despite the nervous flutter in her chest. "Yeah," Y/N said softly. "It is different."

Beth, ever the firecracker, raised her Bloody Mary in a mock toast. "Different is good."

Y/N’s cousin’s voice dripped with saccharine sweetness, her next words like poison. "I mean, you’re just so... simple," she said, emphasizing the word in a way that felt anything but kind. "And that’s okay! Not everyone has to be flashy or... glamorous." She waved her hand dismissively, as if to brush aside any possibility that Y/N could be more than what she was implying. "You’ve always been the quiet one, the one in the background. I suppose some people might find that... charming."

Y/N forced a tight smile, but her cousin’s words stung deeper than she expected. Doubt crept in with every backhanded comment. Was she really that unremarkable? Did everyone see her the way her cousin did—as someone who didn’t quite belong with someone like Harry?

Beth wasn’t having any of it. “Simple?” she scoffed. “You mean down-to-earth, real—not fake like some people I can name.”

Her cousin smirked, clearly pleased with herself. “Look at Harry’s usual type—models, actresses. Saw him with that model in London last week? They looked so into each other.”

Y/N froze, her stomach twisting. “What model?” she barely managed to ask.

Her cousin leaned back, eyes sparkling. “You must’ve seen the pictures. They were everywhere. Harry was all over her. Thought they were dating.”

Y/N’s head spun, images of Harry with someone else filling her mind. She hadn’t seen those photos, but the thought gnawed at her.

Beth wasn’t having it. “Can you stop stirring shit? Harry’s here with Y/N, clearly doesn’t care about some random model.”

Y/N’s cousin didn’t respond, just gave a tight smile. Y/N tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her chest.

Y/N’s cousin gave her a sweet, condescending smile. “I just thought they looked so... in love. But who knows?” Her eyes glinted, clearly relishing the discomfort she was trying to stir.

Y/N felt the doubt creep in, but instead of reacting, she straightened her back. She locked eyes with her cousin and said, her tone ice-cold, “You know, I could say a lot of things right now. Things that would take that smug look off your face.”

Her cousin blinked, caught off guard. Y/N smiled, the edge never leaving her voice. “But since it’s your wedding day, I’ll keep them to myself. I’ll play the part, smile for the cameras, and make sure everything’s ‘perfect.’”

With that, Y/N turned and walked away, the weight of the moment settling in as she left her cousin speechless. No more doubts. Not today.

Y/N shot her cousin a cold smile, letting the weight of her words sink in. "After today, we’ll be strangers. I don’t plan on speaking to someone so self-absorbed and cold-hearted ever again."

Beth raised an eyebrow, impressed by Y/N's bluntness, but her cousin's face fell, her shock turning to indignation. Before she could respond, Y/N brushed off her hands nonchalantly. "Now, if you’ll excuse me, let me know when hair and makeup get here," she said casually, turning on her heel and walking out.

But as soon as the door closed behind her, Y/N’s facade cracked. The anger that had fueled her words faded, replaced by confusion and pain. Her heart raced, and doubts flooded her mind. Was her cousin right? Did she really belong in Harry’s world? Or was this all just a fantasy? The thought of facing him upstairs—of confronting everything she was feeling—felt too overwhelming. She couldn’t do it, not now.

Y/N slipped quietly through the back door into the garden, the crisp morning air doing little to ease the storm inside her. Coffee cup in hand, she made her way to a small table, steam rising from the mug, the only warmth she could feel.

Her hands shook as she took a sip, the bitter taste matching the thoughts spiraling in her mind. The garden, serene and beautiful, felt like a different world from the chaos in her head.

She had no answers, no idea what to do, or where to go. It all felt like it was slipping through her fingers.

Y/N gripped the mug tightly, trying to steady her racing thoughts. But before she could find her peace, the back door creaked open.

Her mom stormed out, face flushed with anger. Y/N didn’t need to ask why—her cousin had already run to her, no doubt twisting things to make her the villain.

"Y/N!" her mom’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and demanding. “What did you say to your cousin?”

Y/N tensed, her heart sinking. Of course, this was coming. She didn’t even look at her mom, just stared into her coffee, hoping it would swallow her whole.

"She came to me in tears, Y/N! Tears! On her wedding day! How could you be so cruel?"

Y/N bit the inside of her cheek, keeping her voice steady. She didn’t want to argue—not when she felt so broken inside. "You don’t know what she said to me," she murmured. "She’s been making snide remarks all morning—about me, about Harry. About everything."

Her mom crossed her arms, annoyed. "She’s the bride, Y/N! You could’ve let it go. It’s one day. Now look at what you’ve done. The whole family is talking about it."

Y/N’s chest tightened. "It’s always about how things look, isn’t it?" she muttered, almost to herself. "I didn’t want to make a scene, but I wasn’t going to let her tear me down, not today. Not when I’m already—" she stopped, not wanting to show just how fragile she felt. "Not when she was being completely out of line."

Y/N’s heart dropped as her mother’s words hit their mark. “Out of line?” Her mom scoffed. “She was just pointing out the obvious. Harry isn’t like us. He’s not… your type. And everyone knows it. You should’ve thought twice before bringing him into all of this.”

The sting of her mother’s words cut deep. It was like being told, once again, that she didn’t fit in. That she was too much of an outsider, even in her own life. She felt small, like everything she’d worked so hard for wasn’t enough to make her belong.

“Mom,” Y/N whispered, trying to hold back the wave of emotion building in her chest. “Why do you always make me feel like I’m not enough?”

Her mother paused, just for a second, before shaking her head, as if dismissing Y/N’s hurt. “I’m just saying you need to be realistic,” she said, voice lowering as if that would soften the blow. “Harry’s great, but he doesn’t belong here. You don’t belong here. You need to think about what’s best for you.”

That was it. The words that would stay with Y/N for days. The ones that would echo in her mind, repeating like a broken record. She wanted to scream, to tell her mom how much it hurt, but instead, all she could do was blink back the tears. She didn’t have the strength to keep fighting, not now, not with everything weighing on her.

“Just… fix this,” her mom ordered, voice soft but still holding that cold command. “Make it right before the wedding starts. You owe her that.”

Y/N felt the world close in, her heart sinking lower than she ever thought it could.

Y/N’s heart sank as her mom walked away, leaving her standing in the cold. No response. No comfort. Just the weight of her words hanging in the air. She wiped at the tears that had started to spill, her chest tight with everything she couldn’t say, everything she couldn’t change.

She dragged herself upstairs, each step heavier than the last. Her mind was a mess, full of her cousin’s cruel comments and her mom’s cold disappointment. What was she supposed to do with all of this? Where could she go?

When she opened the bedroom door, the warm steam from the shower hit her like a wave, and there he was—Harry. Freshly showered, his damp hair curling at the ends, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. He was toweling off, his back to her. For a moment, she stood frozen. Her heart ached, unsure of how to handle the storm brewing inside her.

Then he turned around, his face lighting up when he saw her. “Hey, there you are,” he said, walking toward her with that familiar smile. But then, his expression faltered when he noticed the tear stains on her face, the redness in her eyes.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked softly, his hand reaching for her. He moved toward her as if to kiss her, but stopped short, brow furrowed in concern.

Y/N opened her mouth, but no words came out. She tried to smile, to act like it wasn’t a big deal, but it was—everything felt too big. Her throat tightened, and the tears started all over again.

Harry’s face softened, his hands cupping her face gently as he wiped at the fresh tears. “Talk to me. What happened?”

Y/N’s heart raced in her chest. The question she didn’t want to ask, but needed to, bubbled up. “Are you seeing someone? A model?”

Harry froze. The question caught him off guard. “What? A model?”

Y/N's voice trembled, her tears barely held back. “Are you seeing a model, Harry? Please, just tell me the truth.”

Harry looked at her, confused. “What? No, I’m not seeing anyone. Where’s this coming from?”

She choked on her words. “My cousin said she saw pictures of you with someone in London last week, and—”

He immediately softened, understanding clicking. “Y/N, listen to me,” he said, his voice steady and warm. “If I was seeing someone, you’d know. I’m not dating anyone. It’s just you and me.”

Her heart lifted with the sincerity in his voice. He pulled her closer, his forehead resting against hers. “You know how the media is—they make stories out of nothing. Those pictures? Nothing serious. Just some event.”

Y/N closed her eyes, leaning into him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “It’s just… everything here has me so confused.”

Y/N melted into Harry's embrace, the warmth of his words easing the ache in her chest.

Harry held her close, his hand soothing her hair. He pulled back slightly, his green eyes full of concern. "Y/N, we don't have to stay here," he said gently. "We can leave right now. You don't have to stay if it's making you feel like this."

Her heart raced as she blinked up at him. “But it’s the wedding…”

“I don’t care,” he cut in, shaking his head. “I don’t want to see you upset over something your cousin said. You don’t need to deal with that. Not another second.” He cupped her face, his eyes searching hers. “We can go. We’ll pack up, drive back to London—just you and me. Leave all this behind.”

Y/N felt her chest tighten, knowing he meant it. He would drop everything for her, even for the weekend. The sincerity in his voice made her heart ache.

“I don’t want to see you hurt, love,” Harry murmured. “If staying here means you’re miserable, then let’s go. We can make our own weekend. No pressure, no fake smiles, no cruel comments.”

Y/N swallowed hard, the idea of leaving so tempting. But she still hesitated. “Harry, I... I don’t know.”

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “It’s your choice. We stay if you want, but you don’t owe anyone here anything. Not even your family.”

Y/N rested her hands on Harry’s chest, leaning into his warmth. The idea of running away with him was tempting, but she couldn’t just walk away—not now, not after everything. Still, his words meant everything.

“I… I think I want to stay,” she whispered, voice steady. “I don’t want to run, Harry. Not from them.”

Harry nodded, brushing his thumb over her cheek. “Alright. But if you change your mind, we’re gone. I’ll pack in a heartbeat.” His small smile made her laugh softly, despite the tears still clinging to her lashes.

“Thank you,” she murmured, sinking back into his arms. “For everything.”

“I’ve got you, always,” Harry whispered, his breath warm against her hair. “No matter what.”

The wedding was beautiful. Y/N couldn’t deny it. Despite the tension with her cousin, the love between the bride and groom was undeniable. Her cousin’s eyes sparkled as she walked down the aisle, and the way her fiancé looked at her—like she was the only person in the world—had Y/N’s heart swelling. She even teared up a little.

Though Y/N hadn’t patched things up with her cousin, she didn’t feel the need to apologize. She knew she’d done nothing wrong. Her cousin’s hurtful words had crossed a line, and Y/N wasn’t about to apologize for standing her ground. Harry agreed, and that was all that mattered.

As for Harry? He was the star of the wedding. Eyes constantly on him, people whispering and sneaking glances, captivated by the famous face. But Harry didn’t seem to care. His focus was entirely on one person.

Y/N.

he was wearing a sky-blue silk dress that seemed to float with every step. The fabric hugged her perfectly, and her hair tumbled in loose waves around her shoulders. Harry couldn’t tear his eyes away. Throughout the ceremony, the reception, and every moment in between, his gaze never left her—she was the most breathtaking thing in the room.

No matter how many people tried to pull him into conversation, Harry stayed focused on her. His hand found hers more than once, squeezing it under the table during speeches, or brushing her back as they weaved through the crowd.

Every time Y/N caught his gaze, her heart skipped a beat. That warm, genuine smile—just for her—made her feel like she was the only person in the world. There was an unspoken bond between them, growing stronger with every minute that passed.

As the night wore on, filled with laughter and celebration, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of pride. Not just for standing up for herself, but for the man standing by her side.

[kk095]

Xmas in the ER

*Hello there everyone, and merry Christmas to those who celebrate! As promised, here's my latest story. I hope you all enjoy the story as much as I do, and feel free to shoot me a message, comment, or leave me asks if you have any questions! I will also be posting another story sometime on New Year's Eve.*

As the old saying goes, Christmas is the most wonderful time of the year. The holiday is a great opportunity to spend time with loved ones, exchange gifts, and make lifelong memories. But for Dr Lindsay, this year’s Christmas was just another Wednesday where she was tasked with holding down the 7pm to 7am overnight shift in our ER. Naturally, Lindsay was bummed out about the idea of having to work on Christmas, but the emergency department is a 24/7 operation! Little did she know, she’d still have a holiday she’d never forget!

That night, the weather was awful. It was dark, freezing cold, and snowing heavily. Visibility was limited, and the roads were covered in a fresh coat of snow and ice. “Jeez… I bet we’ll have a couple of MVCs tonight.” Lindsay thought to herself shortly after she started driving, trying her best to carefully make her way to work through the frozen, wintery landscape. Fortunately for Lindsay, the roads were mostly empty, most people in the area opting to stay indoors. Even though the roads were empty, the conditions were less than ideal, so she felt the best move was to drive slowly.

Despite Lindsay doing everything in her power to arrive safely at the emergency department, fate had other plans for the cute, sporty tomboy doctor! On the highway about 10 minutes or so from her destination, Lindsay’s car slipped on a patch of ice on the road. The car almost immediately lost control, redirecting the doctor’s vehicle towards a cement barrier in the median of the highway. Lindsay’s heart raced as she white-knuckled the steering wheel, frantically attempting to regain control of the errant vehicle. But it all happened so fast! There was only so much Lindsay could do in those few seconds. Lindsay was unable to stop or change the trajectory of her car and slammed head on into the cement median.

CRUNCH! The windshield shattered, glass fragments flying everywhere inside the vehicle acting almost as little bits of shrapnel. Lindsay raised one arm to attempt to cover her face from the glass shards, but a few nicked her face and neck. The steering column was forced inwards, slamming Lindsay in her chest with tremendous force before being blown back a second or so later when the airbag deployed. “AHHH!” Dr Lindsay yelped, feeling something pop inside her chest. Even with the vehicle stopped after the impact, the momentum generated from the accident caused Lindsay to be thrown around a bit. Just like that, the roles were reversed, and now Lindsay found herself in need of assistance in the ER.

Upon arrival at the emergency department, Lindsay was awake, alert, and doing anything and everything she could to fight through the pain. While being wheeled in through the main entryway of the ER, she was laid out on a backboard atop a gurney with a c-collar around her neck. Lindsay was stripped barefoot, down to just her black sports bra and scrub pants. EKG electrodes and wires were stuck onto her torso, while IV lines were set up in each arm. A blood pressure cuff was wrapped around her left bicep, and a pulse oximeter was on her left index finger. The ER doc’s body was in relatively good shape, but she had some cuts and scrapes on her face and neck from the glass shards.

While being wheeled in, Dr Lindsay was experiencing a weird déjà vu of sorts. She’s walked through those same entryway doors more times than she could count, but she never saw the emergency department from that angle. She couldn’t wrap her mind around the idea of being brought in as a patient. Her pretty blue eyes scanned her surroundings, attempting to make sense of the nonsense. “33 year old female, blunt chest trauma, single car MVC. BP 60 over palp, heart rate’s 140 and climbing, pulse ox down to 90. Got IVs going on scene and started fluids, but her vitals aren’t looking too good.” Lindsay heard a female medic rattle off while wheeling the stretcher down the hall towards trauma room one. “Ok, thank you. Let’s get her over to trauma one. I’m gonna start her on the MTP and get a chest x ray.” A familiar voice replied to the medic. “who is that?” Lindsay thought to herself. “Dr Sarah maybe? I know she was supposed to work the day shift today.” Lindsay answered, still thinking to herself.

The gurney was still being wheeled towards the trauma bay. Dr Sarah leaned over, coming into Lindsay’s line of sight and lowered a stethoscope onto her chest. Sarah didn’t look down at Lindsay’s face, so she didn’t immediately realize who her next patient was. “Diminished breath sounds on the left side, we might need a chest tube.” Sarah observed, pulling her stethoscope away after a brief listen. Dr Sarah then looked down at the gurney, her eyes locking with Lindsay’s. Sarah’s eyes could be seen widening behind her glasses, absolutely stunned at what she was looking at. Sarah gasped, unable to get a word out. “Sarah….?” Lindsay whimpered, her voice weak and breathy. “OHMYGOD, Linds?! What happened?” Marveled Dr Sarah, still processing the concept of Dr Lindsay- a friend and coworker, being her next patient. Lindsay’s lip quivered, her eyes started to moisten. “my car… it just slipped… I don’t know what happened…” Lindsay explained to Sarah, her voice wobbly, now on the verge of tears. “It’s ok Linds, it’s gonna be ok! We’re gonna take a good look at you!” Consoled Sarah, gently grabbing Lindsay’s right hand, her voice a bit panicked.

Once in the trauma room, the stretcher was lined up parallel to the table, where Nurses Heather and Nancy waited. “LINDSAY?!” Heather exclaimed the instant she recognized who the patient was. “Hunny?! What happened?!” Nurse Nancy chimed in, equally surprised. Lindsay didn’t answer, but the familiar voices certainly comforted her through the terrifying uncertainty she was experiencing. “Let’s get her on the table on my count! One… Two… THREE!” Sarah barked out. The trio of beautiful ladies picked up the backboard and carefully moved their coworker onto the table while the paramedics took their stretcher back and exited the room. “Ah….” Winced Lindsay, feeling some pain inside her chest while being placed down on the table. Dr Lindsay squinted, the bright, fluorescent overhead light practically blinding her. “BPs 60 over palp and dropping. Hang 4 units of O-neg and prep Lindsay for a chest tube.” Ordered Dr Sarah, her voice urgent. “Linds? I have to put in a left chest tube. You know how bad they hurt, but be strong for me, ok? I promise I’ll be fast.” Dr Sarah kept Lindsay in the loop about her treatment. Lindsay hesitated for a moment, trying to mentally prepare for the pain she was about to endure. But the logical, doctor side of her took over, realizing that the brutal, painful procedure had to be done. Dr Lindsay’s eyes looked up at Sarah, and she nodded. “Go ahead.” Permitted Lindsay, giving Sarah the green light to begin chest tube placement.

Lindsay laid on the table in the supine position, her left arm raised above along her head. The normally calm and collected Dr Lindsay had a nervous expression on her face. The doctor turned patient’s lips were pinched tight, her forehead puckered, her icy blue-grey eyes looking in the direction of her left ribcage where the tube was to be inserted. She watched Dr Sarah insert a needle full of lidocaine to numb the skin. Lindsay felt a quick pinch, but nothing too worrisome. Sarah then sterilized the incision area with an alcohol wipe. “Ok Linds… Here we go…” The cute, nerdy redhead doctor told Lindsay, reaching for a 10 blade scalpel that sat on an equipment tray beside the trauma room table. Sarah took the scalpel and made a 1 inch cut at the intersection of the 4th intercostal space and anterior axillary line. Lindsay could feel the cold, sharp blade’s every move as it effortlessly slashed her skin apart. Lindsay saw stars, her eyes rolling back in pain. After the cut was made, Sarah attached a Kelly clamp to the proximal end of the chest tube, then bluntly inserted it into Lindsay’s chest cavity. “YAHHH!!!!” Yelped Lindsay, her eyes shooting wide open. Dr Sarah continued the procedure, guiding the tube further into Lindsay’s chest cavity into the pleural space. “AHHHH!!!” Lindsay let out a blood curdling scream, in absolute agony, her eyes tearing up, both her hands making tight fists, feeling the plastic tube forcing its way deeper inside her chest. There was a hiss of air once the tube reached the correct location from trapped air vacating Lindsay’s chest cavity. Lindsay gasped loudly and dramatically, then attempted to sit up. “whoawhoawhoa!” Nurse Heather stepped in, gently laying Lindsay back down on the table. “Stay still for us Linds. So far so good hunny.” Nancy chimed in, gently stroking Lindsay’s hair. Sarah lowered her stethoscope onto Lindsay’s chest and had a listen. “Tube’s in.” Sarah nodded.

Although Lindsay’s breathing improved following the chest tube placement, her vital signs continued to drop. Dr Sarah started another round of blood products and upped Lindsay’s meds, but that didn’t seem to be doing the trick. Lindsay began to shiver dramatically. Her long legs trembled and shook, and at the far end of the bed, her toes were scrunched up hard, showing off the white and red candy cane themed nail polish on her toes, along with the thin, wavy, prominent wrinkles that permeated the soles of the big, size 12 feet Lindsay was always so self conscious of. “Mmmmm…” Lindsay moaned. Dr Lindsay began taking rapid, shallow breaths, continuing to moan. “Shhh. It’s ok Linds. Hang in there a little longer for me…” Nurse Nancy’s calm, soothing voice told Lindsay. “I…I…” Lindsay babbled. “You what sweetie?” asked Nancy. “I just… I can’t believe I’m gonna die on Christmas…” Replied Lindsay, an impending sense of doom consuming her. The trio of caretakers in the room stood there frozen for a second, taken aback by Lindsay’s response. Nobody could believe that words like that were coming from Lindsay’s mouth. “You’re not dying hunny! We need you here New Year’s Eve! You know how we get slammed every year!” Nancy tried to encourage, her tone of voice upbeat and positive. “New Year’s Eve? Pshhh…” Lindsay scoffed, continuing to shiver. “I’m gonna be toe tagged and under a sheet in a little while…. Forget New year’s…” continued Lindsay. “No hunny, don’t say that! We’re gonna fix you up!” Nancy reassured, her voice getting a bit wobbly, upset by how Lindsay was talking about her own fate.

Before Lindsay could even answer, she started gasping loudly, taking deep, dramatic gasps. The heart monitors began beeping louder and faster, playing an almost ominous tone. “She’s crashing…” Heather announced. “linds? Stay with us hunny!” Nurse Nancy said to Lindsay, holding her right hand for a second. Again, Lindsay didn’t answer. Her frantic hyperventilating continued, her eyes WIDE open. “We need to intubate. 8.0 ET and a laryngoscope!.” Ordered Sarah, her voice roaring through the room. “Lindsay? I’m gonna intubate you, ok?” Sarah told Lindsay, moving to the head of the bed. Dr Lindsay looked up at Dr Sarah, their eyes locking for a moment. Lindsay looked like she was trying to mouth something, but couldn’t get the words out. “What’s up Linds?” asked Sarah. Lindsay didn’t answer. Her eyes shifted away from Sarah’s. Lindsay’s eyes remained wide open, but became locked at the ceiling. It was like a switch was flipped. Lindsay’s shivering and gasping came to an abrupt stop. The monitors began to alarm at that point. “V-fib! Starting compressions!!!” Nurse Heather shouted out. Heather immediately began chest compressions, pushing down on Lindsay’s chest hard and fast. Nancy swooped in, snipping off Lindsay’s sports bra, exposing her small breasts and hard nipples. At the head of the bed, Sarah got right to it, beginning rapid sequence intubation. The nerdy redheaded doctor carefully navigated the flexible plastic tube into her friend’s airway. Lindsay’s head bobbed and lolled around from the residual force of Heather’s hearty compressions, creating a moving target for Sarah- nothing that Sarah couldn’t handle! The breathing tube was navigated further into Lindsay’s airway, ending up in the correct depth and location in a matter of seconds. “I’m in!” Sarah confidently announced, taping the tube in place.

Post-intubation, the trauma team decided to shock Lindsay. The defibrillator paddles were charged to 200 joules, gelled, and pressed up against Lindsay’s bare, flat chest. “Alright! Everyone…CLEAR!” Sarah shouted, sending the first shock into the patient once everyone backed away. “MMMPH!” Lindsay moaned, as if she felt the shock. The first defibrillation didn’t do the trick, onto the second one! The defibs were recharged to 250 joules, and shock #2 was promptly delivered. “Mmm….” Moaned Lindsay, again, almost as if she knew what was being done to her. Shocks one and two didn’t do the trick, but third time’s the charm, right? The paddles were charged up to 300, and Lindsay was shocked. Her chest shot up and her back arched. She held that position for a second or two before plopping down onto the orange backboard. “Damn it, no change! Shocking again at 360. Everyone… CLEAR!” Barked Dr Sarah. KA-THUNK! Lindsay’s 6’1 frame was tossed around effortlessly by the stronger shock, but like before, v-fib persisted. With the paddles still pressed up against Lindsay’s bare chest, Sarah shocked Dr Lindsay again at 360 joules. At the far end of the table, Lindsay’s feet kicked up, slamming back down hard half a second later, wrinkling the soles of her big feet once again.

Following the fifth shock, the trauma team switched gears, giving CPR and ambu bagging another try. Heather placed the heel of her gloved hand on the middle of Lindsay’s chest and began pumping away hard and fast. Lindsay’s chest caved in, and her toned belly with abs rippled and jiggled out from the sheer force of the chest compressions. Heather felt Lindsay’s ribs break, but nonetheless, she kept up her life saving efforts. At the head of the bed, Nurse Nancy attached the ambu bag to the ET tube, puffing the light blue bag every few seconds or so, sending critically needed oxygen directly into the coding doctor’s lungs. Dr Sarah stood off to the side of the table injecting the first doses of epinephrine and atropine into Lindsay’s IV line in hopes of stimulating positive cardiac activity. While waiting for the meds to kick in, Heather kept at it, brutally going to town on her coworker (now patient’s) chest. Heather looked down at Lindsay’s face while continuing CPR. Lindsay’s head bobbed and bounced around in sync with each individual compression. Her eyes were WIDE open, her face locked in a full-blown death stare. The ET tube hung out the side of Lindsay’s mouth, taped in place, hugging her pale lips. Heather couldn’t believe a familiar face was in such dire shape. “The ones with their eyes open never make it…” Heather thought to herself. Back at the head of the table, Nancy continued ambu bagging. “You’ve got a long life ahead of you… We all love you and need you here Linds…” Nancy whispered into Lindsay’s ear, as if she was trying to convince Lindsay to not die.

Over the coming minutes, Lindsay’s chest began to take an absolute beating. A nasty bruise started to form in the center of her chest on top of the breastbone. Mid code, Lindsay’s chest tube began to drain a substantial amount of blood seemingly out of nowhere. “What the hell?...” A surprised Dr Sarah thought out loud. In the blink of an eye, a couple liters of blood drained through the tube. “She’s bleeding somewhere in her chest. Maybe a cardiac chamber or great vessel injury.” Speculated Sarah, trying to explain away what she was seeing. “I’m gonna do an echo. Let’s see what her heart’s doing. Maybe that’ll give me something to work with.” Sarah went on. With CPR ongoing, Sarah squirted a little bit of clear, conductive ultrasound gel onto Lindsay’s bare chest. She turned on the ultrasound monitor screen and lowered the wand onto the portion of Lindsay’s chest where the gel was and began moving it around for a second or two to spread it out a bit. Sarah then moved the ultrasound wand over Lindsay’s heart and eyes the monitor screen. “….oh Lord…what a mess in there…” Uttered Sarah. “Hmm?” Heather overheard. “Massive tamponade.” Sarah shook her head. “Pericardiocentesis?” asked Heather, wondering what the next step was. “I don’t think that’ll do the trick. We need to crack her chest and see what’s really going on in there. I’m gonna set up a thoracotomy tray.” Sarah explained to Nurse Heather. Nurse Heather’s eyes went wide once she heard the word “thoracotomy.” That was a last ditch effort, hail Mary procedure used in the most critical patients. Heather has seen many patients get their chest cracked during her time as a nurse in our ER, but the idea of a friend, coworker, and familiar face being the recipient of such a procedure really bothered Heather at a deeper level.

Betadine was splashed across the left half of Lindsay’s chest. The strong, chemical scent of antiseptic hit everyone’s nostrils in less than a second. Sarah picked up the scalpel, making a crude, but decisive incision. The cut started just to the left of Lindsay’s sternum, extended laterally across her chest, underneath her left nipple, and concluding just shy of her left armpit. Heather halted CPR while Sarah worked to separate the underlying tissue and muscle to make way for the rib spreader. With an adequate space created, the metal rib retractor was placed, and Lindsay’s chest was forcefully pried open. A loud popping and cracking sound echoed around the room while Sarah turned the knobs on the spreader. Upon entry to Lindsay’s chest cavity, there was a massive rush of blood. “Suction! SUCTION!” Shouted Sarah, packing handfuls of surgical sponges into the fresh incision area. Heather lowered a suction tube into Lindsay’s chest cavity and began removing the excess blood to create a good line of sight for Sarah. The suction tube made a wet slurping sound as it removed the blood. Meanwhile, Sarah incised the fibrous lining of the pericardium to relieve the tamponade and placed a vascular clamp on the descending aorta in order to redirect blood flow and quell any arterial bleeding- at least temporarily. Heather continued to apply suction every few seconds or so, the line of sight clogging up with blood like clockwork. “Starting cardiac massage.” Announced Sarah, reaching into Lindsay’s chest, beginning to vigorously massage away at Lindsay’s strong, athletic heart. Sarah’s gloved hands were wrapped firmly around the beautiful tomboy doctor’s heart, squeezing much needed blood to the rest of her body. A wet, rhythmic squishing sound was produced from Dr Sarah’s internal resus efforts. “Come on… come on Linds…” uttered Sarah under her breath.

Sarah squeezed and squeezed, but her multiple cycles of cardiac massage failed to restart Dr Lindsay’s heart. Next up, the team opted to give the internal paddles a try. The internal paddles were charged to 20 joules and lowered into Lindsay’s chest around her erratically twitching heart. THWACK! Lindsay’s heart tensed up for a second before going right back to v-fib. Sarah sighed. “No change, going again at 30. Everyone… CLEAR!” Sarah shocked again. Lindsay’s torso jolted sharply in response to the shock, but v-fib remained. “Hitting her again at 40!..... CLEAR!” Sarah’s voice surged. “Mmm….” Lindsay moaned in reaction to the shock. “she’s still in v-fib, let’s go again…. CLEAR!” Sarah yelled out passionately. A dull, wet thump was heard, however, Lindsay’s heart still couldn’t be shocked out of v-fib. “AGAIN!... CLEAR!” Yelled Sarah, lowering the blood soaked internal paddles back onto Lindsay’s cracked open chest. “Still nothing. Recharging the internal paddles to 40!” Sarah announced, her tone of voice growing more and panicked. The high pitched, electrical whirring sound of the paddles recharging bounced around the room. “Ok…. CLEAR!” Sarah defibbed Lindsay again. Almost instantly after the shock, the heart monitors flatlined. Lindsay’s heart sat completely motionless in plain sight. Dr Sarah removed the large, spoon shaped paddles and gently set them back on the crash cart. Sarah began removing her gloves and eyeing the clock on the wall. “It’s over. Time of death, 19:35.” Sarah called out, abruptly terminating the code.

The trio of caretakers stood there shell shocked for a moment while the high pitched hum of the flatlined monitors droned around the room. Nancy removed the ambu bag, a small amount of air quietly hissing out. Heather switched off the monitors, making the once loud, chaotic room eerily silent. Nobody said a word, but knew exactly what to do next. The IV lines were taken out of each arm. The EKG electrodes were disconnected. The BP cuff was taken off Lindsay’s left bicep. The pulse oximeter was taken off her left index finger. A blue surgical drape was hastily tossed on top of the thoracotomy site. Lindsay’s eyes remained wide open as her body was covered, appearing as if she watched the sheet get pulled over her head. Last but not least, a toe tag was filled out and placed on the big toe of Lindsay’s left foot. The tag dangled in front of Lindsay’s hot, wrinkly soles, serving as a harsh reminder that no Christmas miracles would be taking place that night. In this alternate reality, Lindsay was now the latest beauty who found herself toe tagged and under a sheet in our emergency department.

[m0chisenpai]

some sunny day

˚｡⋆platonic! emperor geta x black fem!reader x platonic!caracalla

in which you find a way to survive the heat of Rome without the 21st century comforts

Gods above it is HOT. You sit in the gardens along the more shaded parts of the private gardens. Cushioned by the long chaise while your handmaidens fan you slowly with leaves. You wear lighter robes, though if it were up to you, you’d be completely nude. There is no central air in Rome.

Suddenly the 21st century doesn’t seem to suck.

There’s no ice cream. No swimming pools. So you make do with camping outside in the shade, the breeze that comes every few minutes provides very little relief.

It was too much of a hassle to get into the baths, you didn’t need to bathe you already did in the morning. And the waters were lukewarm offering no relief. The moment you got in you begged to be clean as quickly so that you could get out the humid baths. You felt ill by the time you were dressed as you ladies suggested the fresh air.

When your eyes settled on the beautiful fountain during your walks, you felt a plan formulate. It could be likened to a children’s pool, shallow and with a statue in the middle and engravings along the sides. But the waters you were certain, were cold.

You informed your maidens you would spend your early afternoon in the gardens. They quickly set you up with something close to a chaise. It’s low to the ground and cushioned with soft pillows. Now all you needed was to get in the water, but you are instantly told no.

You tried slowly sneaking over but your maidens herd you like a sheep back to your cushions beneath the shade.

You tilt your head back, and catch the gaze of your personal handmaiden, Livia. She was old enough probably to be an aunt, and when she isn’t in the presence of your brothers she speaks more freely. And she was the one who was highly aware of your schemes, as was the beautiful General Acacius who stands beside her.

The two roadblocks to your little scheme.

“Marcus,” you coo rolling over to lay on your stomach and look up at the older general. He stiffens at that tone, it’s the same tone you use on your brothers, the same tone that leads to mischief. And he feels your eyes on him, when you call him again. But he keeps his gaze outward, not falling prey to your mischief. 

“Yes, my lady?”

You push yourself to sit up, curling your legs beneath. “My brothers, they will be spending this day with the Senate,” and by now you have Marcus’ full attention as you reach down to unstrap your sandals. You then begin to work on the bands on your arms and your earrings. 

“My lady?” You place the last piece on the cushions Beside your golden laurels.

“And if I am correct, they will be there for quite some time. You were tasked to be by my side the entire day yes?” When you look up at him you are free of your jewels and gold and stand barefoot in the grasses. 

“Yes my lady.”

You grin bunching up your robes in both your hands, “very well. Then that gives us more than enough time.”

You break off into a sprint toward the stone fountains. And Marcus along with your handmaidens can only watch until they see your target and they quickly bolt after you, helplessly calling. “My lady no! If you wish to bathe we can return to your chambers!“

“Oh none of the formalities! The gods bless us with cool waters here, who are we to ignore such a refreshing gift my dear ladies” you sing as you lift your robes more as to not let the bottoms wet. You quickly wade into the waters just barely avoiding their reaching hands. And a pleasant shiver racks your body. This was what you needed, you sigh reaching one hand down to dip your hand into the water. 

Livia leans as far as she can with an arm held out to you, “my lady please come you’ll catch a cold!” 

“In this heat? Hardly!” You playfully flick the water at her and the general drags a tired hand down his face, “The water feels sooooo nice. I think you all would find it quite soothing,” as you trail off you wade deeper into the fountain. Livia can only huff and reach down to shuck off her own sandals not missing Marcus’ shock.

“Our imperators insisted we remain where her majesty is, and if she is in the waters then so shall we!” One by one each of your maidens ease in and try circling you like a lost sheep out of the water. Little do they know this was all part of your plan.

You could see the exhaustion of those who were tasked with caring for you, the very least you could was offer them the same relief for having to follow at your heels every single day. And slowly they forget their task and sit on the edges or splash one another in the waters with your boisterous laughter leading to their own. 

It feels like you are in one of those giant old paintings at the museum. As you sit beside Livia she begins to braid your hair into a crown. 

“Just for today my lady and then it is off to the baths with you.”

“Yes mother,” you playfully reply and from the corner of your eye you see her shake her head with the smallest of smiles.

As soon as they release the Senate, Caracalla shoots out of his seat toward the private gardens. It has become your secret sanctuary for the three of you and he knows it better than his twin. Geta follows behind at a more leisurely pace, though his excitement is more silent to see you.

Their days are spent planning festivities and the upcoming campaign. All of it brings nothing but a dull ache to his mind and makes his nights tiresome. Fittings for ceremonial robes, the fights, the aquatic games, it all piles up and leaves him weary. But you are the sweet soothing balm to the headaches of these meetings. 

So he will sit through long meetings, will speak of politics and negotiations and plundering if it brings him closer to the days of celebrations and festivals that allow them both to soak up your presence. 

 Geta and Caracalla don’t know whether to scold or coo at the sight of you lying in the grass atop linen sheets. Your head is lying atop the folded legs of Livia while the others seem to be setting food up with drink for the three of you. 

At the sight of the two emperors they all stop to bow before both rulers. 

Marcus looks nearly as exhausted as you are, and just as soaked from the way his hair is pushed back out of this face. “Dear sister! You have gotten into great mischief once again without me.”

“Calla!” You squeal back holding your hands out to the younger twins who is quick to dive into your outstretched arms. You squeeze him close and he returns the sentiment. Geta flicks a hand back and his guards tuck themselves far enough to give you the space, but close enough to see any impending threats.

“Did you get into the fountain?” Geta’s lip turns up as he takes note of how the fabric clings to you. And when you shrug he can only tut and cross his arms like a mother.  

“It was hot! And the both of you were taking much too long.”

“Then why not return to the baths, I am sure your ladies are more than capable of assisting the empress?” The women shrink beneath his stare but you quickly break the ice that begins to form between you all.

“Oh ignore him, he is the lesser of us two when it comes to the enjoyments of things.” You giggle with Caracalla and Geta can only roll his eyes and sit in front of you both atop the chaise. Caracalla looks peaceful, he has been more often these days since you entered their lives. Your idle chatter and small giggles warm his own heart. 

You were truly the missing piece they needed. So nurturing and loving. Looking past the younger twins ailment and his moments of confusion and rage. Geta felt he could lay his crown and title as emperor and eldest down with you.

You are odd and uncaring and have no problem being unladylike. You walk around the grounds barefoot often, your make up oftrn applied quite dramatic, your hair wild and free when it is not braided. You prefer the sweet breads and fruits at every meal and you are adored by your maidens.

As Geta rests his head on his fist, he takes a quick sip of wine.

He would do anything to shield you against the vipers of Rome. he knew politicians, he knew of rulers. How quick they were to move the pieces to turn the tides for their own favor, and he’d be damned if any try to use you as a ploy for their throne.

Caracalla’s concubine has taken a similar position as your handmaidens. He looks picturesque as the young woman strokes the younger twin fiery locks. Slowly he is lulled into a sleep and your idle chatter goes silent. You lay on your side, watching his eyes fall shut and Dondus cuddled against the sleeping twin.

You wish you had your phone now to get a picture, so for now you’ll drink in this moment. When you tilt your head you catch Geta’s gaze. His eyebrows are still pinched, and you can tell he is doing anything but relaxing.

So you stand, stretch your arms over head and hold a hand in front of him, “Geta come.”

“No.”

“Getaaaaa.”

“Never, come and eat.”

“At least just your feet! Then I will share a meal with you,” and with a childish groan he stands lifting his laurels to sit on the cushions and his own servants unstraps his sandals. He hates to admit the water does feel good when you pull him in. 

You slowly walk to stare up at the statue. And while Geta wants to fuss at your robes being soaked, he can’t bring himself to bring your mind back down.

“Do you think we will find one another in another life?”

Geta was no pious man, but he believed the gods to be real and true. The glory of his empire, the riches and comfort he and his twin share, and now your return. How could one not believe the existence of their beloved deities? “If the gods brought us back together in this one then surely we shall be reunited in the next.”

“Who knew you could be so charming,” you smirk and Geta rolls his eyes kicking a wave of water at you.

“Oh! Do not start- Marcus!”

“Marcus ignore her! This is to be a fair fight!”

[maybe-im-dark]

Ice claws

Based on this post

(Image drawn by: @shortkinglogan)

The ice rink was nearly empty that night, the soft hum of the cooling machines filling the silence. Wade had rented the entire place out, determined to give Logan a rare moment of peace.

Logan stood at the edge of the rink, his arms crossed and a frown etched deep into his face. The skates Wade had rented dangled uselessly from his hand.

“I’m not doin’ it,” Logan growled, tossing the skates onto a nearby bench.

Wade, already laced up and gliding around the ice with the grace of a drunken deer, spun to face him. “Aw, come on, peanut! I went through all the trouble of bribing the rink guys with free merc-jobs! And what’s the point of being Canadian if you don’t ice skate?”

Logan’s frown deepened. “I used to. Before the adamantium. Now? I’m probably too damn heavy. Ice isn’t gonna hold me.”

Wade skated up to the edge, his mask slightly skewed to reveal a cocky grin. “Oh, but this ice isn’t just any ice! This baby’s reinforced with cooling machines that can handle, like, a semi-truck. I checked. You’ll be fine.”

Logan glanced at the rink, his hesitation written all over his face.

Wade tilted his head, suddenly serious. “I get it. You don’t trust it. And that’s okay. But I promise, it’s safe. You’ve faced worse than a frozen pond, Logan.”

After a long silence, Logan finally sighed and crouched down. Wade assumed he was grabbing the skates, but instead, Logan pulled off his boots and socks.

Wade blinked. “Uh, are we going barefoot now? ‘Cause I am all for naked ice skating, but this wasn’t the plan—oh.”

Wade’s words faltered as Logan stepped onto the ice, his bare feet spreading slightly with each step. Wade noticed how his feet adjusted naturally, the broad surface allowing him to distribute his weight evenly.

“Mutation,” Logan muttered, noticing Wade’s stare. “Makes it so I don’t sink in snow. Guess it works on ice too.”

Before Wade could reply, Logan crouched lower, his knees bent, and his claws popped out with their signature snikt. Then, without warning, Logan dropped to all fours and propelled himself forward.

The sound of claws scraping against the ice echoed through the rink as Logan glided effortlessly, his movements smooth and calculated. His feet and claws worked in perfect sync, pushing him forward in sharp, precise strokes. He made a wide loop around the rink, faster than Wade had ever seen anyone skate.

Wade’s jaw dropped. “Holy shit, Logan! You’re like a freaking ice-wolf! Ice-wolverine? Whatever, it’s badass.”

Logan stopped mid-glide, his claws sinking into the ice to steady himself.

“It ain’t exactly traditional skating,” he muttered, standing upright.

Wade skated over, a goofy grin plastered on his face. “Are you kidding? This is so much better than traditional skating. You’re like the Tony Hawk of ice claws! Tony Paw? Whatever, it’s amazing.”

Logan huffed but couldn’t entirely hide the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Yeah, well, don’t expect me to do any fancy tricks.”

Wade clapped his hands. “Oh, but you will. Trust me, I’m already planning our ice-dancing debut. Deadpool and Wolverine: The Skating Saga.”

“Not a chance.”

"Too late, I’m calling NBC as we speak.”

Despite himself, Logan laughed—a low, genuine sound that Wade lived for. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re incredible,” Wade shot back, skating alongside him. “Now, come on, do that glide thing again. I gotta get this on camera.”

Logan rolled his eyes but dropped back down to all fours, his claws digging into the ice. As he launched forward, Wade cheered, his voice echoing through the rink.

For the first time in a long while, Logan felt free—his movements unhindered, his instincts guiding him as he raced across the ice. And with Wade’s ridiculous commentary keeping pace beside him, he thought that maybe, just maybe, he could enjoy this after all.

[sleeps-au-bag]

i have to throw this into the all consuming void

hsr roleswap where clara, yanqing, and misha take the place of our favorite nameless trio while march 7th, dan heng, and the trailblazer take their places. it doesn't matter that i'm still in the beginning of the 2.0 main quest, i needed to get this out. no spoilers please.

clara is now the host of a stellaron. she was left behind on the herta space station to be found by the astral express. she's incredibly talented when it comes to machines, has a strange habit of going around barefoot, and possibly the most normal one on the express.

yanqing is now the amnesiac swordsman of the express. he was found as a block of six-phased ice floating through space on april 4th, which is now his name. he's crazy talented with a sword, a wonderful photographer, and has quite the adventurous spirit.

misha is now the mysterious loner of the express. he was the first of the trio to be invited on by himeko and welt and has stayed since. his customer service face is unrivaled, he cares quite a bit for his fellow trailblazers, and tries to keep them as far away as possible from finding out his past.

march 7th, now called marcy, is the daughter of svarog. she was taken in by the robot and was raised by him ever since. she's very hyperactive, interacts with everyone in the underground a lot, and charges into a lot of problems without thinking of solutions.

dan heng is now a lieutenant of the cloud knights and the retainer of jing yuan. he doesn't care that much about his past since he now has a duty to the general who raised him. he's not that well liked by the vidyadhara, he keeps getting strange visions about something, and the general has been getting distant recently.

the trailblazer is now the bellboy of the reverie hotel. they're constantly switching between male and female. they have a weird obsessions with clocks, often carry around a baseball bat, and can be found collecting trash in their free time.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

This is what it felt like getting the notification that Wade found out about Logan being the baby daddy 😭

Logan let the first punch land, more out of courtesy than anything. Wade was pissed- rightfully so. "You fucking asshole-"

'Listen bub-"

"Fuck you," Wade spat. "I told you not to do it and what did you do?"

"It's not like I forced-"

Stab. Okay that was still fair. "Did you tell her to say it wasn't yours? Huh?"

Stab Stab

"No," he growled, pulling the knives out and sinking his claws into Wade's arm far enough that he's stop fucking stabbing him for a second. "That was her doing. After I broke it off with her-"

Wade cracked him in the jaw with his free hand and barred his teeth, "And what? Now you wanna play daddy? Wanted to see if she'd fall apart without you? See what the fuck was going to happen? Took you this long to Do. The. Math?"

The fighting hadn't stopped. Blood spattered the street like garnets. Bits of torn clothing and smashed glass. Wade Hade Logan pinned to the ground, a handgun against his forehead. Infuriated. For weeks he'd watched you put up a front and try to make it seem like you were fine. Like you weren't wallowing. Like you weren't petrified. And now that he could put the piece together the fury that gripped him was palpable.

"Wade!"

The panic in your voice made both men turn to look. You looked distraught and as you ran out into the street, barefoot, still in your pajamas, Wade flipped the safety back on.

"Wade don't-" You shove uselessly at him, trying to get him off of Logan and swallow hard. "Don't-"

"There's glass everywhere, Christ," he said, getting off of Logan and pulling you into a bone-crunching hug. "Fucking-" He broke off and tucked your head against his shoulder. "Fine. I won't shoot him."

"I told her to stay inside," Logan groaned, getting up.

"You're still on thin ice," Wade snapped, hefting you up to take you inside. But he looked at you and kissed your forehead, "C'mon butterbean. No Hyperviolence for you and Jelly Bean today."

Are you both-"

"We're fine, Princess," Logan answered, coughing. "And no. I didn't stab him in the head."

[amethystunarmed]

As Good As It Gets

Word Count: 1354 AO3

When the crossbow bolt hits Lucy, Justine thinks it may pierce her as well. There is no other explanation for the immeasurable pain in her chest. The breath is punched from her lungs, and the cold sweat that drenches her feels like blood dripping from her every pore.

“Oh gods, Lucy!” She screams and falls to her knees. It takes all her strength to roll Lucy over; her sister is still and heavy as stone. Dead weight. And that, that can't be possible. Just an hour ago, Lucy had been frolicking in the glen, barefoot and unrestrained, dragging Ella and Justine into one of her games. Her laugh still rings in Justine’s ears. She can’t be-

Lucy’s body finally moves and collapses into Justine’s lap. The bolt has pierced her directly through her heart. Her eyes stare unseeing at the canopy overhead. Her chest is still. She takes no breath.

Justine wails.

She hugs her baby sister close, cradling her face. Her cheeks are still warm beneath Justine's fingertips. Blood soaks through Justine's dress. It coats her forearms, and fills her nostrils. The smell of iron is so potent, clinging to her as though she is one bleeding, each heartbeat draining her of life. She doesn't think she'll ever be free of it but she can't bring herself to care. It feels right, such agony should have some physical manifestation. It is far too strong to not have torn her flesh, to not have ripped her heart from her chest.

“Lucy, Lucy!” She murmurs, rocking her sister like they are small children again. Like this is another nightmare she can soothe.

“Stand up Justine! I want a clear shot of that tummy!” Ella's stepmother orders. There is no change in her, nothing to reflect the devastation she has doled on Justine with the twitch of her finger. Her expression is completely blank as she loads another bolt into her crossbow. It is an assured, natural movement, the finesse of a skilled hunter. There is no remorse in her eyes, not that Justine expected any, but no triumph either. She isn't even excited by the kill. She ends life with the same bored acceptance Justine attributes to breaking her fast. Lucy had no bearing on her world at all, no more than the hog slaughtered for sausages does to Justine. The Stepmother’s voice is toneless as she calls, “I don’t want to damage that hide any more than I have to.”

Justine, too, has no meaning to her. Her beautiful eyes, the eyes of a long dead woman being worn by a monster, rove over Justine. She gives her the same look as someone playing chess with a toddler. There is no question there. Her victory had always been assured. The revelation feels like ice against her skin.

It makes the heat of Ella's gentle hand against her shoulder feel like a hearth lit for a homecoming. It comforts her, even as the heat burns her goosepimpled skin. “Justine. Justine run, get away from this place-” 

Justine looks up at Ella in horror. “No, no, I won’t leave you!” The mere thought is unthinkable. She just got Ella back, she can’t imagine losing her again. Not like she has Lucy. Lucy, whose corpse is growing cold in her arms, blood drying and flaking skin. Her face is carved an eternal mask of horror and pain, as though howling against Justine’s own failures as a sister. She hadn’t kept Lucy safe, she had stood there like an oaf as her sister was slaughtered. She would rather gouge her own eyes than bear this pain all over again.

Ella must see her resolve, because she immediately runs past, too quick for Justine to grab her. To Justine’s horror, she is running towards the murderous troll. “Stepmother, please have mercy-” Ella stumbles and falls to her knees, clutching at the hem of the monster’s gown.

Her stepmother raises an arm, as though to shove Ella away, and then pauses. Her corpse eyes settle Ella. “I already gifted you this happy day,” she drolls, “And still you dare ask for more?” She is chilled and distant as the first frost, but she lets the point of the crossbow dip toward the ground. She is listening.

“I… I will do anything. I will never wander again, I will dutifully serve you and your daughters, I will be a perfect prisoner for you, just please… Please don’t do this,” Ella begs, and it makes Justine want to scream. Ella should never have to beg for anything, much less to work as a mere servant. But when Justine opens her mouth, nothing comes out. It feels as though she has nothing left to give, after her anguish for Lucy.

The Stepmother looks down at Ella, and, quick as a scorpion, reaches out to snatch Ella's chin. Raucous delight breaks out over her face, the first true emotion Justine has seen from her. It twists those comely features into a troll’s sneer, as though her true features were trying to surface from the force of her masochistic joy. “There is that fear I so dearly missed. It seems you just needed some proper motivation.” The crossbow drops to her side entirely.

Ella begins to sob; her tear tracks are silver on her cheeks in the starlight. She is utterly radiant and an ache blooms in Justine’s chest. She wishes she was braver, like her brother, like…

But it doesn’t matter. Neither of them is here. Neither of them can save Ella, or Justine.

“Please, Stepmother,” Ella begs again, fervently. Grief and guilt roil under Justine’s guilt. She hates herself, for putting Ella in this position, for giving her hope and then failing to fulfill it. For dying in front of her. She mouths ‘I’m sorry’ but Ella is too focused on her stepmother to see, as though she could change fate through the sheer force of her will alone. For a moment, Justine doesn’t think it will be enough. And then-

The Stepmother sags and tears of relief fall down Justine's cheeks. “Fine,” the Stepmother acquiesces, “I suppose the plan will work with one. Maybe better, even.” Ella sobs out some incomprehensible words of gratitude, but the Stepmother has already lost interest in her. 

“However… If she isn’t going to be a dress from my daughter…” And the wicked creature turns to Justine. Justine freezes under her gaze, like doe in the crosshairs of a hunter. Chills run down her spine. She has the distinct feeling she should run, but Lucy’s body anchors her to the spot. “She doesn't need all that beauty, does she?” The Stepmother purrs.

Ella, used to her stepmother's vile whims, catches on before Justine can piece together what is happening.

“No, wait-” Ella protests, reaching for the Stepmother's hand. Her stepmother bats her away, causing her to tumble like a rag doll thrown by a careless child. She crumples and Justine screams.

“Ella!”

She is so still, just as still as Lucy in her arms, and for a moment, Justine is convinced she has lost her. She is convinced the Stepmother has snapped her neck and Justine is alone with this hideous troll. The wound in her heart tears wider, flooding her with agony. She wants to run to her, to hold her close, but her arms are full.

Lucy.

Ella.

Justine isn’t strong enough to hold them both.

She is so absorbed with Ella's fallen form, that she doesn't see the Stepmother's clawed hand until it tears across her face.

The pain is blinding, utterly debilitating. If the loss of her sister was gouge, disemboweling her, then this is an addition, white-hot fire poker embedded in her flesh. She can’t help but claw at it, writhing at the unceasing boiling fluid that spills over her. Blood? Tears? She tries to open her eyes and see, but finds she is unable. Without her sight, the sounds spin around her. The Stepmother cackles and Ella shrieks with rage and Justine has just enough time to thank the gods for her friend's survival before the world is engulfed by darkness.

[itsphoenix0724]

I love your fics. Could you do an Azriel x Reader fic based on the song Hate Me by Blue October? It could lend itself to a great premise. The song didn't have a happy ending so I think the fic wouldn't need to either. I think it could be that Reader and Azriel were together (not mates) and Az did something to cause the Reader pain. And I feel like the fic could be vignettes of the IC spending time together and Reader ignoring him. Maybe even it could end with Reader finding someone new and moving on. If you like the idea, thanks in advance!

Hate Me (Azriel x Reader)

Warnings: Angst, no happy ending

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: Hi lovely! Thank you so much for your request. I love me a good angst fic lol. I tried a different formatting for this, so we'll see how you guys feel about it! I hope you enjoy, please feel free to visit my page anytime <3

If you’re sleeping, are you dreaming? If you’re dreaming are you dreaming of me? 

Azriel bolts upright in bed, chest heaving with shaking breaths that he can’t keep in. His hand instinctively reaches out to your side of the bed, but it meets nothing but cotton, fabric slipping through his fingers like water. You had been there, for a few blissful moments, holding him as you always had when the nightmares roused him from sleep. Now he was alone, and no one was at fault for it but himself. 

I had to block out thoughts of you so I don’t lose my head. They crawl in like a cockroach, leaving babies in my bed 

He may have hated himself for it but he tried to find comfort elsewhere, when he wasn’t working he was in the slums of Vlearis, drinking himself to the point of blacking out. He needed to forget your face, your voice, your smell. He couldn’t stand to be in the house the two of you had shared, not when your phantom was constantly haunting the halls, chasing him down at every turn. He thinks of you barefoot, singing and padding around the kitchen in nothing but your nightgown, and orders another shot.

And will you never say that you loved me just to put it in my face? And will you never try to reach me? It is I that wanted space. 

Azriel wanted you to yell at him, he wanted you to scream your rage so hard that the mountains rumbled. He could have taken that, he wanted it even. But what he couldn’t take is your indifference. Family dinners at the River House were mandatory, and Azriel tried to attend as few of them as possible. Mainly because you were always there. You had every right to attend, and you were always pleasant to him. Sending him tight-lipped smiles and polite nods, even passing him the potatoes at dinner. It was like looking in a warped mirror, a portrait someone had poured water over. His former happiness was nothing but running paint. 

Hate me today, Hate me tomorrow. Hate me for all the things I didn’t do for you. 

“Another mission?” You questioned from the doorway as Azriel was shoving things into a pack. “But you just got back yesterday?” Azriel sighed deeply, buckling the pack shut and hauling it over his shoulder.  “I know, I’m sorry but this is a serious matter.” His shoulders were tense, the dark circles under his eyes still prominent from not resting.  “How long will you be gone?” Your brows furrow. “A week at least,” came his tense reply. You were quiet for a moment, and the tension that filled the room could be cut with a knife.  “You’ll miss our anniversary, can’t they send someone else?” Your broken tone hurt his heart, but he persisted.  “Rhys needs this done urgently.” He pressed, fastening the straps of his leathers. “Rhys would never miss his and Feyre’s anniversary.” You snapped, the annoyance finally wearing on you.  “Well Rhys and Feyre are mates,” Azriel bit back and immediately regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. You took a step back, the betrayal shining clear on your features.  “Fine then, enjoy your mission.” You left his study, and he could hear the bedroom door slamming behind you.  He should’ve gone after you, he should’ve gone upstairs and begged for your forgiveness, but he left.  And he would regret that decision for the rest of his life.

While I was busy waging wars on myself, you were trying to stop the fight. You never doubted my warped opinions on things like suicide and hate. You made me compliment myself when it was way too hard to take

He returned from the mission and your things were gone. No trace was left of you in the apartment you once shared except for a letter on the kitchen table. Even in your goodbye, you weren’t angry, it was like you knew that this was coming for a while, but he was completely blindsided.  He could still recite the letter back from memory.  Azriel read it repeatedly, it was still in the back of a drawer in his office, unable to bear getting rid of it.  “Dear Azriel,  I’m sorry to leave you like this, however, I know that if I were to try in person I would fail. Please know I still love you, a part of my heart will always be yours to possess, but I cannot continue a relationship with a ghost. I need you to know a few things. Please don’t hate yourself for this, you tried your best but you are too obsessed with your work. I wish you could see that your family values you as a person and not for your abilities. No one would’ve loved you less if you had taken a day off, but I understand your battles. Another thing, do not try to follow me. I am taking some time, to find myself and heal, I hope you will do me this favor and respect that. I hope one day we can be friends. I’m sorry.”  Your name signed at the bottom felt like a brand stamped into his heart, the fact that you felt the need to apologize to him twisted the knife even further. True to his word, he respected your boundaries, and when you finally returned to the Night Court everything was different. You seemed to glow again and laugh again, and Az realized just how much of a shell you had become at the end of your relationship. 

And with a sad heart, I say bye to you and wave. Kicking shadows on the street for every mistake that I had made.

It was bittersweet for Azriel when you finally brought home your new partner. A male you met in Dawn on an emissary trip. The rest of the inner circle warmed to him quickly, as much as it pained Az to admit he was a good male. Theon made you blush, and laugh and was completely devoted to you. He gave you everything Azriel himself could not and he was happy for you. When it came time for Azriel to introduce himself, he glanced once at you running your teeth between your bottom lip with worry, and decided he would no longer be a barrier to your happiness. So, he did his best to smile and shook the male's hand to introduce himself.  You were happy, that was all that mattered to him. 

Hate me in ways, yeah, ways hard to swallow. Hate me so you can finally see what’s good for you

[elusivewildflower]

i would love to hear your domestic six thoughts (if you have any)

Oooo, yes I do have some domestic Six thoughts! Domestic Six and letting him be all soft is probably one of my favorite things to think about, and some of these will tie in heavily with The Other Fitzroy series. Shout out to @lloydsbitch for brainstorming with me for some non-smutty ideas 🤣

I think that after Six gets away from the CIA that he will teach himself how to become a handyman. He's not used to having so much free time, so he needs something that will keep his mind and body active. I feel his father probably taught him some things, since he was so determined to make his sons "macho," and that he's learned things as needed throughout his life -- but I'm talking about learning how to remodel a whole house just for you. You want to turn that spare room with a lovely view into a library? He'll build bookcases and a window seat by hand to transform it into the space you've dreamed of.

Whenever he's not busy keeping active, he's more than happy to sit on the couch and binge watch your favorite shows and movies. Six hasn't exactly had the time or internet access to watch everything that's came out in the last 20 years, so he has a lot to catch up on. Expect to spend several nights a week and potentially all weekend cuddled up on the couch, his arm wrapped around your waist and your head on his chest. But if you're watching an action movie, he won't be able to stop himself from calling out everything that's unrealistic.

Six clearly likes to be self-reliant after retiring, so he also has a garden in the backyard that he tends to on a daily basis. You certainly enjoy watching him tend to the crops from the covered porch. He's shirtless, dripping with sweat and covered in dirt by the time he comes up to you for a refreshing glass of lemonade. It's also fun to watch him chop firewood in the fall with a steaming cup of hot cocoa. He might be wearing more layers in the cold air, but the sound of his grunts carry across the yard and straight to your.....*ahem*

There was never much time for date nights while on the run, so Six makes quality time one of his big priorities after you've settled down. It still can be difficult to achieve with a child to take care of, but at least Claire is old enough to babysit for a few hours. Something easy that the two of you enjoy is taking a drive out to get ice cream (and maybe some fries to dip in it? I love salty & sweet, sue me.) and sitting together in the car. You'll find someplace to park and eat your dessert, happily chatting or snuggling up to each other. And if you can't manage to get away from the house, then Six will go out and get the treats for you after the kids are asleep. You'll cuddle up on the couch, or on the loveseat on the porch during the summer, and fall deeper in love with the sweet man by your side.

smutty thoughts are under the cut.......

For starters, I want to give credit to @hederasgarden for this because she's the one who said Six has a housewife kink and I fully agree with it. By no means is he a lazy partner, but he does love to watch you cook in the kitchen and clean around the house. Both of those things make him look at you with hearts in his eyes and a growing erection in his pants. Especially if you happen to be wearing a pretty sundress. If the two of you are home alone when he gets riled up, he'll take you anywhere. He'll fuck you on the countertop, bend you over the side of the couch, or even halfway up the stairs on the way to the bedroom.

I also believe that Six has a major breeding kink. It might take him a year or two of being safe & settled to fully give himself into the kink, but once he does, he wants to pump you full of his seed every night. Six wants to see you barefoot and pregnant, and better yet — in a pretty sundress — and he won't rest until he gets it. If you thought him being riled up with his housewife kink was bad, just wait until he has to have you morning, noon, and night while you're ovulating. 🫣

After having kids, it's a lot harder to get that alone time together, but Six will happily sneak you away for a quickie. He knows your body so well that he can get both of you off in under ten minutes. Laundry needs switched over? He'll follow you in to "help." As soon as the dryer is on, he's got you bent over it — the sound of clothes tumbling around helps cover the noise of him pounding into you. Your baby just went down for a nap? Six will take you into your shared bedroom for a quickie, giving you an orgasm that puts you right to sleep. After all, you should be sleeping when the baby is, right? You need your rest, and while two of the most important people in his life are napping, he'll go downstairs to clean up the house or prep for dinner.

[haryalcuile]

Silence surrounded me.

I looked around, trying to understand where I was. It seemed like the entrance of a mansion owned by a wealthy businessman. On my left, a beautiful white marble staircase with a black-painted iron railing. My first instinct was to go up—and so I did.

I climbed slowly, step by step, heart pounding so loudly that I could hear each beat echoing through the silence. I didn’t dare say a word—not even to check if someone was there.

At the top of the stairs, I felt something soft under my feet. I looked down: I was barefoot, walking on a Persian rug that covered the entire corridor. Suddenly, I heard a noise. It sounded like a heart monitor from a hospital. Curious but terrified, I crept toward the illuminated room.

Standing at the doorway, I froze.

A man lay motionless in the bed. I couldn't see his face clearly, but I saw oxygen tanks by the bed and a Black man fiddling with a needle and a vial beside him. For a second, I didn’t understand—but then realization struck: I knew that man.

Conrad Murray.

What the hell…

Before I could react, I felt a hand grabbing my wrist. I turned sharply. Two deep, dark eyes stared at me, solemnly.

Michael.

I stared at him in disbelief, but he said nothing. Instead, he turned his gaze to the scene before us. I couldn’t help but observe him: his serious face, his empty, lifeless eyes, his body… too thin, his skin marked by vitiligo and lupus. I looked down at his hand gripping my wrist—it was ice cold.

It hit me: This was a dream. A nightmare.

I felt my cheeks wet. I wiped away the tears streaming down my face. I was witnessing his death.

I turned back toward Murray. He was now frantically stuffing vials into a bag. Michael’s body lay lifeless in the bed; the monitor emitted the long beep of death.

I looked at Michael beside me; panic rose in my chest. I had to save him. Bastard, I thought, watching Murray hide the evidence. I screamed—but no sound came out. No.

« MICHAEL! »

Nobody could hear me. I was screaming voicelessly, utterly powerless. « Please, NO! » Michael’s grip on my wrist remained firm. I struggled to break free—to reach the dying figure on the bed. « NO, PLEASE, LET ME GO! »

"Save me."

I froze. In one swift motion, I turned to him. He was looking at me, his eyes brimming with tears never shed, pleading silently. And then—in a blink—he vanished. I woke up gasping, drenched in sweat and trembling. It had been 13 years since I last had that dream. But this time, something felt different. I got up, splashed water on my face, and took deep breaths to calm my pounding heart. I looked at myself in the mirror. Once I managed to calm down, I returned to bed, knowing that sleep would not come easily. That dream would haunt me for days to come.

Extract from the story "Hold My Hand - a Michael Jackson story" written by me and published on Wattpad in Italia, but I'm currently translating to english and you can read the prologue here.

[artmopworks]

added yuuta and did a quick color!

Some head canons that could either work in DF au or in just in general. This isn't an exhaustive list by any means but these are some that really stick in my brain for some reason.

Toge:

-Goes through a period of intense self reflection and weed use in his mid 20s.

-He grows his hair out and wears it in a bun for about year. Maki would say he was depressed but he denies it for awhile before seeking help.

- Definitely had a phase where he does nothing but build Gundam's in his spare time.

-Finally accepts his lactose intolerance at 29 after Yuuta kicks him out of bed for the 10th night in a row because he insisted on having ice cream for dessert.

-Makes a point of telling Yuuta and Maki he loves them every day.

Maki:

-Gets a trendy short hair cut in her early 20s and is unable to look in the mirror for at least 3 months after as she would only see mai looking back at her.

-After years of rejecting her own femineity as a result of struggling for acceptance from her clan in her youth, she finally embraces the idea that she can enjoy feminine things without it being seen as a sign of weakness.

-Nishimiya and Miwa made a point of visiting with Maki after they graduate to share stories about Mai. The three of them eventually become close friends.

-gets really into knitting in her 30s. Toge teases her once and she throws one of the needles so hard it sticks in the wall 2 inches from his head. He never teases her about it again.

Yuuta:

-incredibly doting on Toge and Maki. She asks him to chill out after the 4th time they're mistaken for a married couple in public. He does not.

-Goes through a depressive period right along with Toge, often encouraging, albeit unknowingly, some of their more reclusive behaviors.

-Gets super into barefoot style footwear in his early 30s. Toge hated the way all his shoes looked. Later realized it was giving him knee pain and gave it up.

-Full on coffee snob in his mid 20s.

-Reconnects with his parents and younger sister after graduating and they happily accept Toge as part of their family.

-Regularly has "bro time" with Hakari.

feel free to comment your head canons about these 3!

[balthazarusrex]

Wednesday WIP Game Fill 11/20/24

Fill requests for @wizisbored @twyrewolf @aparticularbandit @somefishycat @zyrafowe-sny @eriquin @bald-rights @asha10100101010 @enigma-the-mysterious for Whumpcember Day 15 - broken glass.

Requests were made in the amazing Wednesday Wip Game Community. Thank you so much for pushing me to write! I hope you check us out and play!

Written in tandem with @ditzyredrobin.

CW: minor blood and injury

-

“I’m sorry,” Tim whispers, hot tears finally slipping down his cheeks. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Oh, doll, come ‘ere,” Jason sighs, gathering their Baby Bird in his arms like the delicate thing he is. “You don’t gotta be sorry about anything, me ‘n Roy are always gonna come when you cry. You hear me?”

“But-“

“But nothing. Don’t gotta to worry ‘bout nothing but bein’ here with me now, yeah?” Jason says, in that silky, loving drawl of his. “‘sides, if anything, I should say sorry to you. I wouldn’t expect Roy to let you go ‘til at least the bottoms of your feet have healed up.”

A week or so of cuddles on the couch might be nice, he thinks absently, burrowing into Jason’s neck. He’s warm and solid and protects him from the lazy Gotham drizzle.

“That Roy still on the phone?” Jason rumbles, cradling him to his chest with one arm, using his free hand to open the passenger side door.

“Oh,” Tim blinks, pulling the phone away, Roy with Lian, grinning, covered in ice cream after an ice cream fight Jason was less than thrilled about. “Yes.”

Jason settles him in the car, the heated seat already on high and toasty under his ass, “Can I talk to him?”

“Okay,” Tim agrees distantly, holding it out. He doesn’t think there’s anything else he can say.

Jason, ignoring the blood smears on the screen, takes it, holding it between his shoulder and ear as he buckles him in. He pushes Tim back against the headrest, his hand gentle yet firm.

Tim just rolls with it.

The heater is on full blast but it doesn’t fully chase away the chill.

He becomes aware of the seatbelt clicking into place and Jason taking above him but the words don’t register. He doesn’t mind, though, letting his eyes shut.

When he opens his eyes again, Roy is opening his door, eyes wide and so so green, looking a little frantic.

“Pretty,” Tim mumbles, letting himself be manhandled out of the car.

Jason snorts behind him which Roy pointedly ignores, but a little tension eases from his shoulders. “Let’s get you upstairs, ‘kay? I have dry clothes and a hot bath waiting for you once we get you patched up. Sound good?”

Dry clothes sounded nice, a bath with his vigilante boyfriends sounded even better.

Roy just smiled and bundled him in close to his chest. When Tim blinked again, he was sat on Roy’s lap while Jason tsked over his over his feet. The tackle box of a first-aid kit was spilled out over the bathroom counter.

“I don’t like this one but, Sweets, somethin’ just ain’t addin’ up. Why was he out there barefoot in the first place?”

Roy hums considering and smoothes the hair off of Tim’s forehead, his touch more gentle than his mother’s. “We’ll just have to wait and ask him,” he says gently. “What do you think, Timmy?”

Tim nods dumbly and winces when Jason pulls out another shard of glass. Jason looks up with an almost apologetic look and Roy presses a kiss to his hair.