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bloggerspam · 3 days ago

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And here it is, the epilogue! We skip back a little bit in this one, for some yummy deleted scenes. Thank you @phantomfen and @haleswallows for your lovely support, this couldn't have happened without ya'll! And thank you @ashrayus for the art that inspired it all. I hope I did you proud!

===

Cass observes BruceBatdad from her vantage point two rooftops away.

She hears StephSpoiler join her soon after, TimRobin following just seconds later.

BruceBatdad is not alone.

A woman and a boy stand before him, and Cass would be a fool to not remember that face, to not know who they are.

Even from so far away, it is hard to forget the woman who gave her candy once, all those years ago.

It is hard to forget her words then too.

I have a son, Talia Al-Ghul had said then, but I'm afraid he does not like sweets, will you throw them away for me?

Cass hears TimRobin and StephSpoiler bicker quietly behind her, lets BabsOracle's soothing voice demanding explanations wash over her in harmony.

JayHood's low timbre joins the cacophony, DickieWing's excited chatter echoing in the comms as he makes his way over. It is Sunday, that Sunday, brunch Sunday, so he is in Gotham tonight.

Bludhaven must be lonely.

She squints. BabsOracle starts to hiss, TimRobin and StephSpoiler tumbling over each other now.

DamianBabyBrother stands at attention, but his gaze is on them.

She waves. He does not wave back. That is okay.

DickieWing cartwheels onto their roof, gives Cass a pat on the head before wrangling the other two.

Cass observes their new baby brother, but does not get much. He is well trained. It does not matter, there will be time to learn.

"Show of hands," BabsOracle's voice is strict, commanding. They all freeze, trained in a better way, "New family member."

Immediately, all hands go up. TimRobin hesitates. It is okay. There will be time.

Cass smiles, watches DickieWing whoop, leading the race back to the Cave.

Cass waves again, but knows not to wait this time, twirling her way through her siblings.

She intends to win the race back home.

===

Alfred contemplates his newest ward as he wipes his hands.

The little one wants to know if there are any tasks assigned to him, which is new and refreshing.

This is, of course, sarcasm.

Master Jason refused to accept food without some kind of chore to exchange.

Miss Cass still shadows him occasionally, on alert for anything Alfred should need.

Even Master Duke is in the habit of asking Alfred if he can help anywhere.

Alfred had indulged them, of course, once in a while. Help them feel at ease.

The problem now is that Master Damian is not actually asking for tasks.

He is asking for information.

That is what intrigues him.

Master Damian stands quietly at attention, patiently, as Alfred considers the best way to navigate this.

"Well," Alfred lifts an eyebrow, "It isn't entirely necessary, Master Damian."

"I must earn my keep," the young master insists, "Blood son or not, I do not plan to waste away here."

Alfred hums. "Then I suppose it would depend on where your skills lie, Master Damian."

"I was trained in survival," Master Damian replies with nary a pause, "I can cook, and do basic cleaning." He tilts his head, reminding Alfred of a Young Master Bruce. "Admittedly, I am unsure of my skill level with no-one to compare to, as it was not necessary to my training."

Alfred lets that ruminate. He could have the young master help with dishes first, chat as he cooks for the family. It would be nice to have someone in residence to help with cooking again. Master Jason still avoids the Manor quiet often, after all.

"It is at least edible," Master Damian must mistake his silence as refusal, "And I learn quick."

"Yes," Alfred reassures the boy, "I am aware. Let's have you start with dishes, shall we?"

Master Damian's lip quirks to the side, small and so very familiar, and rolls up his sleeves.

Yes, this will do. Alfred smiles back, turning around to work on tonight's dinner.

Now, how much to reveal?

===

Steph watches the newest baby Wayne scrutinize Dick's somersault with the kind of concentration of a life and death threat.

It's impressive and at once entirely so sad that Damian executes a perfect somersault two tries later.

Once to get the feel. Twice to adjust.

Genius? Or training?

Steph doesn't really want to know.

It's the 16th item on the list that Damian has excelled at within the first five tries. Steph wants so badly for this little baby to let loose. He's been here for a couple months and he still thinks his stay is temporary.

As if Bruce would let his babiest bat go back to that asshole Ra's.

Talia might be cool, Steph doesn't know. Damian sure loves her, just from the scant sentences he's said about her. But sometimes love just…isn't enough.

Damian does a perfect one handed handstand, twirling around just like Dick did and stepping delicate down, and eyeing the tightrope Duke and Steph had set up for him to try. There's a unicycle somewhere in the gym, they just have to find it.

"Does this spark joy?" Damian tilts his head, from where he's perfectly balanced on the stupid unicycle and looking way too smug about it.

"It does not." He finally answers, dismounting with boring aplomb.

The next hobby is skateboarding—Tim shows Damian how to do an ollie, once the kid has the hang of standing on the board.

It is a special kind of delight to watch a trained-from-basically-birth assassin eat shit on a skateboard.

A pencil is tossed unerringly at her forehead whilst she loses breath laughing, and you know what?

It's totally worth it, especially when it devolves quickly into an office supply version of a food fight between the five of them.

They try new hobbies, and each time, Steph asks "Does it spark joy?"

And each time Damian considers, before he answers very seriously, "It does not."

Steph's gotta admit, the sincerity is what does it for her.

By the end of it, Steph loses the bet, but it doesnt matter.

Babybat'll fit in fine.

===

Duke comes down to breakfast and immediately realizes something is wrong.

Damian has been in the Manor for a while now, and it's been routine for Duke to see him making breakfast with Alfred every Tuesday and Wednesday.

Today is Friday, and Damian is at the stove, alone.

"Hey, little dude." Duke cautiously greets, "Where's Alfie?"

"Pennyworth went to fetch more eggs." Damian doesn't turn around, but he answers, and that's all Duke can really ask for. "Someone had used it up last night, without permission."

Duke whistles. "Enough of them to warrant an emergency shopping trip?" Alfie usually keeps a burden's amount of eggs in the fridge always stocked up.

"Brown and Grayson," Damian carefully says, smirking over his shoulder and obviously trying not to laugh, "decided they wanted pancakes."

"Oh my god." Duke laughs, already seeing disaster and trying to keep it all in to ask his question, "What—what did they do?"

"Apparently," Damian drags out, "They thought that eggs and flour was enough to make the batter."

Damian comes to the table, placing a perfect plate of sunny side up eggs, bacon, and hash in front of Duke.

"Needless to say, they made almost two kilos of pasta instead." He places the second plate at the head of the table. "They tried to fry some of it anyway, and ruined two pans before they realized that perhaps, maybe, pancake batter should look a little more…liquid."

By the time Damian has his own plate sitting across from Duke, he can't breathe from how hard he's laughing.

Bruce walks in, and they no doubt paint a peculiar picture: Damian, smirking and daintily eating his eggs. And Duke, curled over the table and trying to recover and succeeding at a snail's pace.

"Good morning Father." Damian primly greets.

"Good morning, sweetheart." Bruce's voice is confused, but amiable. He carefully picks his way to his spot and compliments Damian on breakfast, who nods in satisfaction.

"Duke, are you alright son?" Bruce asks, when Duke can finally straighten up take one deep breath.

"He'll be fine, Father." Damian waves his fork, "On an unrelated note, would you perhaps be opposed to pasta for lunch?"

Duke fucking loses it.

===

"Well?" Damian sits himself down delicately, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair, expectantly.

They're down in the Cave, sitting across from each other at the round table in the main area, side by side.

Tim rolls his eyes, fine. No pleasantries then. "Are you considering joining the family business?"

Damian tilts his head, puppy-like, not that he'll ever say that to his face. "Which one?"

And that's a fair point. "Either. Any."

Damian purses his lips, in the same exact way Bruce does, thinking. "I am undecided. Why?"

"I was thinking that it was time for me to start making moves to…" Tim wants to be delicate here, considering the history Damian has, "…well, move on."

"Be more clear, Drake." And wow, the way Damian furrows his brow in annoyance is identical to Jason, "Use your words."

Tim huffs. "Robin, Demon Brat." Tim enunciates his words, trying not to smile at the way Damian perks up. "I want to retire."

Damian eyes him mistrustfully, darting from Tim's coffee cup, to his tablet, even to the BatComputer where Tim has a DNA sample running. "…I highly doubt that."

"UGH," Tim groans, "I want to rebrand, so I'm giving you the Robin domino or whatever."

"The Robin mantle must be earned," Damian puffs up like an irate Pomeranian, making Tim laugh for more reasons than one.

"I already retired once." Tim informs him, "Steph was Robin for a hot minute, making her own suit from a Halloween costume."

"She what." Damian's voice is dangerous, but Tim flaps a hand. He can blow steam as much as he wants, he's the baby of the family and despite it all Tim's 87% sure Damian wouldn't hurt a fly.

…Maybe a solid 66%. He'll have to run the numbers.

"She gave it up to be Spoiler real quick," Tim continues, "And then some shit happened, and though he wasn't officially a Robin, Duke was part of the We Are Robin movement."

Damian fumes in silence, which shouldn't be funny, but is.

"In other words, Demon Brat," Tim smirks, "Lots of people have been Robin. And if you don't take it now, well…who's to say someone else won't just…make their own costume?"

Tim waits out Damian's breathing exercises, patient and frankly, uncaring. He fiddles on his tablet, sips at his coffee, considers new vigilante names. With Dick now acting as Nightwing, the transition to Young Justice won't be as confusing even if he did join up as Robin, but Tim would rather not.

Just thinking about the mistaken identity issues with Dick's romantic history is already giving him nightmares. Slim as the chances are, with their builds being so different, but Tim just doesn't want to take that chance.

"Fine." Damian finally says, "I concede. When will training start?"

Tim scoffs. "You're League trained, so you'll just be shadowing for protocol. There's a manual somewhere that Bruce made, but we mostly treat it as a guideline. The Batkids have their own that they update, and you already have access to that on your tablet." Tim gives him a look. "Tell me you need access."

Damian wisely stays silent. Tim remembers that the League isn't really attuned to the intricacies of hacking and coding, but Damian has had no trouble snooping through the system from what Tim has seen. He wonders if the League just got upgraded since Cass got trained, or if Damian is self taught. It doesn't matter.

"Right. Well, Dick said he'll take you on a mission whenever your schedule is open, and you can shadow me on my current patrol, move around. You won't be able to patrol on your own for a while but—"

"What will be your new name?" Damian interrupts, eyebrow raised. Curious.

"Oh—uh. I haven't thought about it." Tim stutters. He didn't expect Damian to ask—

"Liar." Damian accuses, squinting at him.

Tim sighs. "I dunno, Red Robin?"

"That's a terrible name." Damian's nose scrunches. "A stupid name, even."

"Wha—it is not!" Tim slams his tablet down. Damian's eyes suddenly go wide, horror dripping through his tone.

"Drake—tell me you did not simply combine Red Hood and Robin."

Tim stays absolutely fucking silent, grabbing his coffee to keep his mouth occupied.

"Drake, I implore you to be better than this." Damian slaps a hand over his face, which is rude.

"Hey! That is—that is just uncalled for—" Tim pulls his cup down, almost spilling it. He swears, but Damian pays no heed to him.

"I knew you were a fan of Todd's Robin, but this cannot go on. Did you expect me to graduate and become Green Robin?"

"No! That's stupid, there's not such thing as a green robin—"

"There's no such thing as a red robin either! Unless you wish to be named after a subpar restaurant." Damian throws his hands up.

"You've never even been to a Red Robin!" Tim sputters, and tries to get a handle on the situation.

He fails.

"You have at least sixteen unique aliases with full on back stories that you successfully keep track of and disguise yourself into, and you cannot do any better than Red Robin?" Damian says, loudly, over his protests and effectively silencing him,

Tim opens his mouth, closes it. Shuts his eyes. Grumbles. "Well I'd like to see you come up with a better name…"

"Cardinal." Damian gets up, stalking towards the secret entrance, clearly done with this conversation. "I cannot fathom how little sense you have. Ridiculous."

And well. Tim hates to say it, but Cardinal is much better than Red Robin.

Gods damn it.

===

"I will name her Batcow." Dick refuses to coo. Damian is covered in blood and wielding a sword, this is not cute behavior!

How did this happen? This was their first mission. It was supposed to be easy. Tomorrow, Tim was going to take him out on patrols. The weekend after that, Jaybird was going to take him paintballing. Steph and Duke were going to teach him how to prank people harmlessly. This was supposed to be nice, easy Robin bonding!

"That's nice, baby bird." Dick tries to placate, "We can shuffle her with the other cows to their new home—"

"Nightwing," Damian's voice brokers no argument, "I have claimed her."

Dick has to wonder if he was as much of a menace when he was this age. He wasn't, surely. Sure, he got Ace in an unconventional way, but Ace was practically made for hero-ing.

Not to mention Ace was a dog.

"It's great that you want a pet," Dick tries again, "But how about we start with a dog first? Maybe a cat?"

Damian thinks on that a bit, before nodding. Dick sighs a great sigh of relief.

"I would like one of each." Wait. What? No. Nononono—

Cackling echoes in the comms, the hysterics of Steph and Jaybird loud and guffawing in his ear.

"Stop laughing and help me." Dick hisses into the comms as Damian starts flicks the blood of his sword.

"I used to put him in, in air jail." Jaybird says through gulps of air, "Y'know, pick him up wh-hen he was acting n-naughty."

"That isn't exactly applicable here, Hood!" Dick grits through his teeth, causing Steph to shriek in high pitched laughter.

"We will have to take the jet," Damian interrupts, "Batcow will not fit on our motorcycles."

"No, Robin—we, uhm. We don't have room for a cow at home—" Dick wants to tear his hair out. He's too young for this, surely.

Heedless of his words, Damian starts to gently lead the cow towards him, raising a single eyebrow.

"Okay, well. We do have room, but that doesn't mean—"

"Nightwing. Robin." Dick has never been more glad to hear Bruce's voice, "Leave the cow with the proper authorities and report back to the Cave."

"Father," Damian's voice suddenly changes, "I would like to take Batcow home."

"…Robin," Bruce starts, but is summarily interrupted.

"Father, you have missed twelve of my birthdays." Damian's voice goes wobbly, despite Dick physically seeing that his face is stone cold, "And I have not once received a gift."

There's a long silence, and Dick slumps. What the fuck do you even say to that?

"…The jet will pick you up in 3 minutes."

"And the dog and cat?" Damian's voice is smug.

Dick sighs. "I'll take you to the shelter tomorrow."

The comms peak, from the sheer volume of Jay and Steph's mocking laughter.

===

Bruce enters his study with a tablet in one hand and a glass of whiskey in the other.

It's been a long day.

He’s tired, preoccupied with thoughts of Damian starting school soon. The rest of his children seem to be causing some kind of trouble trying to celebrate it in their own way, and it's giving Bruce a minor headache about it.

Talia's continuous demands of pictures and actual reports is both heartwarming and excessive, but Bruce can hardly blame her.

His eyes should be scanning through the documents that Lucius sent over this morning and is still awaiting approval for.

What his eyes catch on instead is a new addition to his Gray Ghost shelf.

It’s an action figure of the eponymous hero, one in almost pristine condition. A first edition.

Inside the cloche with the Gray Ghost gun is a miniature version resting just beside it. The RC car also has a miniature version perched next to its front wheel. Between the trilby and the goggles lay two hands and a miniature case of the first DVD release.

He tilts his head, feeling his eyebrow raise and a smile crawl up as he picks up the action figure to inspect it. It looks old, but clean. Not quite used, but not sitting on a shelf either—there’s little knicks here or there. Perhaps found in a garage sale somewhere? It’s not even his birthday—still, the gift warms his heart as anything involving his children does.

Now, which one of his kids did this, he wonders?

No matter, he’ll find out soon enough. His children are terrible at keeping secrets, and he isn't Batman for nothing.

He places the figure gently back down in its place, and settles in for the long haul.

===

Talia sits, straight backed with her legs crossed in a highly uncomfortable chair.

Next to her, her Beloved looks lovely in his turtle neck and slacks, comfy, even.

She looks around the room, noting the whiteboard and assortment of small desks behind them,

There are motivation posters, and informational ones with equations listed upon them.

Talia refrains from scoffing, but really, what is the point of putting the answer up on the wall? How will they learn if they have such a crutch?

"Now," The portly man sitting across from them behind a large desk coughs to clear their throat, "Damian has shown high intelligence, his grades are top of the class and he has shown such high promise that the other teachers and I have discussed whether or not it would be beneficial for him to move up grades."

"I believe the principal and I already had this conversation, Mr. Porter." Bruce smiles, but it isn't the nice one, "Dami has always been a smart boy, but he was home-schooled, and we were more concerned about his socialization."

"Ah, yes. Well. The girls in the class seem to find him charming, albeit stoic. He is gentlemanly for his age, and doesn't really participate in…" Mr. Porter coughs once more.

Talia rolls her eyes. "In idle immaturity?"

"Well, yes. It's just—well," Mr. Porter tugs at his collar, "It's just boys being boys really."

"Has he made any friends? Of either gender?" Bruce asks, giving Talia a warning look. She shrugs, putting on her best innocent smile.

"Oh! Yes, one boy, Colin Wikes." Mr. Porter takes out a handkerchief to wipe his brow, "They seem to get along, in their own quiet way."

"That's lovely!" Talia's voice goes high, fake. Bruce winces, but she ignores him, "So his grades are up, he's made a friend, and overall he's popular with the ladies!"

"W-well, yes, but the other boys—"

"Now, now. Bruce is a lady-killer himself, and he managed to figure out male friendships eventually!" Talia simpers,"He had such a close friendship with Harvey Dent after all, before that whole...fiasco."

Bruce sighs, but again, Talia ignores him. "Now, I hear that my son has a talent in art? I see that none of them are hung up—"

This is very important business after all.

No-one can stop her from achieving her mission.

===

Jason opens his door carefully, quietly.

His traps have been disabled and reset, and Jason can only think of two people who would do that.

Both of them came from the League, and both of them don't take kindly to being startled.

He drops his work bag, the one for his mechanic's job, down in the entrance way. He takes of his heavy boots and treads silently through the apartment to find out which sibling came to visit.

He's greeted by Damian, asleep on his couch with an open and currently in danger of falling copy of Pride and Prejudice.

Jason quickly tiptoes over, grabs the book before it can fall to the ground, grabbing the kid's bookmark—a pressed flower that Cass made for him—and placing it to the side.

The fact that the kid hasn't woken up is testament to their time in the League.

Jason's been getting bits and pieces back, ever since he got shot and saw double vision of Damian and a younger version of the kid administering first aid to him.

Talk about shock therapy.

It's not all that pleasant, the memories.

He remembers the grueling training, the pain and anguish and fear of not remembering. Not knowing who he was, knowing Robin was important, not knowing what to do.

But not all of them are bad.

He remembers forcing Damian to brush his teeth for longer than 2 minutes, remembers tucking the tyke in with the bear, even the figure.

He remembers various missions, where he would pick up Damian and carry him to the nearest food stand to make him try an assortment of street foods with a series of flailing movements. Remembers the feeling of accomplishment and pride whenever the little guy would express it was adequate, because that was as good as a 5 star rating.

He remembers carrying him, hastily packed duffle bag and all, and thinking Gotham, Gotham is the safest place to be but not knowing why.

Mostly he remembers watching Damian sleep, peacefully, like he is now.

Because it's novel, then and now, how Damian trusts him enough to do it.

He sits himself down for a moment, always a little woozy when memories come surfacing up, breathing deep and leaning back. It's getting easier to remember, and Leslie had said it would stop eventually, so he weathers it out.

A second later, something warm thumps into his lap.

Damian has his head there, hands fisted like kitten's paws, curling up like a little ball.

Jason sees double, triple, memories and memories of watching this boy sleep and feeling honored and responsible and attached to him.

Brothers in arms, Talia had said, back when he wasn't quite himself, but wasn't Damian's Robin anymore either. You have a brother—

Jason had cut her off then, yelling that no replacement could ever be his brother.

He had eaten his words then, and he's eating them now too.

He lays a hand on Damian's back, rubs up and down his tiny shoulder blades, the way Bruce did when he was first adopted.

Brothers indeed.

He shuts his eyes, just for a moment, to breathe in the peace.

He falls asleep like that, dreaming of teddy bears and robins, and deadly, deadly assassins.

some jasons and damians thats been piling up :]

(and tim and alfred the cat)

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revolutionsingingintherainnn · 2 days ago

Note

Hey girl! I absolutely love your work. The way you write Desi reader is phenomenal

I was hoping you could write a Lando fic where he and Reader go to a trampoline park for a date and he's live streaming. He sees that she's very sweaty from all the fun and he comments on it and she says "as if you could make me this sweaty, Norris" AND IT GETS CAUGHT ON CAMERA

If you're not comfortable with the last part maybe only the trampoline park date?

Sweaty Opportunities ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

ᰔᩚ ln x reader 🧸ྀི

ᰔᩚ fluff + humour + smau 🧸ྀི

masterlist ☾☼

date days were y/n's favourite, even more than date nights. of course, date nights had a different class of its own. with the wine, and the fine dining, and the pretty dresses and suits that always end up on the floor of the living room because they couldn't wait to make it to the bedroom. it was amazing, definitely.

but, y/n tended to enjoy the date days more. it contained of spending the entire day exploring, eating, and just being kids. they would be in far more comfortable clothes, and would walk around hand-in-hand everywhere. most of their date days were usually lando's ideas, and they were always something reckless and exhilarating. it always made lando's face a pretty red that y/n could never stop kissing.

this particular date, lando had told her that he was going to be making another landolog since it had been a long time. y/n had readily agreed, well aware of how much lando enjoyed making the landologs.

"babe, are you ready?" his voice called out from the living room.

"coming!" y/n replied, trying to get her anklet untangled from her sock so that it didn't break.

lando stood at the door of the room, with the camera in his hand, "chat, this happens every time! i tell her we need to leave at 12, she starts getting ready 12!"

"liar! i was ready to go before you!"

"apparently not, seeing that i've worn my shoes and everything, and you still only have on sock on," lando teased.

"my anklet got stuck again," y/n looked at him with the best puppy eyes she could.

lando sighed, always unable to resist her cute face, "fine, hold the camera,"

she smiled, making a funny face at the camera before she turned it around to record lando. the man had knelt on the floor, and was focused on getting her anklet untangled.

"he's such a nice boy, taking care of me. mumma approves of you too, na," y/n cooed at him.

lando smiled, shaking his head at her, knowing that she was making fun of him. he made a sound from the back of his throat, acknowledging that he heard her. y/n ran her fingers through his hair, talking in the camera how soft his hair was, and how she was envious of it.

"alright, done," lando said, as he stood up after untangling the anklet. he offered his hand to y/n, and she took it, standing up. lando pulled her close to his chest, the camera stuck between them.

y/n laughed, "lan! you're crushing the camera!"

lando pressed a kiss to her lips, and said, "well, they didn't need to see that anyway,"

the two grabbed their essentials, still bickering and bantering, laughing into the camera, as they left the apartment, and into the car.

the camera recorded the couple singing (read as: screaming) taylor swift songs on their way to lando's surprise date location.

"where are we going?" y/n asked.

"we're almost there, lovie. a little more patience."

"look who's talking about patience!" y/n turned towards the camera, and said, "this man has the least amount of patience i've ever seen, okay?"

"that's not true!"

"you almost burned down our home because you decided to set the oven at double the temperature because you thought it would cook quicker!"

"logically, it makes sense!"

"its a miracle we have a roof over our heads, lando!"

he laughed, a loud, shrieking kind of laugh.

pulling into the parking lot, lando turned off the ignition, and quickly grabbed the camera to catch y/n’s face change from confusion, to understanding, to childlike excitement. he knew this was one of the few places y/n had always wanted to come to, and now, she would finally have the opportunity.

“you got me to a trampoline park!” y/n shrieked.

lando winced at the loud sound, but smiled nonetheless, “happy date day, baby!”

y/n wrapped her arms around her boyfriend’s neck, the camera forgotten on his lap, as he hugged her back. “thank you, thank you, thank you!” she whispered.

“i love you,” he whispered back.

she kissed him, letting him know that she loved him too.

getting out of the car, y/n jumped excitedly as lando laughed, holding the camera. seeing lando lock the car, y/n immediately began running towards the entrance. zooming on the camera to show just how far she had ran, lando said, “chat, she’s a little crazy, but i’m so head over heels for her,”

following y/n inside, lando handed her the camera as she showed the place around and yapped. meanwhile, he paid for the tickets, and walked to where y/n was. she had been standing by the popcorn machine, talking to the camera like she was talking to another human. sneaking behind her, lando wrapped his arms around her waist and picked her up. y/n laughed, but let him walk towards the entrance of the trampoline park.

she set the camera down, angling it towards them, as the couple removed their shoes, and stored it in one of the cubicles.

“so, how long are we here?” y/n asked.

“well, it’s three hours of jumping and bouncing-”

“that’s what she said,”

“-and then we go out for lunch, and have cheesecake for dessert, and back home, where we can either sleep or do other things if we have more energy,” lando finished.

y/n smacked his arm, “you better edit that out!”

“you’re the one with the dirty mind! i just meant we could bake something or have a movie marathon!”

“you’re lying, you liar!” lando laughed as he ran from y/n’s smack attack.

grabbing the camera, he ran inside, immediately bouncing and gaining more speed than y/n. but, she wasn’t far behind. though, once she began jumping on the trampolines, her smack attack on lando was quickly forgotten. the couple went through every zone the park had to offer, playing trampoline basketball, jumping into a ball pit, and obstacle courses that were almost everywhere.

y/n pushed lando often, laughing every time he fell and bounced back. lando returned the favour. they challenged each other to stupid things, like who could jump the highest.

“it’s not fair! you’re taller than me! of course, you jumped higher than i did!”

“that sounds like a you problem, lovie!”

“bitch!”

or, they challenged each other to who could fall the farthest in the ball pit.

“i totally won!”

“no, you didn’t! you moved the balls from the sides, so now we don’t know!”

“oh, quit crying just ‘cause you lost!”

“you lost!”

most of the challenges were unfair for y/n, given that lando only proposed the ones that would benefit him, and in her excitement, she wouldn’t realise it until after she lost. she did try to trick him and win, and that worked. lando said it didn’t count, but everyone knew who the boss was.

“ready? three, two, one, go!”

“ow, ow, ow, ow,”

“lovie? you okay? what’s wrong?”

“i think i twisted my ankle,”

“oh, baby, lemme see,”

“ha! tricked you!”

“wha-? hey! no fair!”

“sorry, can’t hear you from the finish line!”

their friendly competitions had resulted in red faces shining from sweat, and bright smiles. the day was exactly what they needed, and y/n had plans to show just how grateful she was to lando for planning such a date. they exchanged kisses, played with the other kids in the park, and tried to outdo one another. it made y/n fall more in love with lando.

the camera facing towards them, lando watched as y/n jumped on a trampoline square behind him, spreading her arms and legs, making a star every time she was in the air.

“you’re so sweaty,” lando commented as he looked at his girlfriend’s flushed face.

y/n smirked, “it's because of the jumping around for three hours. as if you could ever make me so sweaty, norris,”

his mouth fell open as he processed her retort. she laughed at his expression, and began jumping away. lando quickly grabbed her hand and said, “as if i could ever- come on, we’re going home,”

“what? why? we still have lunch left!”

“nope. i’m going to show you just how sweaty i can make you,”

y/n laughed but followed. she wasn’t going to pass on an opportunity like this. she’d never.

lando.jpg

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lando.jpg i CAN make her that sweaty

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hi! i tried to make this desi!reader, but i just didn't find a lot of places where i could incorporate that, so i tried my best to stick to a neutral, imagine-what-you-like character. i hope you enjoy this! i've also got a link for my taglist, prompt list, and all of that you can find here!

#f1 #formula 1 #lando norris #formula one #ln4 #f1 imagine #lando norris x you #lando norris imagine #lando norris fluff #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x reader #lando norris smau #ln4 fluff #ln4 imagine #ln4 fic #ln x reader

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ashasdiary · 3 days ago

Text

Bodyguard

Pairing: Geto Suguru x reader Synopsis: Geto finds out you’re being harassed at work. CW: harassment, established relationship, protective!geto, angry!geto, Geto beats him up, a little angst, fluff, brief suggestiveness WC: 1.9k A/N: no one look at me I’m trying to cope 😵‍💫

It started very innocently. Just small chats here and there, in the work kitchen, passing by through the hallways, in the elevators. Then the chats became a bit longer. You initially thought your coworker Daniel was just being attentive, asking about you, showing genuine interest in what you had to say. To be sometimes expected from a work colleague.

But you realised his intentions early on. So you made it a point each time he asked your plans to mention your boyfriend, Geto, just to make sure he was aware that you were not interested.

That didn’t stop him.

Every time he passed by your desk, he’d pat your shoulder and mouth a small ‘hi’. Initially, it wasn’t concerning, because it was minor, just him saying hi in greeting. But the more time passed, the longer his touches on your shoulder, and the more agitated you got.

He’d join you, uninvited, while you had your lunch. Offering him a polite smile, you wouldn’t say anything as he’d sit near to you in the work kitchen.

“Whatcha got?” He asked once.

“Just a sandwich,” you reply, mouth full, not caring about manners in that moment. Because he had eyes. Why ask stupid questions?

“Oh, nice. Healthy,” he nods, opening up his food container, “You always have healthy stuff.”

You blink a few times, thinking what the hell, keeping tabs on my lunch? He begins to eat and you hum, kind of dismissively, “Yeah.”

You continue to eat your sandwich in silence, looking at your phone, hoping he’ll leave you in peace. Ha! Why would he?

“What did you get up to on the weekend?” He asks and you glance up at him, giving a tight lipped smile.

“Had a day out with my boyfriend, we did a hike and then saw a new movie…not much else,” you say.

“Ah, hikes are great. I hope it was a good movie. It’s nice having a companion, but I’m so particular about who I keep around…it’s why I can’t find anyone decent,” he responds, and you chew on your lip, feeling a bit unnerved by the trajectory of the conversation.

His phone rings then, and you thank the stars for the interruption. You stand up then as he takes it and you say something about your lunch break finishing before you dash out of there.

Geto had noticed you’d been a bit down recently, but he didn’t want to push you to talk about it because he knew that there wasn’t always a reason for being down. Moods fluctuate, something he could personally understand completely. Instead, he ups his affection to you, making sure you feel loved, and seen, and safe. Which you always do.

That week, it continued.

Fucking hell, was he persistent. More touches; the shoulder taps had become shoulder squeezes. More questions. More attention.

At the very least you were thankful you weren’t working in the same team or even in the same department. But still, it was starting to affect you. You’d feel anxious as it approached the time that he’d come into work. You’d feel anxious when you heard his footsteps.

Your coworker who sat beside you noticed it too. “He’s so weird…what’s his problem?” She comments, then her voice softens when she looks at you being tense, “hey…you okay?”

“Not really…” you whisper to her, voice wavering.

She looks concerned, “Tell HR. I’ve seen what he’s been doing, every day, it’s creepy.”

“But I don’t want to cause trouble,” you find yourself saying, and you trail off as you hear yourself. It sounds ridiculous and you know it.

Your colleague says your name, “Come on. It’s not. Do not sacrifice your comfort. Go tell them…or do you want me to?” She asks.

Deliberating for a moment, you then shake your head and inhale deeply, “I will.”

After having a conversation with HR, it all happens very fast. Within 3 hours, Daniel is being escorted out of the building having been fired.

You feel sick to your stomach, because you hadn’t wanted to cause such a drastic consequence. But as the day goes on, you are reassured that it was a completely justified decision.

It’s when you’re on the way home that you get a text from an unknown number, angrily asking what he’d done to deserve that and that you should watch your back.

When you go home to Geto that day, you walk through the door and burst into tears, all of your built up emotions being let out. He’s quick to envelope you in his arms tightly and hold you against the warmth of his chest.

“Hey, sweetheart…shh…I’ve got you, it’s okay…come sit down,” he says to you, in a soft, hushed voice as he guides you to the couch. You sit on his lap, face buried in his neck as you sniffle, tears rolling down your cheeks.

“Tell me what’s going on, honey,” he prompts, rubbing your back in soothing circles, “talk to me.”

So you tell him everything. Every instance, every encounter, every inappropriate conversation. And then the text. You notice that as you’d been explaining, he’d stiffened, his gaze had turned ice cold.

He utters your name, gently pushing your hair behind your ear as you look at him, “You should have told me the minute this began…” he sighs softly, “Maybe take some time off work. And if you don’t want to do that, I’m going to take you to and from there. Okay? Nothing is going to happen to you, I promise.”

The conviction in his tone is a safety blanket to you and you bury yourself against him, whispering a thank you and an I love you.

“I love you too, sweetheart. You’re safe, always,” he kisses your hair and holds you for the rest of the evening.

You’d debated taking time off, but you knew that would only postpone your fear. So you go to work as usual, but with the safety of Geto’s company.

He had suggested driving you to and from, but you knew the traffic in the city was awful which would be quite long. So he commutes with you. Four trips he makes each day, just to ensure that you are safe.

His presence alone was enough but knowing that he’d never let anything happen to you, that he was there only to protect you, makes you feel very much at ease.

You’re pressed up against each other on the train a couple of weeks later and he grins at you, snaking his arm around your waist. “Up close and personal, huh,” you murmur to him.

“Not close enough,” he teases you with a wink and you flick his chin with a laugh.

“Sugu, you might as well just come and work at the same company with all these trips you’re making,” you say as you walk hand in hand from the station to your work building.

He chuckles, “While that would be fun, working in the same place as you, I think that they might end up firing me too for inappropriate touching,” he jokes and you laugh at this.

He smiles to himself at the sound of your laugh, happy to see that you’re not feeling so anxious or sensitive anymore and can laugh at jokes about it.

“You’d always want to get me alone,” you tease.

“Oh, yeah. Every chance I get,” he squeezes your hand as you approach the building.

You head inside together and you let go of his hand, readying your keycard to swipe through the security gate several meters away, and you’re about to bid each other goodbye when you stop in your tracks. Geto looks to you in question and he follows your gaze to where Daniel is stood outside the security gate, waiting.

He didn’t know what Daniel looked like of course, but he is quick to put two and two together. At the same time, Daniel sees you. You tremble slightly as you see the look on his face as he storms over, somehow not making note of the giant 6’3 man stood beside you.

Geto quickly approaches, and he grabs Daniel by the collar, lifting him easily off the floor. “You have some nerve coming here again…I ought to teach you a fucking lesson,” Geto seethes.

Daniel is completely taken aback, turning into a spluttering mess as he grabs onto Geto’s arm that was holding him up, “I— I didn’t do anything! I don’t even know you! Put me down!”

Geto’s brows furrowed deeply, his blood boiling, “You sly piece of shit, you deserve what’s coming,” Geto says through clenched teeth, and throws Daniel across the shiny floor. He slides a few yards before coming to a stop. He curls into a ball as Geto angrily approaches him, crouching down and pulling his head back by his hair.

“You think this is funny? Showing up to your old workplace just to harass someone again?” Geto raises his voice.

“N-no, I didn’t—” Daniel quivers, but Geto’s not hearing it.

“Like hell you didn’t,” Geto bites back, then performs a jujutsu technique that has the man being catapulted against the wall so forcefully that it cracks.

Daniel is knocked out cold. You cover your mouth in shock before you rush over to Geto’s side and hold onto his arm, “Sugu…”

At the same time, security guards rush over to both Geto and Daniel and police had been called as well. The security guard recognises you but says to Geto, “Sir, police have been called. We ask for your cooperation.”

“You don’t want me to leave the premises?” Geto asks coolly, swiping some sweat off his cheek with his thumb.

“No, sir,” the security guard gestures for Geto to follow him and waits for him to do so.

You look at Geto helplessly. “Sugu, I’m sorry—” you begin and he frowns.

“Why’re you sorry? This isn’t your fault. I acted in your defence. He was clearly coming at you,” he says, his eyes searching yours, placing his hands on your arms and caressing them gently. You relax a little bit. He’s right, of course.

“They can charge me but if any, it’s likely they’ll be dropped. There’s CCTV here, and the security guards,” he looks over to the security guard stood waiting beside you both and speaks directly to him, “were clearly negligent in carrying out their jobs to allow someone who’d been fired for harassment back into the building again.”

The guard swallows thickly. You try to hide your smile at how Geto’s handling this, it’s admirable to see.

“There’s no problem for me, I’ll happily cooperate and give my statement to the police. The evidence is right there,” Geto says to you and nods his head to the CCTV cameras overhead.

“Can I come with you?” You ask, and he outstretches his arm.

“They’ll probably want a statement from you too. It’s best if you did,” he says and you both walk with the security guard to the side.

Police arrive, take statements, and evidence of the CCTV. They determine there’s no charges. You head back home with Suguru and take the day off.

He’d made your favourite meal for lunch, and as you’re curled up together on the couch eating and watching TV, you kiss his cheek. “It’s sweet having you as my bodyguard.”

“I like being it too,” he replies and glances over to you with a tender gaze, feeling content that he’s the one to protect you and keep you safe.

“Does this mean we can do bodyguard role play in the bedroom?” You say and he coughs, almost choking on his food.

You laugh quietly and pat his back as he says your name, “Now that, I didn’t expect.”

“Is that a yes?” You grin as he sips on his drink, eyeing you over the rim.

He sets his glass down and smirks, “It certainly is.”

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nayedoll · 3 days ago

Text

You’re all I want

joost klein x fem!reader

description: Joost and reader experience the hardships of a relationship, until their biggest fight yet— which is resolved by some much needed make-up sex

word count: 2.7k

warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut; f!receiving oral, protected piv,

───────────────────────

The moonlight creeps in through the window, your only source of light in the dark room. Not that you needed much light anyways; for the past twenty minutes you’ve been staring at the wall across from you, your thoughts filling the emptiness. All the hurtful words Joost said, all the blame he put on you; all the things you said to him, things that you didn’t mean but in the heat of the moment, didn’t care to think twice about them— it’s all there, eating you alive, digging holes into your heart.

Deep down, you know this fight was bound to happen at some point, it had to. Joost working endlessly from day to night for the past month, being gone for hours, along with your already packed schedule that never seemed to overlap with his— it had definitely created a certain tension in the air. If you were lucky enough, you’d only see him in the early mornings and late at night. Naturally, all the pressure, all your worries, the exhaustion of it all would lead you both to take it out on each other— you didn’t mean to, but after a long day, every little thing seemed to irritate you, before it turned into yet another fight.

But this— this had been your biggest fight yet. It had started out as per usual, one of you complaining about something you can’t even remember now, before in a matter of minutes, it had turned into a meaningless competition about who “works more” , who’s “more tired”, who “cares more” about the other one; it was so meaningless but so hurtful at the same time. Joost’s voice still lingers in your mind, the heavy silence in the room after he accused you of not caring about him, of not loving him. Then of course, all the awful things you said in return, trying to fix things by defending yourself but making them worse in the heat of the moment.

Joost eventually left; presumably off to the balcony to smoke a cigarette like he always does when he’s stressed out or mad. Usually, you’d leave him be and ask him about it later but now… now you know exactly why he’s upset, and to realize that you’re the reason for it makes your chest hurt. Your eyes start getting watery again as you take a deep breath to calm yourself down, when you hear a knock at the bedroom door; you don’t bother to reply, already knowing who’s the one knocking.

The door opens reluctantly, the yellowish light of the hallway peeking into the room as Joost steps in, in his grey sweatpants, the graphic hoodie you’d gotten him for his birthday that probably carries the scent of his camels now.

He stands by the door for a second, “Were you sitting in the dark this whole time?” His voice is calmer than before, strangely comforting even after everything.

You ignore his question, turning your head to gaze at the cloudy night sky out the window. Hearing him walk over to you, the bed sinking as he sits down facing you. He opens the bedside lamp with a faint click noise, painting the room in a dim yellow light.

You feel Joost caressing your thigh, immediately drawing your gaze back to him,

“You know I didn’t mean those things, right?” He gives you a weak smile, a hint of regret hidden in his eyes.

You sigh, “I don’t know. Did you?” You try to make your voice firm, but the sadness is obviously there, indicating that you’ve been crying.

“No,” He shakes his head repeatedly, as if he’s scolding himself. “No, of course not liefde,” Liefde. At least, he still calls you that— hadn’t heard it from him in what feels like forever.

You stare at him, images from your argument flashing through your mind; all the things you called him, asshole, douchebag, selfish, ungrateful— but at the end of the day, he’s still your Joost, walking into your bedroom to apologize, like a kid asking their parents to sleep in bed with them.

You purse your lips, attempting to hide the smile that tugs at the corners of your mouth. “Okay. I believe you,”

Joost also smiles, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek as he hugs you. You wrap an arm around him, stroking his back, allowing yourself to melt into his touch. “I’m sorry,” He mumbles, his lips grazing your ear as he caresses your hair, leaving another kiss to your temple.

You smile, letting out a dry chuckle. “It’s okay. I wasn’t any better either,”

His kisses don’t stop, but rather his lips wander off to your cheek, then lower to your jaw, before he’s fully kissing you again. You kiss him back slowly— it feels somewhat different, in a good way; like all the doubts and fears have left and the only thing present is pure love, just you and the Joost you fell in love with, his lips on yours.

He pulls back shortly after, leaving you to take a deep breath. “Lie down for me baby,” His tone is soft, yet compelling and you can’t help but do as he says, wordlessly leaning back onto the pillow. He slightly hovers over you, takes his shirt off in a quick motion as you stare up at him; perfection, that’s what he is to you. And it hurts to think that he doesn’t realize how much you love him, and how precious he, and this relationship is to you.

“You’re so pretty,” You say as your fingers stroke his hairy chest.

He chuckles, a shy smile gracing his lips. “Not as pretty as you,” He leans lower to kiss you, propping himself up on one hand, burying himself in your neck. There, he kisses you more, open-mouthed kisses and soft bites on your skin that are sure to stain your neck with hickeys. You sigh in pleasure, opening your legs to give him more space. Joost wastes no time as he adjusts himself atop you, until his crotch is right above yours. You can feel him through his sweatpants, his hard-on evident even over the soft fabric of your pajama shorts. Breathing deeply when the tip of his cock brushes against your crotch, an action than repeats itself, causing you both to let out a mixture of sounds that fill the room.

“Missed this,” Joost mumbles, his lips still roaming around your neck. “Missed hearing you like this,”

“I know,” You breathe out. If only he could hear your thoughts right now; he’d see how much of a toll this situation had taken on you, having him be so close to you but so far at the same time.

You feel his cock twitch, the sensation coaxing a sharp breath out of you. He raises your shirt up to your collarbones, cupping your boobs in his soft hands; his touch makes you dizzy, the way he handles your body. Wet kisses on your pulse, your moans getting louder and harder to suppress with each thrust of his body.

“Fuck,” He laughs against your neck, “Need you,” He draws back from your neck to look at you; you probably look like a dumb puppy looking up at him, unable to suppress your smile— you really did miss him that much, and now it feels so good having him this close again, almost like it’s not real.

“What?” You laugh.

“Have I told you how pretty you look today?”

A sudden heat rushes through you, a pinkish color spreading across your face. “Nah, you were too busy fighting with me for that,” You tease.

He laughs, “Fuck you,”

“That’s what I’m waiting for,” You protest.

Joost clicks his tongue before he finally pushes himself back up, now stabilizing himself on his knees on the mattress, “You horny woman,” He chastises, shaking his head in feigned disapproval as he begins to take off his sweatpants.

You stare at him wordlessly, only a soft smile lingering on your lips. He’s breathing heavily as he lowers his grey sweatpants down to his knees, before he does the same thing with this his boxers, his cock springing free.

He pats your thigh, “Let’s take these off,” You slightly lift yourself up so that Joost can slip your pajama shorts off, tossing them somewhere on the floor. Your panties feel wet, momentarily sticking to your skin as he begins to lower them down your legs, and suddenly, you’re both so exposed, yet so comfortable in each other’s presence.

“The most beautiful body,” Joost coos, a smirk tugging at his lips as he places a kiss to your belly. “And face of course,” Another kiss to your cheek.

“Oh please,” You scoff at the cheesiness, despite how much you secretly love it when he gets like this.

Joost chuckles, parting your legs a little more. He presses two fingers on your clit, gently rubbing it in circles, causing your breath to hitch. Smirking to himself as he nuzzles his face against your thighs, his hot breath on your pussy.

You take a look, the mere image of Joost snuggled up between your legs enough for you to abandon any hesitation or grudge against him.

You tousle his hair, fingers entangled between his blonde locks. His tongue teases your clit, your legs jerking at the tingling sensation before Joost hooks his arms around them, keeping them parted and steady.

“Relax,” His deep voice vibrates through your core, and you sigh; relax? Was that even possible in this scenario? Weeks of fighting, of not touching each other, and you’re supposed to relax? You feel so vulnerable, so sensitive that even a soft kiss to your clit is enough to make you squirm under him.

“Go on,” You say, your voice whiny.

A smirk tugs at his lips; you feel his tongue delve inside you, gently at first before his lips fully envelop your pussy; you watch as Joost eats you out, keeping his eyes locked in yours the entire time. Your moans get louder, quicker before you’re full-on whimpering with the way he handles you.

You tug at his hair strands, too drawn by your own pleasure to apologize for possibly hurting him. Your legs begin to shake, squeezing Joost’s head even tighter, back arching at the overstimulation; you’re close, so close actually that before you can even say anything to him, you reach your orgasm with a loud yelp. Joost persists, the lingering sensation of his mouth on you making your brain go numb.

He hums against your pussy, lapping it with his tongue one final time before he pulls back, lips glossy and his cheeks a vibrant pink; he smiles, blue eyes lighting up at the sight of you, blissed out, trying to catch your breath. Smiling because he’s the only one who can make you feel like this, bring those sweet sounds out of you, make you feel so good even after breaking your heart.

He sits his face on your stomach; now he’s the one who looks like a puppy. You chuckle, furrowing your brows,

“What is it,”

Joost’s eyes flicker to your boobs, then to your face again as he groans. “I need to fuck you,”

“So romantic,”

“Always,” He rises up from his position, reaching over to the bedside table, in hopes to find a condom in one of the drawers; lucky for you both, there’s a last one in there, tossed between other things. Joost takes the condom, using his teeth to tear the wrapper open before he slips it on.

You once again bend your knees, a new wave of arousal washing over you at the thought of what’s to come.

Joost grabs the base of his cock as he comes forward, lining himself up with your entrance, not before he swipes his shaft over your folds in a quick motion, earning a small moan from you.

“Ready?” He asks in a soft voice, thoughtful of your sensitivity.

“Yeah,”

With that, he pushes himself inside of you at a slow speed. You gasp, your back arching as his cock moves further into your core.

“Feels so good already,” His tone is low, breathy, it makes your head dizzy. He once again slowly pulls out of you, until only the tip is teasing your hole, before he sinks into you at an unprompted speed that draws a sharp moan out of both of you.

He continues the pattern, sweet nothings muttered in between each deep thrust. You can’t help the choked sobs that fall from your lips as he fucks you so perfectly, with so much care and love behind his strong grasp on your waist. One of his hands reaches up to cup your boob, softly playing with it as leans forward to press a kiss to your jaw. He feels sweaty, his shallow breaths hot against your skin.

You hear him mumble something incoherent from between your neck, slightly straining your neck to look at him. “Huh?”

He raises his head a little, propping himself up on his hands so that he’s able to look down at you,

“I love you,” He says, gritting his teeth as he picks up the pace, “I’m sorry liefde,” Guilt lingering on his voice.

You smile, “Joost it’s- it’s okay,” You breathe out, hardly getting the words out with how fast he’s thrusting his cock into you; if his words weren’t so sweet, you’d think he was mad at you given his unforgiving pace. “It’s over now,” You reassure him, kissing him sloppily.

“My baby, I love you so much,” He says in your ear, his voice strained. You embrace him, not caring about how suffocating his heavy body feels atop you. The room feels even hotter than before, the air sticking to your body like a magnet.

“Fuck Joost,” You blurt out, a loud cry slipping from your lips as he hits the most perfect spot inside of you, your climax unmistakably close. “I love you- too,”

Joost’s cock twitches, his thrusts becoming sloppier, “Yeah? Say it again baby,”

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” You repeat as you’re hit with a sudden wave of pleasure, erupting in loud moans. You squeeze your eyes shut, letting yourself ride out your high, incoherent words expressing all the love for him along the way.

Joost is breathing heavily against your neck, groaning as he uses every last bit of energy to push himself into you, the dirty sound of slapping skin filling the room. At last, he comes inside of you, his drawn out, breathy moan ringing in your ears.

He pulls out of you, before returning to hugging you. Your strenuous breaths fill the silence of the room, as you drink in your afterglow. You take this moment to cuddle him, your chin touching his hair as he lays his head on your chest, taking a moment to think.

“I’m so lucky to have you,”

A smile graces your lips, “Me too,” Playing with his hair as he plants soft kisses along your collarbone. “Please, let’s not let it get this bad again,” You whisper, caressing his cheek.

He nods, smiling softly. “Okay,” Letting his head rest on your chest again as you drown in your thoughts.

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tysm for readinggahhhsg… this is honestly not the best thing I’ve written, but its okay 🧘‍♀️🧘‍♀️ looking back at this now, i feel like the smut should have been longer ughhh

#joost klein x reader #joost x reader #joost klein rpf #joost klein #joost #fics

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crimsonwolf715 · 17 hours ago

Text

Used as Bait

Jason and Tim, who have been goofing off since getting out of the Batcave, finally arrived at the GCPD building thirty minutes after they were supposed to be there.

“Got anything for us, Gordon?” Jason asks.

Gordon looks up from his file, then looks back down.

“What is he doing?” Jason asks.

“Ignoring us for the mandatory five minutes because we wasted his time,” Tim answers. “He put it in place when B got into the habit of making a meeting and then being late for it.”

“And B hates having his time wasted.”

“Yup. And to be fair, we’re like thirty minutes late. Gordon does usually have some grace if we’re not too late.”

Jason takes his helmet off and starts messing with his hair.

“Is something wrong?” Tim asks.

“Nope,” Jason answers. “We’re just gonna be seeing Maria before patrol’s over.”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“No, of course not. You’re the only one that will let me.”

“You have to do something for me.”

“Fine.”

Gordon offers the file to Tim, so he takes it.

“Maria your girlfriend?” Gordon asks.

“Nah, she’s just a friend of mine. But she lives and works in a bad part of town, so I like to try to walk her home,” Jason answers. “She can handle herself, but I literally take out bad guys at least twice a week.”

“That didn’t work with Barbara,” Gordon says.

“Yeah, your fiercely independent daughter didn’t want your protection. Maria isn’t a fan of me feeling obligated to walk her home, but she likes that I like to walk her home. We get to talk.”

“Huh.”

“We’ve got a possible meeting of gangs?” Tim asks.

“That’s the thought. We have two officers over there you can meet,” Gordon says. “I want this dealt with tonight if you two can.”

“Will do, boss. I’ve got something to do at midnight,” Jason replies, “and Red’s got a date with Spoiler.”

“I already said that I’m not dating Spoiler,” Tim says. “You’re just telling people to get a rise out of me.”

“Maybe. We’ll come back when we’ve got something for you.”

“Just call,” Gordon replies. “I’m gonna be in a meeting and then two briefings for the rest of the night. If you really need anything from me, just call.”

“We will,” Tim says, then the two of them head towards the location in the file.

They get to the location and there’s an undercover cop car there, just like Gordon said there would be. Tim’s phone rings, so he looks at it.

“I need to take this. Can you get the info from the officers?” Tim asks.

“Yeah, of course,” Jason answers, “but it’ll cost you five dollars.”

“Shut up and go over there.”

“Whatever.”

Jason walks over and knocks on the window. He looks inside and nobody’s in the car.

“Weird,” Jason mutters. “Where did they go?”

“Red Hood?”

Jason turns and there’s an officer standing with two cups of coffee.

“Gordon sent me and Red Robin to help you guys with the incident,” Jason says. “Where’s the other officer?”

“He’s not in there?”

Jason shakes his head.

The officer quickly strides over and looks in the window. “Oh shit, where could he have gone?”

Jason shrugs, then turns in the direction to check on Tim. Tim’s not standing where he was a minute ago. Jason goes to look around when he feels a needle in the back of his neck.

“Nighty night.”

Jason swings his elbow and manages to hit the guy in the face with it before he passes out.

Tim wakes up to complete blackness.

“You’ve failed me,” Batman’s voice says.

“What?” Tim asks.

The scene around him turns from black to a full color image of the city in flames.

“What happened?” Tim asks.

“You failed, and we all paid for it.”

He sees his entire family, bleeding out while the villains are close by celebrating.

“No, no,” Tim says, shaking his head. “This can’t be real. I… we hold each other up. I can’t be the reason they’re dead.”

“The most pressure on you to succeed,” Cass says.

“The most pressure to get everything right,” Dick adds.

“It’s your fault we failed. Your plan went south and we paid the price for it,” Damian says.

Tim tries to calm himself down so he doesn’t hyperventilate, but the scene changes to the manor and Tim sees Jason sitting on the couch, reading a book. His blood is still pumping from the stress and anxiety, but he feels a small amount of comfort in the sight of his brother. Tim runs over.

“Jason!”

Jason doesn’t look up or acknowledge him.

“Jason?”

“I don’t want to be around you,” Jason says.

“Why?”

“Because who would want to? You’re annoying, uninteresting, and unable to hold a conversation.” Tim opens his mouth to argue, but Jason continues. “The only reason that Bruce took pity on you was because he was a basket case. If I hadn’t died, you wouldn’t be around. Not even Dick likes being around you, and he likes being around everyone.”

Tim can’t help the rage that floods him at that moment, especially hearing it from Jason. He was the only one around to help when everything was going up in flames, and any of them feel like they have the right to complain?

“You’re utterly useless, Drake,” Damian says, appearing out of thin air before Tim can get any farther in his thought process.

The world goes back to black as Tim tries to figure out what’s going on.

“Time for you to sleep now.”

Tim recognizes the voice and he searches for Mad Hatter. He feels himself starting to lose consciousness, but starts thrashing around when he feels something with a similar feeling to a mask being pulled over his face. He passes out without succeeding in getting the mask off.

Jason wakes up to complete darkness. He hears a familiar laugh that sends a chill up his spine. Jason struggles against the restraints, starting to hyperventilate. Joker comes into view with a bloody crowbar.

“Ready for round two, little bird?”

Jason breaks the restraints and throws a punch at Joker. It goes right through him and he starts laughing again.

“Batman’s favorite toy, how does it feel? You almost caused the downfall of Batman with your death. It must feel fantastic to know that you almost succeeded in your goal solely by getting your head bashed in and then inhaling a little smoke,” Joker says.

Jason throws another punch at him and it goes through him again. Jason gets his feet untied in enough time for the scene to disappear. Something knocks Jason off balance and he lands on his back. He blinks and when he opens his eyes, he’s lying down in a wooden box. Jason starts trying to bust the box but no matter how much force he uses, it doesn’t break.

He can feel the oxygen getting thinner. He’s panicking too much and while he knows it, he can’t seem to get his breathing to slow down. He can’t seem to stop panicking. No matter how hard he tries, he’s stuck in this coffin of dread. He squeezes his eyes closed.

“Dad!” he cries out, hoping that Bruce is right outside to save him.

“No father to save you. There never was,” Joker’s voice says. “You really think that Batsy ever loved a little screw-up like you? No, he only pretended to. His savior complex made him take pity on you.”

Jason shakes his head, refusing to believe it again.

“My dad loves me!”

Joker laughs, taunting and mocking Jason.

“Time for you to sleep now.”

Jason doesn’t recognize the voice and he searches for the person attached to it. He passes out as it feels something go over his face, like a mask.

Dick’s watching TV, waiting for Damian to call him to discuss the details of Damian spending the weekend with him. Currently he’s watching a rerun of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, but he’s only half-watching it. The screen goes black, drawing Dick’s full attention back to it. The screen glitches, then shows a close-up of Scarecrow’s face. Dick sits up. The camera backs away from Scarecrow’s face enough that you can see more of him.

“Hello, Gotham,” Scarecrow says. “This isn’t for many of you, so feel free to ignore. Batman, on the other hand, we have your little birds.”

The camera moves to show Jason and Tim in full uniform, clearly in distress. They’re fighting hard against the restraints, but in a wild and restless way that Tim would never normally attempt to get out in. Dick gets and starts searching his coffee table for his phone. Right on cue, it rings.

He answers. “Hey, Dami. Are you watching right now?”

“I’m watching,” Damian answers. “Barbara’s trying to figure out where the signal’s coming from and Father’s getting suited up. I’m already suited up before you ask.”

“I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

“Thank you. Father’s panicking.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

Dick grabs his keys and rushes out of his apartment. He heads to his safehouse to change into costume then gets on his bike and makes a beeline for Wayne Manor. Once he hits city limits, his comm crackles.

“Grayson will be here when he gets here,” Damian says. “Nothing we’re going to say is gonna make him get here faster.”

“Hey, I’m at city limits,” Dick says.

“Hey, Nightwing,” Barbara replies. “I’m sending the location to your bike now.”

“Thanks, Oracle. How’s Batman?”

“I’m fine,” Bruce says gruffly. “I’m heading to the warehouse now. How long will it take for you to get there?”

Dick checks the location. “Five minutes. It’s closer to the city limit than I thought it would be.”

“We’ll meet you there. I’m here with Orphan and Robin. Spoiler’s out of town.”

“Alright.”

He gets there at the same time they do and runs over.

“Hey, what did the scan of the building indicate?” Dick asks.

“Four heat signatures and their trackers are still transmitting from inside,” Bruce answers. “Alright, remember that our top priority is getting them out. If one of them gets away, we can deal with it at a later point.”

Cass and Damian both nod. Dick notices Mad Hatter and Scarecrow leaving the building. Cass notices them too and looks towards Bruce for instructions. Tim and Jason jump down onto the roof and ready their weapons. Bruce nods at Cass, and she goes after Scarecrow and Mad Hatter while Jason and Tim attack the rest of the Bats. Tim viciously attacks Damian with his bo staff and Damian barely dodges.

“What the hell?” Damian asks.

“The masks belong to Mad Hatter,” Dick says, trying to grab Tim so he can get the mask off. “He’s probably controlling both Hood and Red.”

Tim grabs Dick’s wrist and flips him onto his back. Tim jams a batarang into Dick’s arm, pinning him to the roof in the process. Dick hisses and tries to figure out how to take it out without hurting himself worse. After watching Jason beating Bruce and Tim beating Damian for several minutes while trying to think, he finally just pulls it out as fast as he can and runs at Tim. Bruce can hold his own a little longer. Tim drives a hard kick to Dick’s shoulder, which was slightly injured in a battle earlier that week.

“Shit,” Dick mutters, grabbing his shoulder. “That hurt, bud.”

Tim swings his staff at him again and Dick grabs the other end. He uses the momentum to throw Tim on his back. Damian grabs the mask and rips it off.

Damian checks his pulse. “He’s alive. You should probably go help Father with Hood before he makes him cry.”

Dick looks up and the two are sparring.

“I knew that Hood could reasonably fight Batman but seeing it is something else,” Dick mutters, “but I’m gonna go help Batman.”

Damian nods and starts checking for injuries on Tim. Dick flips over to Jason and kicks him hard in the side of the head. Bruce rips the mask off and stomps on it repeatedly. Dick checks Jason’s pulse while Bruce finishes destroying the mask.

“His pulse is there. Little weak, but steady.”

“Good,” Bruce says. “Let’s get them home.”

Bruce watches his kids as they rest and recuperate. Cass is patching up Damian’s injuries while Dick is patching himself up. Bruce notices that Tim starts shaking. Before he has a chance to get up and get him another blanket, Tim wakes up and sits up, looking concerned.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re home,” Bruce says.

Tim’s facial expression is flat and hard to read. Bruce notices that he seems concerned, but can’t tell about what exactly. He sees everybody and seems to ease a little, but still gets up.

“You should be resting,” Cass says.

“I’m gonna go rest in my room. I don’t… I don’t want to be here right now.”

“Hey, Tim,” Bruce says.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Dad,” Tim says, rushing through the words, then hurriedly heads up back to the manor.

Jason wakes up not long after. He looks around but his fear and anger are completely visible to Bruce. He gets up to walk over and Jason seems to calm down a little, the anger seeming to disappear.

“Are you alright?” Bruce asks.

Jason opens his mouth, then closes it again. He thinks for a moment, then shrugs.

“I don’t want to talk about it… right now. I’ll talk to you when I feel up to it,” Jason says. “Does that work, Dad?”

Bruce puts a hand on Jason’s shoulder and nods. “Of course it does.”

Jason nods. “I’m gonna head upstairs and try to sleep off this migraine that’s hitting me.”

“Make sure to take something.”

“I will.”

Jason heads upstairs as Damian walks over to Bruce.

“How are you feeling, Damian?” Bruce asks.

“I’m fine,” Damian answers. “Cassandra stitched up my injury. I’m going to speak to Timothy if you don’t need anything else.”

“Go ahead.” Damian heads upstairs.

At least someone can get Tim to talk. If Damian can’t, I think I’ll talk Dick into trying.

Dick walks up. “Hey, you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Bruce says. “You?”

Dick sighs. “I don’t know. I don’t like fighting my siblings in such a setting. It hits the edge of that line I swore I’d never cross again. I’m physically fine, but they could have not been. Mad Hatter had them pushing us full strength. The strain that would have put on their brains…”

“I know. Don’t worry about that right now. Full brain scans show no signs of damage and we’re gonna keep up with scans until we’re completely in the clear. I won’t let anything happen to them without doing everything that I can to stop it,” Bruce promises.

Dick nods, then hugs Bruce. Bruce hugs him back and they stay like that until Dick’s phone starts ringing. Dick looks at it, then smiles.

“Hey, babe. What can I do for ya?” A pause. “I’m gonna take this outside, then probably head home.”

“Goodnight, Dick,” Bruce says.

“ ‘Night, Dad,” Dick replies, waving as he walks upstairs with his jacket.

Bruce heads upstairs after a little while and goes to his room. He leaves his door open a crack, a sign that the kids can come in if they need something, then gets in bed to get some much needed sleep.

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thewriterghost · 6 hours ago

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Hello Kisses

Pairing: poly!marauders x reader

Summary: Sirius loves to give hello kisses to his darlings.

Note: Hi, hello, hey, it's me. I can't believe it took me this long to post something new of my own! Work is eating me alive, you guys. Seriously. Anyways, I really hope you like this!!! Thanks for reading!

Remus loves the lazy afternoons.

More importantly, he loves the lazy afternoons with you.

As the one with the least amount of energy in this relationship, considering his lovely boyfriends of course, you are the most eligible for the afternoon naps or the cuddles with book in hand.

Remus looks down at your peaceful expression as your head rests on his lap, eyes closed as you listen to Remus' gentle voice while he reads. For a moment, he thinks you are asleep with how comfortable you look. Until, of course, you smile without opening your eyes.

"Are you staring at me?" You ask, your playful voice almost imitating Sirius.

Remus smiles instead of pointing that out.

"How'd you know?" He asks quietly, not wanting to disturb the gentle silence in the house.

"You stopped reading, genius." You open your eyes to look at him, which only makes your smile widen as you see Remus peek at you from under the book he is holding.

"Maybe I was trying to create suspense." He replies, although you can see him trying to hide a smile of his own.

"I don't think romance is the right genre for that, love."

He wants to reply with a sarcastic or witty comeback, he really does, but how can he when your smile is lighting up the whole room? He can't quite find it in himself to interrupt it, honestly.

Yet, a moment later, the apartment door opens and interrupts it, and Remus finds himself unreasonably annoyed at it.

"Hello, my darlings." Sirius' voice echoes from the hallway.

And just like that, Remus' annoyance turns to a soft and mushy type of love inside him.

"Hey, Siri." You turn your head towards the hallway, signaling your boyfriend your whereabouts.

The raven-haired boy is quick to find you. Remus finds that the smile Sirius wears when he looks at the two of you, can rival the smile you had a minute ago; lighting up the room and making Remus feel all fuzzy inside.

As Remus puts his book down with a piece of napkin as a bookmark between the pages, Sirius walks up to him and leans in for a kiss.

"Hi." Remus whispers, ever so softly. You see Sirius smile and rather than answering verbally, he kisses Remus gently.

You don't get a chance to tease them about public display of affection between two parties in your living room, because a minute later Sirius leans in to Remus' lap for your kiss.

After he feels satisfied enough with his hello kisses, Sirius stands up straight to look around for your only other boyfriend who isn't present in the living room.

"Where's Jamie?" He asks to the two of you. Remus nods towards the bathroom.

"In the shower."

Remus watches as Sirius' face lights up with a mischievous grin as he stalks to the bathroom, quiet as a mouse. Remus' eyes follow his movements until he hears your soft voice from his lap.

"He'll barge in, won't he?" You sound like you're holding in a sigh but when he looks down at you, he sees the fond smile you always have around them.

"He has to get his kiss." Remus replies, shrugging as he repeats Sirius' usual excuse.

"Maybe I should start doing that." You look up at him with a playful glimmer in your eyes.

"Doing what?" He asks, voice still as quiet as before.

"Demanding kisses."

He smiles down at you, all warm yet playful in his own way.

"Dove, you want a kiss?"

"It doesn't count as demanding if you're offering."

"There's a reason you don't demand kisses." He leans down, his eyes flickering to your lips momentarily before he continues with a whisper. "We always offer."

You meet him halfway for the kiss and Remus feels you smile into it.

"Pads! Oh my fucking God!" James' voice manages to get to the living room.

Remus pulls away, feeling your giggles before they even reach his ears. Your laughter mixes with Sirius'.

"You scared the crap out of me!" Remus shakes his head as he finds himself unable to hold his chuckling at James' continuous exclamations.

"Stop yelling and give me my kiss!" Sirius' voice cuts James', making you laugh even more. Remus thinks it's more of a win-win for him now that the scenery for him rivals even the most beautiful sunsets themselves.

"I'm in the shower!" You hear James' voice turn somewhat bashful, Sirius' affection working on him as much as it is working on Remus and you.

Remus hears some shuffling and some water splashes, and soon enough, Sirius emerges from the bathroom with a playful grin.

"I got all my hello kisses, in case you were wondering."

Remus shakes his head with a fond smile. This may not feel like a lazy afternoon entirely, but he finds himself loving this more.

#the marauders #james potter #sirius black #remus lupin #poly!marauders #james potter x reader #sirius black x reader #remus lupin x reader #poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders x you #poly!marauders fic

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atalldrinkofcaprisun · 1 day ago

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Don’t Wait For Me After I’m Gone (pt. 2)

silco x gn!reader - he didn’t die AU - tw: canon compliant violence, drug use - 18+

howdy!!! reposted and edited again! I’m having trouble with all of the links so sorry they’re not super functional right now. But anyways, I MISS MY WIFE TAILS!!

also on ao3 xx masterlist

The screaming was the worst part. You had been posted outside of The Doctor’s underground laboratory/cave for three hours now, under the orders not to enter unless you wanted to be sedated until the procedure was over.

When the Scientist arrived at the factory, he had started work immediately. The bullets nimbly extracted and quickly stitched, his hand feebly squeezing your own when he could. You had pressed kisses to his damp temples and pushed hair out of his face, back into his rumpled style. He’d even notice sometimes but it was clear he was in agony.

“It is good you kept that with you,” The Doctor nodded his head towards the injector lying cracked on the floor towards the far wall. You had thrown it off as soon as it had emptied, “He would have been unreachable if you had not administered the medicinal serum. It gave him just enough to hold on.”

“So, he’s going to be okay?” You asked, trying to give that little flame of hope in your chest something to fuel itself.

“He will survive, yes. Survival at least.” the bandaged man replied cryptically before returning his full attention to Silco, “I suggest making plans to move him to safety. Your opponents will be hunting for you soon if they haven’t started already.” He’d put a hand on your shoulder, “I know where they will not find you.”

Shortly afterwards, you had sprinted all the way back to The Last Drop. Exhausted and shaking, you’d only managed a stammering, “Silco. He’s- the warehouse…” before promptly passing out into Ran’s arms. You’d woken up in your bed, apparently you had only been out about 20 minutes.

Now, here you stood, arms crossed and leaning against a rough stone wall. Your nails dug into your skin, trying to center yourself. You couldn’t leave, not when he was in pain. Jinx had been permitted in. Whatever had transpired between Jinx and The Doctor had created a new trust. You had wanted to protest but when Jinx set Silco down on the examination table and sat quietly in a chair in the corner, her eyes not moving from Silco, you had surrendered. Jinx needed to know her father wasn’t going to be one more thing to haunt her. You could keep watch this time.

Sevika was elsewhere getting her arm fixed once again, and keeping all of the intelligence open for signs of what had been happening in Piltover. She’d headed back to The Drop. Running Zaun directly or alone had never been something you wanted. Especially now, with the love of your life still in danger of being lost forever, and your child being the cause on top of whatever had been done to her-

There came another string of rambles, ranging from terror to agony to anger. Occasionally you would hear The Doctor muttering. You could feel the wave of emotions settle between your shoulders, winding up the muscles like snakes tensing to bite. You needed a distraction.

Threats were going to be coming from all sides. Jinx had officially crossed the carefully toed line of impertinent interference that Silco had perfected. You didn’t know what the aftermath of the missile had been, and it didn’t take a genius to guess. A part of you didn’t care. Fuck the Topsiders for needing to be brought to the battlefield. Still, you couldn’t ignore the stiffness setting in your arms and neck, your hands clenched into fists as tears began to resurface.

Another moan of pain, this one low and mournful… your name again. You covered your ears and tried to fight the urge to bust through the door.

Fuck it. You’d rather be sedated then hear one more second of this without being able to help. Hands flew to the door handle of their own accord, but were met with the empty air as the door opened first.

Jinx’s pink eyes bore into your own, flat, “Doc say you can come in. Apparently he’s though the worst. Dad’ll- be okay.” She sounded completely drained.

You gathered Jinx in a tight hug, wanting to offer any sort of comfort you could, “He’s going to understand. We’ve been so worried about you, Blue.”

“I killed him.” She mumbled into your shoulder, “I almost-”

“But you didn’t,” you pulled back to look in her eyes, your hands pushing her bangs off of her forehead to finally get a good look. She was so pale now, worse than before, almost spectral. Her freckles and dark makeup only making her appear more sickly, she was smeared with dirt and blood and crusted tears. Her eyes weren’t glowing anymore, but their pale blue had been consumed by the eery magenta of Shimmer. “He knows how much you’re struggling. He isn’t dead. It was an accident. He knows that.”

Jinx didn’t look convinced, only lifting your arms off of her and pushing past into the fissures beyond, “I just need to be alone.“ She turned before she crossed behind the faint lantern glow, “You know where to find me,” and then she was gone.

You waited, letting the compulsion to run after her and comfort her dissolve for a later time. If anything would be able to get through to Jinx it would be Silco himself. In order for him to get the chance, however, you needed to make sure Silco would stay alive. Jinx was smart, and knew when and how to lay low. She would be alright for a few hours. With a deep breath and you headed into the attached cavern.

“Doctor, Is he-“ your gaze mimed fixated on the disheveled and miserable man strapped to the gurney. At the sound of your voice Silco’s eyes landed on you, relief washing over his expression the moment he processed what he was seeing. “Thank Jannah, Sil,” you sighed, stepping and crossing the space. Your hand fell into his, fitting perfectly into his palm, warm and alive and responsive. With a smile you took your free hand and pushed the strands of charcoal and ash hair out of his face, “Hey there, handsome.” You beamed.

The once bright orange iris, now matching his daughter’s pink hue, was scanning along your features, relief washing over the face you had come to love more than you had ever thought possible. His pale blue eye was just as intently looking at you, but his eyelid hung heavy with exhaustion, “What’s a creature like you,” his voice was strained and low, rumbling out of his chest more than his throat, “doing in a place like this?”

Your mind played the first time he had said that to you as you grinned, “That line is still too cheesy to work.”

“Better than the look you gave me when I said it then.” He hummed as your hand moved from his hair to brush his cheek, “Did I ever tell you it was Jinx’s idea?”

“To try and hit on me after saving my life or?” You laughed lightly.

“To tell you,” he wheezed for a second as a flare of purple raced up his skin and into his damaged iris, “ah, how pretty you looked.” You pressed a kiss to his cheek and the pain seemed to become just a little less.

“So you settled on calling me a creature?” You scoffed teasingly.

“Is now the time for such, frivolous things?” The Doctor’s tone was annoyed as he cut in. He started undoing the straps holding Silco down, and he motioned for you to help him.

You looked at the scientist with one brow raised as Silco sighed, “I’ve nearly died today. It makes a man think about things… differently,” his gaze didn’t move from your face, like he was studying it for the first time. You were used to his staring habit, but this felt different. Maybe it was the drugs, “so beautiful,” he muttered so low, he probably hadn’t even noticed he’d said it.

“Shut up, old man,” you smiled, “Save your breath.”

The Doctor moved to your side of the table, batting you away as he began to unstrap his arm and head. Which was only fair since you hadn’t even started to undo the buckle. Your hand slipped away from Silco’s and you immediately missed the feeling. The anxiety that boiled in your stomach was vicious and your skin seemed to itch with the need to continue to make sure Silco was truly alive and real, on the mend and going to survive. Once the kingpin was free, the Doctor took his pulse, then gently helped him rise to a sitting position. His face contorted with the pain but eased as he breathed through it. At last, Doc looked towards you and nodded, giving his permission, you could fully take in your paramour.

Silco’s left arm was protectively hugged around his bandage wrapped torso, his smoldering eye still pulsing pink as was it’s seafoam counterpart. His hair was haphazard and his makeup smeared away long ago, the ashen skin of his scar visible in large smudges. You wrapped your arms around him as gently as you could manage, still causing him to hiss ever so slightly. His heartbeat thumped away under your ear, protected in his rib cage, fast and a little irregular. His smell was tainted with blood and sweat but it was still him. His free arm pulled you closer, his nose resting on top of your head. Together you breathed. Just for a moment that to you, felt like the exact eternity you needed to find your voice.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

He chuckled deep in his chest, “I promise to try and not make it a habit, my lovely.”

You only burrowed further into his arms in reply. Your home was here. Safely by Silco’s side, in his arms, breathing and basking in the gift of having more time. Just as the tension had begun to ease from your shoulders Silco spoke again, “Where is Jinx? Is she alright?”

You met his gaze, “She’s… upset. She didn’t mean to kill you. I think she’s headed back to her lab. I wanted to go with her but…”

“But you needed to make sure I would be alright first.” He gently finished and ran a hand through your hair, “Thank you for saving me. Now we’re officially even.” He let his fingertips stroke your cheek, “We need to get to Jinx. I need to tell her I forgive her.”

“You won’t be able to walk on your own yet, old friend.” The Doctor spoke up again from his desk across the room, apparently he had returned to his more important projects, “Your body is still processing the serum. You don’t have your daughter’s vitality.”

Silco frowned over at the old scientist, “I think I can manage. And anyways,” he looked down at you, “I won’t be alone.”

You nodded, and stepped out of his embrace to help him down and onto his feet. As he touched the stone floor however, his legs seemed to buckle and he fell onto you heavily with a grunt of pain. You caught him and let him get his grip on the edge of the gurney. His teeth grinding as he pulled himself upwards, “Sil? Are you-?”

“It’s fine.” The ever stubborn Eye of Zaun commanded. The Doctor and you shared a quick look.

You knew he was lying but he had more pressing concerns than his own comfort at the moment, “Can you?” he gestured vaguely around himself. Asking for help was still not something he was completely comfortable with, but you knew what he meant.

You shifted around him, so one of your arms was around his midsection, the other was holding his hand as his own arm swept over your shoulders. Jinx’s Lab and The Last Drop were a bit of a walk away. The Doctor, grumbling all the while, retrieved a cane from some depths of his caverns and gave you what doses Silco might need if he took a sudden turn. With measured steps you began to lead Silco to the door. Just before you crossed the threshold, Silco tugged and stopped, “Thank you, Doctor. My family owes you a great debt.”

A stiff and matter of fact “I know.” was the only reply he received.

Silco pressed a kiss to your temple and together you set off.

#silco #arcane #silco x reader #dontwaitformeafterimgone.series #Spotify

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rheanyraaaa · 3 days ago

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Water Lilly Part 4

Enemies To Lovers

Robb Stark x Frey!Reader (F)

summary: Robb & You married via forced/arranged marriage between Starks and the Frey’s, yet the two of you refuse to get along.

——————————————————————————

The wind howled outside the tent, a bleak reminder of the late autumn chill that had settled across the camp. Inside, however, there was only silence, heavy and strained as you sat on opposite ends of the space you now shared with Robb. He was sharpening his sword, the steady scrape of metal against stone echoing like an accusation in the quiet. The air between you felt thick, weighted with everything unsaid, each one of you refusing to break first.

For a while, the only sounds were the crackling of the small fire and the rhythmic rasp of Robb’s whetstone. You could feel his eyes flicker to you every so often, though whenever you glanced up, he looked away, as if he could barely summon the interest to even meet your gaze.

Finally, he spoke, his voice rough and detached. “How is the child?”

The question caught you off guard. It had been so long since he’d asked you anything directly about the baby. Not even bothering to look up from your seat, you answered curtly, “Well I’m just a few weeks now. No visible bump yet, but the healer says it’s developing well.”

Robb merely nodded, his expression unreadable. “Good,” he murmured, his voice flat, almost as though he were discussing the state of his armor rather than the life of his unborn child. The lack of feeling in his tone sparked something angry within you, and before you could stop yourself, you felt the words slip out.

“Don’t pretend to care if you don’t,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended. “It doesn’t make you sound noble. If you’re uninterested, you could simply say nothing.”

Robb looked up, his blue eyes narrowing as he studied you with a mixture of irritation and something close to surprise. “I’m trying to show an interest, my lady,” he replied, his voice cool. “Would you rather I pretend the child doesn’t exist?”

You scoffed, setting down the small embroidery piece you’d been working on in an attempt to steady your nerves. “What difference would it make?” you asked, fixing him with a steady glare. “You spend more time planning battles and with… your healer than you do with me. I’d think I was a ghost if not for your hand on my stomach at meetings.”

A flicker of something crossed his face defensiveness or even guilt but it was quickly masked. He set his sword down, running a hand through his hair as he looked back at you with a mixture of frustration and exhaustion. “I have responsibilities,” he said, as if that were excuse enough.

“So do I,” you replied, unwilling to back down. “Or do you forget that I’m here against my will as well, playing the dutiful wife to a man who doesn’t want me?”

His jaw tightened, and he took a step closer, the shadows of the tent dancing across his features, casting him in a harsh, almost unforgiving light. “You’re here because your father made an agreement, not because I chose this,” he snapped, his voice low. “And forgive me if I’m distracted by the task of keeping us all alive.”

“And I’m here because I had no choice either,” you shot back, rising to meet him, unwilling to be looked down upon. “I didn’t ask for this marriage, this… charade. But you could at least pretend to care for appearances, or does that take too much effort?”

Before he could reply, a voice called from outside the tent.

“Lord Stark?” It was one of Robb’s commanders, a grizzled man with a scar across his cheek and a stoic expression that seemed permanently etched into his features. Robb exhaled, stepping back and shaking his head as though to clear his frustration.

“Enter,” he called, his tone clipped. he stepped in, his eyes briefly glancing between the two of you with a look of concern.

“Apologies for the intrusion, but there’s news from the south,” the man said, his tone grave. “Lannister forces are moving, and they’re cutting off supply lines through the river routes. If we don’t address it, our men could be starved out before winter’s end.”

Robb nodded, his expression hardening into a familiar mask of focus. “We’ll meet in the command tent. I want a full report.”

With a quick bow, he left, and Robb turned back to you. The tension between you remained, thick and unresolved, but there was something almost pleading in his gaze, as though he wished to say something but didn’t know how.

“If you want to join us, you’re welcome to,” he muttered, his voice softer. It was as close to a peace offering as he could manage.

But the idea of sitting in that tent, at his side as he strategized, his cold demeanor, a reminder of the distance between you, was more than you could bear. “No, thank you,” you replied curtly. “I think I’ll find my own company more pleasant.”

Robb’s gaze darkened, a flash of frustration flaring in his eyes, but he said nothing more, only turning and leaving the tent without a backward glance.

The silence he left in his wake was oppressive, and despite your anger, a pang of something lonelier, sharper, cut through you. Alone, you wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling the emptiness in the tent like a second skin.

The hours passed slowly, and evening fell. You took a walk through the camp, trying to ease your mind, but everywhere you went, you felt eyes on you, whispers trailing in your wake. The men respected you as Robb’s wife, but you could tell they sensed the distance between you two. Some even looked at you with pity, others with confusion, unsure of the bond they assumed must exist between the Stark lord and his Frey bride.

Eventually, you found yourself at the healer’s tent, where Talisa was working over a soldier with a nasty leg wound. You paused in the doorway, watching her ease his pain with a touch far gentler than the one Robb had ever shown you.

Talisa looked up, her gaze meeting yours. For a moment, she studied you, a quiet empathy in her eyes, and you wondered if she knew the nature of the rift between you and Robb.

“My lady,” she greeted, her voice warm and steady, but with an undertone of awareness. “Is there something I can help you with?”

You forced a polite smile. “No, thank you. I was just… walking. I thought I’d see how things were here.”

She nodded, sensing your discomfort, and returned her attention to the soldier. It was no secret that she held Robb’s favor, nor was it hard to see why. She was kind, assured, capable in ways that made you feel inadequate, a reminder of the gap between you and your husband.

Feeling restless, you returned to your own tent, wondering how much longer you could keep up this performance. But as you stepped inside, you were startled to find Robb already there, waiting.

He looked at you, his expression unreadable, though a flicker of something softer crossed his face.

“What is it?” you asked warily, crossing your arms.

He hesitated, the silence stretching between you until it grew almost unbearable. Finally, he spoke, his voice low. “I know this isn’t what you wanted,” he said, surprising you with the uncharacteristic vulnerability in his tone. “But I’m trying to make the best of it.”

You regarded him, the bitterness in your heart softening just a fraction, though your voice was still guarded. “If you’re trying, it’s a poor effort, Robb. You treat me like another pawn on the board, something useful only when it suits you.”

He looked down, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “This isn’t easy for me, either. I didn’t want to marry for alliance or duty, but here we are.”

The words hung between you, an uncomfortable truth neither of you had admitted aloud before. For the first time, you saw a glimpse of the boy behind the hardened lord, the man who perhaps hadn’t asked for this life of war and responsibility but had it thrust upon him.

——————————————————————————

Tags!!

@samieree @maysileeewrites

#asoiaf #robb stark #robb stark imagines #robb stark x reader #robb stark x y/n #robb stark x frey reader #robb stark x oc

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loveanddeepspice · 16 hours ago

Text

𝕋𝕖𝕞𝕡𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔾𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕖

✞ synopsis: you've come back to the small town you grew up in for a visit. though your relationship with the catholic church and faith in general have been strained since you were younger, you find yourself drawn back to the church... or more specifically... the new priest... you aren't ready to share your secret sin with him... but you may not be able to help yourself.

✞ pairing: sylus x curvy fem!reader

✞ rating: 18+ (minors do not engage)

✞ cw: religion (catholicism), priest, lapsed faith, adultery, priest kink, suicidal mention, dead parent, sex, masturbation, drugs (marijuana), mentions of other drug use, drinking (more will be added when/if they arise)

✞ disclaimer: this fiction explores a romantic relationship between a lapsed Catholic and an unconventional priest. it is not designed to be inflammatory or critical. catholic authors were asked to participate in the process. we hope you enjoy it, but we know that these topics can be sensitive, so please skip this fiction if it will in any way offend you.

✞ chapter: 6 / ?

✞ co-authors: redbriony, confuseddoughnut (they do not have tumblr)

✞ ao3 link: here

✞ chapter synopsis: "the only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it." - oscar wilde

Please comment on this post if you want to be added to the tag list for updates!

Despite what happened, you would have done anything to face Father Sylus again.

He was the type of person who radiated energy from within, dedication unlike anyone you had ever met - which could be a good or a bad thing. The thoughts became an obsession, all that seemed to fill your brain. The recollection of his touch made you sweat. It was the last thing you thought about before drifting off to sleep, the first thing you thought about when you woke, and the next few days stretched. One thing was sure: you longed to see him again, if only for the courage to apologize. But did you even have to apologize? He was the one who had kissed you first, right? It was so unbelievably confusing. You’d talk yourself through circles; for once, no amount of sleeping seemed to help. You weren’t even given the option to sleep it all off anyway or mellow properly in your self-pity. Upon learning of your ‘arrest’ from Talia, your father forced you out of the house that Sunday to go to church with him. “What’s going on with you, Y/N?” Dad raised his eyebrows and frowned as he gripped the steering wheel, and you could tell he was trying hard not to get angry or frustrated. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, hon. You came back, and you’re acting weird. Can you just tell me what’s wrong?” Shaking your head, you shrugged, trying your hardest to maintain eye contact on the door handle, ignoring your dad’s question and wishing he’d just leave you alone. “You went from being happy to totally distraught since you moved out. What am I supposed to think here, huh?” ‘Maybe everything went to total fucking shit,’ was what you wanted to say, and tried not to roll your eyes. Dad tried so hard to not act like the authoritarian or pushy father, especially after your mother had died. He was never like that. And it was because of that you figured it was time to be at least a little truthful. “I quit my job. I don’t know what I’m going to do from here, but -” you said, “I just…needed some time to think things through.” Your dad parked the car and turned to offer you a subtle smile. You were convincing enough, obviously. “Okay, fine. Work in the store until you figure it out. It’ll be like old times.” One hand gripped the steering wheel as he looked at you, almost seeming to peer into your brain as his eyes flicked ever so slightly. “So, uh, is this about your mom? I didn’t know you were still upset about that. I should’ve tried to talk to you more.” You bit down your reply, feeling a bitter taste in the back of your throat, and willing it away. “No, it isn’t. Just forget about it.” A long sigh filled the small space as your father pressed his lips together. “Christ, I can’t be mad at you right now. I’ve always let you do what you want.” This was strange, a particular ache settling inside and spreading to your limbs like an infection. Maybe it wouldn’t stop now that it had started. And the first instinct was to get away and run. Run and run and just get away. “Hon, Y/N,” Your Dad’s voice was pleading, and you nearly missed it. “We can go talk to -” “No!” You blurted, immediately regretting it, mortified at just the thought. How did you speak so fast? “No, it’s fine. Let’s just go inside. We’re gonna be late.”

You didn’t feel any better inside the church, but you weren’t expecting much to begin with. All you could do was suck it up and seat yourself beside your dad. It wasn’t crowded, but there were a few unfamiliar faces, so maybe not everyone would notice your fucked up mood.

Everything felt surreal. You were sitting there in church with the sun streaming through the stained glass windows, and your gaze landed on the one depicting the Virgin Mary.

The word ethereal came to mind.

Everything seemed like it would evaporate into thin air. Like if you moved too quickly, you’d wake up from one of those dreams that just turned out to be inside of another dream.

And when a hush fell over the congregation, you had no choice but to look forward. No matter how your brain fizzes or your fingers tingle. You were forced to look at that handsome face in front of the church and feel the emotion well inside you. Something that felt different than embarrassment or frustration.

Even from this distance, Father Sylus exudes that particular aura, daring to fill the whole church with its strength. You are once again reminded of how inescapable his presence is—not through belief or goodness, but something, someone who felt unearthly, even celestial, as absurd as it felt.

Ethereal. Once again, with that pretty word. How could you even begin to explain it? It was so easy to feel some sort of bitterness, perhaps even selfishness. Who could blame you? Everything always seemed too simple when you looked at it from a distance.

“Good morning,” He began, his voice taking on that strangely powerful, lilting cadence. He paused, hands clasping, and his posture was different. Shoulders broad, spine straight, chin lifted slightly. “I want to take a moment before we begin to discuss why we’re here.”

You were drawn to his words, which had formed an invisible link to you. Maybe if you closed your eyes like you did at night, you could picture that night in the car. It felt foolish because you were certain your own thoughts were desperate. How stupid did it make you seem, trying to replay the sensation? A stupid crush. That is all you wanted it to amount to, even if looking into his fiery gaze had made you feel like you were melting.

“We’re here, in the house of the Lord. Why is this?”

If a month’s insistence on chasing after a flame could be compared to anything -

“Free will.” His tone picked up. “Through our actions, we make conscious decisions. As far as humankind is concerned, free will also makes us human.”

Your breathing stilled. Something terrible seized your gut, a cramping feeling causing you to grit your teeth.

“This is a sanctified place,” he continued, voice rich and filled with energy. “Within these walls, you should experience peace. Not conflict or anger. All are free here because it is with our actions that we build ourselves.”

How the hell did he manage this? The words continued spilling from his mouth, something pulling you further. And after a pause, his gaze filtered over the room again - and landed on you.

Time was beginning to stand still, and you swore your face began to heat up. But, thankfully, the look didn’t linger on you, moving on as he cleared his throat.

Well, fuck.

There was only a tiny shift in expression, and perhaps you were the only one to notice how his pause seemed more lengthy than those before it.

"We - uh.” Father Sylus made a show of glancing down at the notes before him and shuffling a few pages. “Sorry.” He cleared his throat again, a little louder this time. “What I mean to say is, with free will, we struggle against our urges and temptations. Sin beckons - uh,” another loud cough. He looked nervous. Vulnerable. In more ways than one.

Father Sylus hastily pushed aside the pages, shoulders lifting in a deep breath before looking again at the people gathered. He straightened a little, and his powerful tone returned as he folded his hands neatly. “So, how do we resist? It can be hard to…admit one’s faults.” He let out a little huff of air, glancing down again. Then, he stepped away from the podium, stepping along the carpeted dais, hands clasped behind his back and thumbs tapping against each other.

The congregation started shifting. A glance here and there, unable to guess what he would say next. Probably wondering why their priest was acting so…off. If you weren’t glued to your seat in, well, any number of the emotions you were feeling now - you would have high-tailed it out of there already. But instead, you were frozen in place, feeling like an outsider, feeling the shift in the air more than the others around you.

“Take those feelings and multiply them by ten.” He stated, looking towards the back of the church at nothing in particular. It was as if he was somewhere only his mind knew.

“Opportunity is often just an invitation to sin, yes. Free will is a man’s greatest power but also his biggest weakness. With that power comes responsibility. Satan doesn’t come dressed in a red cape and pointy horns in the middle of the night.”

Oh God.

There was a tense pause and stillness, and you wonder how you managed to sit here and listen. Those crimson eyes trailed around the room, but for another second, a brief and terrifying second, they burned into you.

“Satan comes as everything you’ve ever wished for.” He laughed, bitter and slightly hoarse. Then his eyes snapped forward again, unabashed.

He coughed, cleared his throat again, and gestured with a finger above his head. “We all - well, we all think we can overcome any challenge. Big or small. Big and small.” Father Sylus let out a shaky exhale. “Um, the point is...The point is that the devil is ready to collect when you can’t. So, the point is that - uh,” His tone shifted to something smaller that made your insides tremble agonizingly. A breathless, tight sort of anxiousness that stole through your lungs and caused your heart rate to increase. It was impossible to deny that despite the words coming out of his mouth, you actually wanted to hear him continue. “Um, sometimes I think the hardest thing is that we are human, and we are weak.”

Before he could even continue, his voice cracked. “I’m sorry.” He swallowed, grimacing, an anguish that you recognized. “Excuse me.” He looked like he might break, the wavering tension almost stifling the room, his expression almost tormented.

“I’m sorry. Excuse me.” And with that, he disappeared into the back, leaving everyone shocked.

Everyone except for you.

“And that’s why I’m never going to church again.” You rolled your eyes as you leaned against one of the shelves in your dad’s store, looking over at Rafayel, who was leaning against the counter, making it his personal mission to get every last drop out of an iced coffee. “You should have seen the look on his face. What a fuck up.”

Rafayel wrinkled his nose, looked around the otherwise empty store, and then glanced at his phone. “Yikes. Poor guy.” He sighed and tapped his foot on the floor. “Talia came home and said he had a migraine - but it’s even more hilarious that a near-public breakdown was because of you.”

“My God, you are awful.” You frowned and stepped forward to lightly punch his arm, reaching out and catching his elbow with a grimace as he pretended to almost fall over. “That’s a horrible thing to say! You were the one who was practically encouraging me!”

“I would never,” Rafayel huffed, clicking his tongue and shaking his head. “Anyway, it’s been almost a week now. You’re gonna have to suck it up and face him sooner or later.” With a firm nod, he shook off your hold and dusted his hand on the faded denim of his jeans, turning his attention back to his phone and shaking the ice in the cup he held.

“How would I do that?” You asked.

As if oblivious, Rafayel arched a brow and smiled tightly, peering at you over the edge of his phone. His tone was less-than-reassuring, sounding almost pitying. “No fucking idea.”

You opened your mouth to argue but thought better of it as the shop door opened, just in time for the chilly afternoon to bring in your dad and Xavier. You took a deep breath at the sound of the bell and forced yourself to calm down.

As if on cue, Rafayel pushed himself away from the counter and looked in your direction. “Well, Y/N.” He said, tossing a wink in your direction that made you want to reach out and knock the silly grin off his face. “Good luck.” With that, he turned and walked out of the store with a shake of his head.

Your dad mumbled something under his breath before tossing a wave a little too late and heading into the back of the small building.

Unease had settled in your stomach at your friend's departure. You felt as if you had more to say, ask, or get a general idea of as you stared at the shop's door. You ran a hand over your tired face and sighed.

“Hi,” Xavier gave you a careful, controlled smile as you turned toward his voice. “Need help with anything?”

You tried your best not to fidget or bite your lip. “No, but it’s nice of you to offer.” You shrugged and glanced away briefly. “Why? Got nothing else to do?”

“Uh, I work here?” He blinked as he stepped forward. You could take in his softening facial features now that he was closer. His smile didn’t quite fade as he looked around the quiet shop. “Anyway - I um. I tried to call you last night? About dinner?”

Tilting your head in confusion, you froze. Then, you processed the sentence.

Dinner. Shit.

“Oh! My phone went missing. I’m sure it’ll turn up soon or something. Wasn’t the nicest phone anyways,” you brushed some hair behind your ear. “I still can’t figure out how it disappeared!” You forced a laugh at your lie and shifted uncomfortably.

You’d completely forgotten about agreeing to go out with him. How fucking stupid were you? So caught up in the idea of -

“Well, uh, I didn’t plan much. So it’s okay, we can just do something another night. Right?” Xavier suggested, and you couldn’t tell if he had let it go so quickly or was suspicious about your behavior.

Either way, you smiled, rationalizing with yourself for what felt like the millionth time that spending time with him would be a good thing. Any way to keep your mind distracted. Clearly, he still wanted to go out with you, and you certainly wouldn’t say no. After all, who could blame you for latching on anyone who showed the slightest interest?

This would be a step in the right direction, right? Things would get better. They had to. No matter how weird it felt for you to think so.

“That’s fine. Sorry, my head’s all over the place.”

The worst part of it all was the sudden weight in your stomach, the ache in your chest that was becoming all too tiring. Something pushed you in the complete opposite direction of the young man in front of you, towards what you really wanted, and had no explanation for why you did.

“Y/N?” Xavier spoke again and stepped closer, watching your expression with careful scrutiny, his hand reaching out to touch yours, giving you a new feeling of unease. “Hey, um, - you alright?”

Your heart wrenched a little at the worry, and you wondered exactly how pathetic you appeared. “I think so. Can you take over? I gotta step out for a while.”

It grew colder as you walked along the sidewalk, sticking your hands inside your jacket pockets. Clouds gathered in the distance, inching their way towards the suburb. The air smelled fresher, as if it might snow lightly sometime at night. A breeze swept over the street, stirring pieces of your hair from its confines, and you briefly thought you should have remembered your scarf.

Then, you came to a stop in front of the church.

You looked down at your outfit, the jeans and the oversized blue sweater you had found in your mom's closet, when you couldn’t be bothered to do your own laundry. Perhaps she would give you strength, or at least enough willpower from wherever she was to give you the courage to turn right the fuck around and go back home. She was always straightforward in that way, even without the drinking. If only you had taken after her in that aspect.

For a moment, you almost turned to leave, giving yourself the opportunity to simply walk away and go home. However, after a few seconds of mental debate, you stepped along the worn walkway and up the steps, slipping your hand out of your pocket to place it on the worn wooden door.

Somewhere in your mind was a glimmer of hope, the possibility of resolve.

Now that you had gathered whatever courage you had left, you took one last, bracing breath before pushing the door open. A jolt of energy speared up your arms, a buzzing sensation against your fingertips. Once you were inside, everything felt eerily silent. Almost too silent. But as the familiar warmth enveloped you, your body relaxed slightly as you shrugged off your jacket.

The last light from the day was casting through the windows, and the interior was a muted, golden glow and soft orange. It felt warm in more ways than one. Despite the hushed nature of the building, energy thrummed within you. The atmosphere was inviting, but for some reason, you couldn’t quite muster the ability to step forward any further, feet stuck to the floor beneath you. It was ironic, yet in a way, expected; you felt like crying or throwing something, but maybe punching Father Sylus would give you the most satisfaction.

The chapel seemed alien to you as you made your way further inside.

Loneliness was all-consuming, a fear ever present and threatening in the back of your mind. You wondered why it hurt so much. And, you considered whether you have ever experienced a real connection in your life. You zeroed in on the cross beyond the rows of pews as if you could use it for answers. It glinted a little in the evening light that filtered through the stained glass. Your eyes felt dry as they fixed upon the illuminated wood, searching, listening, walking towards the front of the church like a mouse.

“You think this is funny, don’t you?” You asked your question out loud. The silence of the building taunted you in return, and something constricted within your chest. The rush of it all was consuming, filling your every thought with hope and expectation. A breath sucked in, and you shook your head, blinking. Everything felt off, and you had no idea what your body was supposed to do with itself. “This is so fucked. You know, this is all…just so messed up,” you choked out the whisper and, with a small gasp, swallowed. The emotions swelled. Heavy and pounding and suddenly overwhelming.

Who gave a shit? Nothing would change.

But, maybe -

Would God be willing? Could He lift the spell put on you that would continue to grow?

“Mom is dead, and she’s not coming back.” The words spilled and dropped like shattered glass. “And, uh, it’s just like, that’s fucked up. Isn’t it? Please, it’s - well, I wish I knew, God damn it. Motherfucker!” You swore louder than you should have, not recognizing your own voice. A feeling that had no name gripped your heart. This was it. You were giving up. “Totally fucked up. And you go and make me do stupid shit? What kind of test is that?”

Only silence answered. You wondered how you should feel. As angry as you were, it felt strange to voice it. Finally, saying the words brought unusual comfort, and it was too easy to admit everything now. “Yeah, yeah. You should really apologize, God. Lord. Jesus. Whatever.”

“I’m sorry.” The voice that spoke back did not belong to you. Echoing off the walls and the stained glass, it sent a jolt up your spine, causing you to spin in its direction. Leaning against a doorframe was Father Sylus, looking down at the floor, that shameful expression resurfacing on his face. You witnessed the repentant facade as he lifted his head and looked at you.

It felt like a flood rushed through you, coursing, washing away the anger, seeping into every cell, and filling you with something new. Warm and soft, somehow breaking you apart as it passed. Something indecipherable but true.

Something almost wonderful and exhilarating.

He looked like something you could draw. That raw, exposed sort of aura.

That same warmth enveloped your heart, the comfort expanding across your chest. There was something profound and affectionate within his gaze and the sense that you had underestimated what was truly meant by the phrase ‘care and concern.’

It could have been a few seconds. Or minutes passed as you stood rooted to the spot. The beating of your heart seemed to echo in your ears. Blood pulsed through your veins, the silence around you growing louder.

“For what?” You were almost afraid to speak up.

“For whatever you’re feeling,” Father Sylus stated plainly. Then he straightened, and his look shifted, and for a split second, he stepped forward, only to pause with his fingers twitching at his sides. Maybe there was confusion flickering in his gaze. Or longing. But he still didn’t move from where he stood, as if unable to break the tension he had with himself. After a time, he studied your face and added, “For everything and for nothing.”

After a moment of thought, you shook your head. “That’s vague.”

“It’s all I’ve got.” Father Sylus ran a hand behind his neck, almost nervously, eyes shifting and gaze searching. Another pause lingered between you, and you blinked a few times. He opened and closed his mouth, finally settling on placing both his hands on his hips, inclining his head to look at the stained glass windows. “That…and guilt.”

His admission seemed weighted, and his voice was heavy. You watched him take a step forward, then hesitate.

In that second, there was a great leap in understanding. You understood that he would not look directly at you because it would break this sacred reverence between you and whatever else was going on within his mind.

Maybe it’d always been a game, and perhaps you knew deep down that this would be his next move. The inevitable, silent communication. Slowly, you folded your shaky arms over your chest. The look that flashed in his eyes made you shudder. With a new boldness, you swallowed and whispered: “Why are you telling me this?”

Exhaling hard, you weren’t sure whether to scream, laugh, or cry as you awaited your answer.

He swallowed, his dark gaze teeming like a fire in the low light, the red burning. His lip curled. “Because I feel like you can understand it. Why I feel this way.”

A sick urge, sharp and needy, had you crossing the space between you, the air shaking and trembling as he finally took another stride forward. Your eyes traced over his face. Deep and pained and beautiful. His chest heaved. A strange, bittersweet satisfaction filled you.

“I - I can’t stop thinking about -” you broke off, words quivering as you spoke. “Us. The other night - it keeps going through my head, what I said, and -” your voice was breaking again, the achy, miserable desperation settling in.

You could tell he was holding his breath, hands now clenched into fists, gaze searching and uncertain. “I didn’t mean to deceive you.” The words hung heavy as he stepped closer, finally closing the distance between you, tilting your chin, and forcing you to look at him. The grip held you firmly, though his eyes remained gentle and pleading. “I want nothing more than to pray - beg for your forgiveness. Try and restore whatever trust I’ve betrayed - but in all truth, God, I -”

Another thick swallow, and he paused, the corner of his mouth twisting. He squeezed your chin lightly as if in search of some answer. Then his hand fell to his side, his head turning to look at the cross behind the altar. Something burned beneath your ribs.

“What is it?” You whispered, trembling with the effort of not spilling all your unresolved thoughts. “Tell me - tell me something, anything, or - or -” You stopped yourself, feeling a little pathetic at not being able to formulate the proper words.

“My path was never exactly clear, but,” Father Sylus swallowed thickly, sounding more scared than ever. “Someone I loved when I was younger - she -” A long sigh escaped his lips. “We were each other's firsts and…We loved each other very much.” He exhaled again. His face creased into sadness, reminiscent and haunting. A sharp pain, almost. One that lingered from emotions held within. The truth was there, plain as day, naked, heartbroken, and fragile. “She died when she was eighteen.”

Pain squeezed at you mercilessly, tight and almost bone-crunching. You stepped closer, your brain slowly putting it all together, realization hitting. Then your bottom lip trembles as you reach out, taking hold of his hand and squeezing it. “I’m sorry,” you manage to say after a moment, “that must have been -” Another pause, trying to settle your lungs into a steadier breathing pattern.

He squeezed your hand, looking at you, catching your gaze and holding it, unwavering. “I went to her funeral in a church far bigger than this one with twice the congregation. And later that day, when they put her down into the ground, I listened to the Monsignor pray over her soul.” He looked away again, this time up at the beams in the ceiling. “And I really listened to what he was saying for the first time. And I don’t know why, I just suddenly felt…” He trailed off, and you moved your hand further up his arm, willing him to continue by pressing your fingertips gently into his forearm.

He smiled at the ceiling, faint and apologetic. “I felt at peace. Everything clicked into place. As stupid as that sounds. It was like something I couldn’t understand but needed. And, well,” he shrugged.

“At last, it finally made sense to me,” he muttered. “The power God holds over us was always right there.” Then he turned to face you, his fingers reaching and resting on your cheek, tracing the soft skin of your jaw. “And now, I stand before you - finding these feelings again, the first true connection I’ve felt in years. I don’t mean to doubt anything…but I don’t know how to...”

He let his voice drift off before tucking your hair behind your ear, movements tender. You wondered what he could see in your expression.

“How did she die?” You asked quietly as if the question would destroy something in the air, but you needed to ask it anyway.

The corners of his mouth trembled as he stroked his thumb along your jawline, offering you a small, grim smile. “She was mad at something, drank herself sick. Decided a joy ride on a motorcycle might be a good idea,” he turned his gaze to the ceiling again, and it finally hit you that he kept doing that as a trick to keep himself from crying. “She lost control and swerved, hit a wall head-on. Died on impact. Stupid girl with the dumbest ideas. She used to talk about seeing if the world curved or if the stars continued forever. She was funny and smart - but not as smart as she should have been. Her blood alcohol level came back three times the legal limit.”

“That’s horrible,” you breathed. The puzzle pieces were assembled together. A crash. Drunk. How similar it was to your mother. Only your mother hadn’t met death head-on. It was still one of those things that made you wonder; which would have been worse? The chance was so similar yet unique. Still, as Father Sylus spoke about it, you swore you felt the faint sorrow he must still carry within himself.

“Sylus, I’m -”

“Don’t be sorry.” He said, finally regaining a certain poise about his face, somehow managing to look warm even at this moment, smiling very softly.

At his words, you realized you were breathing harder than before, and it didn’t go unnoticed as he scanned your face. You didn’t know what was wrong with you; you felt an emotion you could no longer explain. He had experienced loss, same as you, just not in the same way.

Father Sylus let out a dry snort. “It’s not a happy memory, but something good comes from pain. Distrust to trust. Fear to courage. Hatred to love. To an extent, those things make you understand and appreciate everything.”

You nodded, unable to stop yourself from wrapping your arms around his middle, convincing yourself you would forget how to breathe if you didn’t. You embraced him because it felt like the right thing to do, the smoothness of his shirt beneath your fingertips. His hand ran up along your side until it rested on your neck's base, soft, gentle, and warm. He exhaled a little before resting his chin on the top of your head.

As he held you, you realized that this was what you had wanted. This was what you had really been aching for. Everything shifted again, changing, rushing with a tangle of nerves and dizziness. Nothing else would settle more easily than being cradled right there, where you could breathe him in.

“Hey, do you -” He leaned back, both hands cupping your face, tilting it to meet his own. It took him a moment to formulate his question. “I shouldn’t ask, but - do you still want me?”

Of course you did. More than anything.

But even then, you should have stepped away. Should have walked out without another word, back to whatever fucking regular life you thought you had. But with whatever strength you had left, you pushed everything aside and quietly said, “Yes.”

He had pressed you against the wooden door of the office, pinning you in place after dragging you in there and shutting the door. Not that you really had any intention of going anywhere. Not with his lips moving against yours, the desperation sending sparks along your skin. His tongue darted out, parting your lips and moving into your mouth. Hungry and forceful and tasting every inch.

“You know,” he said as he pulled back, taking a second to breathe, “It’s so hard to be good when you’re so…” He trailed off, leaving you to only imagine what he would say.

No, you had no words or any logical thoughts, really. Perhaps this was the closest thing to heaven you’d ever feel, surely. And Father Sylus ran his hands down your sides, slow and possessive, grabbing fistfuls of your sweater and bunching it up. Heat began spreading throughout your body as his fingertips crept underneath and stoked along the sensitive skin.

“Will you let me in?” He mumbled, his lips now on the underside of your jaw as his palms spanned across your stomach as if trying to map out every inch of exposed skin. The blood pounded in your veins, pulsing in rhythm with your heartbeat.

“If this is what it feels like to be tempted,” you mused, gasping as he sucked on the skin above your collarbone, gripping the front of his shirt. “I have already failed. Miserably.”

Letting out a hot breath that sounded an awful lot like laughter, he pulled away, a smile stretching across his lips, amused. “I suppose you really have,” he chuckled. His hands gripped your hips and spun you around so you were against his desk. Then he ducked down to press more kisses along your throat. The shivers returned as he lifted your sweater over your head, tossing it aside with another wicked grin. And for the first time, you noticed the hint of a dimple in the corner of his mouth.

After a moment, Father Sylus fumbled with the buttons of his shirt until that, too, was discarded, skin suddenly bare. The sight made you stop, observing for a moment. For the first time, your fingers reached out and touched the skin of his chest, moving over the muscles and across his stomach. You marveled at the way he flinched slightly, inhaling sharply at your touch.

Everything felt…hot, heavy, and inappropriate in the best way.

And before you knew it, his hands were running up along the bare skin of your stomach, a barely-there brush that made your breath hitch. Then his hands were behind your back, unhooking your bra as his lips found yours again, rough and fervent. As it was removed, there was not a second of delay before his hands cupped both of your breasts, squeezing and drawing his thumbs over your nipples.

“You’re so beautiful,” his hands shifted, fingers resting along the waistband of your jeans.

It was like every little action was becoming overwhelming, sending pulsing waves through every nerve, vein, and muscle. When he popped the button, slid the zipper, and slowly eased the jeans down, the pulsing only got stronger—dizzying with its intensity. It was challenging to focus on anything else that would make more sense. Your mind was clouded.

“Wait,” you breathed, sitting on the desk, pulling the clip from your hair and tossing it to the floor, the waves tumbling out. His hands never left you, still roaming over every little centimeter of you they could get access to, “I -”

It didn’t need to be said, whatever it was. Because a grin broke out across his lips. A bright, glorious grin as Father Sylus pressed another harsh kiss to your lips like he could swallow the words down.

Stepping closer, he maneuvered you onto your back, your legs dangling over the edge of the desk. The smooth, cool wood pressed against the length of your spine and shoulders as you heard something that sounded like a book fall somewhere behind you. He gripped the soft flesh of your thighs, blunt nails digging in. Breath hitching, your heart thumped at the roughness and passion of his movements. Something animalistic and unrestrained lay just beneath the surface, waiting, ready.

“Let me,” he urged quietly, fingers winding over the lace underwear, dragging them down the length of your legs. Fingers stroked up again, curling and caressing your inner thighs, one hand finally reaching the place where you were already desperate, soaking wet, and aching to be touched. Without hesitation, a digit dipped, sliding along your slick folds and slipping in easily. The motion made you bite down on your tongue as his other hand ran along the underside of your knee, urging your leg up and apart.

You felt the pad of his thumb gliding over the little bundle of nerves, back and forth in a way that made you groan.

“You are,” his voice was low, almost a growl, and his teasing continued. “So gorgeous, laying there. I can’t stop looking at you.” One finger became two. Slick and hot as they moved into you, each stroke moving deeper. All too suddenly, his lips were crashing down against yours, kissing you hard and desperately as if set on devouring you whole.

The only thing keeping you stable was grabbing his shoulder and his upper arm. The sudden rise of pressure rushed around you. His thumb slipped, pressing down a bit more on your clit, drawing another gasp from you, a sound that filled the room. Then he pulled his hand away, an invisible weight settling when the digits were gone, leaving you empty and still aching for more.

“I’m on birth control,” you managed, eyes blinking rapidly as you processed that this, in fact, was actually about to happen. The fullness beneath your belly was spooling tighter, coiling.

It was only a few seconds; that’s all it took for him to undo his belt buckle, his length freed. Straining, leaking, begging to be inside you. The size of it makes you swallow a certain anxious lump in your throat.

“Please.” The word spilled out before you could stop it. The coil inside you grew more and more tense and throbbing. You needed it now; the consequences didn’t matter, nor did the guilt or shame. “Please.”

His breathing hitched as if a long controlled flame within had been ignited. One of his hands rested on your hip, the other hooking under your opposite knee, parting you further and steadying himself. The tip of his cock pressed at your center. You didn’t have any time to prepare because, at that very moment, he was pushing further, sliding into you inch by inch.

The heat and fullness and pleasure coursed, trembling through you.

“Sweetheart,” he breathed, face buried in the crook of your neck, but you could hear the grin in his tone, the soft desperation in his voice. “You, you -” but his breath choked off as he pushed all the way inside, the moan that ripped through him cracked and hoarse.

It took you a moment to feel him fully, gasping for air and dazed beyond what was really necessary. Holding tight, you wrapped an arm around his neck, exhaling hard. The room became a haze around the two of you, the entire moment almost suspended, paused, put on hold.

When he moved his hips again, you whimpered as he hit somewhere deep, and your pleasure spiked.

“Fuck,” he whispered against your skin, raising himself just enough to look at you, eyes glinting with a certain fervor. A little dark, a little feral, something wildly possessive and hungry and yearning all at once. “Oh, fuck,” he hissed, gritting his teeth and closing his eyes. Another jolt shot through you. Another strong thrust, this one harder than the last, followed by another. And another. It took a minute for him to set a rhythm, but when he did - you were sure the air was being pushed from your lungs each time.

You couldn’t do anything but hang on. His mouth met yours in a sloppy, forceful kiss. Gasping and shuddering, you tried not to shout at the next jolt. The constant grind fills you every time. Deeper and sharper. The steady, thrumming pleasure. Intense and focused, as if Father Sylus were on a mission. Searching for something. Finding each sweet spot with whatever desperate greed drove him. Like now that he’d had the taste of something forbidden, he wanted the best of it - anything you could offer.

He shifted slightly, and before you knew it, he hooked your leg over his shoulder, the deep angle making you arch from the desk.

One hand tangled in his hair, the other on his shoulder, gripping hard and pulling him closer, trying to keep him buried deep inside of you. The friction built, the pace driving forward and drawing the pressure up, leaving you malleable and aching for release. But somehow, wanting it to last as long as possible.

When the pleasure spooled tighter and tighter, every breath came short, coming fast and shorter. Until finally with one long, breathy whimper of an exhale, release washed over you, crashing like a wave. His name slipped out of your mouth, some deep, instinctual part of your brain keeping you present enough to utter it, still pulsing around him, shaking.

And that brought him there, a little broken sound falling from his lips. Hips snapping, driving just the slightest bit further until he groaned into the side of your neck, spilling inside you. After a moment, the stillness settled between the two of you, heavy and thick. There was no actual sound other than ragged breathing.

You stared at the ceiling, trembling and a bit boneless, wholly dumbfounded and satisfied. Then, with every ounce of energy left, you sat up, placing a hand on his chest.

“You okay?”

A rush flooded through you at his question, and you struggled to make sense - to be logical and reasonable.

“Yeah,” you said quickly, “I just. I…” What was the right wording? You trailed off, eyes focused somewhere beyond him. Struggling, you kept your eyes away. How could you possibly articulate the warmth that had settled over you, the lift in your confusion that had been gnawing at you until this moment? How could you explain feelings that make no real sense?

“I feel at peace.” A near whisper because your words made it tangible, whatever it was. And really, you did feel lighter. It was as if something weighing on your shoulders had lifted in a way that wasn’t just because of the act that had been performed.

“Really?” A sharp inhale of his breath.

You nodded, reaching out to hold his face and running your thumbs along his cheekbones. Father Sylus slowly returned the nod, a tentative but wonderful, hopeful smile quirking up his lips—something bright and genuine, untouched by bitterness or remorse.

Serenity had sunken in with a comforting familiarity. Settling inside, like the feeling of returning home. Like the truth had opened its door. Acceptance and serenity. Understanding. Clarity, even. The knowledge you weren’t as broken or faulty as you thought.

A moment passed, no words spoken. Then, still breathless and maybe a bit disbelieving, Father Sylus reached out and traced a cross on your brow with his thumb.

“Did you just -” You blinked, a bit indignant as you huffed. “Did you just…bless me?”

He looked a bit sheepish, hands resting on your shoulders, thumbs rubbing gentle circles along your collarbone. “Guess I did.” With a slight chuckle, he leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss on your forehead.

Tag list: @celestialforce, @readerxyourbabe, @babyx91

#lds #l&ds #love and deepspace #lds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you #lds rafayel #lds xavier #lds fanfic

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vodika-vibes · 2 days ago

Note

Me again 😈 this is the last one (for now)

How about Howzer x reader with "sh, sh, I'm going to patch you up."?? I love Howzer so much and virtually no one writes for him </3

Playing Doctor

Summary: In an ideal world, being trapped in a cramped place with Howzer would be a dream come true. After all, you’ve been crushing on him for ages now. You just wish the situation was a little less sucky.

Pairing: Captain Howzer x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1200

Warnings: Reader is injured, pining, Howzer is jealous but pretends that he isn't

A/N: Sorry that this took so long! I couldn't get Howzer to agree with me. Until I put on a Disney playlist on Spotify and the words just started flowing. (Also, I have been in a not-great mental place since the 6th, but I think I'm better-ish now). I hope you like it!

Click HERE to be added to my Taglist

You’ve known Howzer for years now.

You first met him at the beginning of the Clone Wars, all of those years ago. And, looking back now, you can admit that your first impression of him wasn’t the greatest.

He was arrogant. Cocky, even. And in his opinion, you were a meddling busybody who needed to spend a day or two sitting in a jail cell.

You weren’t, and aren’t, a soldier. You were the former base commander’s receptionist, and when he left for greener pastures, you were left behind with a handful of soldiers and support staff who weren’t important enough to anyone to manage to pull a reassignment.

In truth, you kept the base running through duct tape and a prayer. And then Howzer came along and took it from you.

It wasn’t until he realized that none of the NatBorn soldiers, or support staff, would listen to him, that they all deferred to you, that Howzer realized that he stepped on a few toes.

And he didn’t apologize until your Squad of Misfits pulled him and his men out of an ambush that should have killed them, but only left him badly injured and with a scar on his face.

The rest, as they say, is history.

By the time the Jedi Purge happened, you and Howzer were friends. Friends enough that, when he called you to ask for help, you dropped everything and hurried to his side.

That had been a year ago, and while you won’t ever say that you regret it, you do wish that you had been more clever about your career prospects.

Or, at least, more clever.

Surely, if you had gone to medical school like your mother wanted you wouldn’t be in this situation.

Right?

You release a pained whimper as Howzer presses his hands, firmly, over the wound in your side. You try to pull away from his painful touch, but the way he has you positioned against the wall of the cave you’re taking shelter in means that you can’t move.

“Howzer—”

“I know it hurts, ad’ika.” His voice is low, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen such a grim look on his face before. Well, not directed towards you, at least, “but I need to stop the bleeding.”

Hesitantly, because he’s been funny about you touching him lately, you wrap your hands around his wrists, “‘m sorry. I messed up.”

“It’s not your fault. Who knew that the Stormtroopers had people who could use fucking javelins. Where are we, the Middle Ages?” He sounds stressed and angry.

“Many Indigenous people use weapons like that,” You reply, “Like the Ewoks and the Tusken Raiders of Tatooine.”

Howzer releases a huffed laugh, “Why do you know that?”

“I saw a documentary about it before,” You admit.

“Yeah? When was this?” He applies more pressure and you whimper as the sudden pain knocks the air out of your lungs, and you see a muscle work in his jaw.

“When I was a kid,” You manage to say, “There used to be a show. Tula the Tooka. Tula would teach kids about different races and show how we’re all the same.”

“Fighting bigotry one little kid at a time?”

“Something like that.” You wince, “She also covered some basic language skills, like how to say hello, or I’m lost, in whatever language.”

“Sounds educational,” Howzer shifts his hand and glances at your side, and then he takes your hand and presses it over the wound, “Apply pressure while I pull out my kit.”

“You could always just leave me here,” You offer.

“Don’t be fucking stupid, I’m not leaving you behind.” Howzer replies as he starts digging through the bag he’s been carrying, “You can’t actually think that I would do that.”

“I don’t.” You admit, “Make your life easier if you were less loyal, though.” You pause, “Idiot.” The word is affectionate, and the corner of Howzer’s lips curl up into a small smile.

“Wonder what having an easy life would be like,” He jokes, before he turns back to you, “Alright, move your hand.” You do as he asks, though you don’t realize why he’s saying that until the sharp scent of alcohol reaches your nose.

You yelp and jerk back when an alcohol-soaked cloth presses against your side. Though, you don’t get far.

“Shh, shh,” he effortlessly tugs you closer, so he can keep the cloth pressed against your side, “I’m going to patch you up.”

“You couldn’t have given me some warning?” You choke out.

“Sorry, ad’ika. But you’re kind of a baby when it comes to pain.”

You stare up at him through tear-filled eyes, “And you thought this would help? You’re a jerk. Rex would never—” You yelp again when his touch gets rough enough that it hurts.

The painful pressure vanishes almost immediately, “Sorry, I’m sorry! I forget that you’re so much more fragile than me.” Howzer blurts as he uses the sleeve of his jacket to wipe a tear from your cheek, “Please don’t cry.”

“I-it’s okay, you didn’t mean it.”

Howzer sighs, “It’s not okay, but thank you.” He pulls some bandages from his bag, “I bet Rex would never forget that.” There’s something odd in his voice, and you realize, with a start, that he’s jealous.

“Howzer?”

“Hm?”

“Are you jealous of Rex?”

He fumbles with the wrapper of the bandage, and his dark eyes flicker up to meet your gaze, before dropping back to your side, “Course not.”

You stare at the top of his head for a moment, and then you sigh and reach up to run your fingers through his hair, “You know you’re my favorite, right?”

“Are you allowed to have favorites?” Howzer asks as he applies the bandage and tapes it to your skin.

“I think you’ll find that I don’t care about what’s allowed,” You counter, “You’re my favorite, and I’m glad that I ended up stranded here with you over anyone else.”

He finally meets your gaze, “You hate being stranded anywhere.” Howzer corrects with a wry smile.

“See, no one else knows me like you do.”

“Well, I have known you for years now,”

Your hand falls from his hair to rest against his cheek, just over his scar. There are so many things you want to tell him. So many thoughts you want to share.

Things that he deserves to know.

But the words seem to stick in your throat.

After all, there’s no way he feels the same way for you as you do for him.

So, instead, you offer a tiny smile, “I’m guessing you have a plan.”

Howzer turns his head and presses a light kiss to the palm of your hand, “Always do.” He pulls away from you, “Are you okay waiting here for me?”

“Just don’t forget about me.”

“Never.” He stands and peels off his jacket, “Here, use this as a pillow and get some rest. I’ll be back when I’m done.”

You take his jacket and fold it so you can lay down, “Be careful,” Howzer tosses you a wink, and then he’s gone.

And, now alone, you release a quiet sigh. “I love you, Howzer.”

@imabeautifulbutterfly

@n0vqni

@bad4amficideas

@justiceandwar98

@mira-loves-star-wars

@tiredbi-peach

@dukeoftheblackstar

@trixie2023

@kimiheartblade

@padawancat97

@falconfeather23435

@etod

@bb8-99

@kiss-anon

@continous-mistakes

@yoitsjay

@liz-stat

@cc--2224

@adriennelenoir

@cdblake1565

@sweater-sloot

@heidnspeak

@wax-birds

@silly-starfish

@lonewolflupe

@maniacalbooper

@rebell-ious

#star wars #tbb #captain howzer x reader #howzer x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #gn!reader fic #answered asks

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bigdumbbambieyes · 3 days ago

Note

I’m sorry for sending a word and not a sentence lol second try: I’ll snap you like a rubber band

LOL no need to apologize!! I deleted the other ask hehe 🤍

“Y’know, you were travelling before you did that lay up, so, I think that point didn’t count.”

“Coach didn’t call me on it, pretty boy, so who fuckin’ cares?”

“I care—ow, fuck,” Steve squeezed his eyes shut as he felt the sting of shampoo in one, stepping under the spray of water to wash it out.

Of course, it made Billy laugh at him and his misfortune, from his place beside Steve in the locker room showers. Asshole.

“Anyway,” Steve huffed as he wiped the water from his face and glared at Billy again, “I don’t know what kinda bullshit you got away with in California, but you’re gonna cost us a game if you keep it up.”

“Jeeeesus Christ, princess, relax!” Billy groaned with an eye roll as he scrubbed at his chest, “You’re always getting yourself worked up over this basketball shit — it’s just a game.”

“I know you don’t give a shit about anything, Hargrove, because you have a brittle piece of dried up coal for a heart, but I don’t want to waste my last year of basketball slacking off.”

Billy fixes him with a glare of his own this time, his blue eyes narrowed and chin tilted down a little, actually looking intimating but Steve has become pretty good at acting unfazed by it over the last couple of months, so he silently quirks a brow in response.

“I don’t give a fuck about what you want, Harrington,” Billy mutters just over the sound of the showers, rinsing himself off and turning the knob to stop the flow of water. His glare is turned playful as he smirks at the brunet, “Maybe I’ll purposefully fuck up our games just to ruin your fun?”

Steve frowns, pouts, because why does Billy have to make things so difficult? But, even with Billy being his usual insufferable self, there’s this sense of playfulness between them that’s begun to develop — like they got out any actual malice that night at the Byers’ and now there’s nothing left but exasperated amusement.

Deadpan, he asks, “Why do you love to see me miserable?”

“Misery loves company,” Billy hums simply, stepping away and reaching for his towel.

Figures. Steve rinses his hair and shuts the water, wrapping his towel around his hips and heading towards his locker, feeling Billy hot on his heels.

“But, seriously — could you at least try to help us win? Wouldn’t it be rad to go out on a high note?” Steve mumbles as he swings his locker open, feeling his towel fall to the floor but doing nothing to grab it. It’s just him and Hargrove in the locker room, who cares.

“I don’t gotta try, Harrington,” Billy replies from where he’s standing in front of his own locker a couple feet away, still smirking at Steve, “I’m the best player on the team and you know it.”

Steve snorts a wry laugh at that, “I know that you’re a pain in the ass.”

“Oh, you want a pain in the ass, Harrington?” Billy grins as he pulls his towel off and holds it on a corner, winding it up in the air tightly, “I’ll snap you like a rubber band, don’t test me.”

Steve glances over at him and his eyes widen, a yelp leaving him as Billy snaps the air between them with his damp towel, screeching, “Billy!” As Billy rushes towards him with an evil grin, cackling as he chases Steve around the locker room, snapping his towel again and again.

“Stop!” Steve laughs loudly, until the towel does smack his ass, then he’s cursing so loud it echoes off the tiles and Billy’s laughing even harder as Steve shouts at him.

He makes it up to him by winning their next game.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #thanks for asking 🤍#bambiwrites

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lgbtsana · 2 days ago

Text

LOST IN TRANSLATION

- sim jaeyun / jake one-shot

GENRE: Romance, Enemies to Lovers, Deaf Jake, College Life.

PERM TAG LIST: @run2seob

Jake is a 21 year-old deaf, junior university student, who has trauma from bullying over the fact he can't hear. Y/N is a 20 year-old, freshman university student, who just wants to make friends. She approaches Jake without knowing he's deaf, and he begins to dislike her when she couldn't understand why he was pointing to his ears. Y/N learned through Heeseung that Jake was deaf. Why not learn sign language? Will she be able to befriend Jake or will he dislike her until he graduates?

The alarm in her room, blaring, filling the room with its ever so annoying noises. Y/N's hand slams on the nightstand, searching for the alarm clock desperately, trying to turn it off.

“Just turn off already!” she exclaimed, sitting up and turning it off. A sigh of relief escapes her lips, “Finally…” her voice trails.

“Fuck! I'm late!” She hurries to change her clothes and get to her university, Decelis Academy.

While she was almost always late, she had good grades. Her GPA is what got her accepted. So, learning things felt like a breeze to Y/N.

Arriving to her class, she immediately got scolded by the professor. “Late again, Ms. Seo” Professor Jay remarked, annoyed at the tardiness. But, just glad she made it.

While, Professor Jay seems harsh. He actually is laid back and kind. Always making sure everyone is done with their work, and able to turn it in. The students appreciated it, this allowed them to understand the material better.

“Sorry, Professor Jay…” her voice trailed, “I was up late studying.”

A sigh left the professor's lips, “Sit down, at least you're late with a decent reason.”

A slight smile met her lips, “Thank you, Professor Jay!” she spoke excitedly, walking to her desk chair and taking a seat.

Being a Freshman gave Y/N some advantages, she was able to get off with being tardy, blaming it on ‘studying’ when she already knew the material.

Though, she had some challenges with making friends. They always walk away from her, saying that she was “Too weird.”

It irked Y/N, but she let it go.

After her class ended, she noticed a taller boy in the hallway. Realizing this was a chance to make a friend, she skipped over excitedly and spoke, “Excuse me? Would you like to be friends?”

Silence.

“Ah, ignored again…” she sighed as the boy turned around and jolted in surprise. His jolt made her jump as well, but she was still confused. Why didn't he answer her?

She said the same lines she just spoke, and he tilted his head. Bringing out his phone and typing, before showing her, “I'm deaf.”

Her mouth formed an ‘O’ shape, finally understanding the situation. She still wasn't sure how to communicate with him, and he got annoyed. Huffing and walking away.

Y/N reached her hand out as she frowned. Another chance down the drain.

The night of, she looked up videos to learn sign language. She realized that, to communicate better, she could learn sign language.

Y/N stayed up all night learning sign language. Practicing signs to perfect her understanding.

The next day, she walked up proudly to him and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around and was visibly annoyed by her presence. “My name is Y/N, what is yours?” she smiled as she signed to him. His eyes widening in shock, no one having done this for him before.

“Jake.” was all he signed before quickly walking away.

“Jake, huh…” Y/N murmured, turning on her heel and making her way to Heeseung.

“Hey!” her hands clasped his shoulders roughly, making him jolt. “What the hell!” he exclaimed, “I'm doing an assignment, what's up?”

“Do you know who Jake is?”

“Jake? Yeah, he's the deaf student. Keeps to himself.” Heeseung quickly replied.

“Making more friends is hard, Seungie…” she whispered, visibly upset.

“What happened? Wait- Did you try to talk to Jake?”

“Yeah! But I learned sign language after that to fix things, I think that made him hate me more…”

A fit of laughter began as Heeseung couldn't hold it in anymore.

“Hey! It's not funny, asshole!” she hit his back lightly, making sure not to hurt him.

“It kinda is.” Heeseung spoke plainly.

“No!”

“Yeah!” He laughed heartily.

“I'll get Sunoo to talk to him, he knows sign language.”

“You will? Thank you!” she hugged her closest, and only, friend.

“Yeah, yeah. Now let me do my assignment, in peace.”

Y/N nodded and left the room.

Heeseung was able to get Sunoo to convince Jake to talk to Y/N. It was a long process, but they were able to do it.

Jake and Y/N meet up at the park, signing to each other, Y/N made sure to get every sign correct.

Jake noticed her concentration on making sure she was signing correctly. A chuckle left his lips, watching her eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

“What's so funny?” she signed to him.

“Your eyebrows furrow when you concentrate,” he signed back, “It's kinda funny.”

Y/N pouted, “No fair! I'm trying not to mess up and make you hate me…” she signed and frowned at the end.

Jake's eyes widened, he didn't particularly hate her, he was more weary of her.

“I got bullied for being deaf when I was younger,” he signed, explaining his childhood thoroughly.

At the end, Y/N understood why he was weary. But, he finally knew she wasn't like that.

Christmas came around in a flash, people around campus going home to visit family. Yet, some decided to stay in their dorms. Keeping time to themselves.

Jake texted Y/N that he was going to visit family and came to her dorm room to give her a hug. “Until we meet again!” he signed, making it dramatic as possible. Y/N laughed, “Yeah, yeah, get going drama king!” she signed back, before putting her hands on his back to push him.

He pulled out his phone and texted her, “See you later!”

She looked up from her phone and smiled. Mouthing slowly, “Bye.”

Holidays ended, and Y/N was waiting at the train station for Jake to arrive. She wanted to surprise him when he came back.

As the train came to a stop, the door slowly opened and people from inside came flooding out. Y/N was focused on finding Jake, her eyes searching through the crowd until their eyes met.

Her face lit up as a smile came to her lips. She noticed Jake mouthing, “Can I hug you?”

She gave him a nod as confirmation, and he walked over to her, pushing through the crowd and placing a gentle kiss on her lips.

Y/N's eyes widened as Jake pulled away, “Kiss?” she signed, “I thought it was a hug?”

Jake covered his mouth to laugh, before signing, “I mouthed, ‘’Can I kiss you?”

Y/N shrugged, “Either works!” she signed with a smile. Before giving him a tight hug, pulling away and signing, “Welcome back.”

While flowers take time to blossom fully, so does love. It takes time to learn a language, it takes time for feelings to grow. Love takes time.

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unfriendlies · 18 hours ago

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completely caught off guard, garam let out a soft yelp when angel had picked him up to hold him in his arms instead of on his back. he was quick to wrap one arm behind the man's shoulders while the other hand held on tightly to the opposing shoulder to ensure he wouldn't fall even if angel lost his grip. his brows furrowed, just staring at angel. he was so strong. another thing garam couldn't recall his now ex-boyfriend doing; carrying him, regardless of position. it was always something his friends did. when asked, his ex would tell garam his legs still worked so he could walk himself wherever they were going. he was starting to really question what he ever saw in the other man, he was probably the least romantic partner garam had ever had. if he was going to be completely honest, angel was far more romantic towards garam than his ex was. that fact made his expression soften, a small smile growing. "i'm not that skinny," he said softly, pulling his hand up to the curve of angel's neck. his weight was never something he worried about before because he ate relatively healthily but he had noticed he lost weight recently which he could now blame on his relationship. after being dropped down onto angel's bed, he let go of the blanket and shifted so his head was on one of the pillows. when he was asked about his preferences, his expression fell once again. it wasn't because he didn't want to talk about it, he just wasn't expecting angel to want to know. he was quiet, not because he didn't want to talk about it but because he was silently questioning why angel wanted to know. was it because he was worried? that was the only reason that made sense. the only other thing he could think of was angel was asking because he wanted to have sex with garam but that didn't seem plausible at all. he was sure that angel would have made some sort of attempt to flirt with him, hit on him, something to let garam know he wanted something more from him. but angel didn't do that, at least garam didn't catch on if angel had made some sort of move. garam exhaled heavily as he threw his arms up over his head, unintentionally making his shirt rise, revealing his lower stomach and the bruises his ex left on him. "sometimes it's okay." he replied, staring up at the ceiling. "i really didn't like it at first but..." he paused, making an attempt to shrug his shoulders, but the gesture was a bit difficult to do with his hands above his head. "i got used to it." he added in, glancing over to angel with just his eyes but he was quick to return his gaze up to the ceiling. "there were some things that i liked but not when it happened all the time. i think i like it better when somebody is more gentle with me. like, they're afraid if they push too hard, i'll break." maybe break wasn't the most accurate term to use, it was more like he didn't want somebody who wanted to hurt him. "i think i want softer passion. not so fast, not so hard... but i still want to feel his emotions when we're together... if that—" his full attention turned to angel, "does that make sense? i want to feel like i'm the only person in his life that matters, i want to be able to see his love for me when i look at him... i want to feel like i'm more than just a piece of ass, you know? i think that's what i want." he couldn't even say for sure, it was just that soft and passionate were the complete opposite of what his ex showed him whenever they were intimate. their intimacy lacked all intimacy. the man focused on what would feel good for him instead of garam, he never felt love when they were together. it felt like it was purely physical between them. but maybe explaining as much as he had was a bit of an overshare. even if angel asked, garam didn't have to go into the kind of detail he did. "you don't have to worry, i'm not going to let somebody treat me like that again. and i'll make sure whoever i eventually get involves with has your stamp of approval, you seem to know who isn't good for me better than i do..."

Garam’s nod as confirmation was all Angel needed. He stood quietly as he watched his best friend grab his phone. The taller man watched the other’s facial expressions closely before realizing the alcohol was beginning to affect him. A shiver rippled through his spine seeing Garam’s ex crying face on the screen. His lips were pulled tight as his eyes shot down. Angel thought seeing the man crying would bring him joy. He was getting back just a fraction of what he put them through. But it only made his stomach turn. His skin felt itchy and gross. He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. “Let him suffer” he managed out glancing back up only to catch Garam texting his ex. Angel raised an eyebrow as Garam giggled which must have been contagious. The raven-haired man smiled offering a small giggle back. It was great to hear his friend laugh again. The screen was flashed to him once again. This time he didn’t look away. Scanning the text Angel let out a sharp breath. That text wouldn’t go over well but Angel couldn’t worry about that right then. “Take me to bed” Such a small sentence stopped Angel in his tracks. It wasn’t like the man hadn’t said it before. Angel had gotten used to carrying drunk Garam through the streets to either of their apartments. It was the way the man looked at him for a moment. His arms stretched out ready to be lifted. It took the man a minute to compose himself. Finding the whole scene rather adorable. “You are such a child” he teased to break the silence as he scooped his best friend up into his arms bridal style. “Easier to carry you this way…while you are staying here we are going to get some food in your system. You have never been this light” Angel commented as he guided them to his bedroom. As they made their way through his apartment he couldn’t help but think about Garam’s past relationships. They seemed to get worse with each one. Angel always kept his feelings silent. Watching each relationship pass by. It killed him his best friend hid so much of what was going on. Angel never judged him or so he didn’t think he did. But for sex to be that violent and their argument to lead to this. Angel couldn’t wrap his head around his best friend enjoying that. The grip he had on Garam tightened as they entered the bedroom. He was starting to feel the effects of their drinks but kept his composure. His focus was on making sure the man in his arms was okay. Angel stumbled lightly managing to get his best friend to the bed with a slight thump. He chuckled tucking his curls behind his ears as he sat on the edge of the bed. The question he wanted to ask hanging on the edge of his tongue. Even drunk he didn’t think this was the best time. But he knew he wouldn’t have the nerve to ask any other way. Besides the other was drunk as well. It made it easier somehow. “Garam?” Angel would never ask questions like this sober. He didn’t pry in such ways. He knew his best friend was private. The same way he was. “Do you really enjoy rough sex like that?” His words were slow, almost careful. To ensure he was saying the right thing. His eyes avoided his best friend. Angel looked down at his hands which he had been biting at out of habit as he waited for his answer. His feelings for Garam were festering inside him. In his drunken state, he was thinking he could never live up to that. He couldn’t see himself hurting Garam in any way. As he sat there the guilt of the question started to sink in. “Y-you don’t have to answer that. Sorry…these damn drinks” he muttered picking his head up and flashing one of his smiles.

#threads #thread: min garam #garam & angel #ang3lmoan

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eevylynn · 22 hours ago

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Art by Timeless

Shadows Within

Sterek || E || 37k wc

After making a deal with the Nogitsune, Stiles gained control of its powers. When an enemy comes, determined to end the Beacon Hills Nogitsune no matter the consequences, Derek gets kidnapped and hurt, and Stiles’ possessiveness comes out.

The gorgeous artwork is by Timeless. It was very inspirational!

This is by far the longest finished fic I have ever written, and I still can't believe I actually managed it.

Thank you to everyone that helped me get this done and out there into the world! You know who you are!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Stiles adjusted the grip on his stick and scuffed his cleats in the grass as he briefly closed his eyes to take a bracing breath.

After he had turned the tides of the championship game last season, causing BHHS to win, this was what he wanted. Scott had worked with Stiles on and off over the summer between sophomore and junior years to help him improve enough, so they could be co-captains together. With Jackson’s parents’ pulling him out and moving to London, that dream seemed even closer.

Then, the insanity of the fall semester happened, and any thoughts of lacrosse flew from his mind.

That is until the announcements for tryouts came out.

Thankfully, Scott had brought his grades up enough that Coach was letting him back. Maybe. Everyone had to try-out again. One would think that everyone that played on a championship winning team would automatically be back on the team the next year, but noooo–Coach had a wild hair up his ass and decided that’s not good enough and that they needed a “rebuilding season”.

To be fair, Jackson wasn’t the only one of their teammates whose parents decided to take them out of Beacon Hills. Probably because of all the murders, if Stiles was being honest. Even Danny was gone, which was unfortunate because Stiles could tolerate Danny.

This little shit that was standing, unwanted, in front of the goal on the other hand…

Opening his eyes, Stiles stepped into his shot, launching the ball towards the goal faster than he ever had before, passing the goalie’s stick by a hair and landing in the net.

The crowd on the sidelines erupted in cheers, but Stiles barely registered them.

“YES!! Another perfect shot! Way to go, Stilinski!” Coach Finstock yelled, snapping Stiles back to reality. “Stilinski, you’ve been holding out on us!”

Stiles jogged to the back of the line, making his way to the back. His eyes flickered to where Scott stood at the end. He was watching Stiles with a mix of admiration and unease.

“Dude, you’re doing, like, really good,” Scott said as Stiles neared him, eyebrows pinched a bit.

“Yeah,” Stiles muttered, as they turned to watch Isaac take his turn. “Thanks.”

They both leaned to look around the guys in front of them to watch Isaac shoot. The ball almost went into the net, but the kid, Liam, caught it right at the last second. The guys around them were evenly split between groans and cheers.

Stiles whistled as Isaac made his way to them. “So, close.”

“At least I was aiming for the net,” Isaac replied, reaching out to roughly pat Scott’s shoulder, “unlike some people who just whiffed and hit the frame instead.”

Once again, the goalie caught the ball. Scott had missed a few more shots, overshooting the goal or hitting the posts instead. A couple of times, Liam even managed to intercept Scott’s attempts, flashing that smug grin of his each time. The kid’s accuracy was almost annoyingly perfect, and he seemed to be thriving on Scott’s slip-ups.

Frustrated, Scott stormed off, ripping his gloves and throwing them down as he went.

“Dude!” Stiles said urgently, as he and Isaac caught up to Scott. “What is going on with you?”

“I don’t know,” Scott grumbled. “I’m having a really off day.”

“Off day? You are dying out there,” Isaac snorted. “Like, I’m feeling actual physical pain watching you.”

“I wish,” Stiles muttered.

“Yeah, like you need to be any stronger,” Isaac muttered back, immediately understanding what Stiles was getting at. “This is already weird as it is. I mean, you’ve been doing better than both me and Scott.”

“That’s because Stiles is new to his powers. Whereas, we’re not using our abilities out on the field,” Scott said. “On the field, we’re just as human as anyone else.”

“No, you’re really not,” Stiles pointed out, getting annoyed. “You’re a werewolf–complete with the strength, speed, and reflexes. It’s the whole reason you were able to even get off the bench last year, remember?”

“Yeah, but I’m trying to do better. Be better. I’m trying to make it fair for everyone, so I’m avoiding using my powers.”

“Well, in case you’ve forgotten,” Stiles said incensed, “Finstock doesn’t know or care if you are an Alpha werewolf. He just sees someone who’s not at the level they were last year. You might want to use some of your wolfie powers or you very well might lose your position as team captain. Are you prepared for that?”

“But…that’s cheating.”

“Technically, it’s not. There’s nothing in the rules about supernaturals playing on the team.”

“No, but that doesn’t stop it from being an unfair advantage.”

“Scott, the only way to completely prevent yourself from having an unfair advantage on the field would be to just not play,” Stiles said, getting closer to the edge of his temper at Scott just not understanding. “Your advantage doesn’t just come from using the obvious powers. Your very senses are heightened in a way that a human’s literally can’t. There is absolutely no way for you to play as a human, especially now that you’re an Alpha.”

#mywriting #my writing #sterek #eternalsterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #sterek fanfiction #nogitsune stiles stilinski #alpha derek hale #fanfiction

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sweetdreamz2 · 2 days ago

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Hidden Feelings - S. Gojo

Synopsis: where you're in a popular indie rock band with lead guitarist Satoru Gojo, but you can’t stand each other—until one fiery argument before a show shifts your relationship with him.

Word count: 1.7k

Pairing: lead guitarist! S. Gojo x f! lead singer reader

A/N: i got inspiration from Isabel LaRosa's song Muse! ^-^

The studio buzzed with the usual pre-show chaos—techs running around, instruments being tuned, and last-minute lighting checks being made. Your band, Nocturnal Beats, was set to perform in just an hour, but all you could think about was the argument that had erupted between you and Satoru earlier that day.

It was always like this. For some reason, Satoru knew exactly how to push your buttons. His arrogance, his smug grin, and the way he always acted like the star of the show made you want to scream. It didn’t help that the two of you had been thrown together as the band’s dynamic duo: him as the lead guitarist and you as the lead singer. Everyone said the chemistry between you two was electric on stage, but off-stage, it felt more like you were trying not to strangle each other.

The argument had started over something small—like it always did. You’d wanted to change the setlist at the last minute, feeling like one of the songs needed a different tempo, but Satoru refused, saying that you were overthinking things. The back and forth had escalated quickly until you were both shouting, his eyes blazing with the same stubbornness you knew mirrored your own.

“You’re impossible!” you had snapped, crossing your arms as your orbs glared daggers at the blue eyed male.

“And you’re a control freak,” he’d shot back, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

“Why don’t you just trust me for once?”

“Because trusting you always ends up with you showing off!” you yelled. “This isn’t The Gojo Show—we’re a band, remember?”

He had scoffed, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “Whatever. Do what you want. Just don’t come crying to me when it all falls apart.”

That was hours ago, and since then, you hadn’t exchanged a word. But as you stood backstage, going over the lyrics in your head, you caught glimpses of Satoru moving around, setting up his guitar. You hated the way your eyes kept wandering back to him. You hated the way, even when you were furious, your heart still did that annoying flutter when he looked so focused. And you really hated the way his eyes occasionally flicked over to you when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

Your bandmates were buzzing around, each one focused on their own tasks. Suguru, the drummer, was tapping away at his kit, a playful grin on his face as he tried to lighten the mood.

“Hey, does anyone else think Satoru and [Name] need to get a room? They’ve been glaring at each other for the last hour.”

Utahime, the bass player, laughed all the while running her fingers through her silky locks. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say they’re about to throw down on stage. But honestly, I think they’re both too stubborn to admit they like each other.”

“Yeah, well, stubbornness is what makes this band work. At least it gives us something to talk about during breaks,” Suguru replied, his voice teasing.

“Focus, guys.” You said, trying to sound annoyed, but the corner of your mouth twitched upward in a small smile.

“We need to be ready for the show.”

The tension was palpable as the band gathered for their final check. You kept your distance from Satoru, focusing on the rest of the members and making sure everything was in place. But you couldn’t ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach. Despite the way you two clashed, you had to admit you needed him for this performance. As much as his arrogance drove you up the wall, there was no denying that when you both played together, it was like magic. And that’s what scared you.

Just before showtime, the two of you ended up in the same cramped space near the side stage. You could feel the heat of his presence as he adjusted his strap, pretending like you weren’t standing right there. The silence was deafening.

“Look,” you finally muttered, unable to take it anymore. “About earlier… I—”

“Save it. I don’t need an apology.”

Your jaw tightened as you lifted your head to stare at Satoru. Why did he always have to act this way?

“I wasn’t going to apologize,” you snapped, and his head turned, eyes locking with yours.

“I was going to say, let’s just get through this set. We can argue all we want after.”

Satoru’s eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite read, but his expression softened—just a little. “Fair enough. But try to keep up with me this time.”

You rolled your eyes at his comment. “I’m the one leading. You try to keep up.”

He smirked, but there was an edge of playfulness there that hadn’t been before. “You know, one of these days, you’re going to realize I’m not your enemy.”

“And you’re going to realize I’m not just some obstacle for you to show up,” you countered, but your voice lacked the bite it usually carried.

There was a moment, a flicker of something between you two—like the eye of the storm. His eyes, usually so infuriating, held a softness that made your heart trip over itself. For a split second, it felt like there was no one else backstage, no buzzing chaos, no band waiting for the two of you to start. It was just him, and that infuriatingly perfect grin.

“Five minutes!” a stagehand suddenly called, breaking the spell.

Satoru straightened up, his expression slipping back into his usual confidence, but not before you caught the slightest hesitation in his eyes.

“Guess we’ll have to finish this conversation later,” he said, his voice lighter.

You nodded, your throat feeling tight as you adjusted your mic. “Yeah. Let’s just get through this.”

As the lights dimmed and the crowd’s roar grew louder, you stepped on stage, with Satoru only a few steps behind. The first chords rang out, and as the spotlight hit you both, all the tension from before seemed to evaporate, replaced by that same electric energy that always surged when you performed together. You moved in sync, the music flowing effortlessly between you, and for those few moments, it felt like everything was right.

But as the final song approached, the one that always brought you both to the front of the stage, Satoru did something different. Instead of playing his usual riff, he turned to you, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine.

“You’ve always said I show off too much,” he called into the mic, a playful edge in his voice. The crowd cheered, but you felt your breath catch.

“So this one’s for you, doll."

He began playing a softer, slower melody—one that wasn’t on the setlist. It was something new, something he must’ve come up with in the hours after your fight. As his fingers slid over the guitar strings, his usual bold, flashy style softened into something gentle and intimate. Each note was deliberate, his hands moving with a grace that seemed to surprise even him. The melody he created was raw and hauntingly beautiful, something delicate yet charged with unspoken emotion. The sound was unlike his usual show-stopping solos—it was stripped down, almost vulnerable, as if he was bearing a piece of himself through each chord.

You felt the lyrics rise in your throat, instinct taking over as you harmonized with his playing. The words flowed, and the crowd swayed, but all you could think about was the way his eyes never left yours. Eyes intense and filled with a silent message that reverberated through every note he played. The rhythm was steady, a slow heartbeat that pulled you in and matched the pulse between you both.

You could see the subtle concentration in the way his brows furrowed slightly, the slight flex of his fingers, and the almost imperceptible nod as he lost himself in the music. It was as if, in that moment, the entire crowd had disappeared, leaving only the two of you suspended in the space between melody and silence.

As the song reached its final crescendo, Satoru took a step closer, the gap between you shrinking until you could feel the heat radiating off him. His hand reached out until his fingers gripped the edge of your waist, gently pulling you closer, and your heart pounded so loudly you were sure the audience could hear it.

Then, as the final note hung in the air, he leaned in and kissed you.

It was like time stopped. The world around you, the roaring crowd, the bright lights—all of it faded into the background. His lips were warm, the kiss soft but full of something deep and electric. You felt yourself melt into it, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt as your eyes fluttered shut.

When he pulled back, he kept his forehead resting against yours, his eyes searching yours as if he was trying to read everything you were feeling. You could hear the crowd’s cheers roaring in the background, but in that moment, all you could focus on was him.

“That was… incredible,” you whispered, just loud enough for him to hear.

“Yeah. Guess we’re better together after all,” Satoru whispered, a grin spreading across his face, softer than you’d ever seen.

You laughed, a little breathless, your heart still racing. For the first time, you didn't argue back. Maybe he was right.

“Maybe… maybe I’ve always known that.”

Just then, Suguru and Utahime joined you, grinning ear to ear.

“Did you two just kiss on stage?” Utahime shouted, raising an eyebrow all the while having a huge grin on her face. “Not bad for a couple of rivals.”

“About time you two figured it out!” Suguru chimed in, crossing his arms with a knowing smile. “We were starting to think you’d never stop bickering.”

You shot them a mock glare, but it was hard to stay annoyed when you felt so elated.

“Shut up! We were just—”

“Just making beautiful music together!” Satoru interrupted, his grin widening as he glanced back at the crowd, who were still cheering wildly.

As the lights dimmed and the stage crew signaled the end of the set, Satoru took your hand, giving it a squeeze.

“Looks like we’ll have to talk more about this later, huh?”

“Yeah,” you said, your heart fluttering again at the thought. “I think we have a lot to figure out.”

“Then let’s make sure we keep playing this right,” he replied, his voice soft yet full of determination.

And for the first time, you didn’t feel the urge to argue. Maybe this really was just the beginning of something more—something that would make all the bickering worthwhile.

#gojou satoru x reader #reader insert #jujutsu satoru #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk gojo #satoru gojo fic #jujutsu kaisen x reader #female reader #satoru x you

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