#but just reblog or like if you feel the same

[dilf-docs]

Give Me Coffee, Utah Love

sleazy!joel 'mullet' miller x younger fem!reader

summary: on the run and looking for a fresh start, a cheap gasoline coffee and to-do list slipping from your bag later, you (have lost your mind and) consider this stranger's proposition.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (52/25), pwp, p. in v., fingering, (one) pussy spank, degradation kink, lwk breeding and exhibition kink, nasty filthy sex, public sex, one joke about kys, strangers to ???, pulled an all nighter for this yey me (its 3am and my alarm sounds at 4:10 lol) so forgive me if i made any spelling mistake, i wanna see ur comments/reblogs bc i crashed out so bad i feel like i deserve it

word count: 4,060 words

side note: that one girl who doesn't play abt snl. okay but who works harder? the devil, a7estrellas or me, that only needed two pedro snl sketches and is acting like a yuppie in the 80s doing cocaine on a bathroom after work bc WOW so many new content. yes, men with mullets should die but this is pedro! song of choice for this piece is queen of the gas station by sleazy dilf patroness lana del rey. also up next, reynaldo inspired one shot to celebrate the snl 50 series!

You liked driving at night.

There was simply something about the eerie silence, the shadows casting upon the streets, barely touched by the headlights and the moon, the quiet hum of the radio and the slow shift of your hands on the wheel.

You liked driving at night, but today, it feels off.

Just this morning, you had looked at your house one last time. It still had that white paint on the porch, that had faded due to the sunlight, and those scrapped stickers on what had been your childhood room's door.

He had tried talking some sense in to you, claiming all your life was there, in Arizona. With him. But Phoenix had started to feel like a prison and he was your warden. So you snuck at dawn when no one would notice, like a criminal. Very fitting.

The sun hadn't touched yet the kitchen where you ate when your feet balanced off the chair and now graced the floor in a lazy manner, eating cereal with marshmallows first and now, just about three days ago, just oatmeal, because it seemed like what a grown up would do.

But in many ways you were still the same kid who was too shy to raise her hand in class because she couldn't find her voice, bound to be forgotten among much louder and brigther kids. Yet he had seen you.

So you stayed: put up with dances where he would spin you until the world was reduced to a blur, and the quiet home life in town-- kids running around and barbecues on the summer seemed like a good ending. You dreamed of a truck and a garden, and the few friends you made all seemed to share the same vision. Except for one.

When Dorothea came back from New York, eyes too wide and smile too bright, she seemed like a different person. In many ways she still was the same girl with an accent who had shared her sandwhich with you during recess, but her words now carried ambition and her gaze seemed awoken by a purpose you couldn't find but on the road that drove out of town.

But folks kept her at arms length. The amusement in her smile was infectious as a disease, and with whispered stabs they would talk behind her back. Your friend bore a scarlett letter for wanting more.

You had never wanted more; compliant might of be your second name. But when you'd see her walk by your house, shorts above her knees and that city girl strut with her sneakers against the hot asphalt, you were envious, and Williams seemed so small and dull.

Who does she think she is? he would say, and you'd nod your head, despite the secret admiration hidden in your eyes.

Suddenly, the red truck sounded stupid and the married life with kids could wait.

We could wait, you had said outloud.

He had laughed, like you just told a joke. It was on surprise, but it felt cruel.

Why? like he couldn't understand you-- as if you spoke on a different language. What is there to wait for?

You took your decision that day.

It started slow, by wearing skirts that rode up with the wind, blaming the lack of clothes on the heat. Then with the nicotine between your lips, the forbidden act making clouds that escaped your red lips. Or wearing the other make up Dorothea taught you, now holding hands with her as people whispered she had tainted your naive soul too. He caught your new smell, and spoke harshly about not wearing clothes that made other men turn to eat out the sun-kissed skin of your legs, because you'd turn too, gaze defiant and full of mischief, but that he didn't know. Might as well wear nothin'. But he cried with his face buried in the same uncovered legs, saying he hated to see you like this; he didn't recognize you.

It was easy then.

One day you packed your bags and took the car you'd been given as a graduation gift, leaving town with what seemed a lifetime stashed in the backseat.

You left a note for your parents, neatly placed on a bed you wondered when you'd sleep again in, if you were ever to be back. To him, who you now just start to wonder if you ever really loved or just accepted because it's what there was and nothing more, you hadn't left a note nor explanations.

He wouldn't understand anyways.

Just the promise of what could've been, shining in the middle of your bed.

You had been driving non-stop, afraid like a fugitive who was being chasen. Sometimes, you'd take stops on the road and pulled out a pen and a book, despite your fingers itching from driving and your urgency to check the phone you'd been to coward to turn on to see the wake of messages your disappearance might have sparked.

There was a sting somewhere outside the ache of your bones or the flutter of your tired eyes, and it cried for home and longed for the life you always envisioned for yourself. But it also felt like a second skin you couldn't quite wash off with the cheap soap and cold water of the motel you had crashed in a couple of hours ago.

You didn't want to live in suburban desert dreams back at Williams. You wanted to feel alive.

It's nightime when the little peep sound jolts you awake. You had been driving in auto-pilot; your car needs gas and you needed rest.

Its probably ten at night, and according to your map, Utah isn't that far. It's a fresh start: a place where no one knows your name or your whole life, for the matter.

Your car comes to a stop under faded neon lights in the middle of the road. There's a truck parked next to your car, the guy inside the convenience store, and that's about it. You're filling your tank while suppressing a yawn, when a movement across your station catches your eyes.

The only other customer, a man old enough to be your dad. He's staring at you, leaning against his truck, arms crossed while the biceps flex with the position, tense. Even from your place, you can see how the veins pop here and there, making you gulp on instinct.

The smoke of his cigarrette gets lost in the neon hues and starry sky. Doesn't he know you're not supposed to do that at a gas station? Yet, his lack of care and recklessness picks your interest.

(Hey! The last time you had human contact was about a day ago and after seeing only roads, asphalt, desert and mountains, you deserved a little treat to entertain yourself)

"Like what you see, doll?" sporting the most sleazy smile you'd ever seen.

Something about him was as alluring as uneasy, the nervous tremble of your hands but the warmth between your legs speaking of said conflicting emotions. You pretend to be invested on the task of filling your truck (the reason you're here, after all) but the way your body burns, begs, to look again is humilliating. So you do, but he isn't there anymore, althought his truck is.

"You know, wearin' a dress like that at night isn't a good idea for'a girl like you"

He appears from seemingly nowhere, making you jump. Your heart flutters and you clench at nothing with the sound of his deep voice, low, akin to a rumble or a thunder. It's laced with diversion, and the not so subtle way he eats you out with his eyes like a starved man, wolfish grin on display as he leans now against your car, makes his intentions all the more clear.

"Why?" you feel oddly bold, instead of scared. Maybe it's the lack of sleep, because why the hell would you be flirting in a gas station, at night, entertaining an old and slighlty creepy albeit attractive man when you had been engaged less than a day ago?

"The weather" he appears nonchalant, balancing the cigarrette like a toothpick between his chapped lips. "Or men"

"Bold of you to say that while wearing that" you poke fun at his outfit, which consists of some shorts, worn t-shirt and a vest. He's sporting the tall socks and slippers combo, dressing like a grandpa but he pulls it off alright. "Also, men? Like who, you?"

He laughs, the sound sprouting rich and grave from his chest. It makes you dizzy. Yup, let's blame the lack of sleep again.

"Well, look at that. Sure got'a mouth on ya', doll" he gets closer, and his scent floods your nostrils. Wood, gasoline, musk, sweat and burnt ciggars. "Just takin' care of you. Say, how about ya' warm that shaky frame of yers? This place has sum coffee goin' on. Shit, but it works"

He could poison your drink for all you care, but all his teeth are on display and he's got a dimple. Also, you're fighting your fluttering eyelids in here.

"Y/n" it's your way of agreeing while extending your hand.

Instead of shaking it, he pulls you even closer and kisses it, his warm lips brushing your cold hand. You shiver at the contact, and it may be the way his firey auburn holds your gaze while doing so or how big his hands feel, both your mind and heart racing.

"Joel" he says, and then that same calloused palm finds its way to the soft part above your ass in your back, guiding you to the store.

Inside, it smells like cheap coffee and grease. You clutch your bag tighter, and choose a table as the stranger pays for your coffee, or well, Joel.

"There ya' go" and he places the hot brown liquid in front of you.

Now that he's closer and under the yellow-ish lights, you take a better look at his face. His eyes, which mock the drink in front of you. His hands, that seem to almost swallow the small cup with their size, and then his hair. God, alright. He sported a fucking mullet of all haircuts. And boy, wasn't it embarrassingly attractive? Your eyes fall towards his beard and mustache, grays sprinkled across them. But your mind and eyes alike went back to the thought of feeling the slightly greasy looking hazel strands, calling for your touch.

"Gonna take a sip or what?" and he smiles. You don't know if it's in diversion by your doze-off or because he knows why.

You had never felt this hot and bothered. Hell, not even normal hot. He had never made you feel like this, and now some fucking random skanky man was getting your panties on a twist in the middle of the road.

"I-I'm going to the bathroom" you manage to squeak out, running for your life.

Inside the stall, you splash some water into your face, as if trying to make you react. Get yourself together, you tell your reflection in the mirror, but then you're fixing your hair, and as you reach for your red lipstick you realize you left your bag back at the table. Fuck.

You get out, only to find your bag weirdly sprawled on the seat, the handles centimeters away from falling to the floor. Then, he, who you only see his sturdy back and broad shoulders, crouched down, like he's reading something, althought Joel doesn't seem the type of guy who chooses to read in his free time.

"Joel?"

And then you see it: the tiny notebook you had been scribbling on the road, looking even smaller on his grip.

Your To-do list.

It may sound stupid, but a week before leaving, you bought it: the last memory of your town and the start of your new life. At twenty-five, the concept may sound a little stupid with what you've written, but you felt your new life deserved to have space for some of those dreams or fleeting thoughts you had during class written down.

And now fucking Joel was reading it.

"Wow, doll. Ya' sure are full of surprises" he chuckles, flipping through the pages. What sounds better: killing him or yourself? Hmm, maybe throwing the burning coffee at him would suffice.

"Give me that back" you extend your rigid hand, voice clipped.

The stupid trail of decisions catches up to you. Why had you trusted a stranger that had oggled you right in front of your face? You're too starved and horny to think straight, clearly, because now he's mocking you while your face burns with red shame.

"Saved your bag from fallin' when ya' rushed outta da seat. Then this lil' thing came out" he stops on a page. "Skinny dipping. And'ere I thought you're a good girl"

"Shut up and give me that" you seethe.

"Wow, doll" Joel chuckles yet again. "don't get yer panties in a twist. If ya' wanted so, jus' ask"

You scoff at his boldness. "Excuse me?"

"Ya' heard me" he gets up from his seat, body towering over yours.

Was it hot in here? Why was your body warm all of the sudden? Was it the coffee? No, you hadn't even take a sip. Joel searches before looking at you again with a content gaze and an ugly smug grin, like he's used to having his way.

"Sex with a stranger" then searches for other, the sound of the pages the only other sound in the room, still not overpowering the one of your heart, echoing in your ears. "Sex in a bathroom"

He closes the little book and hands it back to you. You take it with force, ears burning at their tip. "So?"

"Funny" he muses. "I can help you with both"

Your head drops back against the cold wall as Joel's lips find your collarbone.

This was stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Of all the decisions you've made in your life, this one is either the worst or the best. Fuck, you hadn't even arrived at Utah and could cross two things from the book.

His kiss is rushed, rough and sloppy, sucking on your lips so hard you feel them swollen and bruised. Joel's tongue then pokes inside your mouth, to taste your insides and all of you more deeply, content with the savor of your sweet mouth and gloss smeared across his own. It isn't often that he gets a chance like this: sure, casual sex is like breathing for him at this point in life, where he's made it too far without building a home for a wife. But now, here? You, this pretty young thing, the small whimpers coming out of your lips, how you squirm under his frame and groping hands that travel through a body he can't get enough of. Shit, he ain't young anymore but he's painfully hard and can't stop his task despite his aching joints and age. Joel just wants to taste all of you forever, despite the shit place and rather funny circumstances:

You both, strangers, in an dirty dark alley behind a gas station, about to fuck.

He's pressing his knee tightly between your thighs, the same one you had spotted before thanks to his shorts. His strong grip pins your hand above your head, rendering you immobile under his weight, that presses over you. Shit, you should be thinking this through and running away, but the complete submission and reckless choice makes it all the more hot.

Your throat works up soft, needy noises and Joel marvels at the sounds.

"Keep 'em comin', doll. Wanna know I'm makin' you feel good"

His lips leave lazy wet trails across your skin. The skirt of your dress is raised by his leg and pressed knee.

"Hmh, Joel-" you needily whimper.

"Shh" he swallows a moan with his mouth, "but jus' for me, doll. Keep it low, will ya'? Or want the whole place knowin' what a dirty slut ya' are? Fuckin' with da first stranger that looks yer way?"

You had never been degraded, less thought it would turn you this much on.

"Joel" you whimper his name.

He groans into your mouth, lewd tongues tangling and tasting the messy kiss with fiery passion and hate. Your fingers fist into the thick material of his vest, nails about to ruin it, but by the way his eyes darken and he smiles, Joel might be into it.

The man pulls away for breath, a string of saliva connecting you two.

His hand gropes your ass and then moves to your exposed inner thigh.

"What'a dirty girl" your fingers hook into his worn-out jeans, tugging the peaking waistband forward to you. His weight and chest push into you, "so wet and eager for this dick, you cockhungry whore"

To prove his point, his thick fingers rub your clit through the material of your panties. You tilt your head back in pleasure at the newfound sensation, and he takes the chance to mark your exposed neck and collarbone, making you moan his name when he sinks his teeth on the skin.

"All 'tis for me?" and his fingers fingers slink down to trace your folds again. Your back arches, breasts pressing against his chest. You dig your nails on his broad back, making him hiss with pleasure as you grab for support.

His rough digits slide and push your sticky panties aside, then plunge inside your pussy. You whimper quietly, the squelches of your pussy swallowing his fingers the only sound in the dark, aside from the busy road ahead. The calloused pad of his thumb circles your sensitive nub, pressing and massaging as his lips travel down to the valley of your tits.

"Wanna free this bad girls and taste 'em" he pulls down your dress, mouth practically watering at the rosy soft skin. "Fuck, doll. No bra? Ya' were lookin' for this, ain't you? Makin' the job easy. I'm just'a lucky man"

He wants to see how they bounce with each thrust, eyes darkening with the shade of lust.

"I- Fuck"

Joel's fingers thrust in and out at with a rapid pace and delicious movements you had never been pleasured before with. Now, when he curls them? That nearly sends you over the edge, reaching a spot you had never known existed.

"S'tight" he groans at your clenching warm sticky walls, fingers slowing but still moving as you ride out your high, drenching him in your liquids.

"Found sum sugar for that shit tastin' bitter coffee, eh?" he takes his own fingers on his mouth and sucks on them with a rather obscene gesture, taking them out with a loud pop. His tongue licks what's left off, and you whimper at the lewd image. "Yer too sweet, doll. Can't get 'nough"

Your arms wrap around him, as Joel rolls his hips, seeking friction to relieve him of the uncomfortable strain against the denim.

"Ready to take me in, doll? I'll just warn ya' somethin'" his free hand unbuckles his belt and tugs down the jeans and boxers down, dick in display: hard, and leaking with precum. He drags his teeth against your ear, and his hot breath ghosts over you with coffee and ciggars. "See that? Think ya' can take it?"

The tuft of sweaty hair leading down to his length has you salivating, and your fingers wrap around him before you realize it. Joel winces at the touch.

"Like a champ" and you swear his erection throbs in your palm, head angry and needy.

What a gentleman.

He doesn't wait for more words, teasing your moist folds with his tip before he's inside, buried to the hilt, rough fingers steady bruising your hips as he thrusts you up against the wall. You look up at the flickering lampost, wondering how did you ever made it here and what the hell are you doing, his groans deep inside your ear as his head is buried in the crook of your neck, labored breaths against your ablazed skin. For a moment, he looses the spot and favors looking at you, to take in the sight infront of him: mouth slightly gaped open, eyes lidded, and fingers desperately digging into his back. You're fucked out of your mind, but so is he.

"Like what you see?" you mimick his words from earlier. He lets out a dry and labored chuckle.

"I do"

He snaps his hips, and you're not sure what is it that creaks, too many things happening outside (the cars, the whiff of gasoline, the nocturnal wind). Joel soon takes up an erratic pace. He's so deep in you, his balls slams into your pussy with each thrust he forces into you.

You should start writing more things on that notebook if they would become true and as good as this. Earn a ridiculous sum of money for free, for example.

Joel grunts, hands busy holding you against the wall, but he so badly wants to play with your bouncy tits, so you let out a yelp when his wet tongue rolls over the skin, mouth then sucking the skin until it's bruised, kissing lazily around your hardened nipples until teeth bite on them.

He's going insane; should go more often late night driving if he'd end up fucking pretty naive sweet-tasting girls behind alleys.

His cock fills you so perfectly it doesn't take long before your walls are spasming around his cock, and you're about to cum for a second time, before on his fingers now over his girth inside of you. Joel can sense it, so his filthy mouth goes for it:

"Go on, doll. Show me what yer made of"

You fall apart with a sharp cry, face buried into his shoulder with a bite to muffle it.

He groans as the pleasure rolls through you. "Milk me dry, c'mon. Take all of ma' seed like the slut ya're" Joel speaks while moving inside you, deeper and quicker, aching for release. Then he's pulsing, cumming with a harsh grunt. "Don't waste a drop, doll. I know you're considerate jus' like that"

His hands slide down to your waist, his long hair drenched, sticking to his forehead. There's the silence of the night and your breaths as you try to compose yourselves.

"That's a good girl" while softnening cock still inside you.

"See? Told you: took you like a champ" you pant, trying not to think of what lead you to now, just focused on the high. "I like to keep my promises"

Joel laughs, but its a soft sound; light. It caresses your chest like a wind chime.

He then pulls out, your folds a mess and his dick coated with your juices. "Shit, look at ya' hungry pussy, doll. Wore me the fuck out"

You help him pull up his pants, looking at the socks while you contain a laugh. Then you think again and the alley pulls you out of your post sex haze. Yeah, filling those two checkboxes in your To-do list will feel good as fuck, but:

Now what?

"Joel?"

"Hmh?"

He pulls up your dress to cover your tits when the wind brushes through the alley, with a weird softness to him, then fixes your panties, giving your clothed pussy a weak slap that sends a shiver through your body.

"Thanks for the treat. I'ont remember orderin' desert"

You laugh as you push him off your body, refusing to meet his eyes. This is the second man who has seen you naked, and while definitely not good at words, his wolf-like hunger in his brown eyes and needy mouth besides the hard dick have said more than enough. Besides, it's a little late to be embarrased but you're still trying to process this wild huge leap you took to celebrate the start of your new life.

"Drive safe" you mutter, starting to walk away, thinking how the hell you'll survive the two hours left in the orad with such a sticky pair of panties and sweaty body.

"Where you goin'?" his deep voice stops you before you've reached the end of the alley.

"Utah" you answer in a beat, heart beating dangerously fast.

The same sleazy smile from the first time you saw him adorns his handsome face, all teeth in display.

"Really, doll? Well, lucky you" he lights up a cigarrette, trail of smoke condensing in anticipation. "'Cause that's jus'bout where I'm headed"

[navybrat817]

Where Worlds Collide - Intro

Pairing: Silver Fox!Sugar Daddy!Alpha!Bucky Barnes x Omega!Female Reader

Summary: Your boss forces you to be eye candy for an alpha at a gala, but things take a turn for the better when you meet another alpha. Does it matter that you don't belong in his world?

Word Count: Over 9.2k

Warnings: Smut, v. fingering, possessive behavior, dirty talk, instant connection, A/B/O dynamics, talk of bonding, misogyny, unspecified age gap, insecurities, world building, choking (not our reader… yet), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?)

A/N: I'm pretty proud of the intro to this world, lovelies! @whisperlullaby, @targaryenvampireslayer, @tavners, here it is! Ant thanks to @queenoftheworldisdead as well. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @mumbles411, but any and all mistakes are my own. Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Soft music drifted from the ballroom as you stepped into the lavish venue. You’d never been to a gala before. Your family wasn’t wealthy enough to receive an invitation, nor did your last name carry any influence. The only reason you were there tonight was because of the alpha on your arm, all thanks to your boss’s insistence that you accompany him.

It was an evening of style, grace, and luxury, and you didn’t belong.

You held your breath as you walked deeper into the ballroom, the glittering chandeliers casting a refined glow over everything. A mix of alphas, betas, and omegas socialized and gossiped, their glamorous evening wear glittering under the lights. You had designed a few of the dresses and suits, but none of the people wearing them would recognize you. The alpha you worked for always took the credit. Complaining about it wouldn’t help. After all, you’d only sound like an ungrateful omega and hundreds of other omegas would beg to take your place.

You couldn’t wait for the day you quit.

Chet’s grip on your arm brought you back to the present. “Keep quiet and smile,” he ordered, a haughty expression on his face as he led you through the place. You didn't want to judge all men named Chet, but you had pegged him as a douchebag the second he went in for his fitting and he was proving you right. You couldn't even enjoy that he was objectively handsome since his personality made him less attractive.

“I am smiling,” you said. Wrinkling your nose at the overwhelming mix of scents and expensive colognes and perfumes, you did your best to make your smile look natural. The servers looked like they were doing the same as they served everyone. It was strange how a room so enormous could make someone feel so small.

“Then keep smiling,” Chet ordered through his grin. “What you do or don’t do is a reflection of me.”

“I know,” you muttered. Because it was all about him and you were just his omega arm candy. You really should’ve demanded overtime pay from your boss, but that conversation wouldn’t have ended well.

“As it stands, perhaps I made the right choice by bringing you,” he said, nodding to a few older gentlemen. “I can smell their envy.”

You did notice a few more men looking your way. A few women as well, not hiding that they were whispering about you. Trying to hide your vulnerability, you held yourself the way you thought a goddess would. You also held yourself with pride since the dress you wore was your own design. A sleeveless black dress with a middle slit, it was bold and alluring. The glitter throughout the fabric made you shine like stars in the night sky. The finishing touch was the matching collar, a tasteful way to protect you from any alpha who even thought about marking you.

Reaching up instinctively to run a hand over your collar, you felt your heart ache. Your inner omega wanted a mark, but the thought of being tied to someone was somewhat terrifying. You respected omegas who wanted to go the traditional route by staying home and being submissive, but you didn’t want to be submissive outside of the bedroom. You wanted a partner who would view you as an equal.

Your false confidence didn’t last long when Chet’s grip on you tightened, your body immediately going stiff. You’d have to take a long shower and dry clean your dress just to get rid of his scent. “Loosen up,” he ordered.

“Maybe I’d loosen up if you weren’t digging your fingers in,” you whispered.

“You’re my date. It’s my right to touch you,” he sneered. He had no right. It didn't matter if he was an alpha and he was rich. The urge to slap him across his face was so strong your palm itched. “So, get the stick out of your ass.”

A shiver rolled down your spine when you heard a low growl come from another alpha. Glancing around, you didn’t see anyone looking directly at you. It probably had nothing to do with you because why would anyone care if an alpha was bossing you around?

Chet’s hold on you loosened nonetheless. “And just so we’re clear, you have no intention of sleeping with me?” he asked as an omega in a revealing dress sauntered by. Your date didn’t bother to hide how he was undressing her with his eyes.

“That’s right,” you said. You made it clear to your boss that sex wasn’t an option, and he was oddly on your side. Maybe he thought Chet could sway you if he tried hard enough. If he even thought of using some sort of alpha command on you, nothing would stop you from lashing out and making him sorry.

“Then you’ll have no problem finding your own ride home should I choose to leave with someone else,” he said.

“So, I can’t make you look bad, but you can leave with another omega?” you asked.

“You got it. You’re smarter than you look.” He tapped your nose with a condescending grin. “And here I thought you were just a pretty face.”

The prick was pushing his luck. “Listen you-”

“Chet, my boy! Good to see you!” A man interrupted, uncaring that you were speaking.

“Shane,” Chet smiled. “Always a pleasure.”

The bulky alpha shamelessly looked you over, his scent almost making you choke on your next breath. “And who might this be?”

“Pretty, isn't she?” Chet cut in before you could answer, puffing his chest out. “Doesn't say much, but I’m not exactly interested in her conversational skills, am I?”

You bit your tongue when they chuckled. Be seen and not heard. It was insulting.

“Come join me, but leave the omega,” Shane said unapologetically, taking another look at your chest. What would happen if you threw a drink in his face? “As entertaining as she would be, we have business to discuss, and we don’t need the distraction.”

“Of course,” Chet smiled, turning you toward the bar as Shane walked away. “Since he doesn't want you around, why don't you take advantage of the free drinks until I get back?”

“I’m not-”

“And not that you’d have any extra cash to tip, but it’s taken care of,” he continues, your face hot at the assumption that you couldn't afford to tip the staff. “Just behave and try not to make a fool out of either of us, you got it? Wouldn’t want your boss to hear about it if you do.”

Biting back a retort, you freed yourself from his grip. There wasn’t enough liquor at this party to get you through the rest of this evening. “Don’t worry about me, alpha. Go have fun,” you said, your eyes burning as he walked away. A few heads turned your way when your scent soured. It wasn’t enough that you had to attend an event where you didn’t belong, but your date just had to rub salt in the open wound by reminding you of such. “Fucking asshole,” you muttered, making your way over to the bar to order a drink.

Plastering a smile back on your face when you got the bartender’s attention, you ordered a whiskey on the rocks. You wanted something that would go down smooth but leave a little burn. You also preferred opting to watch the bartender make a drink in front of you instead of grabbing a glass of already poured champagne. The drinks were likely fine, but better safe than sorry. And like hell would you accept a drink from your sorry excuse for a “date” if he offered you one. He was lucky you-

An intoxicating scent hit you out of nowhere, making you grip the bar as you inhaled. Plums, whiskey, sandalwood. The blended aromas had your mouth watering, and a whimper threatened to slip out. Your heart pounded against your ribs. Desire burned in your stomach. As quickly as the scent excited you, it seemed to wrap itself around you in a soothing embrace. How could a smell leave you hot and bothered and also feel like a hug?

No… It couldn’t be your mate.

You caught a small movement out of the corner of your eye, and you stopped breathing when you found a pair of blue eyes fixed on you that belonged to a devilishly handsome man. He leaned against the wall, his wool-blend black suit fitting his thick body like second skin. Streaks of gray lined his luscious brown hair and peppered his beard, too. He looked like the kind of alpha who would have omegas kneeling at his feet, and it frightened you how badly you wanted to get on your hands and knees and crawl toward him.

His. Mine.

Lifting his tumbler to his lips, he kept his eyes on you as he sipped the expensive liquor. You wanted to look away but couldn't as the air crackled between you. He had you under some sort of trance you couldn't snap yourself out of. As frightening as it was to have a scent hit you so strongly, a feeling like this hit you square in the chest, the thought of him staring at another omega that way nearly made you hiss because you didn't want anyone else on the receiving end of those blue eyes.

He smirked like he read your mind and pushed himself off the wall. You did whimper out loud when you realized just how large he was. Dominant, assertive, yet there was something almost playful in his smirk when he finally broke his gaze. You greedily inhaled with the hope of catching more of his scent when he strode toward the nearby balcony, smooth and fluid as a server quickly took the empty tumbler from his hand. The men at the gala were all posturing, but no one could match the confidence of that alpha.

So how were people not surrounding him, begging for a scrap of attention? Was he untouchable among those who deemed themselves untouchable? He certainly didn’t look like the kind of man who chased after anyone. No, people went to him.

He wanted you to follow him, right?

Downing your drink in one gulp, your feet moved before you could stop yourself. “I don’t need this alpha,” you whispered, the words bitter in your mouth as you followed his path. If you were smart, you’d walk the other way and not look back. Yet the thought of never seeing him again made your heart ache in a way you didn’t want to examine.

Does he know?

Studies over the years showed that not every bound pair was the same. Some couples felt the bond instantaneously like a firework exploding. Others felt it like a small burn that slowly consumed them over time. For a few, the spark took a long time to ignite. You couldn't ignore this burn if you tried.

You welcomed the slight chill in the air as you stepped onto the large balcony. It was lit up with sparkling lights, yet it didn’t take away from the stars that shone in the sky above. The alpha who caught your eye stood by the railing, alone, like he was looking over a kingdom. You felt foolish for going out there to bother him.

Steeling yourself with false confidence again, you walked over to stand beside him. You weren’t close enough to touch him, wanting to leave him a respectable amount of space. You could always use the excuse that you just needed some fresh air if he asked what you were doing.

Stealing a glance at him, you didn’t want to believe that you had a true connection with this man, that he could be your mate. No way would an omega like you be his match. Would he even want an omega like you? One with dreams to do more, be more?

“Beautiful,” he said, his voice thick like honey and the whiskey you drank. Of course, his voice would be a powerful weapon. But he wasn’t scenting you, or trying to tear your collar off, or doing anything to indicate that he felt the sort of spark you had. Maybe that was for the best.

“It is,” you sighed, looking out at the view. You couldn’t deny the beauty and how much easier it was to breathe since you weren’t surrounded by the suffocating bodies and scents. “It really is something.”

“I was talking about you.”

You whipped your head toward him so quickly you nearly hurt your neck. The flare of heat in his eyes hypnotized you again, but this time you didn’t want him to draw you in. A man of his stature, his power, he could chew you up, spit you out, and leave you a shell of yourself. But seeing him up close, his laugh lines, and the touch of softness in his gaze, you wanted to know all about him and the life he lived.

You were in so much trouble.

“Thank you,” you breathed.

“I don't think I’ve seen you at a gala before. I would've remembered you,” he stated. You weren't sure what to say to that. “I’m James, but you can call me Bucky if you’d like.”

You blinked a few times. “You’re James Barnes,” you whispered, not having to belong in the inner circle to know who he was.

James Buchanan Barnes. One of the wealthiest alphas in the city, his family came from money and it was no secret that Bucky, as he liked to go by, wasn’t bound to anyone. People assumed that he didn't want to share his wealth with anyone beyond his charitable donations, or that he was either extremely picky in choosing a mate. And here he was talking to you. This was the man you thought could be your mate.

You were in way over your head.

“I am,” he said, looking at you expectantly.

It took a moment, but your name tumbled from your lips as you shifted toward him. He inhaled when a breeze rolled in and you hoped your scent got to him the way his scent got to you. The way his eyes darkened, it had. Your inner omega wanted to purr with delight.

Time stood still when he took your hand and brought it to his lips. “It’s a pleasure,” he whispered, his lips brushing your knuckles. “I hope you don’t mind me being forward, but…”

“But what?”

You held your breath when he turned your hand and ran his nose along your wrist with a small growl. It was bold, intimate, possessive, and you got impossibly wet from the action. Had Chet or another alpha done that, it would've been a different story. “You smell divine,” he whispered against your skin.

You whined before your inner hackles went up, making him pull his mouth away immediately. He at least had some level of respect and sensed the shift in your stance. “How many omegas have you said that and done that to?” you asked when you had no right to feel jealous.

He didn’t look put off by your question, and he didn’t let go of your hand either. “I’ve come across a few delectable scents before, but I don’t think I’ve ever described anyone as divine,” he answered, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. An intense longing behind his eyes had your knees weak. “I haven’t smelled anyone like you.”

This alpha was telling the truth, but he wasn't a boy scout either. He knew how to fuck, you could tell, and he likely broke hearts without intending to. You didn’t want to be the next victim if a quick fuck was all he was looking for.

“I haven’t smelled anyone like you either,” you admitted, grudgingly pulling away. His heady scent made it hard to concentrate. And standing close to a man who wore a suit that cost more than half a year’s rent was another reminder that you were a girl playing dress up, nothing more. “I should go. I shouldn’t be here.”

Bucky stopped you from turning away, his grip on your arms tender so you wouldn’t feel threatened. “And why is that?”

“Because I don’t belong here, and I don’t expect you to understand that,” you replied.

It was bad enough to let your guard down by following him out there, and you couldn’t let him seduce you more than he already had. You were lucky the very presence of him didn't trigger your heat. And how would your story end? He was a rich alpha, and you were a struggling omega. Was happiness really in the cards?

Your eyes widened when you heard the rumble in his chest, his scent producing a soothing aura that wrapped around you. Your lip trembled slightly as the rumble faded. Bucky could’ve let you walk away, yet he was comforting you. It made you want to cry.

“I may understand better than you think,” he whispered. Did he? Did he feel alone in that crowd of people there? “But help me understand why you feel that way.”

You rapidly blinked to keep the tears at bay. What was there for him to understand? “Okay,” you whispered back. The fact that he wanted you to talk to him meant something. “For starters, that crowd is kind of… well, awful from the short time I observed and interacted with them. They think they’re better than everyone else because they have so much, but they have no right to look down on others.”

The people in the gala simply flaunted what they had without a second thought. Being there made you appreciate your friends and their genuine interactions more. They worked hard for everything they had. They wouldn’t have anything against people born with a silver spoon in their mouths if they showed a little humility.

Bucky's chuckle surprised you. “Money doesn’t equal class, and believe me when I say they aren’t worth taking up any space in your beautiful mind,” he said, giving you a small smile. “To be honest, I came out here to get away from them because, save a select few, they're fucking assholes.”

You found yourself smiling, too. No wonder he has been standing by himself. “Is that the only reason?” you asked curiously, reaching up to touch his perfect hair simply because you could.

He looked at you, a mixture of lust and something soft. Standing like this you felt like a couple. “I may have wanted you to follow me, and I’m glad you did,” he said, his tone calm and casual as butterflies filled your stomach. “You’re the first person I’ve considered approaching in a long time, but you looked a bit upset when you went to the bar. I didn’t think bothering you would win me any favors.”

You exhaled. Was he the alpha who growled when Chet gripped you too tightly? “I…” you shivered when another breeze rolled in.

He shrugged his jacket the moment he spotted you shivered. “May I?” he offered.

You hesitated. Bucky had a powerful scent, and how would it look to Chet if you wore another alpha’s jacket? Chet wasn’t your alpha, but he could run his mouth and get you in trouble with your boss. It didn’t matter that you wanted to quit one day. Today wasn’t that day because you financially weren’t ready. That was the excuse you made up in your head.

But your inner omega wanted Bucky’s scent to surround you and you replied in a small voice, “Yes, please.”

Bucky carefully placed the warm jacket around your shoulders. “I know the crowd bothered you for good reason, but who specifically upset you and how can I fix it?”

“My date,” you answered. You didn't have it in you to lie to him. It also wasn't up to him to fix it.

Bucky hummed, running his hands up and down your arms. It helped warm and relax you. “What’s his name?” he asked, his eyes landing on the collar around your neck. You wondered what he would do if your mating gland was exposed, and you had to push that thought away.

“His name is Chet and he’s discussing business with some alpha.” The change in his scent was subtle. He seemed too confident to be jealous, but he didn’t seem pleased either at the thought of you being with someone else. “They were extremely condescending, and I couldn’t exactly throw a drink in their faces or put them in their place since I’m just an omega.”

Bucky snarled quietly, his eyes blazing. “You’re not just an omega,” he said. He was upset on your behalf. Was he not like other older alphas who wanted omegas to be subservient? “Maybe I should have a chat with them.”

You purred before you could stop yourself. Bucky offering to stand up for you felt better than you wanted to admit. “You don't have to do that,” you said, running your fingers through his hair again. You wanted to soothe him the way he soothed you. “Besides, I’m not really on a date with Chet. He just wanted me to be eye candy for the night.”

Bucky almost snarled again, but raised an eyebrow instead. “And you agreed to that? I have the feeling you aren’t the arm candy type.”

You giggled. He was right about that. “Didn’t really have a choice thanks to my boss,” you told him.

“Your boss? What exactly do you do for work?” he asked carefully.

He asked a lot of questions, but you didn't mind since he seemed genuinely interested. Maybe he assumed you were an escort. “I'm a designer,” you answered, smiling to yourself. “At least, I want to be. I’m just an assistant at the moment.”

“Let me guess. Your boss is an alpha, makes you do the grunt work, and takes the credit?” he mused, humming when you solemnly nodded. “And he convinced you to come here tonight because Chet is a client?”

“Something like that. It was either that or I get fired,” you laughed bitterly. “And if he fired me I’d get blacklisted, then I’d have no job, no money at all, and I’d lose my tiny apartment and…”

His nose wrinkled when you trailed off. You were so embarrassed, and you couldn’t stop your scent from souring. Talking to one of the richest alphas ever about your problems wasn’t something you thought you’d experience tonight, but that soothing rumble and smell came out again to help you breathe easier.

“I’m sorry you have to deal with that,” he said with a touch of firmness so you knew he didn’t pity you. You could take a lot of things, but not pity.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” you said, smoothing out some of the fabric on your dress and not wanting to dwell on the topic. “I actually made this,” you told him. It was silly, but you specifically wanted to hear something nice from Bucky to make you feel better, which was bad. You shouldn’t want compliments from him or want him period.

He parted his jacket so he could look you over. Unlike Shane leering at you earlier, Bucky seemed to take in the details of your design with a careful eye. “You made this? It’s stunning,” he said with pride that rivaled yours. You lost your breath when he ran the back of his finger along your torso, heat spreading through your body like a wildfire. “Like you.”

Your mind raced, the heavy weight of his gaze pinning you in place. The longer you stood there, the more you wanted him. You had to snap out of it. “You’re dangerous,” you whispered, shaking your head as his hand fell away. “I should go inside.”

He stepped back, his eyes searching yours. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No,” you replied honestly. Some of his actions were forward, but he wasn’t pushy. He was the sort of predator who probably gently played with his food before he sank his teeth in, yet you weren’t completely afraid of the bite. “Though I’m wondering why you don’t have a date tonight. Keeping your options open?”

Maybe he really did want to live the bachelor life.

The corner of his lip tugged when you narrowed your eyes. “I come to these things to make a short appearance. That’s all,” he explained. Even the wealthy had obligations. “Unlike some alphas my age, I’m not interested in having a date for the sole purpose of eye candy. And because most of the people here are fucking assholes, I don’t usually find anyone to take home.”

“So, you aren’t interested in taking me home?” you tried to tease. If he said no, you could lick your wounds later since you’d likely never see him again. If he said yes, you… Well, you didn’t know what you’d do.

He reached out and placed his hands on your hips, pulling you close enough that you felt just how big he was. A shudder wracked your body, wanting nothing more than to have him inside you. “I’m very interested in taking you home,” he breathed.

You lifted your eyes to him, his desire matching yours. “I-”

A young giggling couple stumbled out to the balcony reeking of booze. They took a few steps forward and Bucky moved you out of the way before they could crash into you. The ferocious growl he let out made the laughter cease, but it had you purring like a bitch in heat. “Leave,” he ordered, keeping his arms tight around you. The underlying threat in that single word had the couple rushing back inside, but they had effectively ruined the moment.

“I think that alpha almost pissed his pants,” you teased to cut through the tension.

“He’s lucky he didn’t tumble over the railing,” he said, loosening his hold on you and taking in your expression. You felt naked under his stare. “You aren’t ready to leave with me just yet.”

“I’m still here with a ‘date’,” you reminded him to cover up any feelings or doubts in your mind.

Other than Bucky being wealthy, powerful, and smelling like a sinful kind of heaven, you didn’t fully know him. Something within you felt like you did, but going home with him for the night… What if you disappointed him? What if he decided he didn't want you?

He gave nothing away as he stared at you while you felt like your eyes told him everything. It wasn’t fair how in control he looked when you were close to spiraling. “Let’s go sit inside,” he suggested, finally cracking a smile when your face scrunched up. “No one will bother us, and I’d like to keep talking to you even if you don’t decide to leave with me.”

“I guess it wouldn't hurt to sit with you for a few minutes,” you said, especially if he would keep others away from you.

His hand on your hip felt like it belonged there as he guided you back inside. The scents and mindless chatter didn’t bother you as much now, likely because all you could really smell and concentrate on was Bucky. Did his kisses taste like plums or whiskey? Both?

He brought to a corner near the bar, far enough away from the mingling crowd that you still felt a bit of privacy. You kept his jacket around you though the room was considerably warmer than it was outside, not quite ready to give it back to him. “Drink?” he asked, angling his chair so that his knees were touching yours. There was no table in front of you. Anyone looking would see how close you were.

“No, thanks,” you said. You already downed a glass of whiskey and your head was spinning thanks to him.

You felt his gaze on you for a full minute before he spoke again. “Your ‘date’ isn’t the reason you’re hesitating to leave,” he said, scratching along his beard. You bet it would feel wonderful between your thighs. “Is it me? Am I too old for you?”

You had to laugh. “You’re a gorgeous silver fox, so that isn’t the problem,” you said. Beneath the suit you knew he was in great shape, too.

He smiled a gorgeous smile, appreciating the compliment. “So it isn't my age. Do you think I won’t treat you well?”

“I know you’ll treat me well,” you answered, avoiding his gaze. You knew that in your core. “But I’m afraid of what happens in the morning.”

He forced your gaze back to him with a large hand. “What are you afraid of?” he asked, his thumb brushing your cheek.

Everything.

“I’m afraid if I get a taste of you it won’t be enough for one night,” you said, your heart pounding as he stared into your eyes. Like he was staring deep into your soul. “And it isn’t fair that you have that kind of power over me.”

He looked almost impressed with your answer. “I appreciate your honesty,” he praised, his thumb sweeping over your lips this time. “And it won't be enough. Once I get a taste of you, I won’t let you go.”

It wasn’t a matter of if with him, but when. “You couldn't possibly want me for more than one night,” you said. He knew you were just a struggling designer’s assistant and didn’t run with this crowd. You lived in different worlds.

“I’m going to want you every night.” He tilted his head when you shifted in your seat. “You feel it, don't you?”

You feigned innocence when he held your gaze, your heart racing. God, he had felt it. Was it an explosion, a slow burn, or something else? “Feel what?”

Bucky smirked, not at all fooled. “That you’re my-”

“Don’t say it,” you begged. Speaking the word would make it real and it wasn't something he could take back. “Because if you don’t want that or me, we can just go our separate ways and ignore it.”

He hadn’t marked you, and you hadn’t claimed him either. You didn’t know what it would feel like to have his knot, so you couldn’t possibly miss it. And neither of you would have to depend on the other. You could walk away with as minimal damage as possible, and you’d find a way to remain whole. So would he.

The low growl Bucky emitted made the nearby guests move away, but you weren’t afraid. “Ignore it? I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone else. I would've fucked you right out there on the balcony if that couple hadn't interrupted us,” he said, your body hot and needy at the thought of him fucking you while you looked out at the view. “I’m lucky finally finding you didn’t send me into a rut.”

You thought the same about your heat. “Bucky-”

“Our scents call to each other. We call to each other,” he said, placing his hand on your chest. How did your heart feel fuller from his touch? “Tell me you didn't feel a connection when you caught my scent and looked at me.”

“I felt something,” you admitted.

“And it compelled you enough to follow me outside, to open up to me,” he said. You couldn't deny that. “You may say you don’t belong here, but something inside you says you belong with me.”

“And that doesn’t bother you? Scare you?” you asked. Having mates could be wonderful, but what if he wanted that pull with someone who wasn’t you?

“No, it doesn’t,” he said. There wasn't even a whiff of fear, likely because he had nothing to lose. “In fact, I think you should quit your job and move in with me.

You looked at him like he suddenly grew another head. “Quit my job and move in with you?”

“Yes. Your boss doesn't deserve to have you as an assistant, and you wouldn't have to pay rent if you stayed at my place.”

You didn’t attempt to laugh off his request since he was completely serious. “You realize that sounds insane, right?” you added. It wasn’t completely out of the ordinary though. Some couples who took their time building their bond still moved in right away.

“Insane would’ve been marking you the moment I saw you and dragging you home the way some alphas do,” he said.

You bristled. “It’s too soon for you to mark me,” you said, even as your mating bond throbbed.

“Don’t worry. I won't mark you tonight,” he assured you. Hurt crept up for a split second before he ran a finger along your collar. You visibly trembled and realized that he did want to mark you. He just wasn’t doing so tonight out of respect for you. “But you can still be mine in every other way until that day comes.”

You opened your mouth to argue. He hadn’t marked you, but you still felt owned. “You really think people want you with an omega outside of your tax bracket?”

“You think I give a fuck what they think?” His handsome face twisted in a scowl as he looked around. “And if they even think about insulting you, I’ll ruin them. It’s that simple.”

“It isn’t that simple,” you said.

“Why not? I know you're meant to be mine and you know it, too.” He touched your collar again, your mating bond throbbing almost to the point of pain. “You won’t need to worry about money or a roof over your head because I’ll give it to you. And a space to design your own clothes and make your dream come true.”

It sounded too good to be true, and nothing in this world was free. “I have my rent. If I break my lease-”

“I’ll pay what you owe.”

Your rent was probably pocket change to him. At least you didn’t have a roommate you’d have to worry about. It was always too risky to rely on someone else to help with bills and utilities. “And all that in exchange for what? Being your whore?”

He snarled, and you were delighted to hear that sound. “Trust me, doll, you may want me to fuck you like a whore, but I’ll treat you like a goddess. Like my equal,” he replied, his promise touching something deep inside you and drowning out most of your fear.

You just wished the remaining would fade away.

“I want us to be equals, but do you realize that you’d have all the power until I get my designs off the ground, right? I’d have to rely on your money, your roof over my head,” you said, swallowing the small lump in your throat. Did he realize what he was asking of you? To push aside the small amount of pride and independence you had? “I’ve done fine on my own and to have to depend on you is something else altogether.”

You hoped he at the very least realized how vulnerable you were right now by opening up more.

He looked vulnerable, too, as he moved closer. “I know it’s a lot to have to depend on me, but with me you wouldn't have to do this on your own. My finances don’t mean I have power. You’d have power, too,” he said. You wanted to believe you would. “In fact, I think you’re the only person in this entire city who could bring me to my knees. That’s power.”

You smiled a little. Could you really bring him to his knees? “As flattered as I am that you want to take care of me, do I have to decide tonight?” you asked. He was saying all the right things, and it was tempting, but there was so much to figure out beyond the living arrangements.

“We can discuss it more tomorrow if you’d like,” he said, looking around as you let out a breath. He had no doubt in his mind that you would spend the night. “Have you seen your date?”

You looked around, too, not at all worried when you spotted him. A complete contrast to how you felt at the beginning of the evening. “He’s…” You gestured to the bar where Chet was flirting with the loosely dressed omega from earlier and staring right down the front of her dress.

Bucky growled and swept his eyes over you, no doubt catching how you pressed your thighs together from the sound. A growl really shouldn't be that sexy. “Not a very faithful alpha, is he?”

“Well, he isn't my alpha, remember?” you pointed out. Someone like Chet would never be. “My boss only ‘suggested’ that I go with him tonight, and I made it clear I wasn't going to sleep with him.”

There was another hint of a growl before he smiled. “Wait right here. I’m just going to tell the young pup that you’re going home with me.”

You gripped his arm as he tried to stand. “Easy, old man. I didn't say I was going home with you,” you teased, knowing full well you were in fact leaving with him.

“Old man?” he smiled.

You shrugged. “You called me ‘doll’, which sounds like something an old man would say.”

“I think an old man is exactly what you need.” His eyes flashed with a deliciously dark promise that he was right and you’d enjoy every single inch of what he’d give you. “And you didn’t explicitly say you'd go with me, but we both know I’ve swayed you to go to my place.”

“You alphas are so cocky.” You refrained from rolling your eyes since he was right in this instance. “But maybe I should just stay here a bit longer and make you work for it since you want me so badly.”

He chuckled. “You’d rather stay here? Fine by me,” he said, leaning in close. “I’ll just slide my hand up your dress here and now and feel just how wet you are for me. I doubt anyone would notice if I made you come on my fingers. They’re too caught up in themselves.”

Your eyes closed when he touched your thigh. “You think I'm wet for you?”

“I know you are. I can smell it. Can practically taste it. You’ll let me taste you, won't you?” he purred, and you could only tremble as his hand moved higher, your legs parting to give him more access. “In fact, why don't I drag your ‘date’ over and let him watch while I lay you out and feast on your cunt? Show him what you'll never give him a taste of?”

You weren't sure if the pool of arousal was from the thought of Bucky eating you like a starved man, making that sad excuse for an alpha watch while he got you off, or both. You wondered what it would be like to taste yourself on his lips. “And why would you let him see what I look like when I come?”

He seemed to consider your question. “That’s a good point. He shouldn't see how you look when you come.” Bringing his hand to your face, your breath hitched when he caressed your cheek with such care. “But you’ll never have to hide that beautiful expression from me.”

“Hey!”

You pulled away from Bucky in time to see Chet storm over. “Shit,” you whispered when he furiously looked between you and Bucky. You were shocked smoke didn't come out of his ears.

“What the hell are you doing? I said enjoy the free booze, and do not embarrass me. You can't even follow a simple instruction,” he snapped. You refused to bare your neck when he showed his teeth. He wasn’t going to embarrass you either. “The only reason you can even step foot in this place is because of me. You fucking sl-”

Bucky was out of his seat before you could blink, his hand wrapped tight around Chet’s throat and cutting off the remainder of his insult. A few patrons gasped and stopped to watch as Chet clawed at Bucky's hand, but no one stepped in to help. The anger that poured off your alpha was enough to deter anyone from getting involved. And you were loving every second of it.

“She’s my mate,” Bucky said through his teeth, making Chet’s eyes bulge out of his head. “Biology may say you’re an alpha, but you’re nothing. And I’m tempted to crush your windpipe for insulting her.” He squeezed harder and smirked when Chet wheezed. “When her boss asks how the gala went, you’re going to sing her praises. If you don't, I’ll hunt you down and make sure you can never knot anyone ever again. And that’s just the start of what I'll do to you.”

It was almost humiliating how turned on you were by Bucky's dominant display. You thought you’d be an omega who wouldn’t want an alpha acting like, well, an alpha, yet his defense of you meant a lot. “Bucky.” You stood up and smiled when he looked at you, his anger shifting to something softer. “You can let him go.”

Chet fell to the ground and coughed once Bucky released him. Your alpha bared his teeth with a snarl and Chet showed his throat like an obedient dog. It was clear who the top alpha was.

“Apologize,” Bucky commanded. Not only did Chet cough out an apology while avoiding your gaze, a few others said “sorry” as well. That was how powerful this man was. And you wanted him more than anything.

“Thanks for the free booze, Chet. And don't worry about me getting a ride home. I think you should worry if that omega still wants you after your… performance,” you smiled, linking your arm with Bucky’s. “Have a great night.”

There was no need to fake your confidence as you and Bucky walked out together. It didn't matter at the moment what they thought of you. All you could think about was how Bucky defended you, and how he called you his mate. It was out in the open. He…

Oh, God.

“Thank you for defending me, but you do realize you just told everyone that I’m your mate, right?” you whispered. That gossip would spread before the night was over.

“Is that what I did?” he asked, smirking when you hissed and glared. “And you don’t need to thank me. He had it coming.”

The smirk was still on his handsome face as the valet brought his car around. What the hell were people going to say? He didn’t care what they thought and neither should you.

“Listen, Bucky, just because you…”

Bucky held your face in his hands, leaning in so close you felt his breath against your lips. His mouth barely grazed yours, carefully teasing you with the promise of what was to come. “Just because I what?” he rasped, and you swear you felt more slick stain your already ruined panties.

“You better get me off before we get to your place,” you said instead of finishing your original statement because you truthfully forgot all about it when his lips touched yours.

Your insides tinged with more heat and desire when he nipped your bottom lip. “You better say my name when I get you off.”

“Should I say Bucky or James?” you smirked.

“Bucky. Reserve the name James for when you’re upset or extremely serious,” he winked, thanking the valet before helping you into his vehicle. You had never been in a car this nice.

“And you won’t mark me tonight?” you asked once he got up, touching the back of your collar to make sure it was still secure.

“We still have a lot to figure out before I mark you,” he said, leaning over as you sighed in relief. “But before we go…”

His mouth landed on yours, both strong and soft as he took possession of yours. The entire gala could've gone up in flames and you wouldn't have noticed since all you felt was him. You tasted his hunger when his tongue plunged inside, and there was a hint of desperation, too. He was starving for you and you moaned, deepening the kiss to show that you were just as eager.

You panted when he broke the kiss. “Don’t make me regret trusting you,” you breathed, your eyes once again giving everything away.

His nose bumped yours affectionately as he dragged his lips to your forehead. You didn't expect such a fond gesture from him, and you had to bite your tongue so you wouldn't blurt out how nice a kiss to the forehead felt. “You won’t regret it,” he whispered, sealing the promise with a kiss against your skin.

Your heart felt full, and your inner omega wanted to shout with joy. “Take me home then.”

Bucky sped off a moment later, keeping his eyes on the road in front of him. Your core ached as you looked at him, giving you a chance to once again take in his profile. The saying of aging like fine wine probably rang true for him. You imagined he was always good looking, but he was both rough and refined thanks to his age. People who said perfection didn’t exist clearly never saw him before.

“You like what you see?” he asked.

“I do, but you know that,” you answered, his jaw clenching when you pulled your dress up to reveal your legs. “And didn’t you promise to get me off before we got to your place?”

The sexual tension that had been building up spiked, and you sensed his need to claim you in some capacity was rising to the surface. “Give me your panties,” he ordered, giving you a sharp look. “Now.”

“You’re bossy,” you smiled, pushing your dress higher. He swore under his breath when you gripped your underwear and slid it off, your slick practically dripping from the flimsy fabric. No one ever got you that wet before. “But I kind of like it.”

He chuckled, licking his lips. “You like it because it’s me,” he pointed out, snatching the underwear out of your hand once it was within reach. You watched with a whine as he brought it to his nose and deeply inhaled. “Fuck…” he growled, bringing the fabric to the tent growing in his pants next and rubbing all over it in a filthy display. Watching him ruin his pants with the scent and slick of your pussy had you soaking the seat beneath you. “Spread your legs and show me that pretty cunt.”

You trembled when he took his eyes off the road. Pulling your dress over your hips, you obediently spread your legs and let him get a good look at what would soon belong to him. “You like what you see?”

“Just wait until I tie you to my bed and get a real look before I fuck you. It’ll be a shame to wreck something so pretty, but you’ll thank me for it,” he replied, looking back at the road as he sped up. Oh, you’d thank him over and over. “Touch yourself, but don’t put your fingers inside.”

Bringing your hand between your legs, you gasped at how sensitive you were. It was like you were in heat, but fully aware of your surroundings. “Like this?” you asked, moving your fingers along your folds.

“Just like that,” he whispered, his gaze darting between you and the road. You hoped one day he’d fuck your throat while he drove. “Now give me your hand.”

You presented your glistening fingers to him, giving him the opportunity to grip your wrist and suck the wet digits into his mouth. You felt his mouth water from your taste, the groan of arousal in his throat making you shake. He didn’t stop until he licked your fingers clean. “You taste just as divine as you smell,” he said, releasing your hand and reaching over to cup your mound. “And I need more.”

“I need more, too,” you moaned, his palm rubbing your clit and building that ecstasy within you. He teased your dripping hole with another finger, but didn’t push inside yet. You arched your hips, trying to get him to breach you. “Please.”

“That’s a good girl saying please,” he praised, finally pushing a thick finger inside. You clenched around him so tight, your body wanting more. “Fuck, you’re tight. And wet. Made just for me. Imagine how good you’ll feel once you’re stretched around my cock.”

“Want your cock,” you moaned, opening your legs wider. “Want your big cock inside me.”

“Yeah, you do. You want my big, bare cock in your soaked cunt,” he said, pushing another finger in, your slick coating them. You didn’t let anyone fuck you bare before, but you’d let him. “You want my knot, too.”

You moaned, an image of you on your hands and knees flashing in your mind, Bucky’s strong hands pulling you back to meet every thrust until he locked your bodies in place. You could practically feel his teeth sinking into your neck to fully seal your fate. Or would he make love to you, linking your fingers together and kissing you with care as he tenderly pushed his knot in? It didn’t matter. He’d give you everything, and you wanted it all.

“Are you hard just thinking of fucking of me raw?” you moaned, the need to rip the top of your dress open to reveal your breasts strong. No… If your dress was going to get torn to shreds, he could do that himself. “Coming so deep inside me you’ll drip out of me days later?”

The next growl he let out was inhuman, his fingers curling until you cried out. “My good little omega has a dirty mouth on her,” he smirked.

“I do have a dirty mouth. You should fuck it sometime,” you smiled sweetly before your mouth fell open, his expert fingers fucking you deep. Talking dirty to him helped stamp down your emotions a bit, but they were threatening to surface the more he touched you. “Bucky.”

“That’s it. Say my name. Tell me who you belong to,” he demanded. Your back arched, gripping the leather seat until your hand ached. Your body certainly knew who owned you. “Tell me who’s going to take care of you.”

You bit your lip to hold back your whimper, your heart pounding out of control. No one took care of you. No one wanted to until tonight, and you hadn’t wanted that either.

He stopped moving his fingers, keeping perfectly still as you hissed in frustration. Was he really going to build you up and not let you finish? “Tell me,” he demanded again, gentler this time.

Your eyes burned, but you swallowed your pride. Again. “You, Bucky,” you whispered, trusting that he’d be an alpha of his word. “You'll take care of me.”

He cooed when you whimpered, slipping a third finger in and moving them again. “That’s my girl. My good omega. I know that wasn’t easy for you to say,” he praised, so proud of you. Part of you was proud of yourself, too. “Do you need to come?”

“Yes!” you cried out, desperately trying to ride his fingers as the pressure grew. You were so close. Just a little more…

“Then do it. Get that slick all over my hand and seat,” he said, pushing against your bundle of nerves once more as your body locked up. “And say. My. Name.”

Waves of pleasure rolled through you, colors blurring your vision as you cried his name. Your eyes rolled back as the squelching sound of your cunt filled the car, his fingers helping you ride it out. You were drowning, unable to breathe until you broke through the haze. You felt ruined already by his fingers. Oh, his cock was going to destroy you.

“Fuck, that’s it. Give it to me. That’s my good girl. Can’t wait to feel that all over my cock.”

He only removed his fingers when you whined and licked your essence away with a low moan. The beautiful bastard still looked so put together, and hadn’t swerved once while he drove. “Holy shit,” you exhaled, your walls still fluttering. The orgasm took the edge off while leaving you wanting more. “Did I… soak your hand?”

“You did,” he confirmed, your face hot. “Fuck, I’m going to need an entire weekend to eat your sweet cunt just to start,” he said, flashing you a smile. “And you make very pretty sounds when you come.”

You managed a smile as you slumped in the seat, your dress still bunched around your waist. “What do you sound like when you come?” you asked breathlessly.

“You’ll find out,” he promised.

You trembled again when he put his hand back on your thigh, your hand immediately covering his. You needed his touch to ground you, but didn’t want to say so. “I just realized something,” you said once you fully caught your breath.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“If you’re my mate but you haven’t marked me yet, and you plan to pay for… well, everything for me for the time being,” you said, a laugh bubbling up when you saw that your window was fogged up. You drew a little smiley face, making you laugh more before you glanced at him. “You’re kind of like my sugar daddy.”

The look on his face before he laughed made him look younger, the sound affectionate and happy. How many managed to make him laugh like that? “Does that mean you’re going to call me ‘Daddy’?”

“Don’t push it, old man,” you giggled. Though if anyone could sway you, it would be him. “Why don’t we just stick with ‘alpha’ for now?”

“That and Bucky,” he suggested, turning his hand so your palm rested against his. “I like hearing you say my name, doll,” he added in a whisper.

“I like saying your name, Bucky,” you said, your brows furrowing. “But who came up with that nickname?”

He chuckled again, your skin tingling when he lifted your hand to kiss it. “You don’t want to hear about that.”

“Yes, I do,” you said.

He stole a glance at you. Through the heavy scent of your orgasm, you detected joy seeping from him. It made you feel happy, too. “Okay,” he smiled, running his thumb along your hand. “I got the nickname a long time ago…”

You twisted more in your seat to face him as you listened, lost in his voice and smile. There was so much you had to learn about your alpha. His likes and dislikes. What he would be like before, during, and after his ruts. He had a lot to learn about you, too. You wouldn’t give up on your dream of becoming a designer, and accepting his help may not be such a bad thing.

And maybe accepting the fact that you had a mate to depend on wouldn’t be such a bad thing either.

So, what do we think so far? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[j2archives]

pretty baby

summary he’s infatuated with you, how could he not?

content warnings lovesick!sammy, brief mention of dean, sugarbaby!reader (kinda), mentions of hunting/training reader and sam’s protectiveness, feminine qualities and traits used so fem!reader, whipped!sam, implied/mentioned intimacy, sweet talk, praise, pet names (pretty girl, sweetheart, baby, angel), mentions of sam thinking reader is out of his league, fashion and style for reader used, p!v w/ creampie, unprotected sex, brief marking kink, gentlemanly sam (of course), and more!

notes based on a mood board I reblogged, reader has honey daniels style, dean headcanons are being planned i swear!! there’s 500 wc too. proofread. lemme know if you guys want more of these in the comments if you want <3 reqs are open.

sam winchester is infatuated with you to say the least.

naturally in that winchester brain of his, he’s surprised you gained an interest in him. some guy who doesn’t spend his time at the local bars, who is always on the road with his elder brother, who is so soft spoken he sometimes feels bad for thinking inappropriately. but, you didn’t seem to mind that. he was still puzzled by it. you were so beautiful and way out of his league.

and now he had the pleasure of calling you his. his girl, his pretty baby, his everything.

whenever he’s out on a hunt, he always stops at the local market when he can to buy a bouquet. bringing you home a bundle of your favorite flowers, candies — whatever satisfies you. sam does his best to do it every time he’s away. you’d stay at home. sometimes researching lore for their new hunt, but mainly because sam wanted you out of harms way. he knew that the supernatural was everywhere, and he was honest with you about it. Teaching you how to load a shotgun filled with salt shells, how to salt the windows and doors, he even stashed an exorcism book in the apartment. on his free time, sam would help you with pronunciation and the meanings of each syllable.

dean would take solo hunts, letting sam stay at home with you.

sam knew how much you loved shopping and he also knew how much your style fit you. if you wanted a new belt, he’d take you. if you wanted a new pair of shoes, he’d drain his wallet for you. whatever you wanted, he had no issue in getting it for you.

your hair products sometimes could be a bit pricey, but that doesn’t mean sam can’t use his credit card scams to buy each and every one. god, he could go on about you for ages. every feature of you was perfect. stunning. gorgeous. he couldn’t get enough of you.

he was a gentleman by all means, in the bedroom and outside of it.

he’d start slow, savoring the feeling of your painted lips against his. he could taste the lipgloss you wore, almost the same one each time. when you switched it up, he’d compliment you on it. saying you tasted divine every time.

sam loved seeing your marks on him, the red streaks that you left when he had you splayed out on the bed. his cock reached places inside of you that you hadn’t known existed and he’d change angles, pounding into your sopping cunt just the way he knew you liked it.

he hated having to be quiet with you, fuck, sam would drown in your moans every chance he’d get. your song would replay in his head and he never wanted it to stop. but he also loved the feeling of your lips wrapped around his cock or his thumb, another way he could muffle you without slapping a palm over your mouth. he was sure he leaked steadily every time you pulled him out of his boxers. how could he not though?

the sight of loose strands sticking to your forehead after two or three rounds drove sam crazy, especially when you were mumbling incoherently when he was fucking you so thoroughly.

“such a pretty girl, laying beneath me like this. taking every inch of my dick. god, you’re gorgeous.” his praise echoed and sometimes he cut himself off with a moan, feeling your heat pulse around his throbbing length. “you feel fuckin’ amazing, sweetheart.” he couldn’t stop the words from tumbling if he tried, but he didn’t want to. he wanted you to know how ethereal he thought you were, how intoxicating every moment he spent with you was.

he always had an idea of when you were close, sam would coax it out of you. purposely pulling out until just the tip remained before slamming back into you. keeping the same pace to earn those breathless sighs from you. “c’mon, baby… cum on my dick, i know you can, angel. you always take it so good, right? i know you can give me another.” sam would pull as many orgasms as he could from you, working you over the edge and then himself. his head jerking back with a guttural moan as he filled you to the brim.

afterwards, he’d run you a bath or shower when he could. peppering your face in sweet kisses, cooing and telling you how precious you were. how good you always were for him. telling you how much he loved you.

tagged @h8aaz @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth @immodestly-marina + comment to be added <3

[undefinedadult]

I will also say! We like the deep dives here. Feel free to find a blog you like and scroll back and reblog thing from the last five years. It's not weird, noone is cringing.

It's more like a shoutout when you do it. We get a whole notification tab of just (user liked photo, user reblogged post, user reblogged text post) and we go - "oh! Same interests?! Better go check out their blog and follow if I like it"

Hi Tumblr Newbies,

The inevitable new influx of people means a roundup of folks talking about "we don't have an algorithm here," "you NEED to reblog things," etc. and I would just like to offer some actually helpful advice.

One of tumblr's best assets is that it offers you multiple algorithmic feeds, including not having one at all. If you are on mobile, you will notice a "following" tab, followed by a "for you" tab, which is algorithmically generated. "Following" only includes posts from people you follow, in reverse chronological order. That's it. The vast majority of tumblr users prefer it this way, as we predate algorithms.

If you are new and looking to expand what you're finding quickly, you can browse under the algorithmic feed and tweak it once you've followed a few blogs and liked a few things - under "settings," you can choose to have posts related to your likes, or the likes of people you follow.

However - again, most users on this website do not use the algorithm. It's for that reason that reblogging posts is of such importance here. Liking a post is an appreciated sign of goodwill, but for the majority of users, it will not boost the post. Many of use use likes just as a save folder.

So if you genuinely like something you see on here, I encourage you to reblog it, because that is the only way the post will continue to spread around. Almost everyone started their blog with a theme they were loathe to ruin with an unrelated reblog, but by now most of us are just streams of consciousness showing each other things we find funny or interesting, and if you view your blog the same way you will have a much more enjoyable experience.

[ivyyisbored22]

𝐒𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲—𝘉𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘹 (𝘧𝘦𝘮) 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

A Stray Kids one shot

Synopsis: You tend to remember the smallest things and dates which are of you and Chan, so you decided to surprise him with a homemade dinner on the date of when you both met for the first time. Except for, you didn't expect Chan to forget it, let alone react the way he did.

Warnings: Couple arguments. Use of strong language, a bit of angst & tears, Smut🔞, unprotected (make-up) sex, intimate, oral (f.receiving), pet names, brief mention of a tummy bulge (so size kink if you squint I guess?). Use of Y/N (but only twice).

Minors do not interact!!!

Note: I think I'm going through a phase rn, somehow I am ADDICTED to writing angst and tears— LMFAOOO @mrs-hwangh what have you done to me???

If this isn't your thing, you're more than welcome to skip it. Reblogs, likes, comments and feedbacks are always appreciated.

ɪ'ᴠᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴏꜰ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ɪᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪʟʟɪᴏɴ ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ ʙᴜᴛ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴘᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪꜱᴛᴀᴋᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴡʜᴇʀᴇ, ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ.

Word count: 5.6k

𝑬𝑵𝑱𝑶𝒀!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Your soft hums of your favourite song echoed quietly in the living room, smiling to yourself as you fiddled with a silver bow, wrapping a small box that contained a gift you bought for your boyfriend a few days ago.

Today was the day when you both met for the first time four years ago, in the same college, at the same coffee shop where he accidentally bumped into you and spilled his drink all over your notes and you never would have imagined that moment would lead to this.

To love. To Chan.

Your heart swelled at the memory, a fond chuckle escaping your lips. You had planned a simple evening, nothing too extravagant, just the two of you, sharing memories over a homemade dinner and the gift you picked out so lovingly. You knew how busy he was, but today mattered to you. It was the day everything began.

Once you had everything set, you waited for Chan to return home from work, your leg tapping on the floor and fingers playing with the hem of your dress.

Minutes passed to hours and you hadn't received any calls or texts from him, but you waited patiently. Maybe he was caught up at work. Maybe he forgot to check his phone. Still, you gave him the benefit of the doubt.

The sound of the door unlocking cut through your thoughts, and you quickly stood up, smoothing down your dress. Relief and excitement flickered in your chest as Chan walked in, rubbing the back of his neck, looking utterly exhausted.

His bag slumped onto the floor as he kicked off his shoes, barely glancing up at you. Your heart sank ever so slightly but you tried not to let that disappointment settle in.

“Hey,” you greeted softly, stepping forward. “Long day?”

He nodded, letting out a tired sigh. “Yeah. I’m drained.”

You swallowed, suddenly nervous. “I… I made dinner. And I got you something,” you said, gesturing to the neatly wrapped gift on the coffee table.

Chan barely spared it a glance, his brows furrowing slightly. “What’s the occasion?”

Your heart dropped, but you put on a soft smile. You couldn't get mad at him if he forgot it, even though you wished he didn't. That he didn't forget the date or not acknowledge the effort, the way you had been looking forward to this all day.

"You don’t remember?” Your voice came out quieter, trying to mask in a playful tone.

He sighed again, rubbing his forehead, looking as if he'd been asked questions in an interview. "Um no, why don't you tell me?"

The way his voice sounded made you feel like you got slashed with a blade, but you shoved that dramatic thought aside and walked closer to him, biting your lower lip in order to swallow the hard lump that had formed in your throat.

“It’s the day we met.” Your voice wavered slightly, the weight of unspoken emotions pressing down on you but you continued smiling softly. “Four years ago today.”

Chan exhaled, running a hand through his hair, frustration creeping into his features. “Babe, I’ve been swamped with work. I barely know what time it is.”

You blinked, his words stinging more than you expected. “I get that you’re busy, Chan. I really do. But this was important to me.”

He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Come on, don’t do this. It’s just a date. It’s not like an anniversary or anything.”

You took a small step back as if he had physically pushed you. You blinked up at him, trying not to let his words form the tears to gush up your eyes.

Your arms wrapped around yourself, hoping that would keep you steady. "I just thought this would mean something to you too."

His brows furrowed deeper, irritation creeping into his voice. "Of course it means something to me. But I don’t have the luxury of remembering every single date when I’m drowning in deadlines."

Your heart clenched, his words cutting deeper than you expected. "So, what, I'm just supposed to understand that I come second to everything else in your life? That it’s okay for you to forget something that mattered so much to me?"

Chan scoffed, shaking his head. "That’s not what I’m saying, and you know it. You’re making a big deal out of nothing. It’s just a date."

"Just a date?" Your voice cracked, a slight tone of anger and heartbreak mixing in your chest. "It’s the day we met, Chan. The day everything started. I planned this for us. I waited for you, and you didn’t even think to text me back? Or check your phone?"

"I was working! I don’t have time to be glued to my phone every second!" His voice was sharper now, making you flinch hard, his frustration spilling over. "I come home exhausted, hoping to relax, and now I have to deal with this?!"

The venom in his voice made you shiver and you hugged yourself tighter. "Chan, please don't shout..."

"No, I mean you always do this. I get it, that you remember small things, but I just want an evening of peace after a long day at work."

Chan had rarely raised his voice, your throat tightened at his words, a dull ache forming in your chest. You took a shaky breath, forcing yourself to stay calm even though his tone made you feel like you were drowning.

“I’m not asking you to drop everything for me, Chan,” you said softly, voice trembling. “I just thought—” You swallowed hard, fingers gripping the fabric of your dress. “I thought maybe today would matter to you too.”

His jaw clenched, and he ran a frustrated hand through his curls, exhaling sharply. “Sure you did,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “You always do this, Y/N. You put so much weight on things that I—”

He stopped himself, hesitating, but you already knew where he was going with this.

“That you what?” You challenged, your voice barely above a whisper. “That you don’t care?”

Chan looked at you then, eyes dark with exhaustion and irritation. “That I don’t have the mental space to deal with every single date, every little detail, every expectation you set for me without telling me.”

His words cut deeper and deeper, the sting of them making your eyes well up. You blinked rapidly, refusing to let the tears fall.

“I never asked you to be perfect, Chan,” you whispered, voice thick with emotion. “I never expected you to remember every little thing. But this?” 

You gestured weakly toward the dinner table, the untouched meal, the small, neatly wrapped gift that now felt like a stupid afterthought.

“It's the day we met for the first time, so it just meant as much to me as our anniversary.”

Chan’s lips parted slightly, his brows furrowing, but he said nothing. That silence, that hesitation, hurt more than his words.

Your fingers wrinkled your dress, feeling a chill despite the warmth of the apartment. “You know, I wasn’t even mad that you forgot. I just wanted to spend time with you.”

Chan let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “You think that I don’t want to spend time with you? Do you know how exhausting it is to juggle everything, to be everywhere at once? And now, I come home and instead of just relaxing with you, I’m being guilt-tripped over a date I forgot?”

The sharp sting of his words left you breathless.

Guilt-tripping? That was what he thought this was? Your efforts, your love, your excitement, had all of it been reduced to you being an inconvenience to him?

Your lips parted, your throat constricting as a wave of emotions surged through you. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad, Chan,” you said, your voice wavering. “I just wanted you to remember. I wanted you to want this too.”

His expression flickered, something unreadable flashing across his face, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by a heavy sigh. “I’m tired, okay? I’m so damn tired. I don’t have time to remember every little thing—”

“Every little thing?” you cut him off, your voice suddenly louder, cracking under the weight of your emotions.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply. “I didn’t say it wasn’t important, I just—damn it, I forgot, okay? I’m human! I make mistakes!”

Your chest heaved as you stared at him, eyes stinging, heart breaking. “Forgetting is one thing,” you said, voice thick with unshed tears. “But the way you’re acting right now? Like I’m just another problem you have to deal with?”

You let out a shaky breath, your hands clenched at your sides. “That hurts more than you forgetting.”

Chan’s eyes widened slightly, the anger in his expression flickering for a brief moment. But the damage was done. The silence between you was heavy, suffocating, the walls closing in around you.

You shook your head, backing away from him. “I don’t want to do this right now.”

“Y/N…” he started, but you turned away from him.

“No. I get it. You’re tired. You need space. And I’m obviously asking for too much,” you said, your voice hollow. “So I’ll make it easy for you.”

With that, you turned on your heel, took your keys that were sitting on the coffee table and walked toward the door, grabbing your coat. Chan’s eyes darkened, his hand wrapped around your wrist. “Where are you going?”

You untangled yourself off his grip and slipped in your coat, brushing away the tear that slipped down your cheek with the back of your hand.

“Somewhere that doesn’t make me feel like I’m begging for your attention.”

His face fell, and for the first time that evening, you saw a flicker of realization in his eyes—as if he finally understood just how much he had hurt you.

“No, wait, please,” he said, reaching for you, but you pulled away before he could touch you.

You turned away and closed the door behind you, walking away as fast as you could to your car, driving back to your apartment.

Behind the door Chan grabbed fistfuls of his hair, grunting and growling under his breath as he fell on the plush couch.

His eyes caught the small, neatly wrapped gift that was sitting on the coffee table, he hesitated for a second but then opened it, his heart sank like a stone thrown in the ocean when he was what was nestling inside.

His favourite bracelet he lost when we went on a business trip a few months ago. It was the exact same design and brand.

His fingers trembled as he picked up the bracelet, the silver catching the dim glow of the living room light. His throat tightened painfully as he turned it over in his hands, his vision blurring slightly.

And you… you had remembered. You had gone out of your way to find it, to replace something that meant so much to him, because that’s just the kind of person you were.

Chan exhaled sharply, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes.

“Fuck,” he whispered, the weight of his words from earlier slamming into him like a truck.

What had he done?

***

The next morning you woke up, exhausted, your vision blurry, nose stuffed and what felt like a dull headache creeping up your forehead. You groaned softly and walked into the bathroom, to find your state in a mess.

Disheveled hair, puffy cheeks with stained mascara, swollen eyes and lips. You had barely stepped inside your apartment before the dam broke, tears spilling freely as you sunk in your bed.

You didn't know at what time you reached home or when you had fallen asleep.

You hated arguing with Chan. 

Sure you had a few disagreements once in a while but they were different. But this kind of argument; where it wasn’t just a misunderstanding, but something way deeper, made you question if you were the only one holding onto the pieces of your relationship while he let them slip through his fingers so easily.

You fixed yourself into the shower, letting the water wash away the fresh set of tears that began to run down your face. After a while you stepped out and changed into a comfortable pair of sweats and grabbed your phone, only to see a dozen calls and texts from Chan.

Your thumb hovered over the screen, heart pounding as you scrolled through the missed calls. Channie <3 (12).

The unread messages blurred together, but you caught glimpses of them as your breath hitched.

Channie <3 [1:12 AM]: Please, baby, pick up. Channie <3 [1:13 AM]: I know you’re mad. I know I fucked up. But please, don’t shut me out. Channie <3 [2:03 AM]: Are you home? Are you safe? Just… let me know you’re okay. That’s all I need right now.

Your fingers trembled as you scrolled further, his messages growing more frantic, more desperate.

Channie <3 [2:45 AM]: I can’t sleep knowing I hurt you like this.

Channie <3 [3:20 AM]: I love you. I love you so much. I don’t deserve you, but please tell me you’re okay.

Your chin wobbled as you closed your eyes and kept your phone face down on the nightstand, not knowing what to respond to him. You weren’t sure if you were ready to face him yet, if you could talk to him and not break all over again.

You walked out of your bedroom, to the kitchen to make yourself some coffee when the front door bell rang. You glanced at the clock hanging on your wall, wondering if you were expecting anyone in the morning, you sighed heavily and walked to the door, only to be greeted by someone that made you feel like you got pulled into the floor.

Outside stood Chan, his face masked with exhaustion and faint hints of dark circles under his eyes and messy hair as if he had been running his hand through it the entire night. He was holding a bag, what looked like it was from your favourite bakery and bouquet of flowers, his gaze locking in with yours, pleading you for a chance and forgiveness.

You attempted to close the door but Chan held it, interrupting you from shutting him out. “Sweetheart…” He started but before he could say anything, you left the door hanging and walked into the living room.

Chan hesitated at the doorway, gripping the bag and flowers tightly as he watched you walk away. He took a shaky breath and stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him.

The quiet of your apartment felt heavier than usual, like an invisible barrier had formed between the two of you. He placed the bag on the kitchen counter, setting the flowers beside it, before slowly following your retreating figure.

You kept your back to him, your arms crossed over your chest as you stood near the window, staring outside as if willing yourself to be anywhere but here.

“Baby…” Chan tried again, his voice softer this time. Apologetic.

You tensed but didn’t turn around.

He took a careful step forward. “Please, just—”

“Don’t,” you said, your voice a whisper, but it carried enough weight to stop him in his tracks.

Chan swallowed hard. He wanted to reach for you, to hold you, to tell you he was sorry in a way that would make up for last night. But the weight of the argument hung so heavily between you both, without sparing a glance at him, you went inside your bedroom.

The soft click of the door shutting behind you echoed louder than it should have, and Chan exhaled shakily, running a hand through his already disheveled hair.

He had messed up. Badly.

His gaze flickered to the neatly wrapped pastries and the bouquet he had brought. He had stopped by your favorite bakery the moment they opened, hoping—praying—that it would mean something, that it would show you he was trying to make up for the way he reacted.

But he knew better. A box of pastries and a bouquet of flowers couldn’t, wouldn't erase the way he had hurt you.

With a tired sigh, he sank onto the couch, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared at the floor. He didn’t know how much time had passed, only that the silence in the apartment was suffocating.

He glanced toward your closed bedroom door, debating if he should give you more time or if he should go to you now.

But his heart won over his hesitation.

Slowly, he pushed himself up and walked toward your door, his footsteps hesitant but determined. He paused just outside, lifting a hand to knock, but stopped himself at the last second.

Instead, he carefully turned the doorknob and stepped inside.

You were sitting on the bed, your back facing him, silent sobs filling the room. As much as you wanted to hate him for the way he behaved, you simply couldn’t. His presence alone was enough to pull you over, but the heaviness of your emotions made it hard to think. 

Chan’s heart ached at the sight and the sound of your sobs. You heard his footsteps, with a choked voice you said, “Chan, go away.”

He couldn’t go away like that. Not until he tells you how sorry he is and how much he regrets last night. 

“Honey…”

Your shoulders shook harder with each breath, Chan made his way towards you and sat next to you, hesitating for a fraction of a second before his arms wrapped around you and pulled you flush to his chest. You couldn’t react, just stayed frozen in his embrace.

“Baby, my love, I’m so sorry…” He exhaled deeply. “I hate myself for the way I was last night. I hate that I made you feel like you weren’t important to me because, God, baby, you are everything to me.”

“I messed up,” he admitted, his voice thick with regret. “I was stressed, and I let it make me forget what really matters. I forgot us. And that’s not okay.”

You swallowed thickly, your body still stiff in his hold, unsure if you should let yourself sink into his warmth or resist the comfort you so desperately craved. His arms tightened around you, his heartbeat pounding in a frantic rhythm under your ear.

“I should have come home and held you,” Chan murmured, his breath warm against your temple. “I should have kissed you and told you how much I love you instead of making you feel like you were asking for too much.”

Your lips parted in a shaky exhale, the weight of his words pressing against your fragile heart.

“You never ask for too much,” he whispered, his voice raw, filled with self-reproach. “You only ever ask for me,” his throat flexed, “and I failed you.”

A fresh wave of tears spilled from your eyes, but this time, you weren’t alone in your grief. Chan pressed a lingering kiss to your temple, as if he was trying to kiss away the pain he had caused.

He gently turned you in his embrace, urging you to face him, his hands cupping your cheeks as he tilted your face up to his. Your vision was blurry, so you closed your eyes, unsure if you could look at him.

His thumbs brushed away the tears clinging to your skin, his touch featherlight, reverent. “Please look at me, sweetheart.”

And then you did. And what you saw made your breath hitch.

Pure, unfiltered love—wrapped in sorrow, wrapped in desperation. His dark eyes were puffy from lack of sleep, rimmed with exhaustion and regret. His lips were slightly chapped, parted as if he had a thousand apologies to spill but didn’t know where to start. He looked just as broken as you felt.

His mouth brushed on your forehead, lips trembling as he whispered, “There is nothing in this world that matters more to me than you, baby.”

Your chin trembled. “Then why did I feel like I was alone in this?”

Chan inhaled sharply, his expression crumbling. “You’re not,” he said instantly, his voice urgent. “I swear, you’re not. I just—” He exhaled heavily, his fingers trembling as they traced over the curve of your jaw. 

“I shouldn’t have taken out my stress from work on you, when you only wanted to spend time with me on a day that I should have remembered too. I’m really sorry baby. I can’t lose you over this.”

Your gaze dropped to his lips, then back to his eyes, searching, wavering. His words poured out so thick with emotion, unfiltered and raw, it made your chest tighten so hard, it hurt.

“Tell me now,” his fingers brushed away the faint tear stains from your face, “Do you want me to go?”

Your breath and words were stuck in your throat. Part of you wanted to let your pain fester a little longer so he could understand just how much last night had hurt. But the way he was looking at you, so full of remorse, it broke through the wall you had tried to keep up.

Chan was here. And he was trying.

The sincerity of his voice and his presence thawed the ice that built around your heart overnight, you couldn't stay angry at him for another moment longer. Because you knew the love you had for him could overshadow any kind of pain.

Your fingers reached up, hesitant, before threading through his soft curls. He sucked in a breath at the touch, his eyes fluttering shut, his grip on you tightening.

Time was frozen, breaths were stolen and before you could stop yourself, your arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him flush against you. “Don't hurt me again…” You chokingly whispered.

“Never sweetheart. I won't ever do that again.” He let out a shaky breath against your neck, his hands running up your back, molding your body to his like he was terrified you’d disappear if he let go.

“Let me make it up to you,” he whispered, his voice so low and vulnerable that it sent a shiver down your spine.

His lips brushed over your cheek first, barely there, as if he was asking for permission. Then he kissed the corner of your mouth, lingering and waiting. “Please.”

And when you didn’t pull away, he finally pressed his lips to yours.

Soft and hesitant.

Not demanding, not rushed, just a quiet plea wrapped in tenderness.

His lips molded against yours like a silent confession, staying there as if he wanted to memorize the way you felt against him.

His hands moved up your sides, thumbs tracing absent patterns over your skin. He wasn’t taking, he was giving, pouring all of his love into every press of his himself, every stroke of his fingertips.

Your body melted into his instinctively, your hands tightening in his hair as you deepened the kiss, letting yourself drown in the warmth of him. 

He made a quiet sound against you, almost like a sigh of relief, as if he had been waiting for this, for you to accept him, to let him back in as he laid you on your back and toyed with the waistband of your pants.

He had barely touched you and you were already on liquid fire. Blood coursed through your veins when he pulled them down, the chilly air making you shiver at the contact of your heated skin. 

“Chan…”  Your voice came out in a breathy whisper, half moan and half command, when his lips danced over the soft skin of your thighs. 

“Hmm?” when he pressed there, you couldn't help but sigh completely. “What is it honey?” He coaxed, the huskiness of his voice that made it hard to think. Did you want him to stop? Or did you want him to go on?

“I…,” He smirked against you as he made his way up, a path that he knew like the back of his hand. He spread your legs apart, the glistening sight before him reawoke a rush of possessiveness in him. 

“I hate fighting with you.” Chan whispered against your flesh, voice raw and aching. 

Your fingers found his hair, tugging him closer as if that alone could answer him. His breath fanned over your core, and his thumbs rubbed soothing circles into your thighs.

“You’re my world,” he admitted, looking up at you, eyes dark but filled with something deeper than lust. “And I want to give you everything. I'm sorry for ruining last night baby.”

The words sent a warmth spiraling through you, melting away the remnants of your argument.

He brushed a kitten kiss right on your swollen clit, and your body responded instantly, arching toward his touch. He took his time, tracing delicate patterns with his tongue, exploring you with a reverence that left you breathless. 

His hands kept you steady, but the way he worshipped you made you feel as if you were floating. You couldn't help but squirm, soft moans spilled from your lips, and when you murmured his name.

This wasn’t about just sex. It was about him making up for every harsh word he said, erasing any distance that had carved its way between you both over the past 12 hours.

His mouth moved over you like he had all the time in the world, savoring every reaction, every soft gasp that spilled from your throat. His hands, rough and calloused, held you with the gentleness of a man afraid to break something precious.

“Cha—nhg,” You whimpers didn't slow him down. It only made him go faster and faster, tongue flicking and licking with an agonizing pressure. 

He groaned against you, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure coursing through your veins. You attempted to pull his head away from your pulsing core but he wouldn't budge. 

“I'm not done.” He looked up from your pussy, chin and lips swollen and glistening with your arousal. 

He dove back in with a renewed, hungry pace, his nose nudging against your clit, the warmth shooting up to every inch of your body. He couldn't get enough of how you tasted, how you moaned and screamed only for him. If he could, he would stay right were he was forever.

The band in your lower belly knotted tighter and tighter, had you writhing and bucking your hips, it was on the edge of snapping

And then you surrendered to him. Your orgasm left you gasping, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes and only his name escaping your lips, Chan held you firmly as he helped you ride it out. 

He didn't let you go for a second as he sucked and licked your pussy splurting with arousal like he was on the verge of starvation, until he left you boneless but content beneath him.

Slowly, he made his way up your body, removing your top and his mouth hovering your hips, across the plane of your stomach, up the valley between your breasts. Each of it was an apology, a whispered promise against your skin.

“Baby,”—smooch—“fuck you're so sweet when you,”—smooch—“come on my face.” He said between kisses and gentle nipping on your sensitive, peaking buds that rebuilt the anticipation.

Soon enough every piece of clothing was discarded until it was only the fiery sparkles of your sweat misted bodies flying between you both. He shifted, positioning himself between your legs.

The tip of his cock nudged your nub softly before entered you slowly, filling you inch by inch, watching your face for every reaction. You gasped, your hands clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. Chan let out a shuddering breath, his forehead pressed to yours.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, holding him close as he started to move. His pace was slow, deliberate, each thrust sending a fresh wave of pleasure crashing over you, but it was more than that. 

It was a silent conversation, an absolution, a way of reminding each other that no fight, no disagreement, could ever take this away from you.

You pulled him in deeper and deeper, his cock twitched hard inside of you, the rhythmic slapping of skin against skin, sweat and groans soaked the air. 

His eyes fell down to where you both joined, what he saw drove him out of his mind. A soft but visible movement in your tummy. 

“Shi— fuck.”

Your eyes fluttered open when he held your hand and brought it over your tummy where you felt the bulge that was moving in and out of you.

“Feel that?” He pounded into you that made you arch your back, digging your nails into his skin. “D’you feel that baby?” 

You nodded, out of breath, mouth falling open until the cries of pleasure consumed you whole, the feel of the bulge just spurring you on more. 

His hands roamed your body, mapping familiar paths, his lips never straying far from yours. He whispered sweet nothings against your skin, words of love and devotion, apologies and reassurances.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice hoarse but steady.

You smiled softly for the first time after the long hours, tilting your head to kiss him once more. “I love you too.”

And just like that, the fight was forgotten. Not because it didn’t matter, but because what you had together was always stronger.

“You're squeezing me baby,” his orgasm rushed fast and threatened to take over him, climbing up his spine and snapping his restraints. 

“Chan I'm… I'm going to come,” 

And your release finally crashed over you again, it wasn’t just pleasure—it was catharsis. 

A loud cry tore off your throat as you flooded around his cock, shaking and moaning, Chan followed seconds after slamming into you in one last thrust, burying himself deep with a breathless groan, his body caging over yours.

The post sex high lingered but he didn’t move or pull out. He stayed wrapped around you, pressing lazy kisses to your temple, your shoulder, anywhere he could reach. His fingers traced slow patterns on your skin, grounding you both in the quiet aftermath.

“Do you forgive me?” He asked softly, his fingers brushing away a few strands of hair. 

You smiled cheekily, fingers running through his damp sweat hair, “No,” you said lowly that made his eyes widen in disbelief.

His reaction made a laugh bubble up your throat, you pulled him down onto your mouth letting your tongue slip past his lips and had him melt all over again.

“Yes, I forgive you Chan.” You said pulling back, chest heaving and content. 

He chuckled deeply, hugging you tightly, the lingering amusement from your playful teasing was still evident in the crinkle of his nose. 

Then, with a slow, deliberate exhale, he shifted, reluctantly pulling away from your warmth.

You watched him as he retrieved a washcloth from the bathroom, wiped you clean before he reached for his pants, discarded somewhere on the floor, and retrieved something small from the pocket. 

When he turned back to you, he held a tiny velvet box in his hands.

Your heart skipped a beat.

Chan hesitated, his thumb brushing over the soft fabric of the box as if gathering the courage to speak. Then, with a slow inhale, he flicked it open.

Inside, nestled against the velvet lining, were two delicate rings, a simple silver band with a tiny, shimmering stone embedded at its center. It wasn’t flashy, nor extravagant, but it was beautiful in a way that felt so intimate and personal.

Your eyes flickered from the ring to his face, your heart hammering against your ribcage. “Chan…?”

He let out a quiet chuckle, but you could tell he was nervous. His free hand found yours, fingers lacing together as he held you close.

“I’ve been carrying this around for weeks, waiting for the right moment. And I—” He sighed laughing, shaking his head. “I guess last night was the moment but…”

Chan took a steadying breath, his fingers tracing the edge of the velvet box. “I know I can be a pain in the ass sometimes,” he admitted, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “I push too hard, tease too much. And when we fight, I say things I don’t mean.”

You shook your head, reaching out to cup his cheek. He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a brief second before continuing.

“It’s not… a proposal,” he clarified quickly, though his lips curled into that familiar teasing smirk. “Not yet, at least. But it’s a promise.” He squeezed your hand, eyes searching yours with a raw kind of vulnerability. 

“A promise that no matter how much we fight, no matter how many times I mess up… I’ll always choose you. I’ll always come back to you. If you’ll have me.”

Your throat felt tight, emotions swelling so intensely in your chest that you could barely breathe. “Oh Channie,”

His smirk faltered, concern flashing across his face. “Is it too much?” he asked hesitantly. “I know we just—”

You shook your head quickly, cutting him off. “No,” a shaky laugh escaped you . “It’s perfect.”

Relief flooded his features, and for the first time, you saw the nervous tension completely drain from his shoulders.

“Then… will you wear it?” he asked softly, lifting the ring from the box.

“Of course, I will.” You nodded, biting your bottom lip and holding out your hand, he slipped the cool metal onto your finger, the fit perfect, like it was meant to be there all along.

You took the other one from the box and slid it onto his finger with the same reverence, looking up at him through damp lashes.

“This is my promise to you,” you echoed, voice soft but sure. “That even when you’re a pain in the ass sometimes, I’ll still choose you. Every time.”

Chan let out a breathless chuckle, his head tilting slightly as he gazed at you like you hung the stars.

“God, I love you,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion.

You didn’t get the chance to respond before his mouth collided with yours again, slow, deep, and filled with a devotion that made your heart flutter in the best way possible.

And as you fell back on the mattress, tangled in each other yet again, the silver bands glinting under the soft glow of the morning light filtering through the window, you knew; there was no one else for you but him.

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xx,

Ivyy

[lubdubology]

Fools Rush In

SYNOPSIS: On a day meant for love, you’re sure feeling a shortage of it. Until Logan shows you, he’s not as unaffected by you as he lets on.

PAIRING: Worst Logan x fem!reader 

WC: 2.5k

WARNINGS: angst; swearing; mentions of alcohol consumption; mentions of self doubt; brief mentions of death/gore; dual POVs

A/N: If you saw this posted after Valentine’s Day, no you didn’t. Here’s my entry into the Loveuary Challenge that @yxtkiwiyxt and I hosted! Just some angsty fluff with a happy ending for our favorite Logan. I hope you enjoy this and any likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

In hindsight, you should have seen this coming. 

Who agrees to a lunch date on Valentine’s Day? 

But he had seemed nice and kind. You had spent the last few weeks talking through the dating app, discussing all those typical online dating things—jobs, pets, hobbies. Things seemed to click. You liked the same things. Seemed to have a vibe. 

Hell, he had been the one to suggest lunch this Friday. 

And here you were, dressed up and sitting alone, nursing your glass of wine desperately trying to ignore the stares from the other patrons. Thirty long minutes have dragged by, each one sinking you further and further into your seat and gnawing on your self-esteem. Embarrassment licks at your skin and you want nothing more than for the floor to open and swallow you whole. 

Anything but the pitying stares burning into your flesh. 

Downing the rest of your wine, you pull some cash from your wallet and toss it on the table before leaving the restaurant. You swear every eye in the place watches you leave, murmured gossip following you out the door. 

God, you hate dating.

There’s a chill in the air and the cold nips at your ankles as you walk down the sidewalk towards your apartment. But you relish the discomfort, the cold easing the burning shame staining your cheeks. 

Walking up to the building, you find Logan outside smoking a cigar. As if today couldn’t get worse. 

You hesitate for half a step and contemplate turning around, avoiding your apartment completely, but then Logan looks up, his sharp gaze already on you and you know there’s no escaping him now. 

Ever since Wade brought him home from the Void just over a year ago, you two have been dancing around each other. There was no denying he was a handsome man—you weren’t blind—but it was his mysterious gruffness that pulled you in. Logan seemed alone in much the same way you did—wandering through life just looking for someone to understand you, to listen without judgement, shoulder those heavy weights that threatened to sink you.

You knew he came with more baggage that most—disgraced superhero in his world and all that—but it never bothered you. If he was truly as bad as everyone in that universe thought, he wouldn’t be so hell bent on atonement. Regret basically oozed from his pores. 

And while he hasn’t fully opened up to you, you know he’s showed you a fair share of his dirty laundry. It started as quick run ins in the hallway, simple hellos and goodbyes. Then longer trudges up the stairs together, hands full of grocery bags, bitching about the weather and other inconveniences. Those simple interactions rapidly grew into an odd sort of friendship—Logan would spend time with you, watching bad reality TV and you would spend time with him, mostly making sure he didn’t kill Wade due to his antics during game nights. 

Except there was always an undercurrent of attraction that neither of you knew what to do with. You’d lean into him on the couch and he’d sling an arm around your shoulder or rest comforting hand on your thigh. Logan would gravitate towards you in group outings, tucking into your quiet acceptance of his discomfort before you’d sneak him out. You’d join him on the roof, sharing puffs of his cigar and eating food you’d smuggled in your jacket. 

That slow burn between you was warm but never burned. Until you tried to stoke the flames higher and it blew up in your face. As the countdown struck midnight on New Year’s Eve, you had leaned in and kissed him—something you had been imagining for months. 

What would it be like? Would his lips be soft or firm? Would he inhale sharply at the press of your mouth to his? What would he taste like? Would he grip your arms to pull you closer?

Instead, Logan’s entire body had stiffened, his eyes wide and instead of pulling you towards him, he pushed you away. And then, without explanation, he left, your cheeks burning in shame. 

So, seeing him today, on a day for love, was the last thing you wanted. 

You cross your arms, steeling yourself as Logan assesses you with his sharp gaze, his cigar burning between his fingers. The scent curls around him, familiar and grounding in a way you now hate. 

“You’re dolled up pretty,” he says, flicking the butt of his cigar to the ground and grinding it out beneath his boot.

You desperately try to ignore the flutters in your belly at his words. “Yeah, well, it was a wasted effort,” you mutter, hoping he drops it.

Logan frowns. “What happened?”

You sigh, debating whether to brush off his question, but something in the way he’s looking at you—steady, expectant, like the friend he used to be—makes the words slip out before you can stop yourself. “I got stood up.”

You don’t miss the way his posture stiffens and his jaw clenches and you can almost feel the indignation simmering just under the surface. But then he looks away, gaze dropping towards his feet before he says, “Guy’s a fucking moron.”

The way he says it—so matter of fact, like the idea of anyone standing you up is so unfathomably unimaginable—sends a rush of warmth through your chest. This is the Logan you miss—the one whose instant reaction is to stand by your side, be that shoulder to lean upon. But it’s not enough to cool the sting of humiliation or the frustration bubbling beneath your skin that has been threatening to boil over for over a month.

“What does that make you then?”

Logan’s eyebrow quirks at your sharp question and the brief whisp of softness between you slips away as your words fully hit him. His expression hardens, morphing into that guarded look that’s become all too familiar to you. “Wanna run that by me again?” he asks, his voice low, rougher now.

“You heard me,” you reply, lifting your chin just enough to meet his gaze, feigning a confidence you don’t entirely feel. “What does that make you? You’re the one who walked away when I kissed you. Didn’t even give me an explanation, just tucked tail and ran.”

The air between you thickens, charged and heavy, and for a moment the sounds of the city fade. All that exists is just you two, standing arm’s length out of reach, an awkward tension simmering just beneath the surface.

Logan takes an almost hesitant step forward, eyes narrowing as he attempts to read your face. “You think I walked away because I didn’t want to kiss you?” His voice is quieter, but barely controlled frustration is laced in his tone. “You really think I’m that much of an asshole?”

You scoff, crossing your arms tighter across your chest. “I don’t know what to think, Logan! You pushed me away and left me standing there like an idiot. And now you’re acting like you care when you’ve barely spoken to me since.”

Logan’s nostrils flare as he exhales sharply through his nose. His fists clench and unclench at his sides and you can see the muscle jump in his jaw. You’ve seen all this before—Logan at war with himself, all those emotions he won’t voice out loud screaming within the confines of his skull. Normally, you’d have the patience for this, allow him space and time to wrangle his emotions. 

But not today. 

“Don’t worry about it, Logan,” you say, voice tight with frustration. “Just shove it deep down where it can’t hurt you. You’re good at that.”

You don’t give him time to respond before turning on your heel and walking into the building, leaving him out in the cold. 

+++

The moment you walked away, the door slamming shut behind you, Logan could feel it. The sharp, gnawing realization that he fucked up.

Again.

Every inch of him screamed to just follow you, chase after you, explain the mess in his head that so often scrambled his intentions, to tell you that he does want you, that he always has. But his self-doubt and regret choked him, clawing at his throat and rendering him mute. 

Now, he’s just hoping he hasn’t lost you for good.

Nerves crawl up his spine and for a brief moment, he hesitates before knocking on your door. Thankfully, you answer, opening the door only enough to peer up at him, your expression drawn and tired. 

You’ve dressed down, your fancy date dress exchanged for comfortable lounge pants and a slightly too big shirt that hangs off your shoulder. Your face is scrubbed of makeup, your cheeks rosy all on their own. 

You’re lovely and Logan blinks at you, forgetting for just a moment what he was doing there. Feigning a cough, he shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks slightly on his feet. 

“Look, I—" he starts, then stops, exhaling hard through his nose. 

You remain silent, watching him with guarded eyes but giving him the time to find the right words. You understand him in a way he doesn’t deserve, accepting of flaws that run deep and make him difficult to love. 

Logan shifts again, pulling one hand from his pocket to rub at the back of his neck. “Can I—will you—fuck.”

The briefest flicker of a smile dances across your lips and it’s then that he knows you’re not totally lost to him. 

“I’ve somethin’ to show you,” he finally manages, nodding back towards his apartment. 

You raise one eyebrow and cross your arms across your chest. “Something to show me?” you repeat, tone skeptical. 

Logan nods, his heart beating just a tick faster as you open the door wider, taking half a step out of your apartment. With a slight hesitance, you follow him and a surge of relief washes over him. Opening the door to his apartment, Logan doesn’t miss the way you stop short as you shuffle in behind him. 

The lights are dimmed and he’s lit every candle he could find, plus a few cheap tea lights he found at the corner store. A soft glow flickers off the walls, casting long shadows across the room. The small kitchen table is covered and set with two place settings, a vibrant spray of red tulips in the middle. 

You’re silent as you take in the space, eyes darting from the candles to the table and back to Logan’s face. He shifts on his feet, suddenly uneasy at the quiet way you’re taking everything in. 

“I, uh—“ Logan clears his throat. “‘m not very good at all this. But I figure with it being Valentine’s Day and all…” He trails off and vaguely gestures towards the room.

You turn to look at him, really look at him, and something in his chest tightens. He’s fought in wars, stared down death more times than he can count, yet standing here waiting for your response makes him more anxious than he’s been in some time. 

“You did all this?” you ask, your voice soft as you walk around the table, rubbing a tulip petal between your fingers. 

“Yeah,” he mutters, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I know it ain’t much, but—“

“It’s everything.”

Your voice remains soft, but words hit him like a punch to the gut. Logan’s eyes snap to yours, searching, hoping that you aren’t just talking about the candles or the flowers. That you mean the effort, the thought, the way he’s desperately trying despite all the walls he still has built around himself. 

You take a slow step towards him, the candlelight dancing in your eyes. “Logan,” you whisper, and it’s not disappointment or hesitation he hears in your voice. It’s something soft, something lovely, something that makes his pulse hammer loudly in his ears.

Logan swallows hard. “I know I messed up. And I don’t always say the right thing. Do the right thing.” He exhales, voice rough around the edges. “But I didn’t want you thinkin’ I don’t care about you. ‘Cause I do.”

Your eyes glisten, and for a moment, he thinks you might cry. Instead, you let out a small breath of laughter, shaking your head. “Oh, Logan,” you sigh, stepping close enough to feel your warmth. “You idiot.”

His brow furrows and his lips part to retort, but then your fingers curl into the hem of his shirt, tugging him forward, closer. You lean up, eyes focused on his mouth and his breath hitches in his throat. 

“I’m not a good man,” he murmurs as your lips over just over his, your breath warm and damp. 

Your eyes flick up to his, your grip tightening against his shirt. “You are.”

“I’ve hurt people.”

Logan knows he’s stalling, that he should just close the gap between you and kiss you like he’s been wanting to for months. But he needs you to know he’s not worth this, not worth your grace and acceptance and your determination to love him. Needs to give you that one final opportunity to see what he truly is. 

You pull back just enough to meet his gaze, your eyes soft. “Do you regret it?” you ask, no judgement to your tone. 

He’s still haunted by the memories of his previous world. The blood, the carnage, the piled bodies of his friends—his family—all because he was too selfish, too stubborn to see what was right in front of him. Their screams echo in his mind, the one lingering reminder of all the ways he’s failed. 

You seem to read him, your hand coming up to rest against his cheek and he sighs. “Every damn day,” he finally answers, his voice thick. 

Your thumb brushes against his cheek, gentle and tender in a way that almost destroys him. “Then you’re not the monster you think you are, Logan.”

That’s it. That’s his breaking point. 

Logan closes the distance between you, finally, finally, pressing his lips to yours. It’s not gentle or soft—he’s waited too long for that. Instead, he kisses you like he’s starving, like he’s never tasted anything as sweet or as lovely as your mouth against his. 

You make a soft, desperate sound against his mouth and it nearly undoes him. Logan grips your waist, pulling you flush against him, his hands rough but reverent as he slips them underneath your shirt. You respond in kind, tangling your fingers into his hair, holding him there like you never went to let go. 

He’s not new to kissing, to loving someone. But it’s never felt like this, like the beginning of something instead of the end. 

You pull back, breathless, and start laughing, a soft giggle that warms him. 

“What?” he asks, a laugh of his own threatening to break through. 

“Nothing, just,” you beam up at him, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Logan.”

He smiles back. “Happy Valentine’s Day.” 

[soldiersgirl]

i’m new to jensen and all his fandoms

but idc ❤️

GIVE ME a one-shot where solider boy is a stalker and one fine day, he takes you, knowing very little about how you wanted him too <3

HERES THE INSPO u revolved my reblog LMAO

YES MA'AM 🫡 and also welcome to the jackles lovers club <3 (i hope this was to ur liking).

summary — he wanted you. you needed him.

cw — reader x soldier boy. stalking mentions, yearning!soldier boy, hints at unhealthy relationship, fluff (kinda).

word count — 757 words

soldier boy watched you for weeks and it feels like he finally knows every little thing about you. the way you like your coffee sweet, the way you constantly push away your bangs whilst readjusting your bag, the way you constantly nibble on your bottom lip, the way your headphones are always blasting your current obsession and how you're always singing along without realising.

thank god for those headphones. they kept you so preoccupied, so cooped up in your little dream world that you never noticed him; looming over you, wishing to know all your little thoughts, desires, wants and wishes.

was he your favourite supe? did you dream of him, like he did you? would you love him, like he unequivocally did you? would you accept him or push him away like the others had done? maybe you would be the one to finally see him for who he really is. a fool plagued by you and desperate for your attention.

for years, centuries, women had chased him, but now everything was turned on its head and what for? all for you. ben never thought a non-supe could catch his eyes quite like you did. he noticed you always sitting across the flatiron building (a.k.a the boys hq) in the cute café that was nestled amongst the urban towers. every morning, you sat in the same place, ordered the same coffee and pastry and typed away for what felt like hours.

he'd watch you from the boys office, from the roof when he went to smoke his daily joint and out front when he'd wish the boys goodnight before walking the same, tiring route home. he hadn't meant to stalk you. never. but somehow, he found himself walking your route home, just a few steps behind you with his hood up and wired headphones playing his favourites, as his trained eyes never left you as he remained unseen until he finally couldn't deny himself any longer.

leaving the café at 5:00 pm on the dot like usual, you threw your thick scarf over your shoulder, pulled on your trustworthy headphones and pressed play. the new york winter was harsh and as the wind howled and whipped around you, you sought refuge in a desolate alleyway to escape the worst of the brewing storm. ben couldn't believe his luck. finally, he could have you all to himself.

but this was planned. you knew ben had been watching you. you had noticed. and you definitely didn't mind.

"are you finally going to talk to me?" you pull off your headphones and turn to the supe, frozen and in reaching distance of you. despite the strength of the winds, you can hear your quickened heartbeat and his low panting.

"so, you've noticed." he pulls off his hood and stands tall in front of you, allowing you the chance to finally admire him. your eyes dance over his hardened features, his soft crows-eyes framing his eyes and his infamous smirk already planted across his lush lips. "what are you gonna do abou' it, sweetheart? hm?" he hums and takes a small step forward, testing the waters.

"i've... been waiting for you." you mirror him and step forward. what he didn't know was that all those hours you spent in the café was only to get a glimpse of him. you had daydreamed about him for years and somehow, by what you believe was destiny, soldier boy had been found alive and you weren't going to deny destiny.

you reach your hand out and let your fingertips graze against his and before you can blink, he pushes you up against the nearest wall, trapping you between his toned arms. your bag and headphones fall from your grasp and land with a thump onto the damp alley-way floor. he shamelessly scans your face for any hint of fear, but finds none. you gaze upon him like a wounded animal would their captor, filled with unspoken trust and hope.

"i've been waiting for this." you sigh.

"didn't your mother tell you not to trust strangers?" he scoffs in return as he delicately twirls your hair around his fingers.

"strangers? i've known you my whole life, ben. i was made for you." your light voice whispers.

ben knew then and there that he couldn't possibly deny that truth. he hastily picked up your discarded items, held you tightly against his strong frame, showing you the softness he was never offered. he was a soldier and his sole objective was now to care for you in the world of war, injustice and false gods.

-`♡´- tag list: @bluemerakis @legalmente-loca @faiszt @vmiina @emeraldcrs @briiverse @figthoughts @sl33pylilbunny @jasvtsc @silverwoodlynx @kayleighwinchester @bejeweledinterludes @yooyieu @nperoconelcositoarriba @lanasgirlfr @velvetdandeli0n @iluvdeanwinchester @doeinlace @cowboysandcigarettes @daylighted @valjy @dulcescorderitas @mostlymarvelgirl @syrma-sensei (comment or inbox me to be added)

[gnohomotho]

heyyy this is really specific and kinda silly buuuuut I'm really sick and feeling down.. could I request some Inho fluff? 🥺🥺🥺🥺

maybe some like ~caring for you~ & looking after you with a femreader? 👀😍 thank youuuuu and love your fics!!

Aw, Anon, I'm sorry you're feeling awful. :c Please have some kind In-ho fluffy TLC (I hope that still stands for "tender loving care").

Focused on the love and care! ♥♥♥

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I'll Look After You

Pairing: Hwang In-ho // The Front Man x wife!fem!reader Summary: As the prompt says. ♥ But you aren't feeling well at all, and your husband, through anything from tea, to baths, to a massage, is going to keep the sickness away. Warnings: None at all. Just fluff. So much fluff. Word count: 2.4

If you like my works, I truly appreciate every like // reblog // follow! <3

A little stir in in the night.

As if you were having a bad dream. Without you knowing, In-ho’s eyes open in a fleeting second, the man doesn’t seem to sleep – only wait with hands intertwined laid across his chest as his breathing gets more level. You’ve tried to catch him several times, being ever-so-quiet, barely shifting the blanket – just to see him dreaming or peacefully at rest, yet that man could sense a spider’s step at the other end of the building and react accordingly.

But this time, you sat up, abruptly, after many tries at keeping your state to yourself and forcing a mental hammer to your temples just to remain at least half asleep. Your breath was fast, your head pounding, you put one hand against your face with a sigh.

“My heart?”

You hear a quiet, yet very alert voice next to you. The covers shift, and he is sitting upright next to you, in the exact same position as you are, seemingly immediately. Dark eyes fixed on you even in the semi-dark wherein you blink to adjust. You can make out your husband’s unassuming form, sitting in the comforting, quiet stillness; so very bare, so very…endearing.

Before you say anything, an arm is softly wrapping around you and pulling you closer. In-ho seemed at war with every millimetre of distance between you, especially in the night. Even in his stoic sleeping position, heaven help the blanket that got between your skin and his.

“I’m sorry, I just…I don’t feel too good. I didn’t wish to wake you, darling, truly. It’s probably nothing.”

You smile at him and your head pounds. The naked arm around your waist, forearm against the cold skin of your stomach and his hand firmly rested against you with fingers outstretched, remains in place. You feel a slight tightening of his grip, though it is protective, rather than forceful. His other hand moves to your chest with utmost care. It is a slow, noticeable movement – In-ho was purposefully showing you what he’s doing so that you don’t get stressed nor surprised.

The gesture melts your shivering heart a tad – that was always a point of contention between you two.

Using his dominant arm to half let you, half force you to rest against him and be upheld in place, In-ho was now free to assess. Somehow, your breath felt more at ease each time your chest bumped into his steady hand. You relax a little, glad for the support. Even in the darkness, his skin smells so familiar and safe, his almost naked body still exuding quiet authority, yet his arms and his…entirety shared with you…is so very human.

It’s just…your In-ho. No dark fabric or twisted words to cloud the very human skin now firmly rested against you. Even your legs are connected as he sits beside you.

At war with every molecule that would linger between you.

“Your heart rate is elevated, your breathing is…laboured.”

“In-ho, I feel fine just---”

“Don’t talk,” he humms, rubbing the top of your chest as he speaks, resting a palm against your sternum and across the nape of your neck, where his hand remains, “I can feel it must hurt to do so,” he adds, in a softer tone. You only shoot him a look in the darkness, knowing he is likely wearing that same caring, troubled, yet serene expression he always does when he is slightly worried or being obtuse.

In-ho moves to check further, resting a hand upon your pulsating head, cupping your cheek then resting a palm on your forehead.

“You’re burning up, my dear.”

Your eyebrows furrow, and you pull away, only to be caught by the arm around your waist and pulled back. There better not be a raised eyebrow in the dark, In-ho.

“If I’m running a fever, I don’t want you to get sick, I should get away from you immediately---”

“Oh, no.” A soft murmur and kiss on your shoulder. A brush of hair upon your skin underlines the gentleness of his lips.

“Oh, no. No. No.” With each “no” there is another kiss. Soft. Calm. Reassuring. So very gentle.

Eyes adjusting to the dark, you can make him out in the contrast and those eyes, almost unblinking, focusing their entirety on you with such…restrained tenderness.

Were you not feeling this way, you’d slowly move into his arms and hold him, hear his heartbeat and let him run his fingers through your hair as you rested against his chest. You valued the closeness, the intimacy, the still careful yet true love you felt for him, and he, in his unspoken way, in the way he nudged your bodies to connect to become one, the way he unwittingly wrapped around you, the way he would rest you in the crane of his neck or under his chin whispering things no one would believe him to say, could express more than words ever could.

And you knew the feeling of your sleepy head and soft strands of hair resting on his skin calmed him down, though he would never admit it. You knew by the way his breathing always seemed to slow and grow calm, letting his chest lift more rhythmically; by the way his fingers drew small ellipses through your hair, and by the way he twitched and immediately tightened his arm around you from shoulder wherein you rested all the way down to his wrist, should you try to even remotely adjust your position.

Now he was looking directly at you, any remains of sleep firmly gone from his voice.

“After securing Y/N within this exact position. Into this exact place. After so very long and after such effort – I am to simply let my wife walk away? When she is feeling ill, no less?”

You really aren’t in the mood for this In-ho. Perhaps the one who is busy with other matters and returns when you are feeling healthy again. That In-ho. That In-ho doesn’t exist, and you know it. You sigh, but there is an understanding smile lurking behind the breath.

“…In the middle of night? On the day of my daughter’s wedding? While I’m still holding my keys?” Your sarcastic yet sweet attempts to soften the blow did not work as intended, though you did hear a small chuckle. No, you just get yourself wrapped up in a blanket before you realise his arm is gone (the man really has surprising talent in the oddest of places) and a kiss on the forehead solidifies the deal you didn’t even get a chance to bargain about.

“Stay here,” he humms as he begins to get out of bed, smoothing the blanket behind him.

“Because I’m obviously going places, so very free to spread my wings.”

“Oh, my heart.” He looks at you with such adoration, head slightly leaning to one side. You’re not sure if he’s still playing or simply letting his guard down so very far. You allow yourself to smile into the darkness, closing your eyes. The tiredness and feeling of weakness draw your heavy head into the pillow and you drift off.

A small click beside your head stirs you half awake.

“In-ho?” You mumble and get ready to get up, forgetting your blanket enclosure.

“Shh. Don’t talk.”

In-ho gently caresses you through the blanket, then slides his hand inside, cupping your warmth for a while. He then softly takes your arm out and slides his fingers over yours, intertwining them with his, then closing his hand over your palm.

“Tea with medicine to your left, sweetheart.”

You’re very thankful and begin to say so, before a single look into those dark eyes firmly reminds you of the previous suggestion. Perhaps you don’t need the medicine after all, the fever will go down if he throws more ice in that stoic expression your way.

You lift the arm out of his grip, which he allows as patiently as he does slowly, and you lift the hot cup to your lips. It quivers in your grip, and he immediately steadies it, catching your hand on the hot surface.

“Drink.”

“In-ho, I can manage---

“Drink.”

There are times you forget who really rests beside you, and the nonchalant yet firm suggestion does its due diligence to remind you. You lift the cup to your lips and drink the comforting tea, with In-ho guiding the empty cup back to the bedstand with your hand in tow. He then slowly guides it back, still intertwined with his, and holds it to himself, massaging your palm with both his hands.

“I’m drawing you a bath,” he states, simply, and you know it’s going to be full of herbs and means of making you better, the towels as soft as snow, the floor warm. In-ho did not relish words, as they could be misconstrued and twisted, sounding flimsy and signifying nothing – but his actions could speak sonnets.

You sit up a bit, able to see him far better now – your In-ho, now only half naked, eyes calm yet piercing, mouth harbouring a small unnoticeable smile, demeanour calm yet alert. His shoulders ostensibly fall as you look longer, as if he’s trying to calm you down by looking calmer himself. Softly reaching a hand across your shoulders, he pulls your hair away from your neck and lets it rest across your chest to one side. His fingers trail around your neck at the very same time, as if he could not miss an opportunity for a caress and reassuring touch.

“Turn around, darling.”

And you do, still very much woozy. In-ho, now with your back to him, removes the rest of your hair from the nape of your neck and plants a tender kiss just between the bottom of your head and beginning of your shoulders.

“Dear, you’re tense.”

As he says so, you feel an arm softly pull at the blanket, brushing it against the skin of your upper arms and down, down, until it is resting against your forearms and around your waist. A shiver runs through you, trembling all in its wake like a small wave of ice. In-ho immediately catches it with both deliberate hands – firmly rubbing your shoulders and laying his chest against your back. The naked, hot skin, the rubbing motion creating heat, and the mere fact that it is him does help warm you a little, though he makes a mental note to adjust the heating once your attention is elsewhere.

Soft, intricate, yet firm hands, like those of a piano player, begin to move upwards and massage your neck, moving to the muscles around the very top of your spine. Circling, rubbing, and kneading all under their touch.

After a little while, they move to your shoulders. As if he was going through mounds and ossified waves of stress, heaviness, worry, sickness – and simply letting them dissolve in his fingers and slip through, leaving you be.

A grateful, alleviated sigh leaves your lips – and In-ho can hear the wide, if tired, smile upon them, kissing the sensitive place between your shoulder blades in response and remaining there for just a second longer than necessary. How does heat emanate from a single kiss and how does it cover your quivering body in the equivalent of warm honey from cold tip of the toe to the very place he kissed and up?

Once In-ho has touched, cherished, and unwrapped all of your upper body muscles from their layers of blocked pain and distress, he turns you around and lays you back down, laying with you. His arm is around your shoulders nudging your neck in its crane, his head is so close to yours you could kiss the tip of his nose, your bodies are as close as they can be without intertwining. Your eyes are softly closing on their own, feeling so blissfully tired and calm, as if a weight was lifted from every centimetre of your body. In-ho can see it, and watches it with very masked delight – your trust, your bliss, your comfort…your tranquillity in his arms.

Your peacefulness and loving eyes now closing in a slow, restful motion and a body at such ease that time seems to slip slower around the both of you – all under his watch, under his body, under his direct action and control. He slips errant strands of hair from your face, kissing your cheek where they rested. You smile into the kiss, eyes closing, and nudge your forehead against his. You remain like that, for a few seconds, just enjoying the closeness and the open pathways of your body that melted under his touch. His forehead does an ever-so-slight, almost unnoticeable side to side motion, and you cannot help but smile wide at the hidden adoration the man holds for you.

“I think your bath is almost ready,” a soft rumble from his enters your chest as he speaks, softly, into you more than to you, “but I find it hard to let you go.” As if to underline the words, In-ho’s leg nudges towards yours, caressing you through the blanket.

“Would you mind company?”

Now it was your turn to lift both eyebrows and attempt to disconnect from him just enough to be audible.

“I’m not sure.” You lower your head slightly to kiss his neck, an advantage you’ve learned to use every time he places you in such a loving yet firm embrace.

“Will the company be half as sweet as the company I hold now?” The hint of innocence and genuinely curious inflection did stir something in your companion, and you felt the grip tighten – then turn into a caress.

“Oh, I’ll make sure to leave them thoroughly yearning to wish they were.”

In-ho was a man of truly odd hidden talents. At one moment, you were wrapped up like a labyrinth of blankets, limbs, and kisses – the next, you were somehow firmly in his lifted embrace, holding onto his neck and shoulders with each arm, while his arms held you under your knees (which you instinctively squeezed half for stability, half for the snuggle) and around your back under your arms, making ample use of the space created by you having to cling upwards.

You blink, and without looking around, nestle in the small of his neck, laying your head in the comforting warmth as he adjusts you to himself with one motion and smiles into your hair. With another kiss, he carries you to the bath...

And does not leave.

[navybrat817]

For your ficlets, how about Andy Barber and notes tucked beneath your morning coffee. And let’s go fluffy, since it leans that way and it’s a ficlet 🤣 (that said, spicy could be fun too 😉)

I added a touch of angst (not much!). I hope you don't mind!

Post-It Notes

Pairing: Andy Barber x Female Reader

Summary: You like to surprise Andy with post-it notes.

Word Count: Over 750

Warnings: Established relationship, fluff, touch of angst and insecurities, comfort, feels, Andy Barber (he's a warning, okay?)

A/N: Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

The first post-it note you left for Andy was in his briefcase. You wrote, “Have a great day!” with a smiley face and heart. It was a silly thing really. You just wanted to do something to make him smile when he went to work.

“I loved the note, honey,” he told you once he got home, showing you that he kept it, too.

It became your new thing after that.

It was fun thinking of new places to hide notes for him. In the dresser drawers, tucked inside of his favorite book, in his lunch container. You managed to sneak one into his wallet once and even in his glove compartment when he wasn’t looking. It was almost like a game and you imagined his smile or chuckle every time he found one when you weren’t around.

The notes came in different colors and shapes. You tried to come up with different kinds of quotes, too, that ranged from telling him to have a good day to how much you loved him to how sexy he was. You wanted each to feel special and to be a surprise.

“You spoil me,” he smiled when he found one in his tacklebox during a weekend trip.

For some reason you worried after a few weeks that he’d get sick of the notes and you stopped leaving them for him for a short time. You weren’t sure why you suddenly felt insecure about them. It wasn’t like he said anything. It just felt… Well, like you were being clingy or too much.

“Morning,” Andy smiled when you ventured into the kitchen. He was already at the island sipping his coffee, dressed in his usual suit sans the jacket. He had a mug ready for you, too.

“Morning,” you smiled back, greeting him with a kiss. “Mmm. Caffeine,” you said happily, your hands warming as they wrapped around the mug and inhaling as you lifted it up to your face.

“Yep,” he smirked, looking at you expectantly as he took another sip.

“What?” you asked curiously. You knew that look. What was he up to?

His eyes flickered to where your mug was sitting before he looked at your face again. Glancing down, you gasped when you spotted the post-it note. You recognized Andy’s handwriting and smiled when you read it: “I’ll always love you, honey.”

“You…” you set the mug down so you could trace the letters with your finger. “You left me a post-it note.”

“Well, you’re always leaving them for me, and they brighten my day. I wanted to do the same for you,” he explained, your face falling a bit since you hadn’t given him a note in days. “Are you okay?”

“I thought they’d annoy you after a while, so I stopped.” You smiled sadly when you faced him. He looked heartbroken, and you felt like an idiot. “And it was nothing you said or did, okay? I promise. You know I just get in my own head sometimes.”

Everyone had moments like that when the mean voice won.

“You really don’t know much they mean to me, do you, honey?” he asked quietly, stepping away before you could answer. “Hold on.”

You sipped your coffee while you waited for him to come back, staring at the post-it note again as guilt churned in your stomach. It was so sweet of him to do that. Why did you doubt yourself?

“Here,” he said, coming back into the kitchen with a small album in hand. You hadn’t seen it before. “Take a look.”

Flipping it open and looking through the pages, tears clogged your throat. It was every single note you had given him, each one carefully preserved. “You saved all of them,” you whispered, a tear slipping out from the corner of your eye.

“Of course, I did.” His beard tickled your cheek as he kissed it away. “They mean everything to me, and so do you.”

Turning your head, you brushed your lips against his thanks. A thank you for keeping them, for assuring you, and for loving you. “I’ll keep leaving them then.”

“And I can’t wait to figure out where you hide the next one,” he said, slipping his arms around your waist. “You know, it’s still early. I think we should go back to bed.”

“But you’re already dressed,” you teased. “Never stopped us before,” he chuckled, kissing you again.

Having a partner like Andy made you feel blessed, and you couldn’t wait to leave him another note.

Love and thanks for participating! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[artist-issues]

This is getting old.

Entertainment should not be an end unto itself. What is entertainment? What does it cause? Answer those and then you can try and answer why it should be an "end unto itself..." though I think by doing so, you'll find that, by defining it, it cannot be an "end unto itself."

Who said anything about play?

I think you'll find the answer to "why is leaving the world as it is a problem exactly?" in exactly the same place as the answer to the question "what is entertainment and what does it cause--and then what entertainment can be "solely an end unto itself?"

Just because stories are "there" doesn't mean they're good "stories."

I'm having a hard time taking seriously the musings of somebody who throws out firm statements as if they're true...about something they've never read themselves. But anyway: it doesn't matter if a story is "loved." That has nothing to do with whether or not is is high-quality—unless you would like to make your own personal definition of a story include the qualifier "must be loved."

This one's just miscommunication, so let me clear it up: "Theme" is an unclear word, but I definitely meant, "the story's Main Point."

I've already cleared up the equally-unhelpful phrase "death of the author" both in an edit and in previous reblog. I agree that what is said in the story is what matters: insofar as the responsibility of the storyteller to the audience is in what is said, not what is meant. What is meant is a responsibility to someone else entirely, because an audience has much less sure ways of inferring what is "meant" apart from what is "said." Not "no ways." Just "much less sure" ways.

To sum up for what feels like the thousandth time: Storytelling is compelling communication. Communication is as wonderful as it is dangerous. Words matter, and the speaker is responsible for them. Stories matter, and the storyteller is responsible for what they say in their story.

Go look up how mirror neurons work and then tell me that storytellers are justified in using their skillset to distract people from truth and reality and goodness, in a world that needs constant reminders of them.

Some Things I Believe About Stories

Stories should not be PRIMARILY created to entertain. They should be created to teach, or encourage, or inspire, USING entertaining qualities. The Romans used entertainment to distract the populace from corruption. J. R. R. Tolkien, on the other hand, described "escapism" as "a prisoner of war escaping from enemy camp to go back home." You're not running from reality to fantasy when a story does it's job. You're running from the dark, twisted side of the world to something that reminds you of the good, the true, the beautiful, the correct. You've been imprisoned by bad ideas and confusion and dark perspectives, and the story shows you how to escape and get back to true and beautiful reality. It's got a point, it's not just for diversion.

Stories should be made to serve others and leave the world better than they found it. Storytellers should not only tell a story to exorcize their personal demons or point to how clever and artistic they are. That can be a nice bonus. But the point should be to serve the audience. Think about it. When it's made, it's timeless; it will be read or watched or listened to by the next generation, or the next. What are the storytellers letting fall into the hands of the people who come after they're not around to explain or gain a profit?

The storyteller should be passionate about the story while they make it. This could look like a sense of duty, or fun, or just excitement. But those outward emotions usually signal an inward understanding of how important the story is, and therefore, a level of compassion and care for the eventual audience.

You can like a story or dislike a story. You can interpret a story or misinterpret a story. Those things are subjective. But whether or not a story is good is objective: it can be measured. Does the story say what it is trying to say in the clearest, most compelling way possible? If yes, it's a good story. If no, it might be great entertainment. It might be funny. It might be cool. It might be quotable or franchise-able or profitable or even memorable. But it's not a good story if it does not say something in the clearest, most compelling way possible.

A story's main point, or theme, is the most important thing about it. The characters, the set design, the pacing, the soundtrack, the language, the use of color or lighting or blocking etc.; all of those pieces work best when they are unified in the goal of communicating that main point or theme.

Death of the author = death of the story. It's point is to say something. If you claim the speaker's intent is meaningless, so are the words spoken. If you claim it can mean anything, your words are meaningless too. We all might as well tell no stories and blabber gibberish instead. It’s one thing to say you understand what the author intended, and you like to think of it in/wish it were another way. But it’s quite another to say that what the author intended is unknowable or doesn’t matter. You’re either calling the author a bad storyteller or, again, recommending we all speak gibberish.

Both form (the quality of the story and it's elements) and content (the main point or lessons) matter. Without one you have a lecture, not a story. Without the other you have entertainment, but no valuable, timeless, beautiful truth to make it a “story.”

[7-deadly-cats]

killing me softly (part three)

genre: slow burn fic, fluff with hints of angst, light drama, no explicit smut

kms masterlist | <- part two | part four (soon) ->

pairing: rafe cameron x fem!introverted!kook!reader

cw: swearing, light suggestive themes, overthinking/anxiety

synopsys: it's the last year of high school and you were paired up with rafe cameron for a 2 week long project in art class. this wouldn't be a problem if you weren't awkward as hell and well ... if there weren't your big fat crush on him. could this be the beginning of a friendship or maybe even more? one thing was certain: rafe cameron was intense, impulsive, and complex in ways that weren't always for the better, and your mind? that shit was even more tangled. but you hadn't spent all these years crushing on him from a distance just to let this chance slip through your fingers ... right?

summary of recent events: during lunch you and rafe brainstormed some ideas for your art project. despite your awkwardness and an unfortunate misunderstanding, rafe had been mostly chill the whole time. after you both said your goodbyes to leave for afternoon classes, you awaited a surprise: rafe had somehow gotten your number and sent you a text message.

word count: 3k+

a/n: i know this part is more like a breather but i promise next part is gonna have y/n and rafe interacting a LOT more + it’s all building up to sth bigger and i really don’t wanna rush this story, so bear with me please <3 however i decided to bring in some jj action hibihihi. anyway please enjoy and as always any kind of support, comments, reblogs etc. is appreciated <33

This was insane. So fucking insane. You were seriously starting to think this was one of those cruel dreams where you spend an entire fantasy life with your crush, only to wake up at the best part, heartbroken and pissed off at your alarm clock.

Ever since you got home, your heart had been running a marathon, and that weird, buzzing feeling in your chest just wouldn’t go away.

Your mind was racing with questions.

Where did Rafe even get your number? Why didn’t he just ask you for it during lunch? Why did he text you—what was his intention here?

WAS IT EVEN RAFE????

Maybe someone was messing with you. Your mind flashed back to English class, to Kelce Statter grinning like an idiot while having texted someone. Was it him?

You frowned. That would be a pretty fucked-up joke, and honestly, you doubted Kelce had the patience or brainpower to pull off something like that.

With a sigh, you flopped onto your bed, inhaling the familiar scent of your room, trying to slow your racing thoughts.

If someone had strapped a heart monitor to you today, you’d probably be in the ER by now. It had been ages since your adrenaline had spiked like this.

Rolling onto your stomach, you grabbed your phone again, elbows propped on your mattress.

Your brows furrowed as you opened Cara’s chat:

Of course. The one time you actually needed her, she was nowhere to be found. Probably got caught texting in class, and now she was stuck listening to Ms. Langford go on about the importance of English literature or whatever.

You switched to your chat with Rafe, biting the inside of your cheek as you stared at his messages.

You should probably text back. You’d already left him on read for an hour, just because you had no clue what to say.

Not that he actually gives a shit.

But still. He had taken the time to get your number and text you. That had to mean something, right?

Dude, you’re overthinking this again. It’s literally just two texts.

Pressing your lips together, you started typing:

As soon as you hit send, you tossed your phone to the other side of the bed and groaned, burying your face in your pillow.

God, you just said hi—so why the hell did it feel like your entire nervous system was short-circuiting?

Shit. I should’ve left out that stupid smiley.

:)

WHY did its face look both pissed off and kind of turned on at the same time?!

Great. Now he probably thought you were sexually frustrated. And the whole I assume this is Rafe? thing? Seriously, Y/N. Of course, it’s Rafe. What a dumbass question. His cute ass profile picture made it obvious.

So now, not only you seemed desperate—you seemed desperate AND stupid.

Bzzzrt.

You sat up so fast it gave you whiplash, grabbing your phone in record time. Heart pounding, you unlocked it—

Cara.

You exhaled, part relieved, part annoyed, and opened her messages.

You sighed and let your phone drop onto your bed again. If only you could somehow call this dating—but whatever was going on between you and Rafe… well, there wasn’t even a between to begin with.

There was nothing.

At best, you were classmates. Maybe project partners. Nothing more.

You ran a hand over your face. This whole thing was exhausting, and the worst part? Nothing had even happened between you and Rafe. Well—except for the fact that you’d acted like some socially inept, know-it-all nerd just hours ago.

And yet… you couldn’t deny that it was kind of exciting. For the first time ever, you’d had an actual conversation with Rafe Cameron, and he hadn’t just gotten up and left in the middle of it.

AND THEN HE’D TEXTED YOU?! LIKE, HOLY SHIT?!

Which, in turn, made you feel like some dumb, hopeless girl. Because, seriously—what were you even expecting from this? A friendship? A friends with benefits situation? A relationship?

You nearly laughed out loud. That thought was about as far from reality as it could possibly get. Honestly, you had a better chance of making a groundbreaking scientific discovery—and you sucked at science.

Alright, one thing at a time.

You caught yourself staring at your phone again, still no reply from Rafe.

It’s fine, you told yourself. You only messaged him ten minutes ago, and just because he texted you doesn’t mean you’re suddenly texting buddies or some crap.

Holy shit, I’m overthinking this again.

You needed a distraction. Like, right now.

But staying here was only going to make you lose it. You needed to get out, do something.

Your gaze drifted back to your phone, and you tapped on Cara’s number.

Her soft voice came through on the other end. “Let me guess, you need help coming up with a reply?”

“He hasn’t answered yet.”

“Asshole.”

You laughed. “It’s not even been ten minutes.”

“Yeah, well, ten too many,” she shot back, but you could hear her trying to hide a grin. “Okay, what’s going on?”

“I thought we could hit the beach, chill a bit, you know, whatever.”

“You’re losing it, aren’t you?”

You smiled. “Yeah.”

“I’ll be there in 15 minutes.”

----------------------------------------------- The afternoon sun shone brightly in the cloudless sky, casting a golden glow over the beach. The waves weren’t exactly massive today but they were still decent enough for surfing.

Not that you’d be surfing anyway—your head was way too all over the place for that. You’d probably wipe out the second you got on the board.

No, today was about chilling. Just you and Cara, away from the crowd, tucked under the shade of your beach umbrella. You lay stretched out on your towels, talking about everything and anything—everything except Rafe Cameron.

Diggory, Cara’s cute family dog, was happily lounging with you, curled up on a damp towel with his portable water bowl nearby.

“--and then I ghosted him because, like, what kind of guy eats salami, pickles, and Nutella for breakfast?” Cara finished, shaking her head as she recalled her short-lived fling with a Swedish Touron from last week.

You laughed, tossing the sunscreen aside after finishing your legs. “A psycho probably.”

“The worst part? His weird food choices—and yeah, plural—didn’t even make up for his performance in bed,” she scoffed, scratching Diggory’s head. “Two minutes in, he finished, and acted like he’d just found the love of his life.”

You shrugged. “What’s that saying? 9 out of 10 Tourons mistake a one-night stand for a love story.”

Cara let out a dramatic sigh. “Ugh, I think I’m done with Tourons for a while. Time to keep it local.”

You chuckled, but before you could reply, muffled voices drifted over from the side, catching your attention.

“Doesn’t get more local than that,” you noted, subtly glancing toward the new arrivals on the beach.

Cara propped herself up on her elbows, following your gaze. A slow grin spread across her lips. “Pogues?”

You smirked, eyes lingering on the tanned blond with a surfboard under his arm. “Maybank’s kinda cute.”

Cara shot you a look over her sunglasses, raising an eyebrow. “JJ Maybank? Okay, girl, you definitely have a type. He’s basically Rafe Cameron but like broke.”

You scoffed, furrowing your brows. “I mean, objectively, he’s attractive. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Objectively, they’re all one grade below us,” Cara said dryly. But then her expression shifted into an amused smirk. “But yeah, fair point. All four of them? Absolute smash.”

You both cracked up, the tension from earlier fading for a moment.

In the distance, a firetruck siren wailed, and Diggory let out a dramatic howl in response.

“Alright, alright, we get it,” Cara murmured, scooping up the still-howling terrier into her arms.

You chuckled but quickly went quiet as a 6-foot, sun-kissed Pogue strolled up to your little beachside oasis.

JJ Maybank’s cocky grin peeked under your umbrella, his surfboard left behind with his friends.

“Heard a dog over here,” he remarked, his gaze flicking between you and Cara. “Or was that one of you howling for me?”

You bit back a laugh, while Cara rolled her eyes. “Piss off, JJ.”

You knew better—she was flirting.

JJ let out a dirty chuckle, crouching down as Diggory leaped from Cara’s lap, tail wagging like crazy. “Your dog disagrees.”

He scratched the excited terrier behind the ears.

“Pfft, Dig would run up to a serial killer,” Cara scoffed. “He’s got no moral compass whatsoever.”

JJ smirked, glancing up at her, his eyes flickering over her sunscreen-glazed legs before meeting her gaze. “Neither do I.”

Okaaay, I’m definitely third-wheeling here.

"JJ!" Kiara Carrera’s voice rang out from a few yards away. "Stop harassing random girls!"

Cara smirked. “Your girl’s got a point.”

JJ scoffed, raising a brow before ruffling Diggory’s fur one last time. Then he stood up. “Just making new friends, Ki!” he called back.

His sunlit torso practically gleamed, and you quickly looked away when he caught you staring.

Awkwaaaard.

“You should let your dog run somewhere with actual grass,” JJ teased, turning back to Cara. “Poor guy’s paws probably got calluses from all that Figure 8 pavement.”

Cara tilted her head, amused. “What do you suggest? The Cut? Yeah, no thanks, I’d rather not get mugged and stabbed.”

“You wouldn’t if I was with you,” JJ shot back, flashing his cockiest grin.

You weren’t sure whether to laugh or gag.

Cara let out a laugh, waving him off. “One mutt's enough for me.”

JJ shrugged. “I don’t need a leash either,” he quipped before shooting her a wink and jogging back to his friends.

Once he was out of earshot, Cara turned back to you, a wide grin on her face and a hint of pink dusting her cheeks. “Okay, you’re right—he’s hot.”

You both burst into laughter as Diggory waddled back onto his damp towel.

And that’s how the rest of the late afternoon went: watching the Pogues surf (one cocky blond in particular), snacking on strawberries, and cracking up over dumb jokes and wild party stories.

As the sun began dipping the sky in shades of orange, you slowly started packing up your things.

And you hadn’t checked your phone once—not that it mattered, since it was turned off anyway.

As you folded up the beach umbrella, your eyes drifted back toward the Pogues, hanging out at their own little spot on the other side of the beach.

With a playful smirk, you glanced at Cara, who was rolling up your towels. “Not gonna say bye to your new admirer?”

Cara raised a brow at you. “Pfft, like I’d chase after a Pogue.”

You rolled your eyes. “Nooo, you’d rather ‘accidentally’ run into him while walking Diggory in the Cut.”

“Or maybe I just happen to be coming back from Barry’s, and Dig rips his leash and bolts straight to whatever hole Maybank crawled out of.”

You nodded slowly. “Riiiight.”

Cara stuffed the towels into her beach bag and added casually, “Speaking of Barry, every time I’m picking up my weed, he’s asking about you .”

For some reason, that made your face heat up. You frowned, leaning on the umbrella. “Cara, I’m not hooking up with your dealer.”

She just shrugged, kneeling down to clip Diggory’s leash on. “He thinks you're chill and that means something. He doesn’t like a lot of Kooks. I thought you also liked him?”

“He's cool. That still doesn't change the fact he's selling coke and other stuff,” you said flatly.

Cara met your gaze, looking almost dreamy. “Yeah, and? Imagine: he’s the bad-boy dealer, and you’re his sweet little Kook princess.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “You need to stay off Tumblr and Wattpad.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Rafe Cameron Stan No. 1 for life.” She slung her bag over her shoulder and started walking off with Diggory.

You just rolled your eyes and followed after her.

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

Back at home, you had dinner with your parents, then retreated to your room. You dropped your bag and sank onto your bed, phone in hand.

And then it started again — the tingling nerves.

What if Rafe still hadn't texted you? The thought was somehow so depressing.

Oh my god, just check already.

You held your breath, waiting impatiently for your phone to fully turn on. The screen lit up and…

A huge smile spread across your face, and your heart skipped a beat.

SEEMED LIKE HE WANTED TO SEE YOU AGAIN.

Okay, okay, breathe. Don’t read too much into it.

AHHH, BUT HOW COULD YOU NOT.

You bit the inside of your cheek. Seriously, calm down.

And you did—until Cara’s words from earlier popped back into your head, and that heavy feeling settled in your chest again.

Rafe was probably just putting in extra effort so he could get a good grade on this project. This wasn’t about wanting to see you again or anything like that.

You scoffed. What a naive thought.

You know what? Who cares? He wanted to meet up again, and that alone was a nice thought—whatever the reason.

Alright, how were you supposed to respond?

One thing's certain: no more sexually frustrated emojis.

You checked the timestamp on his last message. A little over an hour ago. Okay, that meant enough time had passed for you to reply without seeming too eager.

That was fine, right? RIGHT?!

Ugh, not really. Again, you sounded like a stupid girl because of fucking course he had meant after school.

Frustrated, you closed your eyes and let yourself fall back onto your bed.

Why were you so bad at… this?

Cara had practically effortlessly won over JJ Maybank today (okay, maybe it had been the other way around but that wasn't the point), and she hadn’t done anything except be herself.

She always just said what was on her mind and if she got rejected or received a weird look in return, so be it. Even outside of flirting, she handled social interactions with ease.

Why couldn’t you do that? Why did you have to overanalyze every single move?

It had already cost you so many potential friendships—maybe even relationships. And no matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t turn that part of your brain off. At least not during in-person interactions.

The worst part? You weren’t even truly shy. Well, okay, kind of. But you, you know, the real you—how you usually acted around people you felt comfortable with—was always trapped behind this stupid barrier your own mind had built.

It was so frustrating because—

Bzzrt.

Your eyes snapped open as you grabbed your phone.

Rafe.

It hadn’t even been five minutes.

You sat up quickly and tapped into the chat:

You scoffed amused.

Your heart was racing again, adrenaline kicking in.

You clenched your teeth, fingers hovering over the keyboard. You wanted to reply right away, but wouldn’t that seem too much?

Then again, he had answered quickly too…

But what if you texted back now and then he took another hour to reply, or worse, didn’t reply at all…?

Fucking hell, enough.

What if you just… shut your brain off for once?

Just do it. Who cares how it comes across?

You’d already reached peak embarrassment today—you had nothing left to lose.

So you typed your message and hit send without second-guessing it.

…

And it felt good. It wasn’t even a big move or anything, but still, it made you smile.

Your phone buzzed again, and you couldn’t help but laugh when you read his message.

Ruthie Whitmore was an arrogant bitch. Loud, annoying, stuck-up—the biggest pick-me girl in Figure 8. No, probably in all of North Carolina. And she was obsessed with your Economics teacher, Mr. Collins, who was at least in his late 30s.

You didn’t know what it was—Rafe’s bluntness, the fact that you could hide your awkwardness behind a screen, or maybe just how tired you were of your real self always being held back by your own hesitation—but texting Rafe Cameron suddenly felt easy.

Okay, maybe it was also because, deep down (yeah, you still couldn’t fully shut off your brain), you knew he wasn’t actually interested in you.

He just needed to pass art class because his high school diploma depended on it.

And that’s exactly why you saw this chat for what it really was: a conversation with a project partner who was hoping you’d help boosting his Art grade.

And just like that, the conversation was over.

For a moment, you stared at the chat—or more specifically, his stupid little profile picture which had to have been taken by Kelce or Topper at some party. Then you let your phone drop onto the bed and a huge, stupid grin spread across your face.

Normally, the way you had just texted him would have sent you into a spiral of overthinking. Shit, you’d been cheeky (yeah, yeah, nothing crazy but for you it WAS)—nothing like the awkward girl you had been this afternoon.

But the thing was, this was you. You had loud thoughts and strong opinions, you enjoyed joking around, saying stupid shit, and holy shit you LOVED the banter that came with it.

You were a loud soul trapped in a silent body.

I’m basically a closeted extrovert, you thought, laughing to yourself. It sounded ridiculous and cringe as hell but let's be real, it summed you up perfectly.

And honestly, it didn’t even matter what you said or how you acted. No matter what Rafe thought of you, in two weeks, your paths would split again anyway. and you’d go back to your own little bubble—where you could admire him from a safe distance.

Sure, if only it were that simple.

You rolled your eyes at your own naivety. You already knew that the second you saw Rafe Cameron again tomorrow, your nerves would be doing somersaults, and you’d fall right back into being an awkward mess.

Because that was the cruel difference between texting and talking in person: There was no screen to hide behind and no digital barrier to mask your insecurity.

And that was a struggle you had yet to overcome.

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

kms masterlist | <- part two | part four (soon) ->

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Taglist (open):

@ursogorgeous13 @my-name-is-baby @moneybaby07 @jjasmiineee @sttaejoon-blog @vogueprincess

[booliuu]

┊͙Proxies headcanons pt.1┊͙

ꪆৎ 𝙰/𝙽 : heeeey guys it’s liu!! it’s been awhile since i last posted ( …well i think?) 😣😣 i literally can’t remember anything . this isn’t requested but i’ve these headcanons stuck in my drafts for quite some time now and i figured i’ll post them now!!:DD🫶🏼possibly a part 2?

• my inbox is open for asks & requests!! if you like my content don’t forget to like , comment , & reblog❤️. enjoy reading!

Tim:

🚬. . he’s pushing through his late 30’s at best.

🚬. . 5’11.

🚬. . a firm believer he’s a taurus.

🚬. . has native american roots.

🚬. . personality wise .. he’s a bit of a prick and an asshole just to give it to you straight . he will butt heads , he will command orders because technically speaking he’s the leader , basically have a strict & rough exterior . but with the shit he’s been through i don’t blame him. it would be a while once he likes & trusts you….but you’ll know. very few ppl get that side of him.

🚬. . dog person!! wants a dog sooo bad he knows he can’t take care of it unless someone wants to take care it while he’s away from the cabin. he’s ( and everybody else tbh..) out sometimes days or more so he ain’t risking it.

🚬. . whenever he sees stray dogs in the woods doesn’t matter what kind of dog man… he’ll pet it . if he has food in hand will give some to em’.

🚬. . definitely has HUNDREDS of pairs of bottom up plaid shirts. in hangers. in one small closet. Not just red like he wears all the time in mh. owns at least yellow , blue , black plaid shirts . rarely ever uses them though lol.

🚬. . smokes like a chimney holy crap. especially whenever he’s uncomfortable or stressed , at least smoke half a packet .. just an excuse not to talk about it.

🚬. . smells like the woods, cigarettes, or cheap shampoo and conditioner. (like old spice, irish spring , ect…)

🚬. . likes his coffee plain black. no questions asked. won’t add any creamer or sugar. just likes it the way it is.

🚬. . he’s probably rlly good at cooking like will cook up some good old eggs, beacon and sausage if he feels like it.

🚬. . snores like SO LOUD OH MY GOODNESS. second would be toby. holy moly. god forbid if there in the same room or your stuck sitting in the same car as them , you ain’t getting a wink of shut eye :( .

🚬. . coughs , coughs, … COUGHS especially whenever he’s running. it’s impossible for him to stay quiet bc of his smoking habits . has to take a break for a bit , lean against a tree then start running again.

🚬. . i’ll die on this hill BUT IM SURE he does the old man groan whenever he’s bending down for too long. or putting a hand on his back and groan hell loud .

🚬. . old man eye squint whenever he reads. reading something on his phone and has put it reallyyy squint and put that phone away from his face. YKWIM😭😭??

🚬. . acts like he hates toby but in reality cares so much for him. just cant bring himself to say it to him bc he’s so stubborn. likes kate because she listens to him without complaining during missions . same with brian. and TOBY GETS SO M A D .

🚬. . dad BOD. C’MON YALL. and not to mention sideburns.

🚬. .listens to divorce dad music that he’s plays all the time in his car.

🚬. . his natural body temp is so WARM. he’s like a human heater.

🚬. . knows so much dad jokes it’s borderline concerning🥹🥹. but hey… at least it never fails to make someone smile or laugh though.

🚬. . has a mf’ing lighter collection because he keeps losing them . has stacks of cigarettes hidden somewhere around the room that he shares with brian.

🚬. . i just wanna get this out of the way but definitely the type to txt’s like a dad😭😭. you can’t tell me otherwise. i’m talking “👍.” , “ Ok.” “ 8:30 pm ETA.”

Brian:

💊. . same age as tim just a biiit🤏 older.

💊. . couple inches tall than tim and whenever ppl point out it out, it rails up tim so much.

💊. . HE has to be A LIBRA. DO YOU GUYS SEE MY VISION. PLS.

💊. . smells like gun powder , the woods ofc , cheap shampoo and conditioner, may i also add cheap cologne.

💊. . i have a feeling he grew up with A LOT of sisters in his family . so when he was born everybody was relieved lowkey lol but won’t say anything , just like a sigh of relief yk?

💊. . white af. idk what to tell you😭. you guys give me ideas .

💊. . txt’s ppl about the same as tim. worse though bc he tends to ignore them unless it’s the other proxies . doesn’t mean he’s dry af though.

💊. . owns so MANY hoodies. but just chooses to just wear the yellow one all the time.

💊. . has a tooth gap…! we can’t forget about that!

💊. . he’s a chill guy but prefers to stay quiet and listen kinda type. especially when he’s working .. yeeeah he ain’t speaking. just gets the job done and leaves.

💊. . knows how to fish. catches em’ and cooks em’. don’t ask why he just gives me the vibe yk?

💊. . aside from that, he can’t cook for shit so he makes tim do it. prefers tim’s cooking anyway-

💊. . has a guns & bullets collection of different kinds in his closet . and a couple of lighters laying around tim & his room. or whenever he’s out and tim forgets his, he got em.

💊. . has the PRETTIEST SMILES AND LAUGH TELL ME IM WRONG. also his laugh is pretty contagious lol. snorts and giggles. can get other ppl to laugh without even knowing what he’s talking about.

💊. . natural charmer ✨knows how to flirt without even trying and (or) thinking. knows how to twist ppl little brains and turn it into mush.

💊. . likes his coffee black as well.

💊. . quietest sleeper known to mankind. couple of times tim, toby or kate though he was dead.

💊. . like arms and hands at his sides and he’s just… y’know just laying there.

Tim: * getting really nervous bc brian isn’t moving nor making a single sound & decides to slap his arm to wake him up * “ you know you sleep like a dead soilder..?!!”

Brian: * jointing awake suddenly by tim* “huh?? “

Toby:

➯ in my au, tim, brian , toby and kate all stay in one cabin. it’s a bit crapped but they all make it work out at the end of the day.

➯ anyway…….*sighs dreamily * my boyyyy😫😫💗💗💗💗!!! he’s BEEN rattling in my brain 24/7 but tbh who don’t think bout this cutie patooie all the time living rent free in my head wthhh. 😭😭😭🥹🥹 i can talk about this silly goober all day if i could bro. okok anyways -

🪓. . i wrote a few toby headcanons here b4 :]] ( 1# link & 2# link check em’ out!! ) ima add some more headcanons to the list. you can’t stop me >:DD!!!

🪓. . there’s 3 rooms total in the cabin and the last room is toby’s . the other rooms belongs to kate , tim & brain .

🪓. .plays his music from his playlist to “his” speakers that ofc he stolen. owns some video games and consoles such as a switch & ds . has a mini fridge hidden in his room bc he’s tired of ppl stealing his crap.

🪓. . bisexual. leeeans strooongly💪💪 towards women..!! personality over looks!! man does not care. but that doesn’t stop him from thinking men are handsome and cute!! if your asking me though, it’ll take awhile for him to date a guy let alone trust bc his lore .. his father yk?

🪓. . he likes hanging out on top of lamp posts at the side of the roads or chillin on the highest branch in the trees because those are the only places that are quiet for him and away from ppl.

🪓. . can’t decide if he’s dog or cat person. HE’S SUCH A HUGE ANIMAL LOVER AND WILL HONESTLY PET EVERY SINGLE ANIMAL IF HE COULD.

🪓. . he’s definitely the kinda person to order coffee that has MILLIONS of different creamer , syrups & toppings . can’t stand the bitter taste of coffee lol.

🪓. . speaking of coffee, since he’s around tim and brian all the time, he developed a burning hatred for black coffee😭. doesn’t understand why tim and brian love it so much.

🪓. . he rarely goes out in public places because he gets overwhelmed easily but in the rare occasions he does , can’t stand when men yell at women. like really detest it. has the urge to protect the them even though he doesn’t know the person. doesn’t do anything but just watches from afar. but that doesn’t stop of thinking violent thoughts what he wants to do to that guy.

➯ if it’s really brother him though , will perhaps pay the guy a quick visit.. if you catch my drift..🪓🪓.

🪓. . it brings him flashbacks of when his dad yells at his sister and mother.

🪓. . gets high because it calms down his tics. or whenever he’s feeling stressed, upset he’ll smoke.

🪓. . he remembers some what of his past. but it’s very very very little. remembers his mother and sister but it’s very distorted. remembers everything but there faces. when someone says his mothers and sister names he confused why he feels like he knows them but at the same time doesn’t . poor baby:(

🪓. . haunted by his bullies and his fathers voices tormenting him in his dreams. he’s confused by them and thinks the operator is playing tricks on him.

🪓. . he’s not a bad driver. like i said before he doesn’t remember his past. pretty much knows the rules of the road and practiced safe driving etiquette.

🪓. . since he’s older, his tics aren’t as bad. doesn’t mean they fully goes away. nope. doesn’t work like that. it’s a part of him and will always will be.

🪓. . the way i think it’s more like it has it’s moments.. you feel me chat? such as whenever he’s feeling anxious , angry or stressed. he slurs his words, talks faster or repeats the same words or sentences, muscle twitches … and so forth.

🪓. . can’t stand the smell or taste of alcohol but .. if someone gave him one , he will drink it just because he doesn’t want to be called out a wuss.

🪓. . oh my gosh when he txt’s he either doesn’t respond, forgets you send something, or SPAMS THE SHIT OUT OF YOUR PHONE accidentally breaking it 😭. adds millions of emojis . sends links to insta reels or tiktok’s that he thinks you’ll laugh at .

you: sending toby a tiktok* 10:45 pm *read 10:50 pm.

toby: *UUSSS!! * 6:30 am😭. toby oh my god

.. also toby: * sends you the most cryptic terrifying insta reel you ever seen* that’s you 😝😝😝🫵.

you: YOU PMOOOO‼️‼️🖕🖕🖕

🪓. . i can talk about this man forever. 🫶🏼

Kate:

➯ KATE MY BELOVED!!!! i love her so much💗. she so underrated plsss she needs more love and attention 😭😭😣 guys lemme talk about myyy girl rq.

🖤. . she’s the youngest out of the proxies. she around her late teens or early 20’s. she’s a cancer!! ( june 25th!!)

🖤. . tall af, she either standing at something between 5’10 or inching closer to 6’0.

🖤. . Korean!!! or has asian roots.

🖤. . definitely has her ears pierced and lips done .🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

🖤. . cooks the crew sometimes what she remembers eating before shit went down hill. and they love it every time.

🖤. . tea person! loves black or earl gray. she has a bit of a sweet tooth so she’ll add some honey, creamer & milk and syrups .^^

🖤. . owns really GOOD smelling shampoo and conditioner 😭😭. and to add with that, her hair is super long and grows out super fast so she’s constantly cutting it. its so uneven helppp

🖤. . she’s naturally very awkward and quiet. lowkey giving black cat energy.

🖤. . like brian she’s also the type of person to listen to you yap about anything than talk.

🖤. . txt’s like she doesn’t care. sooo nonchalant help 😭😭. perhaps worse than brian🤔🤔🤫. ONE WORD RESPONSE EACH TIME. WITHOUT OF DOUBT.

🖤. . closeted lesbian. doesn’t have time to date or fall in love because she’s busy with her “job” ifykyk. prob only work out if your a proxy as well. can’t risk anyone else getting hurt bc of her or the operator. she lost enough :( .

🖤. . this could just be me but ima just say back during her high school years she join her schools track and field club. and literally always get the best times. best runner at her school.

🖤. . dis GIRLLL… can run SO MANY laps and she never gets tired holy crap. runs faster than the other proxies , second would be toby lol. when they have free time, they consistently race each other around the woods and would make tim or brian set up a timer to see who gets the best time.

🖤. . i don’t CAARRE what anyone says but, her and toby have a sibling👏dynamic going on. so competitive with each other!! it’s very precious. they always lookout for each other during missions. even when there not working , they argue like siblings, say so nasty stuff to each other but at the end of the day they care about each other in there own way.

➯ this a bit off topic but yk how toby lost his sister at a young age. messed him up quite a bit because Lyra was the only person aside from his mom that was truly kind to him. after burning his neighborhood, he doesn’t really have anybody else. and was taken by slender right after that.

➯ kate one day casually said that toby reminds her of a sibling,toby was taken back and need a few seconds to relies that she’s being serious. he cried a bit when he heard that from her because he never thought he would ever be a good brother bc he wasn’t there for his sister at that time. :(

➯ long story short they hugged each other that day. sworn kate he will protect her knowing full well she can defend herself. he doesn’t want to repeat his trauma. will break him even more if he lost another sibling because of his actions.

🖤. . about the same as brian, she sleeps like she’s dead. creeps everyone the heck out.

🖤. . cat person!! has a pocket full of treats for the cats that she’s sees in a everyday basis. 🖤🖤

🖤. . if she’s not wearing her white hoodie and black jeans she’s going to pull up with some street wear aesthetic..!!!

🖤. . the white hoodie she wears all the time … yeah she forgets to wash it ☹️ all the time. same with her mask. forgets to clean it.

🖤. . some angst bc why not…misses Lauren so much. after she died, she kept her journal and rereads everything so she could never forget about her.

🖤. . visit her grave once in a while to give her flowers and just trying to remember memories of her.

🖤. . doesn’t like the operator at all. hates it. with every fiber in her being , hates that she now “works” for it now. i don’t blame her though, i mean her whole entire family was haunted & tormented by this thing for ages.

🖤. . ending this in a good note^^ , buuut every night her and toby without a doubt (sometimes tim and brian if there up for it ) have a game night.

🖤. . meaning getting to play with toby’s consoles while there both sitting on the couch and focus very intently at the t.v in the living room. playing until god knows how long.

🖤. . screaming yelling and cursing each other in there own languages.

🖤. . playing board games or cards like uno while sitting together on dinner table and secretly everyone is plotting to piss off toby and works every single time.

ꪆৎ 𝙰/𝙽 : i hope you like these headcanons 😭😭 im sorry it’s SOOO long i literally i didn’t see that coming until i posted it . i’ll try to be consistent with posting but no promises >< bc tbh i only post if i have the energy too or literally the brain rot is that bad. anywaysss liu out!

my inbox is open for ask & requests!! if you like my content don’t forget to like , comment , & reblog❤️.

liuuboo2025 do not copy , translate or plagiarize any of my works. thank you ♡ﾟthx for reading! love y’all!

[marzipanandminutiae]

(sorry to keep reblogging this with Paragraphs, followers; I just keep having Responses come to mind)

so, I understand where you're coming from and as we've both said, I think we largely agree.

however, where you 're still losing me is the idea that correcting misgendering of oneself specifically in a "casual setting" is too far

saying "I don't like this for myself, so don't use conventionally gendered terms as neutral, ever?" bad! we both agree on that!

however. I don't think that there's any scenario in which it's unacceptable to- politely! -correct someone. I will ask someone to please not call me "bro" in casual conversation. I will keep reminding them if they keep saying it. I will make like Janet in The Good Place and cheerfully say "not a bro!" every time, whether they Use It Like That All The Time And See It As Gender-Neutral or not, because...I don't. and basic respect would be making an effort not to call me that.

to me, this is the same as correcting someone who uses the wrong pronouns. mistakes happen and nobody is perfect, but the onus is on the other person to at least try respecting someone else's gender- not on the person being misgendered to let it slide and be uncomfortable for the sake of keeping this person happy

(actually I do avoid using "dude" or "guys" to refer to new non-male friends unless I know they're okay with it, but that may be too much to expect of everyone)

individual gender is a personal thing. it doesn't exist to further any particular sociopolitical ideal; it's about how you live your life and what makes you feel comfortable, happy, and true to yourself. anything goes, and anything should be respected by others. so it's not "enforcing strict gender roles" for someone to have a binary gender and politely ask that they, personally, not be referred to with gendered terms outside of it

I also find the framing of this as "policing language" concerning. to me, that's framing an Interpersonal Communication issue as Structural, with the implied idea that one has to be comfortable with all conventionally gendered terms being used for them or one is somehow letting the progressive side down, so to speak. if correcting pronouns isn't policing- and it's not, IMO -neither is "please don't call me [dude/guy/bro/girl/queen/bad bitch]; thank you"

yeah you're up on all of the latest preferred queer terminology but do you respond normally when a woman asks you not to call her Bro, Bruh, Dude, Guy, etc.?

[notapradagurl7]

method man again soon ?

Let Me In.

Black!OC x Method ManWerewolf!

Summary: On a snowy night, you discover that your old flame has transformed into a werewolf, you rescue him from the storm.

A/N: Yes, here you go! it’s been a minute since I wrote for this fine man, I do love black fantasy and hope to see more, Don't forget to leave comments, likes and reblogs are welcome to support, drop a request if you like, they're always open! ❤️🫡

Warnings: fluff, smut, wolf transformation, piv, heavy dirty talk, angst, filth, biting, breeding kink, fictional, not real, kinda like a blurb.

Taglist: @megamindsecretlair @satoruya @planetblaque @playgurlxoxo @becauseimswagman1

@pocketsizedpanther @beenathembo @brattyfics

@hxneyclouds @kaylalb

@yassbishimvintage @blackgrlmagic

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes @nayaesworld @ovohanna24

@novahreign @writingsbytee @avoidthings @kimuzostar @slippinninque @keyera-jackson @theblacklewinsky

@euphorichappiness10 @life-in-the-slut-house @miguelspvssy @liatreads @kaylaahisthebestest-@tforpresz

@uniqueoutlierblog

@dxddykenn @dpennedit @euphorichappiness10 @life-in-the-slut-house @miguelspssy @liatreads @kaylaahisthebestest- @tforpresz

@uniqueoutlierblog

@dxddykenn @dpennedit

@secretlifeoofmarpessa

@westside-rot @mymindisneverhere @mind-somewhere-else

@kindofaintrovert

@5starr-staciii @pickuptruck01 @henneseyhoe @irlvampfairy

@browngirldominion @madamedantes

@chaoticcoffeequeen

@valarghoulis @jazziejax

@saturnville

@enchantedillumination

 ———-

Sitting cross-legged on the suede red couch, your brown pupils on the Garamond font printed on the white pages of the book in your right hand with the soft sound of jazz playing from the jet-black television across the room. Using the same remote to lower the volume, you sat surrounded by vintage red floral wallpaper, in the medium-sized living room where you were relaxed and at ease, chilling like a villain in your little sanctuary.

The small flakes of white snow descended from the thick,  cumulus clouds without a shade of blue showing up above, December arrived quicker than she thought every time of the year, she wanted to stay in your relaxed home where it was warm and safe.

The scent of mint filled the air while she had just finished placing a few candles in the room. Curling up with a cherry red blanket and a red mug of hot chocolate in her hand, tiny marshmallows floating at the of the brown beverage, she snuggled deeper into the couch.

Simone closed the book with a gentle snap, her gaze caught something outside the window in the white snow. Putting her mug and book down on the coffee table, she made her way toward the window, her palms pressed against the cold glass.

Tightening her gaze, she tried to make out the figure from the distance, it was a raven-haired werewolf. "Oh, Is that a wolf? I gotta go save it." she muttered to herself, feeling a twinge of sympathy. Without a second thought, she rushed towards the front door.

Why was there a werewolf in a snowstorm all alone without anyone noticing or saving it?

Clothed in a bright red coat, matching pants, her raven box braids swayed with her movement and snow boots as she crept toward the werewolf. With each step, the crunch of her boots mixed with the creature's growls echoing through the chilly air.

Simone slowly approached the werewolf, and blood dripped from its wounded arm. Simone spoke in a soft tone, her eyes on the creature's slow movements. "It's okay, I'm not gonna hurt you," she reassured, cautious not to frighten the beast or become its next prey.

The melanated woman gently caressed the wolf's head, its golden eyes fixed on her hand as she hears a soft whine. Moving her thumb back and forth in a soothing motion, She comforted, "You're safe with me, don't worry." The wolf was just the right size to be lifted by Simone - not too big, not too small.

After entering her home, Simone secured the door behind her pushing it with her clothed back. The wolf, still cradled in her arms, was gently placed onto the plush, brown chocolate-colored carpet. "I'll be back okay?" she reassured the animal, before getting a First Aid Kit from underneath her sink in the white cabinet.

Carefully treating his wound using peroxide and white bandage tape, locking eyes with the wolf's eyes again. "You did a great job, you're quite familiar—What's your name?" Simone asked him, raising her brow.

She remembers seeing the same wolf in the woods while she was outside gathering firewood for her house, is the wolf an old flame of hers? Clifford.

Cliff and Simone were dating a few years ago until he began acting strange, the irises of his eyes changed to golden, and his teeth were sharper, she remembers that day when he told her he was changing but she didn't think he would be a werewolf. Maybe that's why he ran away, he didn't want anyone especially her to see him as a monster or be heckled and shunned by the townsfolk.

Simone listened closely, a voice suddenly spoke to her in her thoughts. "Hello, Simone. It's me Cliff," the voice said. The wolf's ears perked up at the sound of his deep, masculine tone through Simone's mind like an echo. She knew without a doubt that it was him.

"Cliff what happened to you? I thought you were dead or—wait can you change back to a human?" She asked him, needing to see if it was really him.

A crimson-red glow, its thick tendrils swirling before her eyes. When the light scattered, a naked and vulnerable man sat before her. She quickly grabbed a large navy blue towel from the nearby suede couch, draping it over his shoulders to cover him. Her face turned red as she buried her face into the towel. Cliff chuckled at her reaction, grateful for the warmth of the towel.

"What's wrong baby girl?" Cliff asked, raising a brow, his voice still deep yet more human-like. Good thing he couldn't see her blushed face with the towel around him and her chin resting on his shoulder. "You're naked Cliff, I'm gonna get you some clothes okay?..." she told him, the closeness between their bodies made her heart thump out of her chest, she missed him so much.

Cliff chuckled, "Yeah, that would be a great idea." He turned around to face her with their eyes meeting, their bodies still close. "I missed you," he softly told her, his eyes locking onto hers intensely.

She felt shivers run down her spine at his words, her heart racing even faster. "I missed you too," she replied with a warm smile, blushing again.

As she stood up from the plush brown chocolate carpet, she sauntered through the cramped hallway and loomed into the exposed doorway of the medium-sized room with the vintage red floral wallpaper. With a faint blush, she gingerly opened the closet door and rummage through the hangers of clothes, finding the perfect outfit for him.

She gave him some baggy clothes that fit him perfectly, The black sweatpants and plain sweatshirt once belonged to her older brother. Cliff quickly changed into the clothing, feeling more at ease and less exposed. "Thank you, Simone," he thanked her. Grateful to be saved by her from the snowstorm.

Simone smiled warmly at him, feeling a sense of comfort in his presence. "It's no problem, baby. I'm just glad I could help," she replied, patting his shoulder gently. "But we need to talk about what happened to you. How did you became a werewolf?"

Cliff sighed deeply, his eyes darkened as he remembered the night that had changed his life forever. "It was a full moon night, and I was out in then woods walking with some friends. We stumbled upon a pack of werewolves, we tried to run away but every single of them attacked us baby," he said, taking a seat on the couch.

He paused, taking a deep breath. "I thought I was going to die, but then something strange started happening to my body. I felt my bones shifting, my muscles bulging, and my senses becoming stronger and then I transformed into this." his hands gripped the fabric of the sweatshirt so tightly that he trembled uncontrollably.

Simone's heart softened as she saw the pain in his eyes. She decided to comfort him. "Come here, Cliff," she said in a soft tone, gesturing him to her embrace. He leaned in, burying his face into the crook of her neck, inhaling the sweet scent of her mint perfume.

Their hearts flutter in sync, Despite his werewolf senses, he resisted the urge to take control and simply snuggled into her warmth. a feeling he hadn't experienced in a long time, and a sense of peace washed over him.

Cliff regretted leaving her behind when he transformed into a werewolf yet here they were in her living room, why couldn't he have told her? He was too scared. Simone held him close, rubbing soothing circles on his back as he let out a few quiet sobs.

Her black sweatshirt absorbed his tears one by one, "You're not a monster, baby," she whispered, her words giving him a glint of hope.

The old flames sat in silence, the only sounds were the crackling of the fireplace, he quickly pulled away from her embrace as he wiped his tears away, "Thank you..I'm sorry for leaving you Simone.." Cliff apologized, his voice laced with regret. His thumb traced her jawline lovingly.

Her palm cupped his breaded face with her brown pupils on his dark brown ones, "It's okay, you had to leave. I understand."

Cliff nuzzled his nose against her palm, gently kissing her handprint while letting out a low growl of contentment, "No it's not, I promise i won't leave again baby.." he calmed, hearing the sincerity in his tone.

She pulled him in by his shoulders to bring his face in, making him into her brown eyes. "Then don't leave...stay here." She replied to him with a soft tone, He leaned in closer, his lips against brushing hers.

His lips pressed onto hers in a steamy kiss. It was like they were making up for lost time, their bodies pressed together as they deepened the kiss, quickly undressing and preparing for their sensual act.

Her naked back rested against the plush, brown chocolate-colored carpet with his big hands latched on her hips as he rested her legs on top of his broad shoulders, giving her every inch of thick dick, he was much bigger this time that she felt every vein of his dick pulsating inside of her wet walls.

Clenching around him so perfectly, stretching her out after each jagged stroke, His fingers dug into her skin, leaving marks while he pulled her closer to him. Simone squirmed beneath him, their low eyes locked with his forehead pressed against hers.

Her arms draped his neck pulling him in closer with their bodies pressed against each other while he lowers his head to suckle on her neck and his sharp teeth grazing on her melanated skin earning a moan from his lover, Cliff plunges deeper into her, "Oh fuck! Cliff!! Deeper!!" Simone chanted out, her fingernails leaving bloody scratches on the delicate skin of his shoulder blades which made him hiss through his teeth.

Cliff quickly stood up from the carpet with him quickly pulled out of her as he carries her to the grey suede couch with her hands on the headrest of the couch while he gripped the back of her thighs hiking them up to his slender hips as he slipped back into her from behind with a soft moan leaving her lips, "Is that deep enough for you baby?" he groaned lowly, ramming into her causing her dainty hands gripped the headrest for dear life.

His low eyes fixated on her face twisting up in pleasure with her fingernails gripping the carpet and her toes curling into a ball from his animalistic thrusts sending her over the edge while her vision became dotty with tears cascading down her rosy red cheeks, he was making up for the lost time, the distance between them that crushed them, he couldn't run away from her again, "You're so beautiful.." he told her, his teeth sunk underneath his lips.

Their melanated bodies were covered in sweat and glistening from the dim lighting above the chandelier adding to the wet squelching noises and the skin-to-skin slapping aired out in the living room, "Y-yesss! Y-you're so deep!!" she cried out to him, throwing her ass back on him while he throw his head back from her clenching and creaming on his length, "Fuckk..you feel so good." Cliff groaned raspily, kissing up her arch passionately.

His dick twitched inside of her walls with her legs shaking weakly in his clutch feeling the shockwaves of pleasure flowing through her body, giving her more than a few sloppy strokes seeing her wetness trickle down in between her thighs as he dug her out, "I-i'm cumming...c-cum in me please.." she moaned lowly in between his strokes, by her request.

Her essence gushed on his dick completely, He unleashed his huge load of his nut through her walls, he grunted lowly, filling her up. Moaning at the same time.

Cliff caught her body in his arms while he seated her on his lap with the lovers breathing heavily, "i love you.." he told you, his hands gently caressing her thighs lovingly as he pecked her forehead.

Enjoying the silence between them, "I love you too.." she replied back, smiling with heat creeping on her cheeks.

————-

[cheriecelestial]

Angel Pt.III

pairing*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Red Hood!Jason Todd X fem!reader

disclaimer*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ nsfw. 18+ content. MDNI. porn with plot. creampie. unprotected sex. phone sex(if you can call it that). oral(m!+f! receiving). our jaybird is tad bit obsessive and manipulative (mild yandere content). mild mask kink. praise. dacryphilia. fingering. mentions of domestic and child abuse. swearing. canon typical violence. crowbars. not proofread !

a/n*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Okay so here’s what was promised. It’s my first time writing smut so please let me know your thoughts in the comments. All flashbacks are in italics. Comment Reblog and Like

☆〜（ゝ。∂）

╰ ┈➤ Part I ➤ Part II

Y/N knew that Red Hood leaving would create a void in her life, but she hadn’t anticipated feeling so adrift. The excitement she once felt at the sight of the fridge filled with expensive groceries, imagining them cooking together, disappeared without a trace. A humorless chuckle escaped Y/N’s lips staring at the assortment of items he bought, wondering why he assumed she needed seven kinds of cheese, varieties she didn’t even know existed.

Despite her best efforts to keep herself busy, Y/N couldn’t ignore the emptiness growing inside her. Somehow, she found herself struggling to navigate everyday life with the listlessness weighing down on her, even her friends begun to notice. The void left by his absence grew more palpable with each passing day, leaving her longing for him to return. Why are you moping around like that? It’s not like he was your boyfriend or anything. A voice taunted her. He’ll be back before you know it, yet a hopeful voice reassured her. What if he won’t? What if he — no. I can’t think that. Y/N slapped her hands on cheeks to snap herself out of dismal train of thoughts. He’s strong, he’ll come back. He has to.

Her eyes found their little parcel he had left her. Exactly 15 minutes after Red Hood left, a parcel arrived for Y/N in the mail, much like the one she received a couple months back — though slightly larger. Unwrapping the brown paper around it was a shoebox with the words “Red’s Anti-Goon Starter Kit” written on it with permanent marker. Inside were several unusual items like tiny smoke bombs, a very potent possibly industrial strength taser, pepper sprays which Y/N was sure were banned sometime back and a flip phone. Accompanying these tools was another handwritten manual, meticulously detailing the operation of each item in the simplest language possible.

She couldn't help but marvel at the items before her. As she studied the contents of the kit, she felt the mix of gratitude and apprehension stirring within her. The things he gave her were unsettling, though thoughtful. Somehow it reminded her of an alley cat, who would get odd sorts of gifts for people who were nice to them. Y/N took out the phone and stashed the box under the couch because whenever Stephanie was over, she had a habit of snooping around the kitchen cabinets for snacks so it wouldn’t be the best place to put it. She plugged in the phone, noticing it appeared pristine with no contacts saved. She just assumed that the phone was for calling her without either of them getting tracked.

As days turned into weeks and then months, Y/N would often find herself staring at the phone, hoping the small screen to buzz to life. Leaning against her balcony railing as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, she drifted into a daze. Twirling strands of hair absentmindedly, her thoughts inevitably returned to him; wondering where he would be or if he’s eating well.

The apartment felt eerily quiet. With a sigh, Y/N pulled out the flip phone, scrolling through it for the nth time. The sleek and compact flip phone sported a soft pastel pink colour, the same shade of cotton candy with tiny shimmering Sanrio charms dangling from silver chains and the keypad adorned with dainty floral patterns that lit up with a soft pink glow when in use. The cover was embellished with rhinestones. Ever since she was young, Y/N had always harbored a fondness for cute things and this phone was something she had always longed for something like this since her middle school days.

Y/N wondered if he would call, glancing at it in anticipation. Time seemed to stretch on endlessly as her mind conjuring up various scenarios. And almost as if on cue, the phone illuminated with an unfamiliar number flashing on the screen. Y/N’s heart raced, nearly dropping the device in shock. Rushing to her bed, she hastily answered the call, her breath catching in her throat.

Relief washed over her as she was greeted by a very familiar voice on the other end, a wave of happiness flooding through her. Y/N's brain buzzed with a whirlwind of emotions. She hadn’t heard his voice in months. Her heart fluttered with a mix of joy and longing as she savored the sound of his voice. “Red,” she whispered softly with a smile on her face. “Yes. I did. Very much so, ”she confessed,“ How about you ?”

His response was immediate, filled with the same affection that had always warmed her heart. “More than you’d think,” his voice so crackled over the phone that Y/N almost thought she imagined it. She buried herself in the blankets wrapped around her, almost being feel his presence, as if he were right beside her rather than miles away. His tone was tender, leaving a strange sort of chill on her skin. In that moment, the distance between them seemed insignificant, eclipsed by what she felt.

“So, how’s that mission going? Any hope of returning soon?” She joked to lighten the mood of the conversation. “Sorry angel. This might take a while. I could only call you once throughout this whole thing and tonight was particularly tough. I just needed to hear your voice.” his voice seemed uncharacteristically vulnerable, casting a bittersweet shadow over their conversation. Y/N's heart ached with empathy as she listened to his words, realizing the sacrifices he had to make for Gotham. “I understand. Take your time and I’ll be here waiting for you.” Her voice a gentle reassurance across the airwaves.

There was a brief pause filled with unspoken sentiments and shared longing before he spoke again, his voice tinged with gratitude and affection ,“Fuck don’t do this to me angel. I swear I’ll drop everything and take the next flight to Gotham.”

Y/N’s lips curved into a smile as she let out a soft chuckle, “ As much as I would like that, your mission is important.” Her tone gentle yet firm. With those words, the burden of his duty weighing down on his shoulders felt a little lighter, buoyed by her unwavering spirit. He sighed in resignation, “I know I know but that doesn’t make it any easier. Y’know what angel? Forget it. Just keep talking. Anything, topic doesn’t matter. I just need to hear you.”

“Of course,” her heart swelled with tenderness at his request. I guess what people said about distance making the heart grow fonder was true. Despite the crackling static and interference, every word was like a soothing melody to him. After a point he lost track of what she was saying. Everything around him seemed melt away and was replaced with him, her voice and joy at its purest.

Y/N couldn’t help but notice the faint groans and whimpers on the other end of the line. She initially dismissed it as static but still decided to ask, “ Red are you okay?” Red Hood replied with a nervous cough, “ Wh-what? Yeah, I’m okay. Don’t worry. J-just don’t stop talking. Okay?” His voice was hoarse, and his breathing became noticeably choppier. Y/N was the least bit suspicious but still continued rambling on about the happenings of the cafe. “Though I still don’t get why you thought I needed so many different types of cheese.”

“I just read somewhere that women like cheese. You can make into a charcuterie board or something.” He answered casually, trying to stifle the soft moans slipping from his lips. Y/N paused, I could swear I heard moan. The only time people make such sounds are when they’re in pain or when they’re —

“Red, are you hurt?” she asked again cautiously. He hesitated for a moment, his breath catching in his throat, before reaffirming, “ N-no. I’m fine. Just dealing with stuff. That’s all.” His words came out oddly strained. “If you insist.” She sighed in resignation. There was a moment of silence on the other end before he let out a shaky exhale, “I should really get going. I’ll see you soon” And just like that the line went dead.

Y/N sat there, staring at her phone, her mind swirling with questions. It didn’t sound like he was with someone. Could he be —? Heat rose to her cheeks as images flashed through her mind. No no don’t think such things Y/N. She did suspect that her advances hadn’t gone entirely unnoticed by him. Well, it seems she’ll just have to make sure when he gets back.

Two more months flew by since the phone call and the frequency of thoughts about him had, albeit not much, diminished as she busied herself with work. As the last customer sipped the last of their latte and left— Y/N sighed, preparing to close up and head home. With Stephanie having to leave early because of a family emergency, Y/N found herself alone to shut down the shop. She wiped the espresso machine and counter tops clean once again, leaving them gleaming under the dim glow of the overhead lights. With each swipe, she removed any traces of the sticky spills and stray coffee grounds left behind by the bustling crowd, a farewell to the day’s countless cappuccinos and macchiatos. The hiss of steam escaping the machine, the gentle dripping of taps from the cleaning of the frothing wands, the screech of the chairs across the wooden floors — all seemed to reverberate a little louder than usual in the tranquil solitude. Flipping the closed sign gave her a sense of satisfaction, marking the end of yet another long day.

With a final glance around the now-empty café, Y/N flicked off the lights and locked the door. Outside, the evening sky had dimmed to a soft twilight, casting a warm glow through the café windows. The bat signal appeared in the sky above her, a small smile gracing her lips as she remembered Red Hood. It reminded her of the red bat insignia on his chest— a symbol known to strike fear into the hearts of all those that dare take advantage of the innocent but struck solace and warmth in hers. She hadn’t gotten far on her way home when she felt her purse vibrate. Y/N pulled out her phone and realized it was the flip phone that chimed. The phone could be used only once to contact Red Hood, and she knew she wouldn’t be receiving another call on it without compromising her safety, yet she carried it around as a tangible reminder of his promise.

With a sense of both apprehension and anticipation, she flipped open the phone to answer. However, this time, it wasn’t a call. It was a text message. The message contained a straightforward address located near the Narrows; a part of town Red Hood had specifically warned her to steer clear of. Y/N couldn’t help but feel skeptical about the ominous message. But what if it is him? Her fingers hovered over the SOS button on her necklace, a safety net if things took a turn for the worse.

Y/N remained alert as her footsteps echoed through the desolate streets, she felt a chill creeping up her spine which just felt all the more foreboding in the eerie stillness around her. Yet in that stillness — she could hear the insects buzzing around the flickering streetlights, the distant howls of stray dogs and the sounds coming from the seemingly abandoned buildings looming overhead, slowly building a palpable sense of déjà vu. Except this time, it was much more unsettling than the night she met him in the alley near her apartment. She could feel someone’s gaze burning holes into the back of her head, but she couldn’t tell if it was the product of her paranoid imagination or not.

Y/N looked over her shoulder but saw no one feeling her senses heightened by the creeping unease. She tried but couldn’t shake off the feeling that she was being watched but every nerve in her body remained on edge. Yet despite the trepidation suffusing in the air, she was driven to see this through the end. Y/N pulled out the flip phone and dial the number that Red Hood used to call her. Within moments, the faint chime of a ringing phone echoed somewhere nearby.

With her heart thudding against her chest, she followed the sound of the ringing phone. As she rounded a corner, the sound became cleared and clearer — a phone lying on top of cardboard boxes next to a dumpster, its neon screen lighting up in the darkness. She slowly approached the phone, hands trembling slightly as she reached out to pick it up. As her fingers touched the phone, she felt a sudden presence loom behind her. Before she could react, darkness enveloped her vision, silencing any screams that may have escaped her lips.

“Must you have incapacitated her so forcefully, Roy?”

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t have the luxury to serenade and take her for coffee before bringing her here. In case you didn’t notice Kory we have a stubborn son of a bitch bleeding out.”

“I noticed plenty but she’s a civilian, you know they’re… fragile. You ought to be more considerate Roy. I doubt he will take it well.”

���He was the one who asked me to bring her here in the first place.”

“Your funeral.”

“Well if this one doesn’t wake up soon there’ll be a funeral, just not mine. Should I get some water to pour on her?”

“Don’t even — hush I think she’s waking up.”

Y/N eyes fluttered open, the world around her seemed hazy and distant. The room in front of her danced in and out of focus, a ballet of blurred shapes and muted colours. The last thing she remembered was the events of the —. She shot up, immediately regretting it as she was hit by a head splitting migraine. Discomfort took over almost immediately when her eyes moved about, albeit slowly, taking in her surroundings properly now that her head was clearing up somewhat.

What she was able to take it, was one of few things. First, she was on a very comfortable couch with a blanket draped around her shoulders and secondly, two red heads in costumes staring at her curiously.

“You —,” she started, her throat feeling parched but still continued, “ Arsenal and Starfire? You’re Red’s friends.” Her words were careful, she pretended to not have overheard their conversation from before. She knew that she was better off not knowing the real identities of people like them. That’s why she never tried to take Red Hood’s helmet off. And though she would never admit it out loud to anyone else, but she knew having a mask kink in a place like of Gotham wasn’t the best idea.

Arsenal, or as his teammate called him, Roy exchanged a glance with Kory and spoke up first with a cocky smirk, “ You got that right princess. How’re ya feelin’?” Kory offered her a comforting smile, though her glowy neon eyes were somewhat intimidating to Y/N. She heard somewhere that Starfire was the alien princess of a faraway planet but never thought much of it. Nevertheless, she appreciated the effort Kory was making to appear friendly.

“Fine I guess.” The h/c haired woman forced a small smile, trying to ignore the twinge of pain around her neck and in her head. Roy chuckled, leaning back on the couch. “Thank fuck. If anything happened to his precious little darling, Hood would have me six feet under.” Y/N’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of Red’s name, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “He talks about me?” she asked shyly.

“Uh No,” Roy began ,“I’d wager he planned on keeping you all to himself cuz y’know he’s not big on sharing and not that I don’t see why.” His grin held a flirtatious edge with his gaze subtly checking her up and down until Kory smacked his shoulder, making him to wince and drop his smile immediately. “Please don’t mind him,” she said with a gentle laugh, “He means well even though his words lack … finesse.”

Roy huffed, almost pouting, “ I’m right here y’know.” Y/N couldn’t help but chuckle at their banter, though the question about Red lingered in her mind. Meeting Arsenal and Starfire was pleasant, but there was someone else she longed to see. “Where is Red?” she finally asked, unable to suppress her curiosity. Roy’s eyes widened and Kory’s expression turned into a pained one. “Fuck I totally forgot about him. Come with me.” He exclaimed, jumping up from the couch and leading her urgently to the room. Red Hood lay on the stretcher in the center, clutching his side and softly groaning. Y/N’s breath hitched in horror as she rushed to his side. “Red ?” she asked, her voice trembling with concern. “Long time no see angel,” he mustered a light-hearted chuckle but despite his efforts she could almost see the grimace under his mask.

he mustered a light-hearted chuckle but despite his efforts she could almost see the grimace under his mask.

“We need to call a doctor!” She turned to Roy and Kory with panic lacing her tone. As vigilantes, she assumed they must have a designated doctor at their base, like in movies where such groups often had retired military personnel or medical prodigies in their ranks.

Roy clicked his tongue and sighed before stating matter-of-factly, “We did call a doctor.” Both of them glanced between Y/N and Red Hood. “I was the best you could find ?!” she exclaimed incredulously. It seemed unbelievable given the seriousness of Red Hood's condition. While she had patched up a few wounds before, her last operation had been back in med school and even then, it was her teacher performing it on a cadaver.

He shrugged apologetically, understanding the gravity of the situation. “We’re stretched thin right now. Plus, you’re the one he asked for,” he admitted.

“You want to put his life in the hands of a med school dropout ?!” Y/N asked rhetorically. “You’re a dropout?” Kory blinked in surprise. “He didn’t tell you?” The h/c haired woman gasped incredulously. All three pairs of eyes turned accusingly towards Red Hood. He shifted uncomfortably under their gazes, tense with unease. “It's not like that," Jason began, but Y/N interrupted him with a pointed look, crossing her arms, “Not like what? That you failed to mention you were relying on someone with minimal experience?” Her tone tinged with frustration.

“Can we do this later doll? Kinda dying here.” He coughed out, followed by a pained groan. Y/N felt a lump form in her throat and his discomfort grew almost palpable. Despite still being visibly distressed, her expression softened slightly — not being able to bear to see him in pain like this. “Fine,” she relented, steadying her panic and her concern breaking through her annoyance, “Let's focus on getting through this first.” With a nod of agreement, Kory and Roy turned their attention back to the task at hand. “We need to stabilize him until we can get him to a real qualified medical practitioner,” Y/N stated eyeing him accusingly. Jason let out a small sigh, relieved to momentarily escape the interrogation, though he could feel his consciousness slipping away from the blood loss.

“Stay with us bud.” Roy tapped his helmet. Jason’s grip on his consciousness was tenuous but still he nodded with labored breaths, fighting against the pull of exhaustion as they worked frantically to stabilize him. Y/N quickly immersed herself into the task, seizing the bag of sterilized equipment in the team’s med bay.

“Take off his armour.” Kory’s hands worked nimbly through Jason’s armour. It took her less than a minute to dismantle everything. The three worked in a manner that felt almost choreographed with their intent clear – to save their friend.

The skin of Red Hood’s torso marked was network of scars and red splotches. Y/N knew that for someone like him, injuries were inevitable and so were the scars they left behind. There were minor ones that resembled cigarette burns and larger ones that were angry red ones from fire or acid. She recognised some of the slashes as the ones she stitched herself. She recalled that Red Hood, probably not wanting her to see his wounds, would always pull his shirt back down as soon as she finished sewing. As someone who grew up in the rough part of town, she was no stranger to scars so she didn’t feel repulsed by them, rather she felt a sense of awe for the man who did everything in his power to make Gotham a better place. People admired the bat vigilantes sure, but not all knew just how tough it actually was, honestly Y/N didn’t know if she understood either but one thing, she knew was that Red Hood was worth every ounce of respect he commanded with each scar being the testament of the storms he weathered.

However, one scar particularly stood out to her, probably the biggest one. The raised ridges in shape of a Y travelling from his collarbones to his abdomen. Y/N felt her stomach lurch, she had seen that shape in medical book several times but never on a living person. Maybe it was some sicko who carved it onto him during one of his missions, she tried to convince herself but in the back of her head she knew that it was too prominent to be just skin deep.

“Y/N?” Roy’s voice broke her reverie, snapping her back to reality. Y/N quickly looked away, realizing she had been staring. “Turn him over. We need to remove the bullet first,” she instructed Kory and Roy. You can't afford to space out like that, she mentally scolded herself. Refocusing, she pushed aside her distractions. The blood had soaked through the first aid bandage, tainting the sheets crimson under him. “This might hurt. Do you have anaesthesia?” She inquired. Roy shook his head sheepishly, “We don’t keep that, but we do have booze, a leather belt to bite onto and horse tranquilizers. Would any of that work?” Y/N gaped at him incredulously. “Perhaps not,” Roy muttered, searching the room for alternatives. “Just go ahead without it,” Red Hood rasped, his voice barely audible. “But—” Y/N began in protest. “I don’t need it and besides you’d kiss it better, wouldn’t you angel?” he joked. Her face broke into a smile seeing his bravado still intact.

Y/N couldn't help but chuckle softly at his remark, appreciating his attempt to lighten the tense situation. “As you wish,” her tone softened with affection and partly from being impressed by his resilience. Taking a deep breath, she steadied her hands and began the task of removing the bullet from the injured area with utmost caution and care. Despite the lack of anaesthesia, Jason endured the discomfort stoically only to wince ever so slightly, not wanting to cause Y/N any more distress. Kory and Roy could only watch in awe as she worked with exceptional finesse. Regardless of what Y/N said, Roy could tell that she was far more skilled than she admitted to being. Maybe calling her wasn’t that bad of an idea after all.

Gotham city was a place where shadows stretched endlessly, the skyscrapers piercing the skies like jagged edges of broken glass cutting through the darkness. It offered a stark contrast to the labyrinth of impoverished and gritty streets of the Narrows.

Poverty, desperation and every other negative emotion to man was pervasive with the social fabric frayed under the weight of corruption and systemic injustice. And when it rained, the sound of the fresh water striking the flimsy roofs of the dilapidated buildings carried a sense of morbid irony - a reminder of despite how the city was plagued by perpetual rainfall, there were those who still struggled to get access to drinking water. But even then, the rainwater was far from fresh considering the untreated chemicals the industries pumped into the air of Gotham. Water was turned to acid and people’s hearts and minds to poison.

After working a long and tiring shift, Y/N stepped out the back door to dispose of the leftovers amidst the rain threatening to soak her cheap and scratchy waitress uniform. As she approached the dumpster, she heard movement and craned her neck to see what it was. “Jase?” she called out. In a moment’s notice, the boy crawled from under the empty cardboard box with his face lighting up when he saw her. Y/N’s eyes widened as she noticed the boy drenched head to toe and sporting a huge blue-black bruise across his cheek and eye.

“How did this happen?” She asked gently caressing his cheek and guiding him out of the rain. After their first meeting, 14-year-old Y/N formed an unlikely friendship with the elementary schooler. The boy recoiled from her touch and averted his gaze. She sighed, “Willis is having one of his episodes again?” Jason’s expression turned solemn, and he nodded slowly, “Mom told me to stay at the neighbor’s for the night but the neighbor was being weird and handsy, so I ran away.”

“Well let’s get you something to eat and that treated,” Y/N pointed at his black eye and continued, “I’ll call Catherine and let her know you’ll staying with me for the night, but we need to go home for that. Lucky for you, my shift just ended.”

“Don’t you have a phone?” Jason asked curiously. Since everyone he knew who had a job had a phone, it simply made sense that she would as well. “Ain’t got the kind of money for that kiddo. But if I did, I’d probably buy those cute flip phones. You know the cutesy ones with the flower pattern, rhinestones and crystal chains?”

“But they’re so —” his nose wrinkled in revulsion making Y/N laugh at his cute expression, “ Girly?” She made a guess, and he slowly nodded. “Well, I am a girl,” She patted his head but as soon as her hand touched his forehead, she withdrew it with a gasp, “ My god, Jase you’re burning up!”

“It’s nothing.” The boy muttered. Y/N shook her head firmly, “Pardon me but it’s not exactly convincing coming from someone who looks like a sopping wet cat. We’re going home no buts, you hear me?” Jason hesitated, torn between his discomfort and not wanting to burden Y/N. He knew her situation wasn’t much different from his own, and he couldn’t keep taking advantage of her kindness. “I-I’ll be okay. I don’t need your help.” he insisted but a dizzy spell from his raging fever hit him just as he spoke. Y/N caught him quickly, her expression leaving no room for argument. She crouched down, motioning for him to get on her back. “Get on. I’ll take you home,” she said. Jason complied without resistance. “I’m heavy you know,” he remarked. Y/N blew out a laugh as she stood back up. “And I’m stronger than I look you know.”

She draped her raincoat over both of them and carried him home, her steps steady despite the added weight. She could feel Jason’s fever rising, she kept talking to him trying to keep him awake despite his half-slurred responses in his fever-induced haze.

Much to her relief, it was Y/N’s mom that answered the door. “Is that Jason?” Her mom asked and Y/N nodded, gently placing him on the couch and explaining the situation. Her mother's gaze darted between her daughter and the boy; her expression filled with concern. “Y/N you can’t keep doing this.”

“Mom please he’s just a boy —”

“He is not your responsibility. He has his parents for that. You need to learn to be more selfish, this is the Narrows not the diamond district. If your father finds him —”

“He won’t.” Y/N answered in a clipped voice. Jason couldn’t help but feel guilty, it was clear that her mother wasn’t going to help, and he understood why. Both of them knew that all too well that Y/N was too kind for her good and insisted on helping despite the fact that they themselves were barely getting by. Despite his state, he could feel the tension in the air. He felt like an intruder, burdening Y/N and her family with his problems.

“The bathroom’s over there. Go change,” Y/N instructed, her voice firm but not unkind. She set a clean set of clothes down beside Jason and draped a towel over his shoulders. Her movements were practical, efficient, but there was a softness in the way she cared for him that didn’t go unnoticed. Y/N’s mother stood leaning against the kitchen doorway, her arms crossed as she watched Y/N heat up a glass of milk on the stove. Her expression was a mix of frustration and concern.

“What’s with this kid, anyway?” her mother remarked, her voice tinged with exasperation. “Feeding a stray cat or dog every now and then is one thing, but this… this is too much. We can’t afford this.”

Y/N’s hands stilled for a moment, her grip tightening on the glass. She took a deep breath before turning to face her mother, her eyes steady but filled with emotion. “Then what do you want me to do, Mom? Send him back to his abusive father and just let him—” Her voice faltered, catching in her throat as the weight of her words hit her. She paused, swallowing hard before continuing, her voice quieter but no less determined. “I can’t do much about my own life, but at least I can help him.”

Her mother’s gaze hardened, her lips pressing into a thin line. “So is that what this is? Pity?” she questioned, her tone sharp and probing.

“Call it whatever you want. It doesn’t matter to me,” Y/N said, brushing past her mother with a tray in hand. She set it down on the bedside table next to Jason, who sat hunched under a blanket, his face pale and drawn. She poured a dose of medicine onto a spoon and held it out to him, but he turned his head away, his expression clouded with hurt. “I don’t need your pity,” he muttered, his voice low and strained.

Y/N lowered the spoon, exhaling slowly as she felt the weight of his words settle in her chest. Her heart ached, realizing that her intentions might not be coming across the way she had hoped. “It’s not pity, Jase,” she said gently, setting the spoon aside. She sat down on the edge of the bed beside him, searching for the right words. She knew the sting of being pitied all too well, and the last thing she wanted was to make him feel that way.

“I hate the Narrows,” she began, her voice quiet but firm. “Every single inch of it.” Jason stayed silent, his eyes fixed on her, waiting for her to go on. “You heard what my mom said, and I get it—she means well. But I refuse to be selfish. I just can’t. Because everyone here is. The adults? They only care about themselves. So it’s up to us—the kids—to look out for each other, you know?”

Jason nodded slowly, his guarded expression easing slightly as he listened. Y/N felt a flicker of relief, grateful that he seemed willing to hear her out.

“It’s like… we’re all we’ve got,” she continued, her voice growing stronger as she spoke. “Everyone expects us to turn out just like them—selfish, bitter, and broken. And if I give in to that, if I stop caring, then how am I any different from the people I can’t stand? So no, Jason, this isn’t pity. I’m doing this for you, but I’m also doing it for me. I won’t let myself get trapped in this cycle. I’m going to break out of here—someday.”

Jason studied her for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly. “So you’re being nice out of spite?” he asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and skepticism.

Y/N couldn’t help but smile faintly at his question. “Maybe a little,” she admitted. “But mostly, I’m being nice because it’s the right thing to do. And because I don’t want to become someone I hate.” She paused, her gaze steady on his. “You don’t have to trust me, Jase. But I’m not going to stop trying to help you. Not because I feel sorry for you, but because I think you’re worth it.” Y/N booped Jason’s nose making lips curve into a half-smile. “You’re very weird. But ... in a good way.” His response made her own smile grow wider. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Now, be a good sport and take your medicine.”

Jason’s face scrunched up in distaste as he eyed the spoonful of medicine in her hand. “But that’s too bitter. I don’t like medicine,” he complained, his bottom lip forming an adorable pout. Y/N rolled her eyes before sighing softly, “ Well who does. You know what? Fine, lemme cut you a deal. You eat this and I’ll read you a bedtime story. How does that sound?” The boy contemplated the offer for a moment before opening his mouth reluctantly, his expression shifting from defiance to resignation. Y/N didn’t spare a moment before feeding the medicine, his face contorted into a grimace but swallowed it down, nonetheless. Handing him a glass of warm milk, she added,” I added extra sugar in this. This should help.”

Jason accepted the glass of milk with a grateful nod, a welcome relief from the bitterness of the medicine. He took a sip, savoring the comforting warmth spreading through him.

“Thanks Y/N,” he murmured, his voice muffled by the rim of the glass. Y/N smiled warmly at him, her heart swelling with affection. “You're welcome, Jase. Just remember, sometimes we have to do things we don't like for our own good,” she reminded him gently.

The boy scooted closer to her, resting his head against her shoulder as he continued sipping the glass of milk she had given him. Y/N had always been there for Jason, she was the one person who would always make all his problems disappear into oblivion. Her presence was a sanctuary from the Narrows’ harsh realities, a dream he never wished to wake up from. It was probably the only time in life he felt entirely safe and loved. “Now let’s get on with that bedtime story. Yeah?” she suggested.

Jason nodded eagerly, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he lied down on the bed, pulling the blanket closer to him. “Well, I don’t have a lot of kids’ storybooks lying around but I can read to you this one of my current favorites.” Jason didn’t mind, in all honestly considering his fever, he doubted he’d retain much of the story anyway, it was the soothing cadence of her voice that he craved. “What’s it called?” He asked.

“Pride and Prejudice. It’s by Jane Austen”

Jason's mouth formed an 'o' shape, unfamiliar with the title. Y/N hadn't expected him to recognize it either. Literacy rates in the Narrows were less than ideal and she didn't know anyone who willingly picked up a book, let alone a classic.

Despite his lack of familiarity with the title and the plot, he listened intently as Y/N began to read. Though some of the nuances of the story may have been lost on him, regardless he relished the opportunity to escape into this world that Y/N liked so much. He observed the small smile that graced her face when she mentioned a particular character. “Y/N?” he called out. Y/N tore her gaze from the book and met his eyes with a hum of acknowledgment. “Hmm?”

“Do you like this Mr. Darcy?”

Y/N’s expression turned pensive as she considered Jason’s question. “Well, Mr. Darcy is a complex character,” she began, her voice reflecting her fondness for the literary figure. “He may seem kind of a jerk at first, but as the story unfolds, you'll see there's more to him than meets the eye.”

Jason felt intrigued by Y/N's insights. He could sense her genuine affection for the character. He knew that Y/N didn't have a boyfriend so often he couldn't help but wonder about her preferences in men. “— I just find his character development fascinating. And of course, there's the fact that he’s rich. Like really really rich.”

Jason raised an eyebrow, “You like rich men?”

“I mean, who doesn't love financial security?” she replied with a shrug before continuing, “ I have two game plans for the future — either become rich myself or marry into wealth.”

The boy nodded, processing her words thoughtfully. “But aren't most rich men sleazeballs?” he interjected, curious about her perspective. “Well then, I guess I'll have to find someone who's at least agreeable. And when I say rich, I mean like —” she trailed off, searching for the right words considering how redundant of a topic this was for discussion with an elementary schooler.

“Mr. Darcy rich?” Jason guessed, eliciting a hearty laugh from Y/N.

“That's what I want. A huge penthouse at the top of a hotel, wearing luxurious clothes every day, receiving pretty flowers and indulging in gourmet delicacies like that wooden board thingy with different types of cheese, bread and grapes,” Y/N added, propping her hand against her chin and sighing dreamily. “Dunno what it's called but l've seen it in a magazine,” Jason remarked. He couldn't help but smile at her response, struck by her clear vision of the ideal lifestyle.

Y/N closed the book with a soft thud, placing it on the bedside table to signal the end of their reading session. “But that’s a conversation for another time. It’s late, and you should get some rest,” she said, her tone gentle but firm.

Jason, who had been ready to protest, hesitated at the quiet authority in her voice. Recognizing there was no point in arguing, he gave in with a slow nod. He tugged the blankets tighter around himself, shifting to the other side of the bed as he prepared to settle in for the night.

As Y/N reached the door, Jason’s voice stopped her. “Y/N, wait—just one more thing.” She turned back to see his face peeking out from the cocoon of blankets, his expression curious. “Yes?” she asked, pausing in the doorway.

Jason hesitated for a moment, as if weighing his words, before finally asking, “If a guy is rich, nice, and good-looking… would you marry him?”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, a warm, genuine smile spreading across her face. “Go to sleep, Jason,” she said, shaking her head as she stepped out of the room. Her laughter lingered in the air behind her, leaving the question unanswered. Little did Jason know, as he lay there in the quiet of the night, that her response—or lack thereof—had sparked something in him. That night, he found his aspirations for the future, though he couldn’t quite put them into words just yet.

Jason Todd was no stranger to waking up in excruciating pain after a particularly grueling mission. This time was no different. As consciousness slowly returned, agony was the first thing he registered, sharp and unrelenting. The last thing he could recall was Y/N bent over him, carefully operating to remove a bullet, and the searing pain of her incisions cutting through his flesh. He guessed he must have triggered vasovagal syncope—a reflex that causes blood pressure and heart rate to plummet, leading to fainting as the body’s way of shielding itself from overwhelming stress or pain.

A small part of him felt almost insulted by it. He’d been trained to endure, to stay conscious through the worst of it. But maybe the endless sleepless nights, the relentless pursuit of his target, had finally taken their toll. Jason had left Gotham months ago with one goal: to dismantle Black Mask’s overseas drug operations. Base after base, lead after lead, he’d chased the trail for six exhausting months, only to end up back on the outskirts of Gotham.

Black Mask and his men had set a trap, one that caught Jason and his team off guard until it was almost too late. They’d used civilians as bait, forcing Jason into a corner. In the chaos, he’d managed to take down two of Black Mask’s top generals, but not without cost. A bullet had found its mark, leaving him wounded and vulnerable in the crossfire.

His eyes struggled to get into focus, blinking several times as he continued looking at the ceiling, it was a familiar one. The one at the outlaws’ base. He exhaled softly, his throat dry and aching, due to the lack of a much-needed drink. Regardless that was nothing compared to the pain coursing through his body, the sources varied, spreading like fire to his nerves. As the initial wave of pain subsided, he became more aware of his surroundings, he felt a weight on his leg. He turned his head and saw her.

Y/N L/N, in all her quiet grace, was asleep with her cheek resting gently against his thigh. Her hair, tied into a loose bun earlier, had partially come undone, strands falling softly around her face. She looked as beautiful as ever, though the faint dark circles under her eyes hinted at the sleepless nights she’d endured lately. Yet, despite the fatigue, her expression was serene, almost ethereal, radiating a sweetness that reminded Jason of something divine—like an angel, if he believed in such things. It struck him that this was the first time he’d ever seen her sleep like this, so peaceful and unguarded.

Hesitantly, he reached out, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face, his touch feather-light so as not to disturb her. He froze when she stirred slightly, but instead of waking, she nuzzled closer to his hand, her face softening further in her sleep. At that moment, Jason felt something shift inside him, a warmth spreading through his chest that he couldn’t quite explain. It was as if his heart had melted into something unrecognizable, something tender and fragile.

Jason had long since turned his back on religion. Given the life he’d lived and the things he’d done, he was certain there was a special place in hell reserved just for him. He’d never given much thought to angels or divinity, convinced he’d never know what they truly looked like. But in that moment, as he watched Y/N sleep, he felt as though he was staring at something sacred. She embodied the purity and grace of every scripture, every gospel, every story of goodness he’d ever heard. And for the first time in a long time, Jason felt something akin to hope—or maybe even redemption.

She stirred awake slowly, the sensation of a calloused hand brushing lightly against her cheek and neck pulling her from sleep. “Red?” she murmured, her voice thick with drowsiness. The sound of her voice caught Jason off guard, his breath hitching as it pulled him out of his thoughts and back into the quiet reality they shared.

“Mornin’, doll,” he greeted softly, his voice rough and scratchy but warm. She hummed in response, instinctively leaning into his touch, her face nuzzling closer to his hand. Just as she was about to drift back into sleep, the memories of everything that had happened rushed back to her, jolting her fully awake. Y/N sat up abruptly, her eyes wide with alarm, and without thinking, she threw her arms around his broad shoulders, pulling him close. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” she whispered, her voice trembling. Her chest rose and fell with quiet sobs, the relief she’d been holding back finally spilling over.

Jason understood that witnessing someone close suffer a severe injury like his could be profoundly unsettling for someone not accustomed to such dangers. Though taken aback, he returned her embrace, caressing her hair with a tenderness he didn't realize he possessed.

As Y/N held onto him tightly, he felt a surge of emotion welling up inside him. The pain throbbing through his body long forgotten as he continued holding her close to him. Her presence was all comfort he needed. Jason was a man of many talents unfortunately comforting people wasn’t one of them, at least so he thought. “Shh it's okay, sweetheart. I’m okay. I swear,” he murmured, rubbing small circles on her back soothingly.

Y/N sniffled against his chest, her tears dampening the fabric of his shirt. She slowly pulled away, “I was so scared.” He brushed a stray tear from the corner of her eye, his touch filled with unspoken promises and reassurance. Jason’s heart ached at the sight of Y/N’s tear-stained face, his own emotions mirroring hers. Despite his usual stoicism, he found himself struggling to find the right words to comfort her in this moment of vulnerability.

“I know angel,” he whispered softly, his voice barely above a breath. “‘m here now and I’m not going anywhere.” Yet despite her initial relief, her eyes betraying the lingering distress. He knew the storm of emotions was far from over. “Red we need to talk,” the tone of her voice spoke volumes of the impending conversation they would have about his recklessness.

Jason's heart sank at the seriousness in Y/N's tone. He knew that if he wasn’t careful with this, it could drive a rift between them and scare her off for good, something that he considered an absolute non-option. Nodding solemnly, he met her gaze,“I know,” he replied quietly. “Let's talk.”

As they settled into a tense silence, Jason braced himself for the worst. “Red, I don't think I can keep doing this. You should really hire someone more qualified as your doctor,” Y/N continued, her words filled with concern. Despite her relief at seeing him alright, she was painfully aware of the potential dangers of their situation. The possibility of a misstep, such as making an incision in the wrong place or nicking an artery, weighed heavily on her conscious. Jason felt a knot tighten in his stomach at her almost palpable distress, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt for putting her in such a precarious position. “Please don't put your life in my hands like that again. I- I don't think I can take it.” Her bottom lip quivered with emotion and her eyes grew glossier.

Reaching out, he gently cupped her face with his hand. “You won't have to do something like that again,” he vowed earnestly. There was a pause after his words where neither of them knew what to say. “But I can still crash at your place, yeah?” he added playfully with a hint of hope.

Y/N's serious expression broke into a smile, “Of course.”

Their moment was interrupted by a cough, and they turned to see Roy leaning against the door with a smirk. “As much as I hate interrupting your canoodling sesh, l gotta borrow Hood for a moment. Do you mind Y/ N?”

Y/N pulled away from Jason's touch with a jerk before hastily getting up and leaving the room, her cheeks flushed with furious blush of embarrassment. “Cute,” Roy's smirk turned into a full-blown grin as he watched her walk out, then turned back to Jason, who was not amused in the slightest.

Jason shot Roy a stern look, his irritation evident. “What?” he said, his tone clipped. Roy Harper had been his ride or die for a very long time now, mostly because his plans were often high-risk high return and to be conducted by higher trained individuals with dubious moral compasses - two of them being himself and Roy. And one could say Jason trusted him with his life and had done so many times. But as of now asphyxiation seemed like a very tempting plan.

Despite wearing his trademark helmet, Jason’s sharp scowl didn’t escape Roy’s notice, but he chose to ignore it. Instead, he sat down on the bed with barely concealed mirth and curiosity in eyes, like that of a schoolgirl talking gossip with her girlfriends. “Y’know Jaybird I’m kinda sad. You got a girlfriend and such a hot one at that and didn’t tell me? And here I thought we pinkie promised to tell each other our secrets when we braided each other’s hair and painted our nails at Lian and the outlaws’ slumber party.” he teased with faux sadness.

Jason rolled his eyes, trying to suppress a smile despite himself. Roy always had a way of lightening the mood. “Just forget it,” he insisted, though his tone lacked conviction. “Y/N’s not my girlfriend. Not yet, at least,” he began, unsure of how to approach the topic. Roy raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying Jason’s attempt to downplay the situation. “Uh-huh sure whatever you say buddy,” he remarked, his playful demeanor unwavering.

“You were out for a like two days, so I took the liberty to make my acquaintance with our lovely Y/N. I already know how you folks met and all. So, I’ll start asking the real questions. What’s the plan ? ” Roy asked vaguely.

“What are you talking about?” Jason replied, playing dumb. Roy leaned in closer, his usual playful grin replaced by a more serious expression. “Come on, Jay. You and I both know you don’t actually need a doctor. We’ve stitched ourselves up plenty of times, and if it’s really bad, there’s always Alfred. So, there’s only one reason you’re keeping her around. You want an excuse to keep her close without her figuring out what you’re really up to.” Jason’s carefully constructed facade didn’t last long under Roy’s sharp observation, and it wasn’t long before the truth began to show through.

“Do you think I’m agreeable?” He asked. Roy’s brows furrowed in confusion at the odd question, but he decided to play along, “Uh yeah, I guess? What’s that gotta do with this?” Jason shook his head dismissively, waving off his question. He slumped back against the headboard and sighed heavily, wincing slightly from the pain of his injury. “Look let’s just say it’s easier for me to get her to accept gifts and stuff if she thinks she saved my life. And well she did.”

Roy's confusion deepened as he tried to make sense of Jason's words. “That bullet wound wouldn't have killed you,” he pointed out, stating the obvious.

“No. But abuse would have. Starvation would have. Disease would have. Neglect would have. The Narrows would have. She didn't let it. She saved me and continued to save me again and again. For years.” Jason's response was solemn. His voice softened to a whisper as he reminisced what were probably the only good memories of his childhood.

Roy’s eyes widened as the pieces fell into place. “You two have history,” he stated, not bothering to wait for Jason’s confirmation before diving into his next question. “So, what is this? Some kind of childhood sweethearts thing?”

Jason shifted uncomfortably, struggling to find the right words to explain without making it sound awkward. Roy, meanwhile, held up his hand, counting on his fingers as if doing some quick math, his face scrunched in confusion. “Wait, she’s older than you, right? How does that even work?”

“Uh well. It is childhood love, just one sided and —“ Jason began, but Roy cut him off with a scandalized gasp. “Ain't no way dude ! So that's why you asked me and Kory to make sure she doesn't find out your identity. You know she'd never let you hit it if she knew you were the same snotty-nosed brat she babysat or some shit.”

Jason shot him a glare, his scowl deepening at Roy’s crude phrasing. “I’m not just ‘trying to hit it,’ Roy. I’m in love with her,” he snapped, though deep down, he knew his best friend wasn’t entirely wrong—even if he didn’t appreciate the bluntness of the delivery.

For a moment, he was speechless. In all the years he’d known Jason, love had never seemed to be a priority. Jason was always more focused on his missions, his goals, his vendettas—matters of the heart rarely, if ever, made the list. Seeing him so openly and sincerely lovesick was unexpected, to say the least.

“Dang, Jay,” Roy finally said, his tone a mix of disbelief and pride. “I always knew you’d get there someday. But man, I should’ve seen this coming. You’re absolutely down bad for her.”

Jason’s scowl deepened at Roy’s teasing, his irritation flaring. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he shot back, his voice defensive.

“I mean, I had my suspicions ever since I heard you getting all… worked up to the sound of some girl telling you about her day. Y’know, like a few months back?” Roy said, his grin widening.

Jason’s eyes narrowed in surprise. “How did you—” he started, but Roy cut him off with a casual shrug. “You forgot to mute the comms,” he stated matter-of-factly. “But don’t worry. Kory was asleep and didn’t have her comms in. She didn’t hear a thing.”

Jason groaned, running a hand over his face. “So you’re telling me you didn’t have the decency to, I don’t know, not eavesdrop on a private moment?” he retorted, his annoyance clear.

Roy shrugged again, his expression still unapologetic. “Hey, it’s not like I was trying to snoop,” he insisted, though his tone lacked any real remorse. “I was just about to crash when I heard this cheerful voice coming through the comms, and, well… I ended up hearing the whole thing. Total accident, I swear.”

Jason narrowed his eyes, his skepticism obvious. “Sure, Roy,” he said dryly, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “Because accidentally overhearing something like that is totally normal.”

Roy raised his hands in mock surrender, a grin tugging at his lips. “Alright, alright, maybe I should’ve given you some privacy,” he admitted, though his tone was far from sincere. “But come on, Jay. If it had been a mutual thing, I would’ve backed off immediately. No questions asked—that’s private and all. But it was just you, so I figured, hey, that’s fair game.”

Jason let out an exasperated sigh, shaking his head at Roy’s weak justification. “Fair game? Seriously?” he exclaimed, his voice tinged with disbelief. “It’s not like I haven’t seen your—” He gestured vaguely toward Roy’s body, his words trailing off. “And let’s not forget, you didn’t give a rat's ass about privacy when you were fucking that model girl five feet away from me and Starfire at the iceberg lounge.”

He winced as the memory resurfaced but, in his defense, she was undeniably attractive and he had been as intoxicated as his metabolism allowed him to be. He reasoned with himself that it was simply a momentary lapse in judgment, a product of the stress and frustration from the mission. “Anyways 'nuff about that. Let's talk about Y/N.” Much to Jason's relief, Roy dismissed the topic eager to shift the conversation back to the original topic. “You're serious about her, yeah ?”

“Absolutely,” Jason replied without hesitation, his voice firm and resolute. Despite the complications of their situation, his commitment to her was unwavering.

Roy leaned forward, his expression turning more serious. “So, what do you plan to do when she finds out the truth?” he asked, cutting straight to the heart of the matter.

The question gave Jason pause, forcing him to confront the reality he’d been carefully avoiding. He hesitated, his mind racing as he weighed his words. “Well, I—” he began, swallowing hard as a hint of vulnerability crept into his voice. “I’m hoping to build our relationship enough that we can work through it when the time comes.”

“So, no plan?” Roy pressed, his tone skeptical as he sought a clearer answer.

Jason’s gaze faltered for a moment, his confidence wavering. “I mean, I haven’t mapped out all the details yet,” he admitted, “but I’ve thought about it. I’ve got a few ideas.”

“Like securing yourself as her sugar daddy so she’ll be too attached to let you go?” Roy quipped, rolling his eyes as he remembered how Jason had been mysteriously draining their funds lately. But then it hit him—when he’d spoken to Y/N, she hadn’t mentioned anything about receiving gifts or money from Jason.

“Well, yes and no,” Jason admitted, his tone a mix of defensiveness and honesty. “I’ve been sending her three grand every month, and I’ve been keeping an eye on her bank account. But she hasn’t spent a single cent of it. The only money she’s used is what she won from our video game bets.”

Roy raised an eyebrow, nodding slowly. “Huh, so she’s not after the money. That’s cool,” he said casually. Jason shot him a sharp glare, and Roy quickly cleared his throat, backtracking. “I mean, not that I ever thought she was. But if she’s not spending your money, that could mean one of three things: one, she’s just a natural saver; two, she’s saving up for something big and specific, like a one-way ticket out of Gotham; or three, she’s planning to give it all back to you.”

Jason scoffed, his voice carrying a subtle but unmistakable edge of possessiveness.

Roy’s brow furrowed, caught off guard by the tone. “Let her what? Return the money or leave?” he asked, his concern growing as he recognized something familiar in Jason’s voice—a determination he’d heard before, but this time, it lacked the usual rage and vengeance. Instead, there was a darker, more intense undercurrent.

“Both,” Jason stated firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Roy’s unease deepened at Jason’s unwavering declaration. The gravity of the situation was starting to sink in, and a sense of dread crept over him. Please don’t let it be what I think it is, he silently prayed to whatever gods might be listening. Gathering his courage, he took a deep breath and spoke up. “Jason, I need to ask you something.”

“Go ahead,” Jason replied, his expression unreadable.

“What if she rejects you?” Roy asked cautiously, his tone measured as he braced himself for Jason’s reaction. The air between them grew heavier, the tension almost palpable. Jason fell silent, his expression thoughtful as he considered the question. After a moment, he replied, “Well, I’ve got a secure penthouse. It’s furnished with everything she likes.”

Roy’s eyes narrowed, his concern deepening as he processed Jason’s words. He pressed his lips together, rubbing his forehead as a knot of unease tightened in his chest. “Is that why you’ve been blowing through all that money? To set up some kind of gilded dollhouse to keep her in, just in case she tries to leave you?”

Jason’s demeanor shifted, a flicker of discomfort crossing his face before he quickly masked it. “It’s not like that,” he insisted, though his voice lacked conviction. Roy’s skepticism didn’t waver, his gaze sharp and probing as he stared Jason down.

“I asked you what you’d do if Y/N doesn’t want anything to do with you, and your first thought is kidnapping her? Jason, this isn’t how any of this works!” Roy’s voice rose in disbelief, his worry spilling over before he caught himself. He glanced toward the living room, where Kory and Y/N were, and quickly lowered his tone, realizing the risk of being overheard. The depth of Jason’s attachment to Y/N was becoming alarmingly clear, and it left Roy deeply unsettled.

Jason’s jaw tightened, his expression hardening as he met Roy’s gaze. “You’re making it sound worse than it is,” he said, his voice low and defensive. “It’s not about trapping her. It’s about making sure she’s safe, that she has everything she needs. If she doesn’t want me… fine. But I’m not going to let her walk away without knowing she’s taken care of.”

Roy shook his head, his frustration evident. “Jason, you’re not hearing yourself. This isn’t about taking care of her—it’s about control. You’re so scared of losing her that you’re planning for the worst-case scenario instead of just… I don’t know, talking to her. Being honest. Letting her decide what she wants.”

Jason looked away, his shoulders tense. “You don’t understand. It’s not like I want to do it. It’s just a contingency plan for the worst-case scenario,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t lose her, Roy. Not again.”

Roy let out a frustrated scoff, his words sharp and cutting. “You Bats and your goddamn contingencies! Listen, Jay, Y/N is a civilian—and a really good person. You don’t pull this kind of crap with people like her. Or with anyone, for that matter.” His disapproval was clear, his voice firm as he laid into Jason.

“At least she’s not a villain,” Jason shot back, his exasperation bubbling over as he tried to justify himself.

Roy’s eyes narrowed, and he jabbed a finger at Jason in warning. “Don’t bring the mother of my child into this,” he said sharply, his tone leaving no room for argument.

He dropped his hand and let out a heavy sigh, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. Roy knew all too well how stubborn Jason could be, and arguing with him often felt like talking to a brick wall. Still, he wasn’t ready to give up. “Look, if you want to win her over, start with flowers and dinners, y’know—green flag stuff,” Roy suggested, his tone softening as he tried to steer Jason toward a better approach. “The way to a woman’s heart is through genuine, romantic gestures—not through some creepy forced captivity. You read romance novels, for crying out loud. You should know this!”

“Like I said, it’s just a worst-case scenario. And yes, dinners and flowers are exactly how I plan to start,” Jason replied, his arms crossed as he spoke slowly and deliberately, as if explaining something to a child.

Roy nodded, feeling a small measure of relief at Jason’s reassurance. “Good,” he said, his tone easing slightly. “I’ll help however I can. Just don’t let those ‘worst-case scenarios’ of yours mess with your head.”

Jason gave a slight nod and hummed in acknowledgment. The two fell into a brief silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Roy understood the complexity of the situation—he couldn’t risk the safety of a civilian, and he certainly couldn’t let his best friend make a choice he’d come to regret, especially with Batman always watching closely in the background.

Despite being father and son, Batman and Red Hood’s relationship was anything but smooth. Their differing approaches to crime-fighting and their clashing ideologies often put them at odds. Roy frequently found himself stepping in as a safety net for Jason, especially when his best friend’s anger and thirst for vengeance threatened to spiral out of control. Roy knew what it meant to owe someone your life—Jason had saved him and his daughter, Lian, more times than he could count.

That’s why Roy was acutely aware of how Jason’s feelings for Y/N could further strain the already fragile relationship between him and Batman. Bruce had always been adamant about keeping civilians out of their world, especially when it came to personal relationships. But one thing was undeniable—Y/N brought a sense of joy and peace to Jason’s life that Roy hadn’t seen in years. After everything Jason had been through, he deserved that happiness.

Roy clapped his hands on his thighs and stood up, breaking the silence. “Good talk. You should get some rest now. I’ll take Y/N home,” he announced.

Jason’s head snapped up, his expression one of surprise. “What? Why?” he asked, his voice tinged with protest. “Can’t she stay a bit longer?”

“Nope,” Roy said firmly, pointing a finger at Jason. “You’ve used up your Y/N privileges for now. She hasn’t been home or gone to work since you’ve been out. If you keep her here any longer, you’re going to get her fired.”

Jason’s shoulders slumped in defeat, but he didn’t argue. He could see the exhaustion written all over Y/N’s face, and he didn’t want to push her any further. Without waiting for a response, Roy turned and walked out of the room. As he stepped into the living room, a faint smile tugged at his lips. Y/N and Kory were deep in conversation, their heads bent close together like old friends sharing secrets. The sound of their laughter filled the room, warm and genuine, and it brought a sense of comfort to Roy’s heart.

It wasn’t often that Kory found someone who treated her so naturally. Most civilians kept their distance, wary of her striking appearance and alien origins. Despite her boundless optimism, Kory often faced mistrust and hesitation from others. But Y/N didn’t seem to care about any of that. She treated Kory like anyone else, and it was clear they had hit it off.

“Having a good time, girls?” Roy asked, leaning casually against the couch.

Kory’s eyes lit up as she turned to him, her smile radiant. “Conversing with Y/N has been most delightful,” she said, her voice brimming with enthusiasm. Y/N smiled back, giving Kory’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Likewise, Kory,” she replied warmly.

“Well, hate to break up the fun, but I need to take Y/N home,” Roy announced, disrupting the cheerful mood. Kory’s smile faded slightly, her lips pressing into a thin line. “I suppose you do,” she said with a reluctant nod. It was obvious the two had hit it off, and Roy couldn’t help but feel a little guilty for cutting their conversation short.

Y/N excused herself to gather her things. “She’s nice,” Roy remarked, earning a hum of agreement from Kory. “I also approve of Jason’s choice,” she added with a small smile. When Y/N returned, ready to leave, Roy gestured toward the door. After a round of goodbyes and promises to stay in touch, they headed out of the Outlaws’ base.

The car ride was mostly quiet, though not uncomfortably so. Y/N considered asking Roy how he knew her address, since she hadn’t actually given it to him. But given his line of work, she figured it wasn’t that surprising. Still, she saw it as a chance to break the silence and decided to ask anyway. “How did you know where we’re headed?” she inquired, her tone curious.

“Hood has a file on you. I read it,” Roy replied casually, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Y/N’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Red had a file on her? The idea was intriguing, to say the least. She’d seen stuff like that in detective shows and movies, but experiencing it firsthand was something else entirely. “What else is in there?” she asked, curiosity piqued.

“The usual stuff. Date of birth, place of birth, height, weight, criminal record—or lack thereof—and a bunch of other details,” Roy explained, choosing his words carefully to avoid alarming her. He knew, of course, that the file was far more extensive than that. In reality, calling it a “file” was an understatement. Jason had dug deep into Y/N’s past, compiling an almost obsessive amount of information. Roy found it unsettling, even by his own standards. Jason had crossed into borderline stalker territory, and if it weren’t for the fact that he already had a 24/7 tracking device hanging around Y/N’s neck, Roy wouldn’t put it past him to install hidden cameras or something equally extreme. Thankfully, it seemed Jason hadn’t gone that far—yet.

Y/N decided not to press further and instead turned her attention to the passing scenery outside the window. The exhaustion from the past few days was catching up to her, and despite her efforts to stay awake, her eyelids grew heavy and eventually closed. Roy glanced over at her, noticing her head resting against the window as she drifted off to sleep. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy as he watched her succumb to exhaustion, her features softening in the quiet comfort of sleep.

A gentle tap on her shoulder eventually roused her. “We’re here,” Roy said, his voice low so as not to startle her. Y/N blinked awake, peering out the window to see her apartment complex. She gathered her things from the seat and reached for the door handle, ready to step out. “Y/N?” Roy called out, stopping her in her tracks.

“Yeah?” she replied, turning back to face him.

“Can I get your number?” he asked, the question coming out a bit abruptly. Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the request. Sensing her hesitation, Roy quickly clarified, “No, no—not like that. I’m not hitting on you. You’re Hood’s girl, and he’d kill me if I tried. What I meant was, before Kory and I knew about you, Jason would disappear for hours, and we’d have no idea where he was. Turns out, he was with you. So, next time he pulls a vanishing act, I can just call you and check in.”

And also so I can keep tabs on you to make sure you’re not kidnapped, he thought to himself, though he wisely kept that part to himself.

Jason’s intentions toward her were far from innocent, and Roy knew it was only a matter of time before Y/N became so deeply entangled in his world that escaping would feel impossible. She was blissfully unaware of the situation she was in, and a part of Roy hoped she’d never have to find out. That would be the best outcome for everyone involved.

“Of course. You could’ve just asked earlier,” Y/N replied with a warm smile, handing him her phone. Roy quickly saved his number in her contacts. “Hood can be… unpredictable sometimes,” he added, his tone serious. “If anything ever happens, call me.”

Y/N’s brow furrowed slightly at his words. While she trusted Hood enough to believe he wouldn’t do anything to harm her, she appreciated Roy’s concern. Living in Gotham had taught her that preparing for the worst was just part of life.

“Thank you, Roy,” she said sincerely. “I’ll keep that in mind. Just so you know, Red and I aren’t dating, though I’ll admit he’s quite the catch.”

“It’s actually the opposite,” Roy muttered with a dry chuckle, his tone laced with irony. Y/N smiled, misinterpreting his comment as a compliment rather than the subtle warning he meant it to be. “That’s sweet of you,” she said, completely unaware of the underlying meaning behind his words.

Roy frowned, realizing she hadn’t picked up on his implication. “That’s not what I—” he started, but then stopped himself. “You know what? Never mind. Stay safe, Y/N,” he said with a sigh, forcing a reassuring smile to mask his unease.

With a final nod, Y/N bid Roy farewell and headed toward her apartment. As she walked away, Roy couldn’t help but think to himself, he’s the one who caught you Y/N.

As the sun began its descent, soft golden light filtered through the kitchen window, bathing Gotham in a warm, amber glow. The sky, once a mix of vibrant blues and cloudy grays, now melted into the softer hues of pink and orange, gradually deepening into the purples of twilight. Y/N stood at the kitchen counter, preparing herself a light evening snack. It had been nearly a week and a half since she last saw Red. In that time, she’d stayed in touch with both Roy and Kory, receiving regular updates on his recovery.

The chime of the doorbell interrupted her thoughts. Y/N remembered texting Kory earlier, asking if Red could visit once he was feeling better. She hadn’t expected it to be so soon, but the idea of finally seeing him again filled her with anticipation. Quickly drying her hands on a kitchen towel, she made her way to the door, a smile spreading across her face as she imagined the familiar sight of the red helmet and leather jacket.

“Hello, Y/N,” a voice greeted as she swung the door open. But her smile faltered, and her heart sank like a stone. Standing on the threshold wasn’t the figure she’d been eagerly waiting for. Instead, it was someone from her nightmares. The excitement bubbling inside her vanished in an instant, replaced by a storm of emotions—confusion, anger, hatred, and, most of all, an overwhelming sense of dread.

Time seemed to freeze as shock and disbelief washed over her. Memories of past traumas flooded her mind, sending a cold shiver down her spine. Her eyes locked onto the metal crowbar in his hand, and the icy rage in his gaze made her heart pound with fear. She was trapped, and the realization hit her like a punch to the gut. Where did I go wrong? she thought desperately. She had done everything to ensure he’d never find her. So how had he?

“Dad,” she muttered involuntarily, the word slipping out before she could stop it. Her own voice sounded strange, distant, as if it belonged to someone else. She knew she had to act fast, her survival instincts kicking into overdrive. Despite the paralyzing fear threatening to overwhelm her, she forced herself to focus, summoning every ounce of strength and determination to find a way out of this nightmare.

With trembling hands, she took a step back and tried to slam the door shut, but he wedged the crowbar into the gap before it could close. Panic surged through her as she threw her weight against the door, pushing with all her might to force it closed. But the crowbar held firm, leaving the door stubbornly ajar.

“You ungrateful wench!” he roared from the other side, his voice dripping with venom. “After everything I’ve done for you, this is how you repay me?”

Desperation clawed at her chest as her mind raced for a way to escape. Then it hit her—the box Red had given her. The SOS pendant! Her hand flew to the delicate chain around her neck, fingers fumbling as she pressed the button repeatedly, her heart pounding in her ears. Please, let help come soon, she prayed silently, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she braced herself for what might come next.

Without a second thought, she sprinted toward the box, but before she could take more than a few steps, her father forced his way through the door. His hand shot out, grabbing her ankle and yanking her backward. She crashed to the floor with a painful thud, her face hitting the ground. “Let me go!” she screamed, kicking and thrashing wildly. Tears streamed down her face as she fought to break free, but her father’s grip was ironclad. His only response was a cruel twist of her ankle, sending a sharp, searing pain through her leg and drawing a cry of agony from her lips.

Despite the blinding pain, Y/N refused to give up. Fueled by adrenaline, she swung her free leg with all her strength, aiming a fierce kick at her father’s torso. The blow landed with enough force to make him stagger back, giving her a fleeting moment to act.

Seizing the opportunity, Y/N scrambled to her feet, her eyes darting around for something—anything—to defend herself. Her hand closed around the nearest object, a hatstand, and she swung it with all her might. But her hope was short-lived. He blocked the swing with his crowbar, the impact jarring her arms, and then wrenched the hatstand from her grasp, tossing it aside. Before she could react, he grabbed her by the hair and hurled her to the floor. Her back slammed against the couch, knocking the wind out of her.

“You stupid bitch,” he snarled, his voice dripping with venom. “You really thought you could run from me?” He punctuated his words with a brutal kick to her stomach, the force of it leaving her gasping for air.

“Mom’s dead because of you. Haven’t you done enough already?” Her voice trembled with raw emotion, every word heavy with years of pain and anger. After enduring so much suffering—both her own and her mother’s—at his hands, the physical pain she felt now was nothing compared to the hatred and rage burning inside her. She heard him scoff, the cold metal of the crowbar nudging her face as he leaned closer.

“Now that I think about it, you do remind me of her,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. “How she used to beg me not to hurt you. To take it out on her instead of her precious little daughter. You’re just as pathetic as she was.” He sneered, his words cutting deep.

Y/N stayed silent, her mind racing. She needed to buy time, to keep him talking long enough for her to reach into the box and grab what she needed. Her heart pounded as her fingers brushed against the box Red had given her. Relief flooded through her as she pulled out the can of pepper spray, her grip steady despite the fear coursing through her veins. She aimed it at him, her expression cold and unwavering.

“Go to hell, you bastard,” she spat.

The spray hit him square in the face, and he let out a howl of pain, stumbling backward as he clawed at his eyes. Curses and threats spilled from his lips, his voice a mix of rage and agony. But before she could react, he lunged at her, crowbar raised, his movements wild and uncontrolled. Y/N knew she couldn’t dodge in time. She shut her eyes tightly, raising her arms to shield her head, bracing for the blow she was sure would come.

But it never did.

The crowbar clattered to the floor with a deafening crash, followed by a piercing scream. Y/N’s eyes snapped open, and there he was—Red, perched on her father’s chest, his fists raining down blow after blow. Her father, bloodied and battered, let out a sardonic laugh despite the pain. “What’s the price for playing hero?” he sneered, his voice dripping with malice. “She offering you more than just gratitude?”

“Shut your goddamn mouth,” Red growled, his voice low and dangerous, barely containing the fury bubbling beneath the surface. He grabbed her father’s jaw, forcing it shut with a rough grip, before delivering another punch that landed with a sickening crack. Y/N watched, a mix of shock and relief flooding her as Red continued to pummel her father, each strike precise and brutal. Blood poured from her father’s nose, pooling on the floor beneath him. With every hit, his struggles grew weaker until he was nothing more than a limp, broken figure beneath Red’s relentless assault.

In one last, desperate attempt, her father’s hand twitched toward the crowbar, his fingers brushing the metal. But before he could even lift it, Red grabbed his wrist and twisted it with a sharp, merciless snap. The sound of bone breaking echoed through the room. Something in Red seemed to shatter in that moment. Blind rage consumed him as he snatched the crowbar from the floor, his hands trembling as he stared down at the broken man beneath him. Emotions he had buried for years surged to the surface, raw and unrelenting.

“Red, stop! You’ll kill him!” Y/N cried out, rushing forward and wrapping her arms tightly around his waist to hold him back. She wasn’t entirely sure why she intervened. For years, she had dreamed of her father facing justice for everything he’d done, but the thought of Red staining his hands with blood for her sake was unbearable.

Red’s head turned slowly toward her, and he flinched at the sight of her tear-streaked face. Her eyes held a glimmer of something all too familiar to him—fear. A sharp pang of regret stabbed at his chest. What had he done? Was she afraid of him now? Did she hate him? This was the side of himself he had always hoped to keep hidden from her, the darkness he never wanted her to see. But in that moment, he realized he had failed. His rage had taken over, turning him into the very thing he despised.

The room fell silent, the air heavy with tension. Red’s mind raced, a storm of guilt, shame, and self-loathing swirling inside him. He wanted to reach out to her, to tell her he was still the same person she had trusted, the one who had always tried to protect her. But the words stuck in his throat, suffocated by the weight of his own regret.

“Hood, I got the—” Roy’s voice cut through the apartment as he burst through the door, breathing heavily. His eyes widened as he took in the scene before him. It didn’t take long for him to piece together what had happened. Without hesitation, he knelt beside Red and gently pried the crowbar from his hands. Turning to Y/N, he quickly scanned her for injuries before tapping his comm. “Star, comm in. Rendezvous at the SOS coordinates.” Within moments, Starfire arrived, her eyes immediately locking onto Y/N.

“Y/N, you’re injured!” Kory gasped, her voice filled with concern as she rushed to her side.

“Star, help Y/N. Hood, you’re coming with me,” Roy ordered, his tone firm and unyielding. Red obeyed without protest, rising to his feet and leaving the apartment without so much as a glance back. Roy sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair as he muttered a string of curses under his breath.

“Don’t worry about this, Y/N. We’ll handle it,” Roy assured her, gesturing toward her unconscious father sprawled on the floor. Y/N nodded slowly, the shock beginning to fade as reality set in. “Red’s going to be okay, right?” she asked, her voice tinged with anxiety.

“Don’t worry about him. He’s a tough nut—bounces back from pretty much anything,” Roy replied, though his tone lacked the confidence he wished it had. Kory helped Roy lift the unconscious man, and together they carried him out. Y/N didn’t ask what they planned to do with him, and truthfully, she didn’t care.

“Where do you keep the first aid kit?” Kory asked, her voice calm and steady.

“In the bathroom cabinet,” Y/N answered. Kory nodded and quickly retrieved the kit. She guided Y/N to the couch and knelt at her feet, carefully tending to her injuries. “Fortunately, you’re not seriously hurt,” Kory remarked, her tone carrying a note of relief. As she worked, a sense of calm began to settle over the room.

Y/N couldn’t help but feel grateful for Kory’s presence. The alien woman’s soothing demeanor and gentle hands brought a sense of comfort despite the chaos that had just unfolded. “Thank you, Kory,” Y/N said softly, a genuine smile of appreciation spreading across her face. Kory’s expression softened, her eyes lighting up with warmth at the gratitude.

“You’re very welcome,” Kory replied warmly. “Even though we’ve only just met, I’ve grown quite fond of you. Since I’ve been on a break from the Titans, I haven’t stayed in touch with many of my old friends. So, it’s nice to make new ones. We are friends, right?” she asked, her tone hopeful.

Y/N smiled warmly and reached out to take Kory’s hand. “Of course. If you’d like, we could go shopping or catch a movie sometime. You know, just girl stuff,” she suggested. Kory’s face lit up with excitement, her vibrant green eyes sparkling. “I would love nothing more,” she exclaimed, her enthusiasm contagious.

“Hey, Kory,” Y/N began after a moment, her tone shifting slightly. “Can I ask you for a favor?” Kory nodded, her attention fully on Y/N as she waited for her to continue. “Could you ask Red to come see me? It’s okay if he doesn’t want to, but I just…” Y/N trailed off, struggling to put her feelings into words. Kory’s lips pressed into a thin line as she considered the request. Usually, after violent outbursts like the one today, Red needed time and space to calm down. But maybe Y/N was exactly what he needed right now.

“I will,” Kory assured her with a soft smile.

About half an hour after Kory left, the doorbell chimed. Y/N took a deep breath, wincing slightly as her injuries made her movements a bit slower, and made her way to the door. When she opened it, she was immediately greeted by a large bouquet of roses.

“Last I checked, it wasn’t my birthday,” Y/N teased, a playful smile tugging at her lips. Even though Red’s face was hidden behind his mask, she could almost feel him smiling back.

“Well, I couldn’t show up empty-handed, could I?” he replied with a casual shrug. “And who says you need an occasion to give a girl flowers?”

“Come on in,” Y/N said, stepping aside to let him enter.

Jason stepped inside, the air between them thick with awkwardness. As he set the bouquet down on a nearby table, he could feel the anxiety gnawing at him. The memory of nearly killing her father in front of her weighed heavily on his mind, and he couldn’t shake the fear that it had changed everything between them. A part of him was terrified she’d called him here to end whatever they had.

They settled onto the couch, the silence stretching uncomfortably between them. Finally, Jason broke it. “How’s your ankle?” he asked, his voice softer than usual.

“Oh, it’s almost healed,” Y/N replied, her tone light. “Who knew Kory could do a hot and cold compress with just an ice pack and her hands? Perks of having superpowers, I guess.”

“Roy still has burn marks from when she tried that on us the first time,” Jason recalled, a chuckle slipping out. But he stopped short when he noticed the concern on Y/N’s face.

“Oh, um, I see. Anyway, thanks for the flowers. They’re beautiful,” Y/N said, steering the conversation in a different direction. Jason nodded, his posture relaxing slightly as he appreciated the shift in topic. “Yeah, no big deal. Thought they might brighten the place up a bit.”

“That’s really sweet of you,” Y/N replied, her tone softening. Then, her eyes flicked over him, and she tilted her head curiously. “So, what’s with the suit?” Amid all the chaos earlier, she hadn’t noticed, but now she couldn’t help but see how different he looked. Gone was his usual leather-and-armor ensemble. Instead, he wore a crisp red shirt, a perfectly tailored pinstripe suit, and a sleek black waistcoat. His signature biker helmet was replaced by a red and black mask that covered half his face, leaving his dark hair—with that striking white streak at the front—to fall casually over his forehead. Y/N couldn’t tell if the white streak was natural or dyed, but it only added to his magnetic presence.

There were attractive men, and then there was him. Y/N had never met someone whose aura was so intensely masculine and commanding. It was almost overwhelming to be near him. He looked like he’d stepped straight out of a mafia romance novel—the kind of man who could dominate a room with just a glance. Come to think of it, she vaguely remembered hearing something on the news about him being a crime lord.

“Oh, this?” Jason started, pausing briefly before clearing his throat. “I had a… meeting. Just business stuff.” His answer was vague, but Y/N’s imagination filled in the blanks effortlessly. She could picture him lounging on a luxurious black leather sofa, a glass of whiskey in hand, while some underling groveled at his feet, begging for mercy. She hummed in acknowledgment, a small smile playing on her lips. “So, is this how your thugs get to see you every day?”

“Only the high-ranking ones or the ones in really deep shit,” Jason replied with a smirk, leaning back casually.

“A life of crime suddenly seems much more enticing,” Y/N joked, her tone light but with a hint of playful envy. Red chuckled, shaking his head. “Trust me, angel, not everyone gets the Y/N treatment.”

“Well, I guess I’ll have to take your word for it,” she replied with a grin, standing up and heading to the kitchen. “Too much happened today. I need a drink. Can I get you anything? I have—” She opened the refrigerator, only to realize with a flush of embarrassment that her options were limited. “Water, coffee, and… oh! Tequila!” she exclaimed, pulling out a bottle with a triumphant grin and holding it up for him to see. It was cheap liquor, the kind someone of his stature probably wouldn’t even glance at, let alone drink.

“I’d drink anything you pour for me angel.”

Y/N felt her cheeks flush and her stomach flutter at his words. Red wasn’t usually the flirtatious type, so she wondered if his comment was more than just a casual remark. Maybe it was genuine. Maybe this was something worth exploring. She grabbed two shot glasses and set them on the table.

“You get started. I’ll be right back,” she said with a smile before heading to the bathroom and closing the door behind her. Taking a deep breath, she splashed water on her face and stared at her reflection in the mirror, her expression determined. “Okay, Y/N, you can do this. You’ve been dreaming about this for months. The worst he can say is no. You’re a grown woman, and you can go after what you want. You just have to try.” Her pep talk sounded a lot like Stephanie cheering her on, even though Stephanie had always been quick to encourage her to dump her past boyfriends. And, looking back, Y/N couldn’t blame her. But this was different. He was different. Before heading back, she smoothed her clothes, reapplied her lip gloss, and spritzed on some perfume.

Feeling more confident, Y/N took another deep breath and walked back to the living room. The bottle was now a quarter empty, and her glass was filled to the brim with the golden liquid. “Took you long enough,” Jason said, his gaze fixed on her, studying her intently. Y/N didn’t respond. Instead, she leaned over his shoulder, picked up his shot glass, and downed it in one swift motion without hesitation.

“I didn’t know you could handle your liquor so well,” he remarked, his tone light but laced with curiosity. He was trying to draw her into conversation, maybe to distract himself from how her perfume was clouding his senses. The longer he stared at her, the more desire crept into his veins. It didn’t help that her hair fell over her shoulder, framing her face, or that he could almost feel her breath brushing against his skin. His mind began wandering to places it definitely shouldn’t. Y/N’s laugh, soft and genuine, filled the room, and Jason felt his resolve waver. It stirred emotions he’d been fighting hard to keep buried. She set the glass down and leaned back, her arm still resting casually over his shoulder, her eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and something more.

“Why don’t you find out?” she challenged playfully, her gaze locking with his. It’s now or never, she thought to herself. Y/N reached up, tracing the edge of his mask with her finger, watching as his chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. “You don’t want to start something you can’t finish, angel,” he warned, leaning into her touch, trying to throw her off balance. But her reaction wasn’t what he expected.

“Well whether I finish or not depends on you. Can you make me finish ?”

That was the moment Jason’s control shattered. His attraction to her was like a moth drawn to a flame—inevitable and dangerous. His love for her, his desire for her, was a risk because he knew if he let himself go even a little, he might lose all restraint. Jason stood up, closing the distance between them until they were face to face. His fingers brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch lingering. Her eyes traveled over his figure, towering over hers. He could hear a deafening heartbeat but couldn’t tell if it was hers or his own.

“All these past months, I just have the same moments playing on repeat and you— you make it so hard.” As the words stumbled out of his mouth, he felt as if each syllable was bringing him closer to the precipice of ruining whatever fragile relationship they might have had.

“So hard to what ?” she whispered, her voice barely audible but charged with intensity.

Jason swallowed hard, his eyes locking with hers. “So hard to keep myself from you,” he admitted, his voice raw with emotion. “Every time I'm near you, I feel like I'm losing control. And the more I try to fight it, the stronger it gets.” The confession was a cathartic release, not done out of blinded optimism but out of raw honesty begging to be acknowledged.

Y/N's breath caught in her throat. Despite the mask, she could almost see the struggle in his eyes, the vulnerability he rarely showed. She reached up, her hand gently cupping his cheek. “Maybe you don't have to fight it. Maybe I want it too,” she said, her voice soft yet still holding that lilt that so keenly resembled a siren's song reeling him closer and crumbling any walls he could’ve even thought of putting up.

Jason's plan seemed to have taken an unexpected yet much appreciated turn. From the start of his pursuit of Y/N, he had never really considered the possibility that she could be attracted to him out of her own volition, without any of his tricks or deceptions. But now he saw that this had a chance of really working out, the right way. As much as he wanted to keep her all to himself, he knew she didn't deserve to be manipulated, and he couldn't let his selfishness get the better of him.

Realization hit him like lightning. He had meticulously planned every minute detail to make their first time absolutely perfect, and he felt panic surge internally when he realized he didn't have enough time to do all of that. “Y/N, I hate to break the mood, but I need five—no, seven minutes to prepare. On the clock, I swear.”

Y/N blinked in confusion at the suddenness of the request but didn't refuse it and watched as he dashed into her room and close the door behind him. Her earlier confidence started to deflate at the awkwardness of the situation, but she couldn't help but wonder what he meant by needing “time to prepare”. It was understandable if an awkward teenager needed time to get himself together but what could a man like him possibly need to prepare for ? Left alone, she took a deep breath and tried to calm her nerves. She decided to trust him, knowing that whatever he was planning, it was likely something thoughtful. Y/N wandered over to the couch and sat down, her mind replaying their conversation and the emotions that had surfaced.

After what felt like an eternity but was probably only a few minutes, Jason reappeared. He extended his hand towards her chivalrously and led her into the room. Y/N's earlier confusion melted away as she saw the effort he had put in. The bed was now adorned with luxurious silk sheets that looked incredibly expensive. A sweet scent wafted through the air, and she noticed scented candles on the side tables. “Didn't have enough time to get roses. Sorry about that,” he spoke, scratching his neck sheepishly, clearly nervous about her reaction.

“What are you talking about ? It's perfect Red ! How did you know I liked these scented candles ?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with appreciation.

“It reminds me of your perfume.”

Y/N's heart swelled at his thoughtfulness and effort. “You're really something, you know that ?” she said, stepping closer to him. Before he could reply, she leaned in and kissed him over his mask. His eyes widened in surprise for a moment, but then he relaxed into her touch as if it were second nature.

Jason's fingers found their way into her hair, tangling in the soft strands, the scene unfolding just as it had in his imagination countless times before. The kiss, despite the mask, was electric, sending shivers down his spines. Y/N could feel his breath quicken, matching her own heartbeat's rapid pace. She was amazed at how something so simple could feel so intense. His hands roamed gently over her back, feeling the warmth of her skin through the fabric of her shirt as he gently laid her down against the silk sheets. He marveled at how perfectly she fit against him, how natural it felt to be this close to her.

The only light in the room came from the scented candles, leaving her to explore solely through touch and sound. She heard him remove his mask with a click and toss it aside, before diving into something more passionate, more intense. There was an edge to this kiss, a rougher, almost desperate need. Despite what how much he promised himself to be gentle with her - he needed it, the fiery desire to feel her in his arms, to hear her breathless gasps and little moans to feel like he was alive.

“God,” kiss, “you're,” kiss, “perfect—”

Jason's words tumbled out in a haze of desire. For years, he had longed for this moment. From the very first time he saw her, he had been captivated, convinced she was the most beautiful person he had ever laid eyes on. But over the past few months, his feelings had deepened far beyond a simple childhood infatuation. Y/N had become the center of his fantasies, leaving him restless and yearning for her touch on countless nights. His lips moved from her mouth to her neck, leaving a trail of marks as he went. Her soft whimpers and moans, like sweet nectar, only fueled his eagerness.

His hands roamed her body with a delicate caution, as though she were a fragile porcelain doll that might shatter at the slightest pressure. The sound of his kisses, slick and hot, deepened the flush on her skin, drawing out incoherent whines and whimpers from her lips. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as the intensity between them grew.

Every touch, every sound she made, was intoxicating, pulling him deeper into the moment. He couldn’t get enough of her—the way her body arched toward his, the way her breath came in short, uneven gasps, the way her skin felt like fire beneath his fingertips. It was as if she had ignited something primal within him, something he could no longer control.

“Y/N,” he whispered against her lips, his voice rough with need. “I’ve wanted this for so long. You have no idea…”

His words trailed off as his mouth found her collarbone, nipping and kissing his way down to the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder. She gasped, her grip tightening as she clung to him. The sound of her pleasure was like music to his ears, driving him to push further, to give her more. He wanted to hear her fall apart, to know that he was the one who had unraveled her.

Her hands moved from his hair to his shoulders, gripping him tightly as if she were afraid, he might disappear. “Red,” she breathed, her voice trembling. “Please…” 

That single word, dripping with longing and desperation, was all the push he needed. His hands moved swiftly, pulling her tank top over her head and tossing it aside. Her shorts followed just as quickly, discarded without a second thought. The candles around them flickered, casting a soft, warm glow across the room. It wasn’t enough light for her to see clearly, but with the enhanced abilities he had gained from the Lazarus Pit, he could see every detail of her. For a moment, he paused, his eyes drinking in the sight of her beneath him—flushed, breathless, and utterly beautiful.

But the moment didn’t last long. The fire between them was too intense, too all-consuming. He joined her on the bed, his body pressing against hers as his lips found her neck once more. His kisses trailed down further and further till he was at the valley of her breasts. Y/N’s breath hitched, her eyes fluttering shut in anticipation.

Then, unexpectedly, Jason hesitated.

“What happened?” she whispered, her voice tinged with confusion and desire. “Didn’t you say you wanted this for the longest time? Why are you stopping now?”

Jason shook his head before sliding down the straps of her bra and pressing kisses along her collarbone. The air seemed to leave his lungs entirely as he unhooked her bra, the reality of the moment hitting him hard. This was real. After years of longing, of imagining this very moment, it was finally happening. His hand cupped one breast while his mouth found the other, his touch both possessive and reverent.

“Fuc—,” she moaned and he huffed a chuckle, his warm breath making goosebumps erupt across her arms. She felt dizzy and elated at the same time as though she were standing at the edge of the world, gazing down at a kaleidoscope of colors swirling beneath her.

Y/N gasped sharply as his teeth grazed her sensitive nipple, a jolt of pain mixed with pleasure shooting through her, sending shivers down her spine and igniting a fiery heat between her legs. He took his time, his tongue swirling and sucking, leaving broad, wet strokes that spread warmth across her skin. Jason’s fingers lingered at the waistband of her underwear, teasing for a moment before slipping beneath. Her back arched instinctively as his fingers brushed against her, and she squirmed under the light pressure he applied to her clit. He traced her folds, teasing her gently before circling her throbbing clit again and again, each touch deliberate and maddening.

Before she could muster a coherent sentence, he slid a finger inside her, making her back arch. He was fascinated by how responsive she was, every touch eliciting a reaction. He curled his finger inside her, as if searching for something specific, and when her legs began to tremble and her eyes water, he knew he’d found it. A smirk tugged at his lips as he added a second finger, his movements alternating between slow and deliberate and fast and relentless, driving her closer to the edge.

It had been months since she’d been with anyone, and her body reacted intensely, as if rediscovering pleasure for the first time. As if two fingers weren’t enough, he added a third, pumping into her with a rhythm that felt almost punishing, determined to stretch her to her limit. His lips crashed into hers, swallowing her moans and cries as he quickened his pace. “ S'too much,” she managed to gasp between kisses.

Jason chuckled darkly, clearly amused. “Angel, trust me, you wouldn't be able to take me if I didn’t stretch you out first.”

Y/N’s face flushed, a mix of embarrassment and defiance. “Excuse me? I’m not a virgin, nor am I a prude. I’ve had boyfriends before. You’re nothing I can’t handle,” she shot back, though her words felt more like an attempt to convince herself than him. Sure, she’d had boyfriends, but none of them could even come close to Jason. She was certain he was twice her size, if not more, and the thought alone sent a thrill of anticipation—and a hint of nervousness—coursing through her.

Jason raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening as he leaned closer, his breath hot against her ear. “Oh, really?” he murmured, his voice dripping with playful challenge. “We’ll see about that, won’t we?”

His fingers continued their relentless rhythm, curling and stretching her in ways that made her toes curl and her breath hitch. She tried to hold back the sounds threatening to escape her lips, but it was impossible. Every touch, every movement, was designed to unravel her completely. Her hands gripped the sheets tightly, her knuckles turning white as she tried to anchor herself against the overwhelming sensations.

“You’re so tight, angel,” he growled, his voice rough with desire. “Even like this, you’re squeezing me so damn hard. Imagine how it’ll feel when it’s me inside you.”

The words sent a fresh wave of heat flooding through her, and she couldn’t help but whimper in response. Her mind was a haze of pleasure, her body trembling under his skilled touch and tears flowing freely. She wanted to fire back with a snarky remark, to prove she could keep up with his teasing, but all that came out was a breathless moan. 

“Red—” she gasped, her voice cracking as her hips instinctively rocked against his hand. “I—I can’t—”

“Shhh,” he murmured, his voice firm yet tender. “Look at me. You’re doing so well, darling. S'good for me.” She forced her eyes open, struggling to maintain his gaze. Even in the dim light, his eyes stood out vividly, glowing faintly.

“Your eyes… they’re green, like emeralds,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He brought her knuckles to his lips, pressing a soft, grateful kiss to them, as if silently thanking her for the compliment. His free hand intertwined with hers, holding her steady as his fingers worked her with precision, hitting that spot inside her that made her see stars. Her legs shook, her breaths coming in short, desperate gasps as the pressure built to an unbearable peak.

And then, with a sharp cry, she shattered. Her body convulsed as the wave of pleasure crashed over her, leaving her trembling and breathless. Jason didn’t let up, his fingers slowing but not stopping, drawing out her orgasm until she was a writhing, whimpering mess beneath him. 

When he finally withdrew his hand, she collapsed back onto the bed, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she struggled to catch her breath. Just as she thought she might have a moment to recover, Jason’s mouth descended to the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. “Still think you can handle me, angel?” he teased, his voice low and rough with desire. Y/N groaned, her body still buzzing from the intensity of her release. She was too exhausted to argue, too overwhelmed by everything he had just put her through.

Y/N had always known Red had an appetite, but nothing could have prepared her for the way he devoured her now. His lips and tongue moved with a hunger that left her breathless, her slick coating his mouth as he feasted on her. The obscene sounds of his lips and tongue against her sent shivers through her, the heat of his spit only adding to the wet, aching pressure building inside her.

“Nghmm ,” he moaned against her, his green eyes glazed and hazy as he looked up at her, utterly lost in the taste of her. “You taste heavenly,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. The bridge of his nose brushed against her swollen clit, and he took the opportunity to drag his lips across her folds, teasing her sensitive nerves until she was writhing beneath him. Her back arched off the bed, her mind spinning as she struggled to make sense of where she start and he ended. 

Her hands tangled in his hair, gripping tightly as waves of pleasure crashed over her. Jason’s tongue worked relentlessly, swirling around her clit before dipping lower to taste her deeply, as if he couldn’t get enough. Every flick, every suck, every groan he let out against her sent her spiraling further into ecstasy. She was a mess of gasps and whimpers, her body trembling under his relentless attention.

“Red please please —,” she choked out, her voice breaking as her hips bucked against his mouth. “I—I can’t—it’s too much—”

But he didn’t stop. If anything, he only intensified his efforts, his hands gripping her thighs to hold her in place as he devoured her like a man starved. The wet, sinful sounds of his mouth on her filled the room, mingling with her desperate moans. She could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter inside her, threatening to snap at any moment.

“That’s it, angel,” he growled, his voice low and rough, the vibrations sending shivers through her very core. “Let go. I want to feel you come on my tongue.”

His words were the final push she needed. With a sharp, breathless cry, her body shuddered, her release crashing over her in a blinding, overwhelming wave of pleasure. Jason didn’t stop, his tongue working relentlessly as she rode out the intensity, her legs trembling uncontrollably beneath him. He savored every drop, drinking her in as though she were the most exquisite thing he’d ever tasted, until she was left a quivering, oversensitive mess beneath him.

When he finally pulled back, he looked up at her with a wicked grin, his lips glistening and his eyes dark with satisfaction. “I think that’s plenty of warm-up before the main course,” he teased, his voice dripping with mischief. “Or… do you want more?” 

Y/N’s breath hitched at his words, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of her release. She wanted to respond, to fire back with something clever, but her mind was too foggy, her thoughts too scattered. All she could manage was a weak, pleading whimper as she looked up at him, her eyes wide and glazed with desire.

Jason let out a dark chuckle, clearly reveling in the effect he had on her. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the sensitive skin of her inner thigh before slowly trailing his lips upward, leaving a searing path of heat in his wake. His hands moved up her body, his touch firm yet tender, as though he were committing every curve, every inch of her to memory.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmured, “Completely undone, completely mine.”

His words sent a fresh wave of shivers cascading down her spine, and she instinctively arched into his touch, craving more. Despite being exhausted and oversensitive, the raw hunger in his eyes reignited a deep, primal need within her. She wanted him—every part of him.

“Not fair,” she eyes almost watered, her voice trembling.

“What’s not fair?” he asked curiously.  

“You’re still fully clothed,” she breathed, her hands weakly reaching for him. “And I… I want you. I want to touch you, to feel you—not just through fabric.”

Jason’s smirk deepened at her words, a flicker of surprise and satisfaction crossing his features. His eyes, dark and intense, glinted with a mix of amusement and raw desire as he watched her. It was almost surreal to him—the way she wanted him, the way she looked at him like he was something worth craving. He’d spent so long believing he wasn’t the kind of man someone like her could want, not in this way. And yet, here she was, her words and touch unraveling him. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if he’d somehow died and stumbled into some kind of heaven. “Well, angel,” he drawled, his voice low and teasing, “if you wanted me out of these clothes, all you had to do was ask.”

Before she could respond, he leaned back, sitting up slightly to unbutton his shirt and waistcoat. The fabric fell to the floor with a soft thud, though Y/N could barely make out the details in the dim lighting, silently cursing the lack of visibility. “Better?” he asked, his voice laced with mock innocence as his fingers moved to the buckle of his belt. Y/N nodded, her throat suddenly dry. “Much,” she managed to whisper, her eyes glued to him as he finished undressing.

“Now,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear, sending a shiver down her spine, “you can touch me all you want.”

She didn’t hesitate. Her hands immediately found their way to his chest, her fingers exploring the hard planes of his muscles, tracing the ridges of his scars, and following the faint trail of hair that led down his abdomen. She marveled at the way his breath hitched when her nails lightly grazed his skin, the way his muscles tensed under her touch. It was intoxicating, knowing she could unravel him just as much as he unraveled her.

Feeling a surge of boldness, her hands trailed lower and lower until they reached the waistband of his pants. She glanced up at him, his brilliant green eyes darkening with desire, his breathing growing heavier. Her fingers dipped further, brushing against the hard outline of his arousal. Her eyes widened in surprise and curiosity.

“Is that…?” she whispered, her voice a mix of awe and disbelief.

Jason let out a low, throaty chuckle, his eyes never leaving hers. “Yeah, angel,” he said, his voice rough and dripping with desire. “That’s all for you.”

Her cheeks flushed at his words, but she didn’t pull her hand away. Instead, she let her fingers curl around him, feeling the heat and hardness through the fabric of his pants. Jason’s breath hitched, his hips instinctively pressing into her touch.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his head tilting back slightly as her hand began to explore him more boldly, “You’re gonna be the death of me angel.”

She smirked, emboldened by the way he reacted to her touch. With her fingers trembling ever so slightly as she pulled down his boxers. Jason’s hands gripped the sheets tightly, his muscles tensing as she finally freed him from the confines of his clothing.

Her eyes widened as she took him in, her breath catching in her throat. He was… impressive, to say the least. Her hand wrapped around him tentatively, her touch light but deliberate. Jason let out a sharp hiss, his hips jerking slightly as her fingers brushed against her tip.

“Hold on…” she withdrew her hand, her voice shaky. “Jus’ wait a minute.”

Jason froze, his eyes flashing with uncertainty.

“You… don’t want this?” he asked, his voice low but tinged with vulnerability.

You don't want me?

The unspoken question hung heavy in the air, and it pained her how quickly he assumed he was undesirable. As if he could ever be anything less than everything she wanted.

“No!” she blurted out, her fingers gently hooking under his chin to make him look at her. “I just… need a second to recalibrate because… holy shit… you’re so big—”

He burst into laughter, his boyish face lighting up with joy. “That’s all? Aw, angel…” he cooed, flicking her nose playfully with his index finger. “Swear, you can be so adorable sometimes…” he teased, his voice dripping with affection.

She huffed, the tips of her ears turning red, but the tension between them had softened, replaced by a warmth that made her heart swell. Jason’s laughter was infectious, and despite her embarrassment, she couldn’t help but smile. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her lips, his earlier worry completely erased.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured against her mouth, his tone reassuring. “We’ll take it slow. I’ve got you, angel.”

His words eased her lingering nerves, replacing them with a warm, comforting reassurance. She took a deep breath, centering herself before gathering her courage. Her thumb brushed over the wet tip of his cock, feeling the soft, velvety skin twitch under her touch. His length curved slightly upward, and she couldn’t help but squirm at the thought of how perfectly it would hit all the right spots inside her.

“Nghh—fuck,” he groaned, his voice strained but encouraging. “Didn’t expect you to feel this good…”

She smirked, a playful glint in her eyes. “I know something that’d feel even better,” she said, her voice low and teasing. Slowly, she dipped her head down, pressing a soft kiss to the tip before letting her hands explore the shape of him, familiarizing herself with every inch. Her smirk widened when she felt the prominent vein pulsing beneath her touch. She ran her tongue along it, and the reaction was immediate—his head fell back, a loud, unrestrained moan escaping his lips.

The sound sent a thrill through her, hotter and more intoxicating than anything she’d ever heard. Taking it as encouragement, she wrapped her lips around him, stretching them as wide as she could to accommodate his size. He barely fit in her mouth, and the thought of how he’d feel elsewhere made her pulse quicken. There was no way something that big would fit inside her—but the idea of trying sent a shiver of anticipation down her spine.

Jason’s hands tangled in her hair, not pushing or forcing, but gently guiding as she took him deeper. His breath came in ragged gasps, his hips twitching slightly as he fought to keep himself still. “Fuck, Y/N,” he groaned, his voice rough and strained. “You’re—god, you’re amazing.”

She hummed softly in response, the vibration drawing another sharp moan from him. Her tongue swirled around him, exploring every inch as her lips moved up and down his length. She could feel him throbbing in her mouth, the taste of him intoxicating as she lost herself in the rhythm. 

“Fuck. I’m close. Y/N, I—,” he managed, his voice breaking.

“Come for me Red.”

Jason’s grip tightened in her hair, his breath catching as her words sent him spiraling over the edge. With a deep, guttural groan, he fell apart, his release hitting him with such intensity that it left him trembling. Y/N stayed with him, her lips and tongue moving gently to coax out every last wave of his pleasure until he was completely spent, his body relaxing and his breaths coming in heavy, uneven gasps.

When she finally pulled back, she looked up at him, her lips glistening and her eyes dark with a satisfied gleam. Jason’s hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing across her bottom lip, ensuring not a single drop of his release went to waste. He gazed down at her, his expression a mix of awe and adoration.

“You’re fucking incredible,” he murmured, his voice still rough but laced with tenderness. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, angel.” Y/N smiled softly, leaning into his touch. “You’re not so bad yourself, Red,” she teased, her voice warm and playful.

Y/N's world suddenly tilted as Jason hooked her ankle and draped it over his shoulder, positioning himself firmly between her legs. He pressed a series of soft, lingering kisses along her calf, each one sending a shiver through her body. Her breath hitched as he aligned himself with her wet entrance, his eyes dark and intense as they met hers.

“You ready, baby?” he asked, his voice low and husky, laced with both desire and concern.

Y/N nodded, her heart pounding in anticipation. “Yes,” she whispered, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside her. “I’m ready.”

With a slow, deliberate movement, he pushed into her, his eyes never leaving hers as he gave her time to adjust. Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, her nails digging into his shoulders as she felt him stretch her, fill her completely. It was overwhelming, almost too much, but in the best way possible. A cry escaped her lips as she struggled to take all of him, her body trembling under the intensity. He had done his best to prepare her, to be as gentle as he could, but the sheer size of him was still a challenge.

“Relax, darling,” he murmured, his voice soft and reassuring. “Stop squirming, and it’ll be easier for you, I promise.” He pressed a tender kiss to the tears streaming down her face, a small smile tugging at his lips. He’d noticed it before—how her eyes tended to water when she was particularly aroused. Maybe it was the darker, more sadistic part of him that found it so captivating. He couldn’t help but revel in the knowledge that, from now on, he would be the only one to see her like this—so vulnerable, so undone, so completely his.

She nodded, focusing on his voice, on the way his hands stroked her sides, grounding her. Slowly, the initial discomfort began to fade, replaced by a deep, throbbing pleasure that made her toes curl. Her hips shifted instinctively, seeking more of him, and Jason groaned, his head dropping to her shoulder.

His pace quickened as he felt her body finally begin to adjust to his size, the initial tension giving way to a rhythm that was both punishing and intoxicating. “Mine. Mine. Mine,” he chanted, each word a declaration, a promise, punctuated by a deep, relentless thrust that drove the air from her lungs. Y/N clung to him, her fingers digging into his back as he rocked into her, the pleasure unfurling down her spine like a live wire, setting every nerve ablaze.

“Fuck… Red…” she gasped, her voice trembling, barely audible over the sound of their ragged breaths and the slick, rhythmic slap of skin against skin.

In that moment, there was nothing else in her mind but him. The sound of his low, guttural groans, rough and primal, filled the room, mingling with her own desperate cries. She could see the way his brow furrowed in ecstasy, his face a portrait of raw, unbridled pleasure. His swollen lips hovered inches from hers, close enough that she could feel the heat of his breath, yet he held back, as if savoring the tension, the anticipation. Even the dim, flickering light of the candles seemed to wrap around them, casting a warm, golden glow that cocooned them in their own private world—a world where nothing else mattered, where they were safe from the chaos and horrors that waited outside.

“You’re mine, understood?” he growled, his voice rough and commanding, cutting through the haze of pleasure that clouded her mind.

Y/N barely registered his words, let alone processed them. The onslaught of sensation was too much, too overwhelming, leaving her unable to form a coherent thought, let alone respond. Her body was a live wire, every nerve alight with pleasure, her mind blank except for the feel of him, the sound of him, the sight of him. But then, suddenly, he stopped, and the sharp sting of a light slap on her cheek brought her back to the present. Jason grabbed her face, his large hands squishing her cheeks together as he forced her to look at him, his eyes dark and intense, burning with a possessiveness that sent a shiver down her spine.

“I said,” he continued, thrusting into her again with a pace that was both punishing and exhilarating, “you’re. fucking. mine. Is that clear?”

His words were firm, demanding, and laced with a possessiveness that left no room for argument. Y/N nodded as best as she could, her breath hitching as she managed to choke out a weak, “Yes. I'm yours I promise.”

Jason’s expression softened slightly, though his movements remained relentless, each thrust driving his point home. “Good,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, almost tender growl. “Because I’m not letting you go, angel. Not now, not ever.” His words were a vow, a promise that wrapped around her as tightly as his arms did. And as he continued to move inside her, his pace unyielding, Y/N felt a strange sense of comfort in his possessiveness. It wasn’t just about control or dominance—it was about belonging. In his arms, under his touch, she felt wanted, needed, cherished in a way she never had before. The world outside might be cruel and unforgiving, but here, with him, she was safe. She was his, and he was hers, and nothing else mattered.

As the pleasure built to a crescendo, Y/N’s cries grew louder, her body trembling as she teetered on the edge. Jason’s hands moved to her hips, gripping her tightly as he drove into her with increasing urgency, his own release drawing near.

“Come for me, angel,” he growled, his voice rough and commanding. “I want to feel you fall apart.”

Her body trembled as she came undone, a creamy layer of her release coating the base of his cock, a sight that sent a surge of satisfaction through him. Jason wasn’t far behind, his own climax hitting him with such force that it left him shaking. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his breath hot against her skin as he rode out the waves of his release, his grip on her tightening as if he never wanted to let go.

When the intensity finally subsided, they both lay there, their bodies still intertwined, their breaths slowly returning to normal. Jason pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder, his arms wrapping around her in a protective embrace. Y/N’s body felt boneless, every muscle relaxed and humming with the lingering echoes of pleasure.

“You’re incredible,” he said, his voice filled with awe and affection. “Absolutely incredible.” Y/N smiled weakly, her body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure. “Y’know, I regret not making you mine sooner,” Jason continued, holding her close, his arms wrapping around her like a shield.

“You know you haven’t even asked me yet,” Y/N reminded him, her voice soft but teasing.

“What is it that you want us to be, Y/N?” he asked, his tone earnest. “I’ll be whatever you want me to be, as long as you’re mine. If you want a friend with benefits, a boyfriend, or even a husband—it can all be arranged. Just say the word.”

“I like the second option for now. But you know,” she said, her voice light but laced with curiosity, “for someone who’s willing to marry me, you haven’t even told me your name or shown me your face.” Her fingers trailing along his face, relying solely on touch to piece together his features. From what she could feel, he had a chiseled jawline, high cheekbones, and a straight nose. But one feature stood out more than the others—a scar. It started under his left eye, trailing down to the bridge of his nose, with a jagged curve at the center that almost formed a malformed J.

Jason hesitated, his body tensing slightly. “I will, darling. It’s not that I don’t trust you. I just—” He paused, his voice faltering, the weight of his secrets pressing down on him. Y/N cut him off before he could finish, not wanting to make him feel worse. She hadn’t meant it as a jab to hurt him—it was more of a lighthearted tease. She knew he had his own struggles, his own reasons for keeping parts of himself hidden, and she understood that.

“I know, don’t worry,” she said softly, her hand resting on his cheek. “Take your time, Red. But I have a request.”

“Anything,” he said without hesitation.

“Can you tell me the first letter of your name?” she asked. She knew he wasn’t ready to reveal his full name yet, but she hoped for something more personal than just “Red.” Jason paused, considering her request, then nodded. “Give me your palm.” She extended her hand toward him, and with his index finger, he traced the first letter of his name on her palm.

“Your name starts with a J?” she said, a small smile tugging at her lips. “That’s nice because it’s a cool nickname on its own. Right, Jay?”

His heart leapt at the way she said it—soft, playful, perfect. But there was also a pang of guilt. He hated that she had to settle for fragments of him, for pieces instead of the whole. Still, he couldn’t help the warmth that spread through him at her acceptance, at the way she made even the smallest part of him feel special.

He leaned in, capturing her lips in a deep, lingering kiss that left her breathless. When he finally pulled back, his voice was low, tinged with a hint of regret. “That’s right, baby,” he murmured, his thumb brushing her cheek. “And one day, I’ll give you more. I promise.”

Her gaze drifted to the window, where the late evening sky was shrouded in dark clouds, a familiar sight in Gotham. Among the gloom, the Bat Signal shone brightly, cutting through the haze like a beacon. Her chest tightened as she stared at it, a knot of worry forming in her stomach. “Does that mean you have to go?” she asked, her voice soft as she pointed toward the signal. She knew all too well the weight of his responsibilities to the city.

Jason followed her gaze, his expression softening as he looked back at her. “No,” he said firmly, his hand reaching out to gently turn her face back toward him. “I asked Star and Arsenal to cover for me tonight. Tonight, I’m not Red Hood. Tonight, I’m just yours.”

Her eyes widened slightly, a mix of surprise and relief washing over her. “Really?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Really,” he confirmed, his lips curving into a small, tender smile. “Tonight, I just want to spend my time with my precious girl.”

Her heart swelled at his words, the tension in her chest easing as she leaned into him. For once, the city could wait. Tonight, he was hers, and that was all that mattered.

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. Y/N stirred awake, her hand instinctively reaching out for Jason, only to find the other side of the bed empty. Her heart sank, a pang of panic tightening her chest as she sat up, clutching the sheets to her.

He left. The thought hit her like a punch to the gut. After everything they’d shared, after the way he’d held her like she was the most precious thing in the world, he’d just… left. Her mind raced, doubts creeping in. Had she been too much? Had he regretted it? She swallowed hard, trying to push down the lump forming in her throat.

But then, a faint aroma wafted into the room—something savory, something warm. Her nose twitched, and she froze, listening. The sound of faint clattering came from the kitchen, followed by the low hum of someone moving around. Her heart leapt, hope flickering back to life.

Before she could overthink it, the bedroom door creaked open, and there he was—Red, rather, Jay standing in the doorway with a tray in his hands. On it was a plate of perfectly cooked eggs, toast, and a steaming cup of coffee. His hair was slightly messy, and he was wearing nothing but his mask and the same pair of pants as yesterday that slung low on his hips. The sight of him, so casual and domestic, made her breath catch.

“Morning, angel,” he said, his voice soft but laced with that familiar roughness. “Thought you might be hungry.” Y/N stared at him, her emotions swirling—relief, joy, and a hint of embarrassment for jumping to conclusions. “You… you didn’t leave,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

He tilted his head in confusion as he stepped closer, setting the tray down on the bedside table.

“Leave?” he repeated, his tone incredulous. “Why the hell would I leave?” He sat down on the edge of the bed, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face. “You thought I’d just take off after last night?”

She looked down, her cheeks flushing. “I woke up, and you weren’t here, and I just… I thought maybe you regretted it or—”

“Hey,” he interrupted, his voice firm but gentle as he tilted her chin up to meet his gaze. “Listen to me. I don’t regret a damn thing. Not last night, not you, not us. I just wanted to make you breakfast. That’s all.”

Her eyes searched him, looking for any hint of doubt, but all she found was sincerity—and something deeper, something that made her heart skip a beat. “Really?” she asked, her voice small.

“Really,” he said, his thumb brushing her cheek. “You’re stuck with me, Y/N. Whether you like it or not.” A smile broke across her face, the tension in her chest melting away. “I like it,” she admitted, her voice soft but sure.

Jason reached out and patted her head, the simple gesture making her stomach flip. “Good,” he said, his tone warm but firm. “Now eat up. You spent a lot of energy yesterday. You need it.”

She laughed, the sound light and carefree, as she reached for the tray. “That I do. God, I’m starving. How’d you know strawberry pancakes were my favorite?” she asked, her eyes lighting up as she took in the stack of fluffy pancakes topped with fresh strawberries.

Jason hesitated for a moment, his mind flashing back to a memory from years ago—back when they were kids, and she’d mentioned it in passing. But he couldn’t admit that. Not yet. Instead, he shrugged, his tone casual. “It’s the only flavor of pancake mix I’ve seen in your pantry in months of knowing you.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “So you’ve been snooping in my pantry, huh?”

He smirked back, leaning against the headboard. “Call it reconnaissance. Gotta know what I’m working with if I’m gonna keep you fed.”

She laughed again, the sound filling the room with warmth, and took a bite of the pancakes. “Well, consider me impressed. These are amazing.”

Jason watched her eat, a small, satisfied smile playing on his lips. For a moment, everything felt perfect—the soft morning light, the easy banter, the way she looked at him like he’d hung the stars just for her. And for the first time in a long time, he felt like he was exactly where he was meant to be.

Jason’s smile faded slightly as he glanced at the clock on the nightstand. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Listen, angel,” he began, his voice tinged with regret, “I’ve got some… business to take care of. I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay?”

Y/N looked up from her pancakes, her expression softening. “Business, huh?” she said, her tone teasing but understanding. “Let me guess—something involving a certain red helmet?”

He smirked, though there was a flicker of something darker in his tone. “Something like that,” he said vaguely, leaning down to press a quick kiss to her forehead through his mask. “Don’t wait up. I’ll be back before you know it.”

She nodded, though a shadow of worry flickered in her eyes. “Be careful, Jay.”

“Always,” he replied, his voice steady as he grabbed his jacket and helmet from the chair by the door. With one last lingering glance at her, he got dressed and slipped out, the door closing softly behind him.

The warehouse was a tomb of shadows, its high ceilings swallowed by darkness and its walls stained with the grime of decades. The air was heavy with the stench of blood and sweat, the only sound the faint drip of crimson hitting the cracked concrete floor. A single flickering bulb hung from the ceiling, casting jagged shadows that danced like specters across the walls.

In the center of the room, Jason stood like a wraith, his red helmet gleaming under the sickly light. The man tied to the chair in front of him was barely recognizable—his face a grotesque mask of bruises and blood, his body trembling as he struggled against the ropes that bound him. His breaths came in ragged, wet gasps, each one a desperate plea for mercy that would never come.

Jason tilted his head, the movement unnervingly mechanical, as he circled the chair like a predator sizing up its prey. The man flinched with every step, his swollen eyes darting wildly, trying to follow Jason’s movements.

“You know,” Jason began, his voice low and distorted by the helmet’s modulator, “I’ve been looking forward to this. You’ve been on my mind ever since for a long long time.” He stopped in front of the man, leaning down so their faces were inches apart. “Stealing money from your own daughter and then coming back to hurt her ? No wonder not even Black Mask wanted you as one of his petty thugs.”

The man choked out a sob, his words slurred and broken. “I-I didn’t know… I didn’t know she was yours! I swear, I didn’t know!”

Jason straightened, his laugh a cold, hollow sound that echoed through the warehouse. “Mine? Now that's one thing you've said right. She's mine and you hurt her. Even as my future father-in-law, it's not something I can let go you know. She doesn't want to see you anymore you know.” His voice dropped to a whisper, venomous and deadly. “So you should disappear.”

He reached into his belt and pulled out a knife, the blade catching the light as he turned it over in his hand. The man’s eyes widened in terror, his breathing quickening as he struggled against the ropes. “P-please… I’m sorry! I’ll never go near her again, I swear! Just let me go!”

Jason tilted his head again, the motion almost playful, but there was nothing playful about the way he stepped closer, the knife glinting in his hand. “Sorry?” he repeated, his tone mocking. “You think sorry fixes this? You think you can just say a magic word and make it all go away?” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a menacing growl. “This isn’t about forgiveness. This is about consequences.”

The man screamed as Jason brought the knife down, the blade slicing through flesh with surgical precision. Blood pooled on the floor, the metallic scent filling the air as Jason worked methodically, his movements calm and deliberate. He didn’t rush. He didn’t lose control. This wasn’t rage—it was calculation. Every cut, every slice, was a message. A reminder.

“You see,” Jason said, his voice eerily calm as he wiped the blade on the man’s shirt, “I don’t just kill people. I make sure they understand why they’re dying. And you?” He leaned in close again, his voice a whisper. “You’re dying because you thought you could hurt her and walk away. But here’s the thing about me—I don’t let things go.”

“Oh, and since you’re about to die,” Jason added, his tone almost casual, “I’ll let you know who killed you.” He pressed the back of his helmet, and it opened with a hiss, revealing his face. He looked directly at the man, the one he’d hated for so, so long.

“Do you remember who I am?” he asked, his voice cold and steady, his green eyes locking onto the man’s terrified gaze.

It was just another one of those days when Jason didn’t feel like going home. Instead, he found himself lounging in his second home—Y/N’s house—flipping through one of the library books she’d borrowed. The quiet comfort of her room was a refuge, a place where he could breathe without the weight of his own life pressing down on him.

The door creaked open, and Y/N slipped inside, closing it softly behind her. “Jase, come here,” she said, her voice low but excited, her eyes sparkling with a secret she couldn’t wait to share. Jason’s curiosity was instantly piqued, especially when he noticed the small box clutched in her hands.

“What is it?” he asked, setting the book aside and sitting up.

Y/N’s smile was radiant as she opened the box, revealing a neat stack of dollar bills. “I finally saved up enough to get that pink flip phone I told you about!” she announced, her voice bubbling with pride.

Jason’s eyes lit up. “Really? That’s amazing! Once you have a phone, I can call you from my mom’s!” he exclaimed, his excitement matching hers. The two of them broke into an impromptu celebratory dance, their laughter filling the room. For a moment, everything was perfect.

But the moment shattered as the front door slammed open, the sound echoing through the house like a gunshot. Y/N’s face fell, her joy evaporating in an instant. Her father was home.

Jason had heard enough stories to know what that meant. Y/N’s father was a cruel, useless man—a gambler, a drunk, and a bully who took his frustrations out on his wife and daughter. He didn’t contribute a dime to the household; instead, he drained what little they had. And when he was in one of his moods, no one was safe.

“Jason, get under the bed,” Y/N whispered urgently, her voice trembling. “Do not—and I mean do not—come out. Okay?” Before Jason could protest, she shoved the box of money into his hands and pushed him toward the bed. He scrambled underneath, his heart pounding as he watched Y/N’s feet shuffle nervously on the floor above him.

The door to her room burst open, slamming against the wall with a force that made Jason flinch. Y/N’s mother was clinging to her husband, her voice pleading. “I already gave you everything I have! She’s just a kid—she has nothing, I swear!”

“A kid with a job,” her father snarled, his voice dripping with venom. “Do you think I’m so stupid I wouldn’t know?”

There was a sickening crack as he backhanded Y/N’s mother, sending her stumbling into the room. She collapsed near Y/N, who immediately dropped to her knees beside her. “Mom!” Y/N cried, her voice breaking as she tried to shield her mother. Y/N’s father loomed over them, his face twisted with rage. “What do you want?” Y/N demanded, her voice shaking but defiant as she glared up at him, her eyes burning with hatred.

“You ungrateful brat!” he roared, his hand raised to strike again. “How dare you talk back to me?”

Under the bed, Jason clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white, his chest constricted with a mix of rage and helplessness. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to burst out, to shield Y/N and her mother from the monster towering over them. But he couldn’t. Not yet. All he could do was lie there, frozen, as the sounds of their suffering filled the room. Each cry, each plea, etched itself into his mind.

“You think you can hide money from me?” her father snarled, his voice booming like thunder. “Where is it? Where’s the money you’ve been saving, you little thief?”

“I don’t have any money!” Y/N shot back, her voice trembling but defiant. “I swear, I don’t!”

The sharp crack of a slap echoed through the room, followed by Y/N’s cry of pain. Jason’s stomach twisted, his breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps as he fought to stay silent. He could hear Y/N’s mother pleading, her voice breaking as she tried to shield her daughter.

“Please, stop! She’s just a child! Take whatever you want, just leave her alone!”

“Shut up!” her father roared, his voice dripping with venom. There was another sickening thud as he shoved Y/N’s mother aside, sending her crashing into the wall. “Both of you are useless! Do you know how much I’ve sacrificed for this family? And this is how you repay me? By hiding money from me?”

Y/N’s mother continued to beg, her voice desperate and broken, but her pleas fell on deaf ears. Jason heard every slap, every kick, every cruel word that followed. His eyes burned with unshed tears, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. He could hear Y/N’s quiet sobs, the sound cutting through him like a knife, tearing at his heart in a way he’d never felt before.

“Now,” her father sneered, his voice dripping with malice, “will you give me the money, or do you want me to move onto the little brat you’re hiding under your bed?” He yanked Y/N’s head up by her hair, forcing her to look at him. Despite her pain, Y/N grabbed his ankle, her voice trembling but desperate. “Please, not him. I’m begging you. I’ll give you everything. Just don’t hurt him, please.”

She crawled to the side of her bed, her movements slow and pained, and extended her hand toward Jason, who lay under the bed clutching the box of money like his life depended on it. Jason shook his head vehemently, his eyes pleading with her not to give in. He’d rather take the beatings himself than hand over the money she’d worked so hard to save. But Y/N, her face streaked with tears, whispered a broken, “Please,” and he had no choice but to relent.

She gave Jason a small, pained smile as she took the box from him and turned to her father. “That’s all I have. Take it.”

Her father snatched the box, his lips curling into a cruel smirk. “About damn time,” he spat before storming out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The house fell into an uneasy silence, broken only by the soft cries of Y/N and her mother.

Jason waited a few moments, his ears straining for any sign that her father might return, before carefully sliding out from under the bed. Y/N was sitting on the floor, her arms wrapped around her knees, her face buried in her hands. Her mother was beside her, gently stroking her hair, her own face streaked with tears. Jason hesitated, unsure if he should intrude, but Y/N looked up and saw him, her eyes red and swollen.

“Jase…” she whispered, her voice barely audible. He crossed the room in two strides, dropping to his knees beside her. “I’m here,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m here.”

Y/N leaned into him, her small frame shaking as she cried. Jason wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly, his own tears slipping down his cheeks. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to make it better, so he just held her, letting her know she wasn’t alone.

Her mother watched them, her expression a mix of sorrow and gratitude. “Thank you, Jason,” she said quietly. “For being there for her.” Jason nodded, his jaw tightening. He didn’t trust himself to speak. All he could think about was how much he hated Y/N’s father, how much he wanted to make him pay for what he’d done. But for now, all he could do was be there for her.

As the minutes passed, Y/N’s sobs gradually quieted, and she pulled away from Jason, wiping her tear-streaked face with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, her voice hoarse and barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want you to see that.”

“Don’t apologize,” Jason said firmly, his hands gripping her shoulders as he looked her straight in the eyes. “You didn’t do anything wrong. He’s the one who should be sorry. Not you. Never you.”

Y/N nodded, but her gaze was distant, as if her mind had drifted somewhere far away, somewhere safer. Jason’s chest ached at the sight. He wanted to protect her, to shield her from all the pain in the world, but he knew he couldn’t. Not yet. After all, what could a child do against a grown man like him? The thought burned in his chest, a bitter reminder of his own helplessness.

“One day,” he said, his voice low but fierce, filled with a determination that belied his age, “I’ll grow up into a big, strong man, and I’m gonna make sure no one can ever hurt you again. I promise.”

Y/N looked at him, her eyes searching his, and for the first time that night, a small, fragile smile tugged at her lips. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. “I know you will, Jase,” she said softly, her voice carrying a quiet faith that made his heart swell. “I know.”

And in that moment, Jason made a silent vow. No matter what it took, no matter how far he had to go, he would keep that promise. For her, he’d do anything. For her, he’d become someone strong enough to stand between her and the world. For her, he’d make sure she never had to cry like this again.

The man’s bloodshot eyes widened as he stared at Jason’s face. The bruises and scars couldn’t hide the boy he once knew—the boy who had cowered under the bed, powerless to stop him. “You…” he croaked, his voice trembling with disbelief. “You’re that kid… the one who Y/N used to bring home…”

Jason’s lips curled into a cold, humorless smile. “That’s right,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “I’m the kid you thought you could push around. The kid you thought would never fight back.” He leaned in closer, his green eyes blazing with fury. “But guess what? I’m not a kid anymore.”

The man’s face paled, his body trembling as the realization sank in. “P-please… I didn’t know… I didn’t know it was you…”

“You didn’t know a lot of things,” Jason said, his voice icy. “But you’re about to learn one last lesson.”

The man’s screams turned to gurgles, his body slumping in the chair as blood poured from his wounds. And as the life drained from his eyes, Jason stood, his chest heaving, his hands stained with blood. He looked down at the man who had caused so much pain, the man who had haunted his memories for years, and felt no remorse. Only cold detached satisfaction.

He pressed the back of his helmet, and it closed with a hiss, sealing away his face once more. “Rest in hell,” he muttered, turning on his heel and walking away. The warehouse fell silent, the only sound the faint drip of blood hitting the floor.

Jason had kept his promise. And he would keep it for the rest of his life. For her. Always for her.

a/n: Got sidetracked with several new projects but we made it gang (Even though it's almost a year late). So yay me and suck on that ADHD and College. Comment to be added into the tag list and I’m taking some requests for Part IV’s smut and suggestions for plot points since I'm running low on brain juice.

Tags : @thisisafish123 @ceramic-raven @millyhelp @blamedbisexual @trunkswithlonghair-blog @jasontoddthings @deans-spinster-witch @12134z03 @sophiethewitch1 @johnnysilverhandeeznuts @yasmin-oviedo @rosecentury @pierayanna @jinviktor @crybaby-21 @solarrexplosion @sahana28banana @ari-sama21 @princessbl0ss0m @fictionalwhor3 @leeleecats @lalalozer @shkosm

𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 : @hana-no-seiiki

Told you I’d write it and tag you in it.

And this anon

Thank you and I tried to make it worth the wait. ily </3

[bright-hope-spot-19]

As one of the reblogs mentioned: we only really get to see her through the eyes of male characters. So we never get the real Rin, just the distorted views these guys have of her. Through the eyes of Obito, who was obsessively in love with her, his feelings most than probably made him blind to any flaws she could've had, leaving him with a perfect, idealized version of her. And another version through Kakashi's, who sees her as a victim of his actions and part of his childhood trauma, but little else, I think. None of them ever seem capable of recalling any flaws in her character or any other traits. Especially, cause in Kakashi's case, he really liked projecting his own team onto team 7 or vice-versa, projecting his view of team 7 onto his childhood team, so in his mind, Rin was just the 'Sakura' of the team, the same way he viewed Naruto as the 'Obito' and himself as the 'Sasuke'. And as we know, Kakashi also used to kinda baby Sakura, treat her with 'kid gloves' as I've seen some fans describe it, and he was also blind to Sakura's flaws, even to the point of trying to force Sasuke to accept her feelings in the middle of the war. To Kakashi, Rin and Sakura are one and the same: just the 'nice girl' of the group, even when we know Sakura is the furthest thing from nice, that girl is messed up af too, for some of the shit she pulled.

At the end of the day, this can all be attributed to Kishimoto's own misogyny and view of women as only being two types: either the nice, sweet princess, or the tough, rude, meanie who lacks in femininity so men are scared of her and think she's troublesome. You can't have both groups of traits in one individual, for some reason.

Genuinely don't understand why Rin is considered the token Normal Girl of Team Minato. She does literally only two (2) things in all of canon and they are:

Number one, going "say less" when obito asks her to perform an unprecedented medical operation and pop his eyeball into their teammate's freshly-gouged eye socket while behind enemy lines in a cave that is ACTIVELY collapsing.

And number two, altering the trajectory of the ninja world by killing herself in the cuntiest manner imaginable.

How - how do you look at that and decide wow, this girl is so free of Disorders and Demons?