#i don’t know if i should tune in if i wake up in time because even though i don’t mind spoilers

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

the hottest man north of havana

pairing: cabana boy! javi x rich older woman! reader

cws/tags: oral f! receiving, p in v, (semi) public sex, young (adult) javi!!, cheating (reader has a husband but he is prob cheating too and sucks)

summary: lonely rich woman at country club while her husband is away has a thing for the cabana boy

a/n: title reference to copacabana by barry manilow (that's either really obvious or really not obvious idk). obv you should listen to that while reading (long version) and margaritaville bc mentioned as well, but i listened to a lot of steely dan while writing this?? so, do with that what you will

*the cosmo article referenced is real and i have it saved to my computer and might post it bc it's so funny

wc: 3.6k

thank you @almostempty for your help on this one <3

Your husband’s away on ‘business’. AKA he’s in bed with a girl half his age a couple thousand miles away from where you sit on a lounge chair by the country club pool. It fazes you less than it should, but women like you don’t marry men like him for love. Or, at least, you don’t stay married for love. Half the women, wearing designer swimsuits and oversized sunglasses to hide aging under eye bags, are with their husbands for money too. The only difference is that you’re willing to be honest about these things. 

Honestly, the new cabana boy is handsome. They usually are, but this one has a certain charm that has you hiding behind an issue of Vogue to sneak a peek at his toned body when he’s not looking in your direction. 

In your persistent delusion, he pays special attention to you. He delivers fresh towels to the women on the other side of the pool, but he never lingers around them like he does with you. That pretty grin is genuine, you tell yourself, he’s not only working for tips. 

He nearly startles you when he comes by to offer you a refill of your margarita, a dizzyingly beautiful concoction since the bartender never skimps on the tequila, at least not when you’re the one ordering. He surely has a thing for you, or the way your tits look in a bikini, especially when they’re pressed up against the counter as you call his name.

“I really shouldn’t,” you say with a smile that begs him to convince you to have another. “It’s too early for more alcohol.”

“What’s that saying… ‘it’s 5 o’clock somewhere’?”

“Sure, in Margaritaville. I think we’re still a couple hours behind, though.”

“I’ll be back in a couple hours, then,” he says, taking your glass from the table beside you. “In the meantime, can I get you anything else?”

You can think of many things you’d love him to get you, but you settle for a seltzer with lime. 

You take a short nap and when you wake up, you know exactly what time it is because Jimmy Buffet is playing through the speakers to let you know, in addition to cabana boy who is humming along to the tune.

Your knight in a tightly fitting t-shirt approaches swiftly with your drink already in hand.

“How’d you know?” you ask, coyly, before taking a tiny sip. 

“What can I say? I know how to please a woman,” he says with a wink. 

You smile through the scoff you give him. “Alright, cabana boy, don’t let it get to your head.”

You learn his name the next day when you overhear one of the women you used to play tennis with bitching to him about this or that. 

“Javier,” you say as he walks past. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, turning on his heels with a look of relief on his face. 

“I heard you getting an earful back there. What’d you do to earn that?” 

Knowing her, whatever he did shouldn’t have landed him on anyone’s shitlist, but she’s got just about every name in the phonebook written down. 

“She requested an extra towel and a bottle of water to be brought to her in the women’s locker room, but I wasn’t very prompt.”

“Risking your tips, aren’t you?” you tut, teasingly. 

“Doesn’t usually tip me anyway,” he says under his breath, looking off to the side, pretending the confession isn’t meant for your ears.

“Oof. Even you can’t win her over,” you say with a pout.

“Suppose I was wrong about the whole ‘knowing how to please a woman’ thing,” he says with a faux-dramatic sigh. 

“I suppose so,” you say. Sitting upright so he can hear your voice when you say much lower, “but, you’ve really tugged on my heartstrings here, so I give you my deepest sympathies.” You grab a couple twenties from your wallet and hand them to him. 

“Pity tips,” he muses, a smirk tugging at his lips as he plays along with your little game, “I’ll bring you another sob story with your next drink.” 

The wink he gives you is his way of saying ‘thank you’. 

While you’re acutely aware of the power dynamic between the two of you, it does feel like he’s become a confidant in a way. You’d be far happier with his company than anyone else’s. 

While you’re in the midst of reading the latest issue of Cosmopolitan, Javier comes by to check up on you - something he seems to do more frequently now. Maybe it’s the tips, maybe it’s the tits. 

“Is it any good?” he asks, nodding to your magazine. 

“About as good as trashy magazines get. Why? Were you looking for some fashion advice, sex tips, embarrassing breakup confessions?” You offer up the gifts promised on the outer cover, nonchalant with equal attention paid to each, hopefully masking the fact that one of those topics is far more interesting than the others when you’re up close and personal with the effortlessly handsome Javier. 

Your eyes meet briefly at the mention of sex tips. 

“Hmm. How ‘bout those sex tips?”

“Alright, then,” you say, patting the spot beside you, beckoning him to sit. “Here are the best places to have hot summer sex…”

You can feel his body heat, his hand placed behind your body to hold himself steady as he leans in to read over your shoulder, pretending to be enthralled with this stupid article. 

“Number one,” you begin, “in the water.”

“A classic,” he notes, looking towards the pool only a few feet from you. 

“It says here that the ‘dirty mermaid’ position is ideal.” You point to the illustration of a couple getting it on. 

“Seems simple enough.”

“Wait ‘til you hear this,” you say, pausing for suspense, “their next suggestion is sex on a trampoline.”

“I can see the appeal,” he says. 

“Okay, well, then you better try out ‘the circus freak’ position the next time you have a rendezvous on a trampoline.”

“I’ll keep that in mind in case the circumstance arises.”

And just when you think you’ve got him to yourself, he’s whisked away from you by another dissatisfied country club member - maybe she’s jealous, you think,  until she gives you a sneer and then, you’re positively certain she is. Before he departs fully, he places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Let me know if you find anything you think I might like in there.”

The magazine tells you to fuck in a tent, on a sailboat, or in the woods, but all you want is Javier, right here, right now - be it the dirty mermaid, the circus freak, or just a man and a woman unable to ignore their overwhelming attraction to each other. 

Alas, you go home alone. The only one to touch you that night is your vibrator, and no matter how creative your imagination can be, you can tell the difference between silicone and the real deal. 

You return to your spot by the pool the very next day. Usually, you can apply your suntan lotion by yourself, albeit with some difficulty, but today, you struggle to get the part of your back that would normally be covered by your swimsuit - but of course, you know to avoid tan lines you need to keep your top off and your tits pressed to the towel. 

“Need any help?” Javier asks at a most opportune time.  

“Maybe a little, but let me just lay down first. I don’t want to flash you or anyone else.”

“It wouldn’t bother me at all, but I’m a gentleman, so I’d look away if you asked me.”

“I didn’t take you for a gentleman.”

“I could be one. If that’s what you’re into.”

You struggle to get your top off enough to put lotion on without exposing yourself, and Javier whispers to you, “Just take it off. No one’s around.”

You look at him, suspicious - and excited - about his motives. 

“I’ll be a gentleman,” he reiterates. 

“You better be,” you say with a face that dares him not to be  one, before turning and taking your top off. 

Javier takes the bottle of suntan lotion and squeezes a dollop onto his hand before rubbing it from your shoulders down your upper back, remaining cautious not to touch you anywhere too scandalous. Still, his touch lingers and he begins to massage your tense muscles. 

“Wow,” he says, “You’ve got a serious knot right here. What’s got you so tense?”

“A masseuse and a shrink?” you tease, expertly avoiding the question. “Javier, you’re really working overtime.”

“I’m just trying to build a good rapport with one of our most loyal members. It’s part of my job description.”

You suppose it is, but he’s surpassed ‘good rapport’ and made it to the number one spot on the list of men you have sexual fantasies about. You want to give him more than cash tips or sex tips. You also want to take far more than the tip from him. 

So, you keep him beside you for longer by letting him see deeper into your life as he shifts his touch. 

“Well, if you really want to hear all of my life’s hardships - Ooh, yes, right there - I’ll spill.”

You swear you can hear him inhale a sharp breath when you tell him where you want his hands. 

“Right here?” he asks, tentatively pressing his thumbs in more forcefully. 

“Yeah, that’s perfect,” you say. “You’re doing great, Javier.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he says, but you’ve heard those words enough times to know that his voice is different this time. That he’s affected by your praise. 

“It’s so stupid,” you begin with a light laugh, “I’m just pissed off at my husband.”

“Oh?” he says with a hint of disappointment in his tone. 

“Yeah, he’s off on ‘business’,” you say, air quotes included, “but we all know what that means.”

“Do we?” he asks, and he may have said something else, but you cut him off. 

“Ooh, down a little bit, babe.” The pet name slips from your lips accidentally, but he doesn’t seem to mind. 

He moves his fingers to the perfect spot and you nearly moan. 

“I can’t believe your husband would give up spending a day with you, especially… one like this…”

“One like what?” you ask, curiosity piqued. 

“Ma’am, I’ll be honest, you look great in this swimsuit.” When he hears your laugh, he adds, “I swear. I wouldn’t lie about something like that.”

“Well, Javier, I’m halfway out of this swimsuit right now.”

“As a gentleman, I wouldn’t dare take a peek, but I imagine you look even better like this.”

But you know he’d love to - as would you. You imagine there’s a tent forming in his uniform swim trunks. 

“I know I was planning to lie on my stomach, but would you mind getting my chest as well,” you suggest. 

“It would be my pleasure,” he says. 

You turn to him, revealing your naked upper body, simultaneously praying that the pool area is empty and that it’s crowded with women who’d certainly be jealous of what’s going on between you and the cabana boy. 

You’d think he’d never seen a pair of tits before if you saw his face - absolutely awestruck, unable to tear his eyes away from them. 

At your request, he gently massages them. 

“Goddamn, your husband is lucky,” he says under his breath. 

“Is he?” you say. “You’re the one touching me right now.”

His hands trail down your sides, testing the waters. 

“It’s a hot day… you don’t wanna get burned… so maybe you’d like me to get your thighs too? Just to be safe?”

You never thought you’d have a man begging just to touch your thighs, but you can’t complain. 

“You’re so thoughtful,” you say, “if you don’t mind, that’d be wonderful.”

You can tell he’s itching to get your swimsuit bottoms off. 

You whisper to him, “You can take them off if you want.”

“But my hands are covered in sunscreen. I wouldn’t want to give you an infection or anything.”

“You have a mouth, don’t you?”

His brown eyes melt as he eagerly dives between your thighs without another word.

His tongue works wonders as it glides over your folds, paying special attention to your clit, flicking his tongue teasingly, then sucking lightly. You realize how large his hands are when he wraps his arms around your thighs and pulls you into him. You’re fixated on his fingers, how badly you wish he could give you them.  

“Javier,” you say, “I want you to fuck me.”

(If you weren’t so needy, you’d beg to get on your knees, to scrape them on the concrete, and to suck him off. He serves you too often, you owe him more than just tips).

When your vulgar language reaches his ears, he looks up at you, wiping the shock off his face with a hand through his hair. He looks excited from his eyes to his shorts as you give him the once-over. YOu quickly slip your bikini back on before he takes your hand and leads you to a slightly more secluded part of the pool. Anyone who swims nearby could see you, but women further away with their noses in their trashy romance novels (when they’re not stuck in everyone else’s business), won’t be able to tell who is getting it on behind the waterfall. 

No, it doesn’t look even close to as gorgeous as the tropical destinations you’ve visited, but it does conceal your identity. And, Javier looks better than any man you’ve ever seen. The country club made an active decision to hire hot young men who could easily be printed on an advertisement in one of those stores in the mall that you no longer frequent - you’ve outgrown the overbearing scent of cologne and the juvenile style. Last summer, there was a blond pool boy, the summer before, he had blue eyes. But, Javier is something else - he’s a walking wet dream. And he’s yours. 

The water is cold, particularly so when you’re in a shady area, but Javier’s sun-warmed chest pressed against yours keeps you from shivering. And, with every subtle touch, heat pools at your core. 

When you’re submerged in the water, he slides your bikini bottoms to the side and lowers his swimsuit just enough to free his cock. You can’t resist the urge to touch him, so you stroke him slowly and you can tell he’s holding back pretty moans that you’d die to hear.  

Before he can lose himself to the feeling, he picks you up and you hook your legs around his hips. He keeps you close to him, not letting your back scrape the edge of the pool behind you. His grip is firm but his touch is soft. 

You coax his cock to your entrance, and he lets you, but not without warning.

“If we do this, I’m gonna need you to be real fucking quiet.”

“Same to you.” Your voice falters as he slides the head along your folds. 

Quite frankly, you couldn’t care less if everyone in the general vicinity heard the moans you hold back - in fact, you’re proud to be the one in Javier’s arms - but you try your best to collect yourself, to pretend the first inch, the initial stretch, doesn’t faze you. Even the anticipation of being filled by him makes you clench around him, your body trying to pull him closer, ignoring your intentions to keep up this coy persona with a quip readily stowed just behind your lips when he says something flirtatious and witty. You want to be the one to make him blush.

It is the opposite of sex with your husband. Not only because Javier is younger and far more attractive, but because you have to make an active effort not to cum too quickly when his fingers reach between your bodies and find your clit. You’ve spent years faking orgasms with your eyes closed, imagining a man like this is the one panting above you. Better make it last. 

Javier’s hands have a steady grip on your hips, forcing them to meet his with every thrust while your arms take place on his shoulders. You lean in and kiss his neck, eliciting the slightest moan, and you have to hold yourself back from sucking at his skin. You want to hear him, you want to mark him. You want to make him yours. 

You hear the clop clop sound of sandals approaching accompanied by a pair of feminine voices. It snaps you from the momentary daze and what is meant to be a warning comes out like a whimper. 

“Javi,” you say, and the sound of his name coming from your lips only spurs him on. 

You have to stifle your cries by burying your face in the crook of his neck. Your words are muffled but you manage to convey enough to get a response - not the one you were expecting, though.

“I don’t care,” he says. “I want them to know I’m fucking you.”

You know that Javier can have just about any woman he wants, you feel lucky to be chosen, but you know, despite his words, he wants you in secret. He’s just good at dirty talk, and you’ll gladly take the fantasy he builds for you. 

“I’m serious,” he says. “I want them to know how good I’m making you feel.”

Good would be an understatement. Pleasure ripples through you, threatening to push you over the edge, into an intense orgasm. He angles his hips so that every time his cock fills you, it strokes your g-spot along the way. And his fingertips work tirelessly on your clit. 

But he slows his pace, he pulls you back from the ledge.

“I wanna hear you when you cum,” he says, and he’s unable to hide his ragged breathing behind his sternness. 

He’s not demanding, he’s begging. 

And it works all too well with you. 

You meet his eyes - an agreement - and he returns to his previous routine, the one that makes your thighs tremble and your head loll back. 

“Javier…” His name flies past your lips and you wonder if you would’ve said it anyway, without his direction. It comes out in a desperate cry — one that covers up any noise that comes from Javier. You only catch the latter end of his orgasm, taken entirely by your own, but his face will be forever etched into your mind, in that corner that you keep secret and sacred. 

All of a sudden, in your post-orgasm haze, Javier pushes you gently into the waterfall, so you end up soaked (in a new way). You understand why when he pulls you out of the pool bridal style. 

As everyone in the area gawks at you, likely having heard you scream Javier’s name, he acts like the hero he is. 

“Someone had a few too many drinks,” he announces. “Luckily, no CPR is needed, but I’ll be taking her to the med station for a checkup. Everyone may resume their regularly scheduled lounging.”

There are whispers amongst the crowd - there always are - but you’re impressed by his acting. 

When he sits you down on a chair meant for the aftermath of swimming-related accidents (most of which result in nothing more than a bandaid), he says to you, “It’s important to stay sober if you don’t want to end up in sticky situations.”

“Sticky situations like the one on the front of your shorts?”

“Goddammit,” he says with a sigh. “They’re gonna fire me.”

“I hope it was worth it,” you say. 

“I’d say so,” he says, but you can still see a tinge of worry in his eyes. 

“Besides,” you say, “I think I might be able to get another job.”

“Really? That’s awesome,” he perks up. “But, I’ll miss seeing you every day.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that.”

Your husband arrives home the next day and you immediately complain about how the maintenance men did a terrible job keeping the backyard pool clean. Truthfully, they really weren’t the best and you’d been thinking about finding a new pool boy anyway. 

When your husband goes to look up ‘pool maintenance in my area’, you say, as nonchalantly as you can, “I heard that one of the cabana boys at the country club is quitting, and he’s actually really good at his job. He works super hard, never slacking off.”

“Alright. I trust your judgment. Maybe you can get his contact info from the club and we can ask for his rates.”

You already have his number saved in your phone so you call him and get his email address and pretend you’re calling the country club. You draft the perfect email for him to send your husband, to show him that he’s the perfect man to work for you. 

“Wow,” he says, when he receives the email. “He says here that he even offers extra services like bartending and poolside service… whatever that means. His rates look reasonable too. You did a great job, honey.”

“Thank you,” you say, accepting a kiss on the cheek from him. “I can stay home and monitor him, assuming you have to work on Monday…”

“Actually, I’m so sorry, but I’m leaving again in the morning.”

“What? Where are you going?”

“San Francisco. Another conference. But, don’t fret, I’ll be back in a week. I would love it if you stayed home when he’s here - just in case - but I trust your decisions either way.”

Needless to say, Javier is great at his job when your husband is home, and even better when he’s away. 

[lckboys]

yea i’m not gonna make my post this year before worlds starts (acting like it’s not in literally 3hrs)

so good luck, have fun, may the games be in your favor and happy watching 👍

[midnighvtm4ss]

Oh you sweet, poisonous thing

summary: just Arthur yearning and being jealous of reader and Javier. Enjoy😽

pairing: arthur morgan x fem!reader

content: fluff, jealousy, a hint of angst maybe ?? idk

wc: 1,8k

a/n: *taps into the mic* heyy,,, how y’all doing *voice echoes, crickets can be heard in the distance* so i kinda disappeared from tumblr ik. I went through a rough period and I thought a lot about what to do with this account. I lost all motivation to write for a while ngl, but after some thinking i decided that no matter what I’ll keep writing and posting here. After all this was and still is my little safe space where i can just forget about my life and post silly things about cowboys sooo yeah have some Arthur yearning because we should bring back yearning in 2025. ok i yapped enough bah byee

The cracking sound of the campfire travels softly in the center of camp, casting long, flickering shadows that stretch and shift over the familiar faces of the gang, dancing on their features to the sound of the soft music leaving Javier’s guitar.

It had been a rare, uneventful day—the kind where, surprisingly, nothing went wrong, and the world seemed to hold its breath afraid to burst the serene and quiet bubble that engulfed all round the camp. The stillness settled over the gang’s members like a balm, soothing old wounds and lifting everyone’s spirits. By evening, an easy carefree air had taken root, boosted by a few shared drinks and Javier’s guitar.

You sit near the fire, sandwiched between Karen and John, the blonde slouched lazily at your side, her cheeks flushed from the too many whiskey glasses she downed. Javier is in a contagious good mood, sitting on the ground near John strumming another lively tune as he leans toward you, his bronze skin glowing in the campfire’s light and he’s grinning like at you like the charmer he is.

“Why don’t you sing with me, cariño,” he says, his voice playfully teasing. A chorus of groans and exaggerated complaints come from around the campfire, the gang all too eager to tease you about the first and fortunately the last time you sang around the campfire in Horseshoe Overlook after you had too many to drink. You remember waking up the morning after with a terrible headache and the sweet memory of laughter shared around the warmth of the campfire.

You laugh at their reaction, shaking your head. “I think I’ll save everyone’s ears this time, thank you.”

Javier chuckles and with that resumes playing, his voice low and smooth. His energy is infectious, pulling easy smiles and a few soft laughs from everyone. But in the back of your mind, you can feel that there’s a subtle shift in the air—a pull, a presence that tugs at your attention like a ping you can’t ignore. It’s faint at first, almost imperceptible, but it grows stronger, undeniable, familiar. You glance toward the edge of camp, and as suspected there he is.

He’s leaning against one of the wooden posts near the horses, half swallowed by the shadows, the dim firelight barely reaching the brim of his worn hat. His broad shoulders are hunched, arms crossed tightly over his chest like he’s trying to protect himself, to keep something away though you’re not sure he even knows what it is. His aqua eyes are sharp even in the shadows, and they’re fixed directly on you.

As the weight of his gaze settles over you like a heavy fog, thick and tangible, despite the distance between you, a shiver runs down your spine. Your chest tightens, as if the very air around him has thickened with unspoken things.

You’ve known him long enough to feel a quiet storm building in the depths of his quiet, unshakable composure. It’s not indifference nor anger. It’s something else—something raw and unspoken but you can’t, and maybe won’t, put a name on it.

When Javier nudges you playfully, you force yourself to focus back on him, offering him a smile that you hope conceals the tension swirling inside of you. Still, the weight of Arthur’s gaze doesn’t leave you, not even as the evening stretches on.

As the night deepens, the fire crackles low. One by one, people begin to drift off, leaving just you, Tilly, Lenny, Javier, and Karen around the fire. Tilly, who had joined your little circle a few hours earlier, is lively chatting with Lenny about some gossip she’d overheard in town, her voice bright with excitement seemingly unphased by the late hour. Meanwhile, Karen has fallen asleep with her head resting on your shoulder, undoubtedly drooling a bit on your blouse. This leaves you and Javier alone, the conversation between you two flowing easily, until he eventually sets his guitar aside with a stretch, breaking the comfortable atmosphere.

“Already going to bed ?” you tease, nudging him gently on the side. “Won’t you play me another song before you go to sleep ?”

He smirks, shaking his head with a wink.

“Tomorrow.” He promises winking at you. He stands up and disappears into the shadows of the night. After a few minutes Karen stirs awake, mumbling something about needing another drink before bed, lazily getting up on her feet, shuffling toward the camp’s supply.

After that it’s just you, Tilly and Lenny sitting near the dying fire. From your peripheral vision you can see the dark silhouette of Arthur sitting at the worn wooden round table under the tall tree in camp. You don’t look at him, not directly, but you feel his presence like a thread pulling between you. You sit there, looking at the fire contemplating if approaching him or calling it a night.

When you finally stand, your feet move before your mind can catch up with your actions. You carefully walk towards him, finding him hunched slightly over the table, his broad shoulders tense as he stares down into the nearly empty glass in his hand.

“Mind if I join you ?” you say pausing a few feet away. The sound of your voice softly filling the cold air around you both.

Arthur doesn’t immediately look up, his focus still fixed on the amber liquid swirling in his glass. You nearly contemplate leaving when after a long moment, he tips his head in a slow, deliberate nod. “Suit yourself.”

You take a seat across from him, your hands folding in your lap playing with a few loose threads as you settle into the quiet. For a long moment, neither of you speak. The noise of the evening has faded away, leaving the camp wrapped in the soft rustle of trees and the distant sound of crickets.

“Tired ?” you finally ask, your voice hesitant, breaking the silence.

Arthur huffs a low breath, his eyes never leaving the glass. “Long day,” he mutters, a simple response that tells you nothing.

You nod, though his answer feels like a wall, a quick, easy way to avoid revealing something deeper. There’s something bothering him, and maybe it’s the alcohol in your system or maybe you simply care too much for him but you’re determined to find out what.

“Javier kept everyone entertained tonight,” you say lightly, your words casual, trying to spark a conversation, though you’re watching him closely.

Arthur’s grip on his glass tightens just enough for his knuckles to go pale against the clear glass. “Yeah,” he replies, his tone flat. “He’s good at that.”

The space between you feels heavier now, filled with something unspoken, a tension that neither of you acknowledges directly. You lean back in your chair, letting the silence settle between you, but you can’t ignore the flicker of his eyes as they meet yours, then quickly shift away like he’s afraid of what might show if he stares at yours too long.

“What’re you drinking ?” you ask after a moment, breaking the quiet.

“Whiskey.”

“‘S that the good whiskey Pearson’s been hiding, or the usual watered down crap ?”

Arthur’s lips twitch, almost imperceptibly, clearly fighting a smile. “Usual crap,” he murmurs. “Pearson ain’t that generous.”

You laugh softly, the sound easing some of the tension that’s built between you. But still, it lingers, just beneath the surface, like something you both know but can’t put into words.

“You seemed quiet tonight,” you say after a pause, studying him closely.

Arthur shrugs, lifting his glass to his lips, the movement slow, as if every motion is carefully measured.

“Didn’t feel like talkin’.”

You watch him, your gaze tracing the line of his jaw, his wet lips and the way his fingers absently trace the rim of his glass. He’s not being completely honest—that much you know, but you’ve learned to read between the spaces of his words.

“Or maybe you just didn’t like the company,” you offer, your tone playful but with an edge to it.

Arthur’s eyes snap to yours, sharp and unmoving. “I didn’t say that,” he replies, his voice low, almost a growl.

He holds your gaze a beat longer than necessary, and you feel the weight of it settle deep in your chest, making your breath hitch. There’s something in his eyes, something raw, vulnerable that makes your heart stutter. You’re not sure if he sees how your composure falters, but he’s the first to look away, tipping his hat lower over his brow to shield his expression.

You’ve always hated when he does that—you’ve always hated the way he uses it to put a distance between you, but now more than ever you hate it because it feels like the wall between you is growing thicker and you’re not sure if you can get through anymore.

“You’re a hard man to figure out Arthur Morgan,” you say softly, the teasing edge gone from your voice. He doesn’t answer right away, and when he does, it’s in a voice barely above a whisper.

“Maybe that’s for the best.”

You bite your lower lip in frustration but then you force yourself to swallow down your disappointment. The conversation shifts then, moving toward more trivial things like the weather, the horses, Pearson’s latest disaster with the stew. But even as you talk, you know that there’s another conversation happening in the spaces between words, in the glances you exchange, in both your body language, in the way the silence sometimes wraps itself around you both.

You don’t speak of it. You don’t name it. Neither of you can, but you know it’s there.

“Good night Arthur,” you say, your voice quieter than you intended. You give him a sweet smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes, before you stand, the weight of your own tiredness forcing you to seek the sweet embrace of your bed.

He doesn’t reply right away, just gives a slow tip of his hat. “Night.”

As you start to take a few steps away from the table, you feel his gaze on your back—steady, unwavering. It feels like it’s burning into your skin.

You glance over your shoulder, just once, and meet his eyes. For a moment, they’re distant, almost lost, like he’s somewhere far away in thought. But as your gaze lingers, you catch something else, something in the way his eyes soften, the barely perceptible softening of his eyebrows. It’s not a look of anger or frustration that he gives you, no, he’s looking at you with something deeper, something raw.

It’s the kind of look that makes your chest tighten, a sweet warmth settling between your ribs. He doesn’t need to say anything, you can feel it in the glance between you—the weight of all the things neither of you will dare to speak aloud.

In that brief moment, you understand. And it’s enough to leave you walking away with butterflies storming in your stomach and the strange sense that you’ve just shared something deep, something fragile with him without ever needing to say a word.

[darnell-la]

how about dark-stepdad!logan and human!female-reader? Like logan just marry her mom so that he can easily get all nasty and pervy with her daughter👀

note: our most active author's birthday was yesterday, so we’ve been pretty busy. we apologize for the gap in our posting but trust me, we have a lot of posts coming. stay tuned!

———

“It’s my big day today, sweet pee,” Logan walked into y/n’s room without knocking. “Hmm?” Y/n asked as she covered herself up and placed her phone to the side.

“I said, it’s my big day today,” Logan repeated himself as he closed and locked her room door. “Room’s coming along. You like it here, princess?” He asked as he made his way over to the young lady.

“Yeah, but I’ll be moving out soon into my dorm. Did you know that mom-“ y/n went to say before Logan cut her off. “About that, sweetheart. Been meaning to talk to you,”

Logan sat down on y/n’s bed, facing her as she covered herself. She was in her laced gown since she had just woken up. She wraps her robe around her whenever she needs to leave the room.

“I can’t lie, but I’ve been a little sad lately,” Logan said, hand rubbing her cover as she grew confused. “Why?” She asked, hoping the wedding he and her mom had just had yesterday, wasn’t a mistake.

“I feel like it’s shitty of your old man, but I’ve just been thinking about me and your mom. Not just since last night, but even before,” the man said, making y/n look down. She liked Mister Howlett and didn’t want him to leave like the rest.

“I’ve just been distracted. Been distracted for years with your mother, but I’ve yet to act on it,” he said. “What’s been distracting you? Maybe my mom or I could help you,” Logan chuckled low as she softly shook his head.

“Oh, you can help me, bub,” Logan’s hand slowly traveled up her thigh, through her covers. “Just had to secure everything before I made a move,” the man said as he tugged on her covers.

“I-I’m not dressed appropriately,” y/n said. “Hey, we’re all family here, right? I don’t think it’ll be a big deal if your stepdad sees his girl,” y/n’s hands loosened, thinking to herself that it should be fine.

“There ya go. Been thinkin’ about you all night, you know? As soon as that ring was placed on my finger, I knew I had you,”

Y/n was confused about what her stepfather was saying as his hand rubbed her bare thigh. “You’ve grown up, bub. Dressed all pretty and rich. You like daddy's money?” He asked her, catching her off guard because she’d never called him dad.

“Y-Yes,” she stuttered as his hand came up to her face, allowing a finger to rub down her lip. “Yes, what, princess?” He asked. “Y-Yes, daddy,” she said, knowing that was what he wanted to hear.

“Good girl,” Logan sat up and climbed under the covers, pulling her body to lay fully so how could hover over his stepdaughter.

“M-Mister Howlett, what are you doing?” Y/n asked, hands on her chest since she had no idea where to put them. She was confused and shocked by his words and touches.

“Ssh, ssh, now. Don’t wanna wake your mom,” Logan said as his finger hooked around her panties. “Mister Howlett! I-I can’t do that,” y/n took one hand to grab his wrist, but he stopped her by pinning it next to her head.

“Nah uh! You lay still,” the man demanded as he continued pulling her panties down her legs until they were off. “Pretty little panties. Always wanted to go underwater shopping with you,” the man said as he took them to his nose.

Logan sniffed hard, taking in every last drop she had let soak into the laces overnight.

“Sweet,” Logan spoke before placing them in his sweatpants pocket. “Mister Howlett, please. I-I can’t do this to my mother,” y/n said, eyes already glossy from the size over her. He was intimidating.

“It’s okay, princess. She won’t know. I promise she won’t,” Logan said as he reached into his sweats to pull out his cock. When he did, y/n felt her heart skin.

She’s had sex before. Multiple times, but Logan was huge, and her mother’s husband. He was her stepdad.

“It’s okay, don’t run,” Logan gripped y/n’s waist to pull her back into him. “Just relax, and it’ll go smoothly. Needa trains you for future days,” Logan said. He wanted to do this more often.

“N-No, Mister Howlett! I-I can’t do this,” y/n went to roll off of the bed, but the man wrapped a hand around her neck, choking slightly so she wouldn’t be able to get out of his hold.

“You’re gonna lay right here and take it. You’re too grown to be worried about your mommy,” Logan pouted at the end as he moved in between her legs. “Logan stop!” Y/n yelled at the man, which surprised him.

The man disconnected his hand from her neck and slapped it over her mouth, preventing any other stupid action from coming from her.

“Gonna have you punish you for that,” Logan harshly pushed at y/n’s entrance, fighting his way through her until her walls fully covered him.

The young lady cried in his hand, feeling an instant pressure grow in her stomach. His size was forcing an orgasm to rip from her system.

“Squeezing me so fucking tight, bub,” Logan said with a rough tone, snapping him instantly to feel her cunt coat his cock. She was a leaking mess.

“L-Logan!” Y/n tried clawing at the man’s chest, but that didn’t phase him. “Fuck, baby- You keep doin’ that, and ima get angry,”

Y/n continued as the pleasure built throughout her body. She couldn’t help the moans that escaped.

For a second, she thought about stopping and letting him take over her body. She felt too good to keep her act up, but she didn’t want to be too easy. She was embarrassed by how good her stepfather made her feel.

So y/n fought harder. Scratching the man aggressively and surprisingly pulling blood. “Fuuuuck!” The man groaned loudly as he gripped y/n’s mouth.

Y/n wanted to keep scratching and make the man stop, but she froze once she saw something she’d never seen before. The man’s wounds healed right in front of her face. It’s like she never scratched him.

“Didn’t want you to find out his way, baby,” Logan spoke after a long pause of silence. The man leaned down, getting closer to her face as he thrusted in her slowly.

“I’m one of those mutants from back then, but that shouldn’t be a problem. All that means is that I can take care of you. I’m the only one that can, sweetheart,”

Logan buried his face into the young girl's neck as she tilted her head back, allowing him to suck. “Gonna treat my little girl so good,” Logan mumbled as y/n slightly wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him close to her body.

Y/n couldn’t think about her mother anymore. Not while Logan was all inches deep in her, twitching and ready to cum. She stayed his good girl for the morning and whenever else he needed her to be.

[threestarsinline]

The Word of Your Body

Jason Todd x reader one shot

Summary: Jason comes back from patrol, but something is keeping his mind still somewhere out there. You're always there to bring him back and let him know he's safe. At home. With you.

Word Count: 5.8K

Category: Angst-ish because Jason is going through it but fluff because reader is there to comfort him

Warnings: Jason having a bad time

Author’s note: I know, I know, three fics in one year?? Who am I? Jsjksks truly an achivement for me, very happy and very proud hehe. Thank you for sticking with me and supporting my fics, I love you all. That said, enjoy!

It’s really incredible how much one can know about a person just by their body. From the way they move, to how they carry themselves, to the small gestures that they make in their day to day that reflect who they are, to the little telltale signs of how they’re feeling. A smile, a wrinkle between the eyebrows, a twitch of their hand.

And not just the movements of the body but you can also learn a lot from the singularities and marks that one has on their skin. A child with a scrape on their knee from running too fast on the playground. A chef with hundreds of small cuts on their hands from mastering the use of a knife. A ballet dancer with wounded toes. A painter with watercolors under their nails. A piano player with soft and delicate hands.

You can have a lot of information about a person just by observing them, knowing how they move and how their body reacts to things. A flinch from fear at the threat of danger. A shiver at the gentle touch of a lover.

That’s how you immediately know that something’s wrong when Jason returns from patrol. And you don’t even need to see him.

You’re reading in bed when you hear him come in. Always waiting up for him whenever you can. It isn’t difficult for you since you’ve always preferred staying up late rather than waking up early. Unless you have something to do early the next morning, you always wait for him to come home, to come to you, liking to see him as soon as he returns to make sure that he’s made it back to you safe and sound.

You either read or watch something on TV while you wait despite how many times he’s told you that you don’t have to wait up for him, that you should sleep. And every time you shake your head and say, “And go to sleep without you next to me? Never.” And every time Jason rolls his eyes at your stubbornness while his heart thrums in his chest at how much he loves you and then gently cups your face in his hands and kisses you softly.

And even when you can’t help it and you do have to go to sleep earlier or exhaustion wins over you and brings you to the depths of slumber without warning, Jason always approaches you quietly so as to not disturb you and kisses your forehead to let you know he’s home. If you’re on the couch he brings you to bed, and if you’re already in bed, he settles the covers better over you, just the way you like.

And those times you always smile in your sleepy state and unless he’s injured and needs your help patching him up, you follow semi consciously the sound of his footsteps around the apartment. The sound of the shower as he steps inside to rinse away the Gotham night clinging to him, the sound of rustling sheets as he finally climbs into bed with you, and are finally lulled back to sleep when warmth surrounds you as he brings you into his arms.

You’re no metahuman but you’ve developed a sixth sense for everything regarding Jason Todd. You would be able to easily spot him in a crowd of thousands after having just faintly heard his voice in the distance even if he didn’t have that white tuft of hair singling him out, all your senses zeroed in on him. It’s like your body and mind are always tuned to find him, like tweaking the dial of the car radio to find your favorite station and finding it on the very first try.

You have a master’s degree on Jason Todd and all of his movements, small gestures and twitch of expressions that he doesn’t even realize that he’s doing, you know it all by heart. You know that when the right side of his smirk pulls slightly at his cheek as he’s admiring you doing something mundane, he’s going to kiss you. You know that when he flexes his hands at his sides something is bothering him. You know that he’s going to laugh loudly and wholeheartedly when the sound makes his shoulders shake slightly before making its way up his throat, as if he’s trying to contain it but the laugh is so strong and spontaneous that he can’t fight it. And you know he’s in pain from a bruise on his ribs when he shifts his weight on his feet and a grimace appears on his face for just a second.

That’s how you know that something’s up when you hear him climb through your living room window and his steps don’t sound as if he’s trying to not make too much noise in order to not wake you up in case that you’re asleep, but as if he's trying to make himself as small as possible. It’s a subtle difference but it’s there. You know it because you’ve encountered it before.

Your worry only increases when in the next four seconds that it takes you to find your bookmark between the sheets and place it in your book, you don’t hear him move at all. He doesn’t come find you and he doesn’t call your name.

When you exit the bedroom you find him in the middle of the living room. He just stands there, shoulders hunched, red helmet gripped tightly in hand, head looking down, his hair falling over his forehead.

Something has happened. You don’t know what it is but your first worry right now is making sure that he’s okay. If he heard you come into the room he doesn’t show it. You take a couple of small yet purposeful steps towards him, making sure that they can be heard so that you can alert him of your presence, not wanting to startle him.

But nothing. He stays frozen.

You take a deep breath as your heart clenches at seeing him like this. It’s bad. Whatever has happened is really, really bad and it seems like Jason’s mind is still there. He’s not fully present with you right now.

But you know what you have to do. You have to bring him back here with you. Help him to separate himself, your loving, wonderful, and kind Jason from the horrors that Red Hood has to face every day.

You take another step in his direction. “Jason?” you whisper softly.

He doesn’t react. But he doesn’t flinch either. That’s good. He knows he’s somewhere safe. But he still needs to distance himself from whatever was out there. You finally come to stand in front of him, still not touching him. “Jay?” you try again while assessing him over, trying to pinpoint if he’s injured.

Again, nothing. But the hair that hangs over his forehead moves ever so subtly, almost in an imperceptible way, but you catch it nonetheless. The hair moved because he tilted his head in the slightest of ways. He’s listening to you. Knows that you’re there. You sigh in relief when you see his grip on the helmet lessen too. Good signs.

“I’m going to touch you, okay?”

He releases a deep breath, slowly allowing himself to let go, the tension that his shoulders held not as tight as before. Leaving his body slightly, leaving him at your mercy. He’s saying, Okay. Satisfied at that and at finding that he doesn’t seem to have any major injuries, you nod. Then, you gently and very slowly take his face in your hands to look at him. His eyes acknowledge you for a split second but then his emerald gaze returns to the floor, and you feel a crack forming in your heart at the utter sadness, desperation, and despair that you find in it.

Still, you feel him melt into your touch at his cheeks. “It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re home,” you offer softly.

He closes his eyes in response, reveling in the comfort that you bring him. Next, you take the helmet from his hand and set it on the kitchen counter before moving to the holster with his guns and very carefully unfastening its belt and leaving it all on the table. Helping him that way to step out of the Red Hood persona and everything that claws into it.

“Let’s take a shower,” you say, wanting to keep him informed of your every move. You take his hand and pull him with you towards the bathroom. He lets you guide him, fully trusting you but still not reacting to anything much.

You don’t ask him what’s happened. You don’t need to know. There are things that Jason doesn’t tell you about patrol. And you have no problem with it, knowing that he wants to separate those two parts of his life. But no matter what it is, you always let him know that he can come to you about them, that you’ll listen. That you’ll always be there for him. Always.

The other few times that you have seen him come home like this, slouched over and not talking much, you later learn, either by context from what you hear on the news and the streets, or by Jason directly telling you about it when he needs to let go and finally feels able share it, that the people he was after got away, that someone got hurt, or something like that.

But this time… This time something’s different. You have never seen him as bad as this. At least not from coming back from patrol. And it worries you. It worries you a lot and it kills you that you can’t do anything more than just be there for him. But it seems that that’s all that he needs right now so you settle on focusing on him.

From the guiltiness that hangs over him, tensing his shoulders and keeping his eyes down, and the distress and sorrow that you see in his gaze, you have a feeling that something terrible happened. Something that he couldn’t prevent. He couldn’t save somebody.

You can almost see how he’s replaying it in his mind, the shame and regret swirling in his head until they stiff all of his body. You need to reassure him, make him see how it isn’t his fault, how he did everything he could, and how he gave his all but how sometimes, despite how much you fight it and try to stop it, Gotham doesn’t let you escape the rot that runs through its streets.

Once you two reach the bathroom, you flick on the mirror light above the sink, casting you two in a soft golden light, not wanting to overwhelm him with the overhead one and its strong intensity.

You stand in front of him and help him take off his jacket before taking his hands in yours. He still doesn’t look at you as you take off his gloves. Once they’re gone, you take a moment to examine his hands, and you let out a sigh of relief at seeing that his knuckles aren’t wounded. Your thumbs softly trace the marred skin, small scars and irregular healing adorning his hands. You can’t help but bring them to your lips and press a long kiss to them, closing your eyes, trying to will away all the mental scars that they hold too just by the touch of your lips.

His hands, that could break bones but also mend and heal the most broken parts of yourself.

Despite what those hands either curled into fists or holding a gun could mean to other people, they’re precious to you. And one of the many wonderful parts of him. To you, they mean soft caresses while you’re laying in bed. They mean warmth when winter comes and he rubs them against your arms. They mean comfort, and safety, as he holds your sobbing body when you break down.

Their roughness both from handling dangerous weapons and using a pan to make you dinner. Jason Todd has a duality that still amazes you to this day, but you love all the multitudes that he contains all the same.

You then begin to remove his equipment. The chest armor, the knee pads, and any other protective gear, putting it all on the pile that you started with his jacket and gloves on top of the laundry basket to sort out later. Jason doesn’t move, only doing the movement necessary to help you undress him, like lifting his feet so that you can slip his boots off after having unlaced them.

But still, his gaze remains lost.

You set the boots to the side and get back up to your feet again. You walk around him to get the tub started for a bath, adding some oils and soap. You pass by him to exit the bathroom and grab some comfortable clothes for him after. Most of the time, unless it’s very cold, he normally sleeps shirtless with some sweatpants or even just his underwear during the hotter months, but you know that tonight he needs to feel covered, enveloped, protected. You begin to plan in your mind. A comfortable old shirt and sweatpants will do.

However, before you can even reach the doorframe and begin your walk to the bedroom, a hand wraps gently around your wrist. You whip back around, both surprised and glad at the same time that Jason has finally interacted with you on his own accord, this being the first contact with the outside world initiated by him. Another good sign.

You see Jason’s eyes fixed on your wrist before lifting his gaze to lock with yours.

Stay.

Your gaze softens and you take another step closer to him, almost being chest to chest. You lift your free hand to caress his cheek. “Of course,” you whisper. “I’m just going to grab you some clothes, okay? It’ll be five seconds.”

As you assure him, without realizing it, your thumb traces his cheek in the exact same motion that he has begun to rub soft circles into your wrist. He nods slowly.

“Okay,” you say and Jason releases his hold on you just enough for you to quickly slip to the bedroom. And just like you promised, you’re back just as fast, closing the door behind you so that the steam from the tub can warm up the room, starting to fog up the mirror too, and setting the clothes on the counter. And Jason still hasn’t moved an inch.

You stand in front of him again and delicately grab the hem of his shirt before looking up at him. And you don’t need words to understand each other. Can I?

Jason’s chin tips slightly. Yeah.

You slowly lift the shirt up his body and he raises his arms to help you. Once off, you leave the shirt with the rest of his discarded clothes. Then, with your hands in front of you so that Jason can see what you’re doing and anticipate your movements, you rest them on his shoulders and then gently slide them down his chest, feeling his well-worked muscles and creases from the scars on his skin.

Jason lets out a deep breath, the skin to skin contact grounding him. His eyes never leave you now, following every single one of your actions. And not because he needs to see what you’re doing in order to prepare himself, not anymore, but because you’re the only thing that seems real right now. The only thing tethering him to Earth.

Because to him, you’re his center of gravity. No matter how far he went, both in distance and into the depths of his mind, he will always come back to you.

You lean forward and press a tender kiss between his pecs. Jason shudders, feeling warmth, comfort, and light blooming from the spot that you kissed and extending through all of his body, from his torso to the ends of his limbs. Your touch like the first rays of sunshine after the coldest and longest night of the year in a frozen landscape, melting the frost and bringing everything back to life. Chasing away the Gotham chill clinging to his bones and the rigidness that holds him hostage. Replacing it all with you, just you. The warmth and safety that you provide.

Jason thinks that he wasn’t actually brought back to life all those years ago, just went through some kind of purgatory on Earth again until he reached his very own personal heaven. You. And he still has no idea what he did to deserve it.

Then you help him out of his pants until he’s standing in his underwear in front of you. His back is hunched, making him lean towards you but this time it’s not because of all the negative thoughts hanging over him, but because of the pull that you have over him, your gravity drawing him in.

You round him again to check the temperature of the water in the tub, though this time, Jason rotates his body to follow you, like a sunflower chasing the sun. Satisfied with both the water’s temperature and quantity, you close the tap.

“You want me to get in with you?” you ask, not minding that you have already showered for the day. Jason nods.

You nod to yourself and peel the shirt of his that you wear to sleep off your body, leaving you just like him, wearing only your lower underwear. And even with how exposed you two are, you’re not vulnerable. The air in the room thick not only with humidity but with the intimacy between you two. A kind that can only come from honest love and a complete feeling of trust.

But the air isn’t humming with electricity like in the other situations in which you two find yourselves with as little clothing as right now. Instead, the air is lulling, like a soft and warm wave gently rocking your body when you lay with your eyes closed in the sea. Comforting and lightening.

You discard both your final pieces of clothing and step into the tub, holding a hand out to Jason so that he can step in in front of you. When he joins you, you two finally sink your bodies in the warm and bubble covered water. You lean back at the edge of the tub with Jason between your legs, his back pressed to your chest, his head resting on your shoulder and your arms draped over his chest, all of you surrounding him, enveloping him, protecting him.

Even though the tub is relatively big, considering Jason’s huge frame, it wasn’t exactly meant for two, so you’re a mess of tangled limbs and warm bodies, but you can already feel Jason relaxing against you. You kiss the crown of his head and he finally closes his eyes.

You two lay there for a while, enjoying the hot water and letting it wash your worries away, the scent from the lavender oil that you used hanging in the air, calming your minds. You’re glad to see how the bath is helping Jason to let go of the events of the night, the remaining tension that clung to his body stripped by the water, and the memories from the night relegated to another place as you see the crease on his brows disappear as you draw gentle caresses on his chest.

You grab the shampoo bottle and start to wash Jason’s hair, working the roots and massaging his scalp to help him relax even further. Soon, hundreds of tiny white bubbles replace the sight of his black locks. You work on his hair longer than necessary but you can see how much it’s helping him, his breathing becoming even more deeper and slower. The only sign that he hasn’t fallen asleep, the hand that settles on your knee at his side.

You then rinse his hair, his white streak majestically poking between the black again. With a sponge you start to wash his body where you can reach, his shoulders, his upper arms and torso. When you’re done you maneuver yourself to sit in front of him, facing each other now. As you start to wash the rest of his arms, you see in his eyes that his thoughts are beginning to slip away, the events of the night calling him again. But you’re not having it. Nothing is taking Jason away from you tonight. Your goal, making him focus on you and only you.

“Can I tell you a story?” you say softly, your voice and the soft splash of water at the slightest movement the only sounds in the room.

Jason just shrugs his shoulders slightly. You nod as you focus on passing the sponge over his hands.

“It’s the story of a boy and a girl. About a wonderful boy and a girl who couldn’t believe her luck,” you begin. “One freezing winter afternoon, the girl slipped on some ice and the guy caught her by the waist, saving her from a pretty hurtful fate, though she almost brought him down with her. She apologized profusely as her cheeks warmed not only because of the embarrassment but because the man who’d caught her was the most handsome one she’d ever seen. But in her haste to step back from the stranger to try and save some embarrassment, she slipped on the ice again and he saved her once again.”

Jason can’t help the small smile that pulls at his lips. Because the story that you’re telling isn’t just any story. It’s your story. The story of how you met.

He wonders how you always knew exactly what to say. Hell, you could just be reading the grocery list out loud and he’d think that you deserved a Nobel Prize in Literature just because it came from you.

The sight of Jason’s smile pulls your lips into one too, and it warms your heart just like his worried gaze had done to your cheeks that very first day.

Both of you remember that day as clear as day, though neither of you could have ever anticipated how important it would be, how it had changed the course of your lives. You can still perfectly recall how he had cleared his throat awkwardly after catching you for the second time and his You alright, miss? How breathy his voice had sounded, as if something had taken his breath away, his heavy lower Gotham accent that had both surprised you and stirred something within you, and how vivid the green in his eyes was.

Just as bright as it is now as you continue the story. The shine that was always there whenever he looked at you.

“She had been pretty awkward, and she still can't believe how she’d managed to pull the kindest and hottest man in all of Gotham, the world even.” Jason snorts and you throw him a look, telling him not to question you because if there is one universal truth in this world—apart from the fact that a single man in possession of good fortune, must be in want of a wife—is that Jason Todd is the kindest and most gorgeous man that you have ever met.

“Though later he would reveal that he had found her nothing but endearing, despite what she might say about her awkwardness,” you continue.

Something about you already drawing him in. But just as quick as it all had happened, the moment passed by, and you two went your separate ways. Though not for long, because some time later, another afternoon, you were walking home when a running figure turned the corner and clashed into you. As you took a couple steps back to stabilize yourself you realized that you were head to head with the Red Hood. Which was strange since the sun was still setting and he had never been seen other than at night.

Jason hadn't planned on starting patrol so early but Tim had tipped him that some guys that he was after were having a meet up and Jason decided to give them a little surprise. Though that plan flew out the metaphorical window in the room of his mind as soon as he saw you again.

He had tried to forget the encounter in which he had saved the most beautiful girl that he’d ever seen from tumbling to the ground, and just as it seemed like he was about to succeed (not really, but at least manage to push the encounter to the back of his mind instead of your soft voice plaguing his every waking moment), he ran into you.

He stared at you bewildered, not believing that it was you, the sweet girl from the ice, and he was at a loss for words.

“Sorry,” you had said and at the sound of your voice he finally came out of his daze and shook his head.

“No need, it was my fault." He tilted his head. “You okay, miss?” You nodded, trying to ignore the shiver that ran down your spine at how similar he had sounded to your ice savior, his voice ingrained in your mind. And as much as Jason would have loved to stay there with you for a bit longer and hopefully learn your name, he had to get going, so he apologized again and you watched as he left.

And that should have been it. But somehow, it seemed like the universe had other ideas, crossing your paths later once again. And then one thing led to another and here you were now, sharing laundry and rent. Who would have thought? Certainly not you, when those strong arms caught you and you had no idea that they would become the place where you would feel the safest in.

Home.

Jason keeps listening as you finish recalling the start of your relationship. “And so their adventure together began. The clumsy girl from the ice and the boy that despite his rough exterior, had the gentlest, bravest, most selfless and most beautiful heart that she’d ever come to know.”

You finish the story with an enamored smile on your lips, the sweet memories fueling even more your love for him. A love and reassurance that you hope you have been able to convey in the story.

Jason sits in front of you with a small smile of his own, his heart beating golden light through his body, the love that you put there. His body finally relaxed and at peace, your hands holding his.

But then the smile falls from your lips as you see his eyes glass over. And even before he starts to tremble you pull him into you, wrapping your arms around him, his face hidden in your neck, his own arms snaking around you, holding you tight. And as the first tremors shake his shoulders, the first tears start to fall.

And you hold him through it. Taking everything that he needs to let go of in stride.

Because without the armor that he had built to keep his emotions at bay, swimming in the guilt and regret, once he finally relaxes, accepts that he’s safe and allows himself to be vulnerable, the dam breaks. And all the feelings come tumbling over.

The impotence. The sadness. The failure.

He’s not outright sobbing, the feelings working slowly but surely through him one by one. His body trembles slightly, a few tears falling onto your shoulder and a couple of sniffles here and there.

“I- I couldn’t-” He shakes his head and keeps silent once again. The first words that he’s said since he came home. The cracks in his broken voice forming ones in your heart. It stings more than salt in an open wound. You hold him as tight as you can. It’s like he needs to exteriorize these feelings and his body is allowing him to, but his voice can’t even go further than repeating that phrase over and over again. You shush him gently, letting him know that he doesn’t need to force himself to say anything. You’re here for him and that’s all that matters.

“It’s okay. You did everything you could, Jason. You’re a good man,” you whisper, trying to soothe the torture that he’s submitting himself to. But he shakes his head even more vehemently at your reassuring words and beautiful thoughts of him. Right now they don’t make any sense to him with how much he failed tonight. He’s not brave. He’s not kind. And he certainly isn’t good. He doesn’t know how you can say all of those things about him when he couldn’t-

You feel his internal monologue with how the time between his trembles, tears, and sniffles stretches. He’s lost in his head again. Thinking instead of feeling.

“Jason, hey, no. Stop,” you whisper gently but firmly. You unwind your arms from around him and take his head in your hands, holding his forehead to yours, looking into his eyes though his gaze avoids you.

“You are good. You’re kind, stubborn, funny, brave, determined, sarcastic, gentle, and loving. You’re all of those things. And sometimes things just go wrong and you can’t do anything to prevent them. You didn’t make any mistakes tonight, okay?” You don’t actually think that he can do anything wrong but you keep that to yourself. “Not being able to prevent something bad doesn’t make you any less of a good person.”

You can see how the thoughts race in his eyes.

“Jason. Look at me.” He finally locks eyes with you. “You know I’m not good at lying so listen to me when I say this. Whatever happened tonight is not your fault. You can cry. You should cry. You have to let go of everything that is storming inside you. What I’m not letting you do is convince yourself that you’re not good enough. Because you are, you hear me? You are.” You can’t help the tears that begin to prick at the corners of your eyes.

“I love you and I’m always going to be here for you for whatever you need, okay?” As a tear slips from your eye, Jason nods and hides in your neck again, letting his tears flow again. Letting himself feel. You envelop him in your arms once again.

“Okay,” he mutters against your skin. You sigh in relief and start to trace long shapes on his back.

You two stay there for a while, until both of you stop crying and his breathing returns to normal. And then you stay a little longer, just holding each other, Jason letting himself get lost in your soft skin and soothing scent, finally, finally, letting the night go. At least for now.

And then even a little longer, until the water turns lukewarm and a chill runs through your bodies.

“Want to go to bed?” you ask softly, threading your fingers through his hair, brushing away the damp strands falling on his forehead.

He nods slowly, lifting his head from your neck. “Thank you,” he whispers. You shake your head and he knows what you mean, You don’t have to thank me, I’d do anything for you.

“Come on,” you say and get up, offering him your hands. He takes them and gets up as well. You let the tub drain and step out of it, Jason following you. You quickly wrap Jason in a towel and then do the same with yourself. When you're done, he takes one of your hands gently and, while looking deep into your eyes, he kisses your knuckles. Thank you.

This time your gaze softens and you rest your hand against his heart. Of course.

After drying off you put your sleeping clothes back on and when you see Jason with the briefs that you brought already on and reaching towards the sweatpants, you gently swat his hand away. Let me take care of you.

He raises his hands in surrender and takes a step away from his clothes. Yes, ma’am.

“Are you hurt anywhere? Do you need me to patch you up?” He doesn’t seem to have any injury but you want to make sure. He shakes his head. You arch an eyebrow. It wouldn’t be the first time that he’s tried to lie to you about that. He nods, extending his arms so that you can examine him, showing how he doesn’t have any wounds. You wait for a beat before nodding.

You help him get dressed and all the while his fond gaze follows you. He’s sure that the best feeling in the world is being taken care of by you. That sunshine feeling blooming again in his chest. You’re so bright and he’s just so- No. He’s promised that he isn’t going to think like that anymore. At least not more tonight.

He follows your directions as you make him sit on the toilet and watches as you comb his hair. But then he can’t help but close his eyes at how relaxed he feels under your care. When you’re done you kiss his forehead and he hums as you run your hand through his hair. When he opens his eyes again, you’re extending a hand to him and he takes it without hesitation.

You turn off the bathroom light and guide him to the bedroom. You climb into bed, your side always the furthest one from the door, no matter where you are, at home, at the manor, or traveling, Jason makes sure of that, and you open your arms, inviting him into your embrace. Jason gets into bed, laying half on top of you, and wraps his arms around your waist as he nuzzles into your neck, your legs tangled. You drape the covers over you both, practically burying yourselves under them and wrap your arms around him, protecting him from anything that could hurt him. Your very own cocoon.

He gives your waist a slight squeeze. I love you. You kiss his hair in return, hugging him even tighter.

And as you hold him tight, the two of you know that what happened tonight out there would still haunt Jason despite all your reassurances. But just as you know that, you also know that you’re always going to be there for him. To love him and care for him. So, for tonight, Jason lets himself be lulled to sleep by the sound of your heart. Each rhythmic thump thump telling him, I got you, you’re okay, I love you, over and over again.

Just like for you with him, your arms the place where he feels safest in. Home.

Please let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!

[hexhomos]

Maybe I’m that one oomf that’s too woke, but I have a feeling that people being weird about jayvik is a sign of Bad Things on the rise =/ I’m old as balls and I’ve been in fandom spaces since late 2000s, and I’ve never seen people act so hostile towards a fanon mlm ship. I mean precisely in women and queer dominated fandom spaces, dudebros never change, whatever. And of course there were always ship wars. But I don’t think I’ve ever seen people act so oppressed over being into het ships, crash out over their ships not being endgame and demand from fandom content creators to accommodate them. What is happening.

I think this started happening around 2023~ to be more precise bc that's when i started getting weird ass entitled comments on OTHER gay ships. IMHO the real issue here is that we are going through fandom clash with a newgen that did not experience early internet and they take the gayness in fandom spaces completely for granted. As in, they think these little niche holes we've built are the de facto 'effortless norm' and minimize the work that's been done to create these safe spaces. This is the kind of rhetoric i keep seeing pop up:

Many of them have also grown up almost exclusively interacting with art created by old fandom graduates where queerness is presented casually. They're not watching shit from the 90's or 00's. They're not adults, so they don't have a personal contrast experience seeing that 'rep' dwindling consistently over the years. They don't remember a time before this and don't know how bad it was.

OFC there are always old ass conservative weirdos riding on this wave to be even more annoying (certain infamous viktor stan accs... lol!) but #backtotradition rightwing bullshit has been on the rise worldwide, and so are the viral tiktok tradwife alphamale detransition white supremacy grifters. Its a larger cultural problem feeding into the micro stuff we see daily and it's terrible. It's also why I tune this shit out and I stand my ground. I'll draw what I WANT to draw and I'm not going to be twisting myself into pretzel shapes to appeal to anyone and everyone; go get YOUR shit elsewhere!

I *do* think people have been getting way more entitled towards fanworks, and that comes with a heightened level of apathy. You can notice this on the decreased number and quality of feedback across twitter, as an example (seeing as that place has been consumed by the conservative grifter wave) but it's also been reported by every fic writer who's consistently used AO3 for years. Tags on tumblr aren't as widely used. The focus on 'community' has been replaced by 'DOES THIS MAXIMIZE ENGAGEMENT?'. I know from personal experience that there is this one specific asshole who, for almost a year now, has been trawling the trans viktor tag and leaving insanely long transphobic critique comments on works of newer writers to discourage them from writing. (They are always on the cusp of open violent transphobia, but shittily cloaked as 'debates' on ~natural biology~ and fantasy logic so they don't get banned. If you've seen the ao3 pfp of a smirking white haired woman before you know who im talking about.)

Things have been Bad and on the Rise for a while now. Look at the current shit on the news. Look at the presidencies around the world. And it's going to get worse before it gets better, because it always does; that's what forces people to wake up. Be annoying. Be watchful. Don't waste your time platforming or debating weirdos that should be left to die on obscurity - this is how trump got a memeable platform, and look at where we are now. Protect your peace.

[pedroscurls]

training partners (pt. 16)

summary: an article comes out about you and your relationship with hugh while he's away and you know just exactly who it was. pairing: hugh jackman x fem!reader warnings: reader's insecurities come back, brief mention of physical abuse (not with hugh!), mention of age gap, implied age gap (hugh is 55, reader is in late 20s-early 30s), no use of y/n. word count: 2.8k a/n: so... jack is back y'all and we've got a few more parts left of this story, so stay tuned! as always, this is purely fictional! i mean no disrespect to hugh jackman. prev part. - next part.

Hugh’s been gone for a couple of weeks now and you both manage to create a routine to speak with each other every day, depending on the time zone that he’s in. He continues to send you photos of where he’s been, wishing that you were with him, but despite the distance, it never does feel like he’s away. Hugh makes sure that you know that you’re his priority and you never have to second guess what he’s doing or where he’s at because he’s always communicating with you.

You’ll send him a text every morning you wake up, counting down the days until he gets home. You spend most of your time either editing, at a photoshoot, or working out with your personal trainer. It helps to keep yourself busy because the home you now share with Hugh is just too big for you alone. You miss his presence, miss his touch, falling asleep and waking up in his arms. 

You miss him. 

Today, though, you have nothing planned and you know Hugh has a day off from press so you decide to give him a call through FaceTime. He’s in Brazil, which just happens to be only two hours ahead. Dialing his number, you’re sitting out on the balcony, eating your dinner while watching the sun set. This still doesn’t feel real, like one day you’re going to wake up and realize it was all just a dream. 

You hear his voice and then look down to see him through your phone, your entire face lighting up at the sight of him. You prop your phone against your water bottle and take another bite of pasta as you bring a leg up on the seat. 

“Hey, baby,” he says with a smile. “Whatcha eating?” 

“Made some pasta,” you answer, showing him your bowl. “Eating out on the balcony, watching the sunset. Wish you were here though.” 

“I know,” Hugh sighs. “Wish I was there too. Just two more weeks, baby, then I’ll be home.”

You nod and then set your fork down, turning your entire attention on the man through your screen. “Just two more weeks,” you repeat. “How’s it going so far?”

“It’s been so much fun,” he answers. “Ryan likes to bring you up in every conversation we have almost daily,” Hugh chuckles. “Says you should be here with us, with me… and I agree with him.”

You laugh quietly and shake your head. “We both know that if you had it your way, I’d have gone with you.”

“Well…” Hugh smiles, leaning back against the bed that he’s lying on. “I did say you should come with me.”

“You know, usually the honeymoon phases out by now…” you tease. “I think you’re obsessed with me, Hugh Jackman.” 

He laughs quietly, turning to lie on his side instead as he keeps the phone facing him. He is so enamored with you, that even through a simple FaceTime call, he can feel the amount of love he has for you. You’re so beautiful, the sunset casting a glow around you. 

“Oh, I’m obsessed with you, huh?” 

“Oh yeah,” you grin. “What is it about me, hm?” 

“Everything,” he answers honestly. “I can’t just pick one thing, baby.” 

You feel the heat rise in your cheeks as you wrap an arm around your leg and rest your chin on your knee. “Still the smooth talker, I see.” 

Hugh rolls his eyes playfully. “I’m just tellin’ the truth.”

“I love you,” you blurt out instead.

His eyes light up – he’d never get tired of hearing you say those words. “I love you too, baby.”

“You know, the house feels so empty without you,” you admit. “I don’t know how you lived here all by yourself.”

“It was hard,” Hugh answers. “Kept myself busy most of the time, but you– you’ve made it a home. A place where I want to spend most of my days at, as long as you’re there.” 

“When you say things like that, it makes me want to kiss you. So, what am I supposed to do if you aren’t here?” you smile. 

“Use your imagination,” he teases. 

“Ah, so I guess I’ll just have to entertain myself.”

Hugh’s gaze darkens as he shakes his head. “Don’t you dare tease me.”

“Or what? You’re not here,” you grin mischievously, pulling your lower lip between your teeth. 

“Guess you’ll find out when I get home then, won’t you?” 

“Fine,” you huff. “My fingers and toy aren’t the same anyway.” 

“Y–You have a toy?” 

You giggle. “Actually bought one a couple of days ago. Figured we could try it out together when you get back.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you grin excitedly. 

Hugh groans. “Two more weeks… just two more weeks.” 

You laugh to yourself and then tilt your head, eyes staring at the screen. You wish you could reach out to him, to feel his strong arms around you. “Got a full day of interviews tomorrow?” 

Hugh nods. “Yeah, but you know I’ll make time to give you a call.”

“I know, Hugh,” you smile. “But it’s fine if you don’t, you know. I know you’re busy and–”

“You know I can’t go a day without talking to you, baby,” Hugh interrupts. “I’m never too busy for you.” 

“I know, I just–” you sigh. “Just don’t want you to feel like you have to talk to me if you’re tired.”

“Never,” he answers. “Never too tired to talk to you. I’m already miserable without you here. If I don’t get to talk to you every day, I think I’d lose my mind.” 

“Okay, Hugh,” you nod. “My perfect man.”

He chuckles and rolls his eyes. “Hopefully only perfect for you.” 

“Oh, I think you’re it,” you admit with a smile. 

“Yeah?” he grins. “You mean that?” 

“Oh yeah,” you nod. “So don’t go and break my heart, okay?”

“I don’t ever plan to, baby,” he answers. “Because I think you’re it for me too.”

“Yeah, I wish you were here,” you sigh. “This would be a perfect moment to kiss you.”

Hugh chuckles. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you too. Just two more weeks,” you repeat. “Then you’re all mine.”

“Oh, I can’t wait. We’re not leaving the house for a week, at least,” he winks.

“What did you have in mind we do for an entire week?” you ask innocently. 

“I think it’d be better to show you when I get back,” he grins. 

“Well, I can’t wait,” you smile. “You should probably get some rest, Hugh. I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”

Hugh nods. “Yes, baby. I’ll give you a call tomorrow. I love you.”

“I love you too. Good night, Hugh.”

“Night, baby. Sweet dreams.” 

“I’ll be dreaming of you,” you wink.

“Good because I’ll be dreaming of you too.”

—

A week later, you’re sitting on the bed re-reading the story about your relationship with Hugh in a well-known online published article. You can feel tears stinging your eyes, can feel your hands tremble as you read every single untrue word.

They call you a gold digger due to the age gap. 

They say that you’re too ugly to be with someone like Hugh. 

They say that Hugh’s only having fun with you. 

That the relationship isn’t serious. 

That you’re not enough. 

That he’s going to realize that he deserves better than a nobody like you. 

And the words stay with you because it all sounds so familiar. You’ve heard it before and there’s a dreadful feeling in the pit of your stomach when you realize who might be behind this article. 

An article that’s now gaining more and more traction. You shouldn’t have googled Hugh’s name because all you can see in the search results are different variations of the same article. With your name plastered all over. 

You’re only with him for his money. 

The age gap is too ridiculous and Hugh’s just messing around after his divorce. 

You’re not enough. 

You’re not enough. 

You’re not enough. 

You finally toss your phone aside and curl into the sheets, eyes staring out the large window. You’ve never felt more alone than you did now. You can hear your phone ringing but you don’t bother trying to answer it; you just want to disappear and you certainly can’t call Hugh. 

You can’t tell him; he’s already got other things to worry about. 

Your tears trickle down your cheeks and stain your pillow as your breathing picks up. The article brings up a lot of feelings that you’ve tried so hard to work through because you know who’s behind it. 

Jack.

It’s always going to be Jack. He just can’t leave you alone. Despite him being the one to end the relationship and the one who has verbally and physically abused you, he’s still acting like you’re the one who hurt him. 

It just seems like he can’t let you go, like he still has to have some control over you. 

Your phone goes off again and you turn around to grab it, seeing Hugh’s contact on your screen. You don’t answer, afraid that he’s going to tell that something’s wrong so instead, you send him a quick text to let him know that you’re busy editing and that you’d call him back once you’re finished. 

It’s a lie and you hate lying to him, but you can’t tell him the truth. You can’t tell him that there’s rumors about you, about your relationship with him and how you want (and need) him so badly to be here. 

He reads your message, but instead of sending a reply, he just calls you again. You don’t answer, letting it go straight to voicemail. He doesn’t leave a message, but you see that he’s begun typing – the three dots appearing on your text thread with him. 

Four simple words. He texts four simple words that make your heart ache even more: You’re lying. Call me. 

With a heavy sigh, you wipe your tears away and then begin to dial his number. It barely rings once before he answers the phone, his voice immediately coming on the other end of the speaker.  

“You saw it,” he says. 

“Yeah.” You don’t need him to clarify what he’s referring to because you know exactly what he’s talking about. 

“I know you’re not okay, so don’t tell me that you are.” 

“Well, what else am I supposed to say, Hugh?” 

“The truth,” he answers. 

“What good will that do? You’re not here.” 

You hear him sigh. His voice sounds tired. “Baby, please. Just–”

“It was Jack,” you interrupt. 

“What?” 

“The article. It was Jack. It’s gotta be.” Your voice trembles. “I’ll be fine and–”

“I’m coming home,” Hugh says. 

“You have one more week left of press.”

“I don’t care. You matter more. I’m coming home,” he repeats. 

“Hugh–”

“No,” he interrupts. “Don’t defend him again. You shouldn’t even be defending him.” 

“I’m not.”

“Then tell me what’s on your mind!” He raises his voice and your eyes fall shut, gripping the phone close to your ear. You know that he’s frustrated at being so far from you, for allowing you to deal with this all by yourself. He should be there with you. He needs to be there with you. “I’m sorry, baby. I just– Fuck, I feel helpless here.” 

“Well, I’m feeling helpless too,” you admit. “That article… Those rumors, maybe some of them are true. Maybe you do deserve better than me.” 

“Stop.” Hugh sighs. “You know that’s not true.” 

“You’re you and I’m just… I’m just me.” 

You can hear ruffling on the other end of the phone and when he goes to speak again, his voice sounds more distant, like he’s not holding the phone directly to his ear anymore. “I’m coming home. I already told Ryan and Shawn.” 

“Hugh,” you sigh. “Baby, please.” 

“No,” he says. “Don’t you think that article hurts me too?”

“B– Because of your reputation? Because of what it says about you?” 

“No,” he sighs. “Because of what it says about you. It’s not fucking true. None of it is, and it hurts me because I know that it’s hurting you. So, yes, I’m coming home so that I can be there with you.”  

You don’t answer because you finally feel yourself begin to break down. You put the phone on speaker and set it aside, burying your face into your hands as you let out an inaudible sob. 

“Baby?”

“Don’t come home,” you finally answer. “Let me– Let me handle this on my own. Let me work through this on my own. Please, Hugh.” 

“Baby,” Hugh sighs. “I can’t–”

“Hugh, I need to do this for myself. Please, can you do that for me?” 

“I don’t want to,” he answers. 

“I know, but you need to.” 

“I can hear you crying, baby.” 

“It just hurts. All of it, but I can do this,” you sniffle. You want so badly to just feel his arms around you. 

Hugh sighs in defeat. “I love you,” he whispers quietly. “So much, okay?” 

“I know,” you answer with a slightly trembling voice. “I know you do.”

“I won’t come home today, but I will be home by the end of the week. Can we come to that compromise?” 

“Yeah,” you answer. “I think that’s okay.” 

“You know you’re the best person I’ve ever met, right?” Hugh asks. “You’re kind, thoughtful, considerate… so passionate and I love everything about you. Flaws and all.” 

“Even when I get into my own head and–”

“Yes,” he interrupts. “And I wish that you can see what I see in you, what everyone sees in you.” 

You shut your eyes and imagine him there with you, arms wrapped around your frame, lips near your ear as he whispers. You lie on your side and wrap the sheets further around your frame as you keep the phone on speaker. 

“I’m sorry I’m broken…”

“Baby,” he sighs. “You’re not broken, and you shouldn’t be apologizing. Someone who you trusted, who you loved, hurt you over and over again. He manipulated you, took advantage of you and–” he has to stop himself from talking because he can feel himself getting angrier and angrier. “Jack never deserved your love. He never deserved you.” 

“Hugh…” you whisper. “I love you.” His words awakens something inside of you, something that you never thought existed. You thought you had done a lot of reflection on your relationship with Jack, but you never looked at it from your perspective in this way. You always wondered what you could have done differently, what you could have changed about yourself that it wasn’t until you met Hugh that you realized the issue was never you. 

It was Jack. 

And it will always be Jack. 

“I’ll be home soon, okay?” Hugh sighs. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you too, Hugh,” you sigh. “More than you ever know.” 

“I’m one lucky man, I’ll tell you.” He replies. 

You bite your lower lip and take your phone off speaker to bring it close to your ear instead. “I’ll call you later?” You ask. 

“Yeah, baby. I’ll be here.” 

“Got another full day of press?”

He sighs. “I have time for you. Always will.” 

“You sure?” 

“Positive, baby.” 

—

For the rest of the day, you steer clear from your phone and laptop. The only time you’d reach for it is to respond to a text from Hugh or from your trainer. You distract yourself by watching movies, but even in the living room, you’re missing Hugh’s presence. 

The movies only do so much for so long when your mind begins to drift to Jack. For the longest time, you’ve tried so hard to ignore it, to just move on without ever reflecting on just how toxic that relationship was for you. It was easier to just forget, but when he decided to force himself back into your life, you realized just how many unresolved emotions lay dormant. 

You can still vividly feel his fist connecting with your cheek, can feel his entire body weight behind the punch. You should have left him then, shouldn’t have even let it go that far, and you wished you had a good enough reason why you didn’t leave. 

Part of it was because Jack had made you believe that no one would ever want you if you did decide to leave on your own… and he would tell you how worthless you were over and over and over again to a point that you started to believe it. 

But him ending the relationship had been the one of the best things to ever happen to you. You know that you still have so much to work through, but you’re no longer the same woman you were when you were still with Jack. 

You try to remind yourself of that. Jack doesn’t have authority over you anymore (and he never should have). He never should have laid his hands on you. Never should have repeatedly put you down with his words. 

And you’re tired of letting him get away with it. You’re tired of letting him win.

---

taglist (if links don't work, i'm sorry!): @corvusmorte - @dragonqueen89 - @whimsiwitchy - @kellyxo1

@wolviehugh - @moonxknightx - @sullyselena - @angelofthorr - @spectorrrhgf

@needz1nk - @fandomxo00 - @godlypresley - @kythefangirl25 - @callsignyourmom

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@sir-thisisadndserver - @absolutepie - @millajay - @itsallyscorner - @haytchee

@wolverigrl - @its-in-the-woods - @d3ad2you - @definitely-not-chill - @khxna

@jules-and-gemss @keerygal

[stove-top96]

Better In the Dark

Synopsis

Y Platonic Batfam x GN Meta Reader

Featuring: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne

0.8K

Just an Idea I had while writing Chapter 3 of water colour eyes. I’m definitely gonna write Chapter 1 soon (maybe this weekend). Let me know what y’all think. I’m in such a writing mood lately so stay tuned for other Ideas and more one-shots.

You really didn’t mean for it to happen, but your mistake never warranted such an extreme reaction. You were careless, relying too much on your powers rather than the proper technique when fighting. if it weren’t for Robin you probably would’ve died. Still, they've all had near death experiences. What makes you any different? It seems like overnight everything’s flipped 180, they’re all more extreme, more obsessed. Don’t they understand your civilian life doesn’t include them? Why are they so goddamn insistent?

For Bruce it was like reliving the same nightmare. Watching helpless as the goons put that power inhibition collar on. Unable to do anything when they struck you over the head. The same helpless despair pooling in his gut from when he watched his parents die, Jason die and now you. This cycle of watching the people he cares about die is one he thought he broke free of, clearly not. While he sits there by your hospital bed, the beep from the heart monitor is the only thing that keeps him going. (Y/N) (L/N) he swears to you that he will never let anyone ever hurt you again.

It was different for Dick, he knew you looked up to Nightwing, to him, Even so he wasn’t there that night. Your hero, the one you aspire to be like, wasn't even there to save you. He’s pathetic, what kind of symbol is he when he can’t even protect the people close to him? He wasn’t even doing anything important that night, he was watching Netflix for god's sake, on a supposed “rest day” while you were giving it your all. He doesn’t deserve to be your hero, you’re too good to him. He knows you’ll say “it wasn’t anyone’s anyone’s fault but my own” deep down he knows the truth. He’ll give up anything to make it up to you, to be someone who deserves to be looked up towards.

Jason was scared. He knows what it’s like to put your trust in others only for them to not be there. Bruce did it to him, but now he’s done it to you. He’s become exactly what he despised. He doesn’t let just anyone grow close to him, but your kindness and authenticity was different, you weren’t fake to him and your kindness started to rub off on him. You were like his sibling, you brought light into his life, and he was supposed to protect that, protect you. He doesn’t know what will happen once you wake up. Knowing you, you won't blame anyone. But will you truly forgive them for not being there? Will you blame him?

Tim was the closest to you. Both of you being similar in age, and sharing a sense of humour it was hard not to get along with you. You were able to match his intellect, and even saved him a few times when Tim Drake was kidnapped and held for ransom (not that you knew it was him). Even more than that, you understood him more than anyone else did. You both started being vigilantes at around the same time, but unlike you Tim only became Robin because no one else would, and you never blamed him for that you also understood Batman needs Robin. When saw what happened he didn’t know what to do. He Joked with you earlier how Gothams became so tame, he should have seen this coming, it was too quiet. He has a plan of action for everything, yet when it mattered he froze. Sure it was only for a few seconds, but that’s life or death. He’s Lucky, you lived. If you didn’t, it would be his fault. How is he supposed to live with himself after such a drastic mistake?

Damian’s perspective changed. You were never on the same level as him, but he thought he could hold your own. It’s clear that belief was a mistake, one that almost cost you your life. you’re weak, someone who just happened to be meta. you’re not like him or the others. You’re meant to be protected, to stay at home while he fights. It was his blind trust in your abilities that you ended up in that bed. He’s grown careless, you made him that way. Your laugh had an uncanny ability to make him feel at ease, he’s never felt so seen by a person before. It was easy to lower his guard around you, a trait of yours he both cherished and envied. He won’t make that mistake again, he knows what he needs to do to ensure you stay protected.

Silence fills the Batcave, the family can do nothing but stare down at you. Unable to do anything but relive that night, they promise nothing like that will ever happen again. They will make sure of it.

[marigold-hills]

July 5: burnt | @jegulus-microfic | word count: 1048

It’s July now, but it’s been happening for at least three months.

Every evening at half past seven an ice cream van comes hurtling down the street, blearing out its tune. It stops on the corner. No one ever comes out to it. After five minutes of silence, it starts up again, the sound somehow even louder for the reprieve.

James Potter is sick and tired of it - because every evening at seven, five-month-old Harry falls asleep only to be woken up by the noise.

It’s been a bad week. Teething. Crying. James hadn’t had longer than forty minutes of sleep at a stretch in days and it’s starting to get to him. Every single smile Harry gives him makes it worth it, every kicked off sock makes him laugh and every little cuddle leaves him in awe – but.

(He hates the but. Hates adding it. There shouldn’t be one, he thinks, he should be endlessly grateful for every moment, take it all in stride. Because Harry – because his son - isn’t a but. Isn’t a burden.)

But.

Harry falls asleep, little arms stretched out to the sides. James puts him in the crib and the little thing turns himself onto his belly (a brand-new trick, that). Deep breathing, sleepy little sighs.

James is burning and burnt out. Eyes filled with sand. Back half numb from carrying a heavier-by-the-day infant for days with little break.

I’ll have a cup of tea, he thinks, and drink it while it’s still hot. Then sleep.

The kettle boils. James picks out his favourite tea, adds in the sugar. Just finishes pouring in the water when the music starts.

A precarious moment between sleep and waking but Harry tips into consciousness, little face scrunched up with dissatisfaction and cries mounting, building, louder by the second.

James Potter is a patient man, a kind man. But he’s had enough.

He picks up Harry, shushes him. It’s a quick thing, for him to stop crying once he’s in his daddy’s arms, but his brilliant eyes are wide open now, sleep all but forgotten.

It’s the thought of his nice hot cup of tea that does it. He’s barefoot, when he leaves the house, Harry hoisted up on one hip. Babbling happily now because it’s a great adventure, every time they leave the house.

The music stops and there it is, the thrice-blasted ice cream van. James stomps up to it in a manner certainly not dignified. There is no one at the open window.

“Excuse me?” James shouts into the interior.

A head pops up from below the counter and James thinks oh, fuck me, because:

1.        He’s ready and rearing to have a go, furious and fuelled by exhaustion, but the man is the most beautiful creature James had ever had the misfortune of seeing, and

2.        Literally just fuck me, but

3.        He has Harry on his arm and pieces of mashed up carrot in his hair, some unknown substance on his shirt, and the man is stunning, and

4.        James is just so, so tired.

“Yes?” The beautiful man asks, looking a bit confused and that’s fair enough actually because James is the first customer on that spot in the last three months.

“Err…,” he stutters, “a flake, please?”

“I don’t sell ice cream,” says the beautiful, stunned man driving an ice cream van.

James takes a look at the menu on the back wall, and on the decal on the side of the van that says a .99 flake is £2.50.

“No?”

“No,” and somehow the beautiful man is the one who sounds confused, and he won’t stop staring between James and Harry, big round eyes striking underneath black curls, “I sell drugs.”

“Huh. Like… pharmaceuticals?”

“No. Like weed.”

“Huh.”

Harry takes that as a queue to start babbling at a new person he’s never seen before and the man in the van visibly melts. “Hi there little one,” he says, and James knows he should be walking off right this fucking moment, because a self-confessed drug dealer is speaking to his son and that’s just, categorically, not on…

 But.

“Can I get some of that?” He blurts out because it’s been so long since he got high and he’s so so tired, and maybe tomorrow he’ll take his mum up on the offer to babysit, sit in his garden and just smoke.

“Absolutely the fuck not,” the beautiful man says like it’s the biggest affront and isn’t he the one selling?

”But… why?”it sounds weak and petulant even to his own ears.

Harry makes a few giggling sounds and stuffs his little fist into his mouth. James switches him onto the other hip. The man points to the baby, like it answers the question, and actually, fair enough, it does.

(His hand is also rather slender and fragile looking, and there are pretty silver rings on his fingers and James’ sleep deprived brain says bite.)

“I wasn’t… I wouldn’t…” James tries to explain himself, but it all comes out wrong and awkward. “Anyway, no,” he gathers himself and remembers he had a reason to storm out of his house and just because the man was pretty it wouldn’t change that, “you wake him up every day.”

Somehow, he manages to sound stern and he’s pretty proud of himself for that, actually.

The man’s face falls. Just… collapses. Like it’s the worst news he’s ever heard.

“I do?”

“Yeah. You come by just after his bedtime and the music is really loud, don’t know if you noticed. And it’s been months.”

It’s something akin to pure devastation that spreads through the man’s features like a sun burn. “I’m very sorry, little one,” he tells Harry, seriously. “I won’t play it anymore.”

There, job done, James thinks, and finds he doesn’t actually like that, not at all. Still, “thank you,” he tells the man because that’s what polite people do when their requests are granted, and his mum raised a polite man.

They stare at each other, him and the man, and James knows that this is when he should turn around go home, put Harry back down and then maybe have a shower, but…

“Can I have your number?”

And the most surprising thing? It’s not James who asks.

PART 2

[moxfirefly]

Bayverse Donnie with F!Reader (she/her)

"You think I like being like this? Every time someone fucking touches you I want to rip their hands off!"

"I...I don't want to stop. Please don't ask me to stop."

Happy holidays 💙❤️💜🧡

Oh boy yes!!! This is a great one! Let’s get it, goes without sayin’.

Rated Explicit

He hated what his overworked brain could cook up some nights, the tension that settled in his muscles whenever that nagging little monster in his head told that ‘he didn’t deserve this’.

Because Donnie’s always been a little too in tune with what he is, what he looks like.

Compared to you? You who somehow found your way in under the safety fence around his heart. You who somehow wanted to be with him and settle.

It was settling, he knew that sooner rather than later you’d wake up from your fugue state and realize this isn’t a life worth living for with him. What could he provide? Not all the typical things a partner should, he couldn’t walk out and take somewhere, he couldn’t meet your friends, he can’t marry you…

He hates how everyone gets to touch you out in the open, out in your normal life away from the violence and the secrecy.

Donnie swallows a lump in his throat when he sees Casey pull you into a hug, the free affection he could supply not just down here but up above in your real world with your real life. It’s not even about Vern and how he grabs your hand after a high five and laughs. He hates to admit that he’s thought about every other set of normal hands that have touched you throughout your day, every perfect palm that could connect perfectly with yours, each of their five fingers running a path across your body.

God, he hates how much you’ve been touched by perfectly normal beings.

There’s that little monster again inside of him, calling him a freak, a monster, you’re ruining her life, Donnie, what makes you think she’s going to stay? Why would she want your imperfect, disgusting—

“Hey? Are you alright?” You ask him, arms draped around his neck from the back of the couch, a set of beautiful arms he’d want to be his noose any day.

“Y-yeah, just a little tired.” Lie, he was gonna stay up until the migraine took over or the exhausting did him in first.

“Then let’s sneak are way back to your room and lie down.” You kissed his cheek, nudging him by the shell to get up. Everyone was still mingling about so it was easy to slip away.

He entered his room that he shared many nights with you, it was hard to fathom it was only his now. Every little corner held something of yours and on nights you couldn’t stay over he found comfort in your lingering scent.

“You aren’t alright are you?” He caught your voice muffled from the shirt you were taking off, showing off skin he could pick out from a hundred yards away. How acquainted he was with each blemish, freckle, scar…

“Is there anything from your ex boyfriend that you preferred? …liked I mean, or that he has that I don’t?” This is a Pandora’s box and from the way your eyebrows shoot up he knows it’s a bad idea but Christ he’s floundering.

“Absolutely nothing, why are you bringing him up?” You tossed your shirt aside, kicking off your shoes next and progressively becoming more aware that Donnie was holding back a giant wave of something not good right now.

“I’m just trying to make sense of something… I know why you both broke up but you were with him, there was an appeal at some point.” He wants to look away, drop the conversation but his hands feel tense and his skin itchy.

“There was an appeal before I found out who the real him was, appeal went away pretty fast if you ask me, baby why are you—“

“What’s the appeal here?” He motioned to himself, to his form, his face, his everything. “Because I can’t see it for myself, I don’t know why you’re here…with me.” His voice felt lumpy, crackling like a detuned radio.

You stood stock still, shocked at his words.

“What’s bringing this on? I haven’t spoken to that asshole in years, Don. What appeal? He has none, I’m with you.” You took a step, he took one backwards.

“You’re going to want things I cannot give you even if I would sell my soul for them. I—I can’t give you kids, or a normal home, or marriage, for fuck sake look at me, where does this make sense??” He sat down aggressively on the bed, he needed to concentrate on something else than your worried face. With shakey hands he began to untie his boots.

He saw your feet first, through the thin film of tears, god he didn’t want to cry now.

Gently you took his glasses off and set them on the night table.

“What’s going on? Tell me the truth, why are you acting like this? Why are you bringing my ex up all of a sudden to fight—” The deep concern, the frown lines on your forehead, he had you so damn worried.

“You think I like being like this? Every time someone fucking touches you I want to rip their hands off!” He didn’t mean to blow up but this hand bubbles, seeped over the mug and now there was no stopping it.

“I’m never going to understand why you would rather waste your life away with a monst—“ he felt your hands shoot up and cover his mouth.

“You are not a monster, Donatello, and if you ever use that stupid word to describe yourself ever again, I’m throwing a wrench at your head.” You let your hand slip away, instead you cupped his face. “I’m with you because I love you, you were my friend first and now you’re the most important thing in my life, and none of this is going to stop my feelings.” You rubbed your thumbs affectionately around his cheeks. Donnie’s gaze fell, eyes still red from holding back tears. He pressed his face against your sternum, and once you felt those large armed enclose around you, you hugged him tight.

“I—I’m sorry, I—fuck,” He sighed against your skin, finding comfort in your flesh as he often did.

“It alright, just please don’t ever question how I feel, okay?” You kissed the top of his head, letting yourself be pushed closer to him, he needed this, needed the physical reassurance. “I love you, Donnie, I love you so much.” You carresed him, cheek against the top of his head. Donnie’s hands found the back pockets of your jeans, hooked his fingers in and began to shove them down.

He needed more, he needed you and you knew it.

“I…I don’t want to stop. Please don’t ask me to stop.” He kissed each words onto your stomach, bit the periods onto your flesh and he dragged your underwear down as well. Effortlessly he picked you up and placed you on the bed with another feverish kiss that sent your head spinning. He bit more of those pleads onto your neck, grinding himself between your legs with intent of having your scent on his clothes forever.

It was messy, desperate and filled with longing. You somehow pushed down his pants with the heels of your feet and told him, gently and with need that you wanted him inside of you.

And he could never say no to you, he could never deny you a single thing.

So when he slipped in to the heat that he belonged to, to the woman that could drive him to burn the world at a moments time, he could feel a little less self hatred.

Your moan, long and aching, always a task to adjust to his size but never an unwelcome burn, blessed his ears. He needed this, he needed you inking those words and sounds with each thrust.

Donnie watched transfixed, enamored with your flushed skin and hooded eyes. Watched as your hands reached for him when he sat back on his knees. He hooked an arm beneath you and held you against him as he thrusted upwards with every intent of fucking these awful thoughts out.

“Fucking—Love you,” Donnie’s lips pressed against your own, the intimacy of spilling his love against your own lips too much for him. You moaned against his mouth, moving in tune with him to chase the high. ‘I love you’ you mouthed as you felt your voice be replaced with another lustful moan. Donnie half smiled, drunk off of your scent and deep into how perfect you felt wrapped around his cock. He held you like that, arms secure around you as he fucked the first load into you just as you came with a tightening and broken wail.

When you felt your back against the blankets and felt him continue to thrust, pushing past the oversensitivity, you knew he needed more.

He needed so much more.

[onceupre]

Chapter 3: With Poise and Grace! Cure Pirouette!

(Author's note: Thanks for your patience! I hope y'all enjoy! ^^)

The morning was very tranquil in the little village of Meruhen. The birds chirped a lovely little tune. The morning dewdrops left trails of water as they trickled down the tree leaves, creating a warm shimmer as the morning sun showered the trees with its light.

Akane was lying in her bed on the second floor of the bakery. She slept peacefully in her loose tee and shorts, her go-to for sleepwear. As she snoozed on, she dreamt of various sweet nothings. As the crisp morning air met the warmth of her fuzzy red blankets and fluffy polka-dotted pillows, she found herself lulled into an even deeper sleep with each passing minute.

And then her dad burst through her door.

“AKANE! Wake up! We have a deeeeelivery!” he said, feeling chipper.

Akane was startled and jolted up, her hair a mess. She then became angered

“WHY do you need to wake me up like that??” she angrily responded.

“Because as our one and only delivery girl, you must deliver this order of blueberry muffins! Plus it’s time for you to be up anyway.” he said with a hint of reprimand.

Akane looked at a clock on her wall with the time reading 8:45, and she made a face of disgust.

“Eugh, it’s not even double digits yet man….” she exclaimed, putting her pillow back over her head to try and lull herself back into the dark void that is sleep. Her father walked over and took the pillow from her, much to her dismay.

“Well our patrons don’t dilly dally, they're up and going about their days, and so should you!”

Akane rolled her eyes, clarely disinterested in what her father had to say. Why should she when he can’t be bothered to kindly wake her up to begin with?

“What-EVER!” She stretched her arms out and sat upright on her bed so she wouldn’t be tempted to fall back asleep. 

“Where’s this delivery headed anyway, huh?” She said while properly getting up to stretch her legs.

“The Izumi Ballet Hall.”

Lebed, who lay lifelessly on Akane’s bed still acting like a plushie, overheard those words. Her eyes grew wide with wonder at the mention of a ballet hall.

Akane, however, froze when her father uttered those words. The ballet hall? That ballet hall?! She couldn’t even believe what she’d just heard. The old ballet hall was constructed early into the village’s founding. It was practically ancient! From its pillars to the faded wooden window frames–not to mention the musty smell– Many villagers questioned how it still stands today. Akane wouldn’t be caught dead near there! She’d never hear the end of it from her guy friends if she steps near there. They’d probably say she ‘Wanted to play ballerina with all the other girlies at the hall.’ BLEH!

…

“No frickin’ way-” 

“LANGUAGE, AKANE!”  Her father scolded.

“C’mon, Pops! You can’t be serious! The ballet hall? Might as well put me in a tutu!” Akane complained.

“Now, Akane, business is business! If some lovely girl wants to treat her ballerina girlfriends to our steaming hot blueberry muffins, who are we, as the ones to make profit, to complain?”her father preached.

“Okay, first, don’t ever say ‘ballerina girlfriends’ again,” stated Akane, shuddering at her dad’s attempt to be hip. “Second, why me? Can’t Ma go? She’d be a much better fit for that crowd!”

“Well, she’s busy helping me prepare another, quite large order. And, you are our shop’s ‘delivery girl’! You gotta live up to your title, hon!” he gleamed, knowing he’d won the battle.

Akane sighed in defeat, and her father gleefully smiled as he left her room. Akane had to shut the door after he left, a bad habit he keeps doing that slightly annoys her. Once the door was closed, Akane’s “plushies” all rose up, after hearing the conversation.

“A BALLET HALL AAAAAA!! ~LELE” Lebed squealed, as Akane made a pose in reaction to the sudden outburst, shushing the bird.

“Be QUIET! You don’t wanna alert anyone about your existence or anything right!??”

“I do apologize but, a ballet hall is the LAST place I’d expect from a….rustic village like this. I’m simply overjoyed! ~lele” Akane pretended not to notice the bird’s jab at her home village with that comment.

“Why do you care so much about ballet?” Akane questioned.

Lebed turned towards the brunette almost instantly, as if she was severely insulted at her mere comment. “Seriously? Have you not heard of Swan Lake?~lele”

“Vaguely? It's that one ballet dance thing, yeah?”

“Well… that's a simpleton’s way of phrasing it yes. ~lele But it’s also revered as one of the more sophisticated fairy tales known to man! ~lele”

Akane rolled her eyes at Lebed’s once again uncalled for comment.

As they conversed, Akane got ready for the day: a white tank top with red detailing around the arm areas, paired with a black sports bra underneath for coverage. She also wore her white shorts with a red stripe and black trim, paired with her black leggings with laced details near her ankles, near her red laced up sneakers. She tied the look together with her signature red hoodie around her waist…in case it gets chilly outside!

“Ain’t that a bit stereotypical? A swan fairy likin’ ballet?” She jabbed in response to the swan’s rude remarks made earlier.

“Well I’d never!~lele” Lebed puffed her feathers in defense to Akane’s amusement.

“We fairies come from a place known as Everafter Garden ~lulu We’re…uhh..”

Lupo thought of a way to carefully phrase his next statement, not wanting to reveal too much info until a proper Precure team is formed.

“...essentially we’re born from well known fairy tales ~lulu”

“Mine’s Goldilocks!~ lili!” Lionceau chipped in.

“Mine is the ever so extravagant avant-garde Swan Lake! ~lele!” Lebed posed rather dramatically at her own announcment.

“And mine is Little Red Riding Hood ~lulu!”

Akane smiled. She may have her reservations, but these animals have been growing on her. Lupo’s last sentence made her brighten up a bit.

“Hey Lupo, that’s my favorite fairytale y’know?” She grinned

“Really?~ lulu. I knew you had good taste hehehe ~lulu” he blushed with a sense of pride at their shared appreciation of the fairy tale.

------

Akane stuffed the fairies inside a conveniently large basket she found to hold not only them but the delivery as well. Once she was situated she set off towards…the ballet hall. She huffed at the thought of having to be there.

She followed the path she frequented through the little village she called home. It wasn’t terribly busy here, it was very quiet and peaceful. The only noises that could be heard were the chirps of the birds soaring overhead and the occasional buzzing from the cicadas. Only the shopkeepers were out this early, setting up shop for today’s easy day of business. A shop for fruits and veggies, one for books and quills–even a tailor that took your measurements and sewed for you as you conversed with them! 

Akane swung by the fruit clerk and got her daily apple from them, and at a fair price too!

“Out on another delivery dear?” The elderly woman happily asked her usual patron.

“Yeah, some muffins today. I have to take them to the ballet hall…” Akane grimaced in reply.

The woman took notice and wanted to pry a bit.

“Why the long face dear? It’s truly not so bad, when I was a little girl I wanted to train at that same hall. The sight of it is truly one to behold, alas it wasn’t in my family’s budget for me to go…” the woman trailed off a tad bit upset.

Akane took notice and patted the woman’s shoulder in condolence.

“Sorry to hear that,is that why you became a fruit vendor then?”

The woman closed her eyes gently. “Yes, after all my family was known for their tasty affordable fruits, tradition is important in a town like this y’know.”

Akane flinched a bit at that comment.

“But” the woman continued “There’s no such thing asa ‘bad’ change. After all, now there’s scholarships for the Izumi Ballet Hall, so it’s more accessible for us non-rich folk!” She chuckled. “Just try not to be too discouraged dear, things happen for a reason, and you never know what’s waiting for you along the path you take.”

Akane smiled and nodded. She thanked the woman and headed back on route, taking a bite from the juicy apple with a mighty crunch, though she may have bitten off a bit too much, as she found herself wiping juices from the corners of her mouth. Once finished, she threw the browned fruit core into a trash bin as she continued to her destination.

-----

Within a desolate dark land, a singular open clam lay dormant on the ground. Operetta was inside, fixing her appearance at a vanity within the crustacean. She was brushing her hair with a fish’s skeleton as a brush of sorts.

“Damned girl….Damned Cure Hoodie….” She muttered to herself.

A cackle was heard from behind. Operetta didn’t bother to turn as only one woman with a laugh so sickly could only be-

“Castella. Could you please go be hideous elsewhere? I’m busy fuming.” Operetta jabbed, not even bothering to face the old woman who approached her.

The stout woman could only sneer at her acquaintance. She wore a leather dress, with a pumpkin shaped skirt. She also had two toned striped leggings in two different shades of green, to compliment her pale green skin. She had a rather large nose with some warts adorning her face, and a prominent snaggle tooth. Her big witch’s hat seemed a bit stereotypical, but is a classic detail nonetheless.

“Oh? I’m hideous? Well considerin’ you’re using a corpse for a brush I must be at least smarter than you.” She snickered as Operetta turned around, glaring daggers at her.

“Don’t you have a cauldron to fall into you hag??”

Catsella smirked. “Precure. I hear ya yappin’ about that to yourself. You DO know losing to them will only anger our lord more? Or is all that caked on makeup clouding your memory?”

Operetta practically growled at Castella’s taunts.

“I ALMOST HAD HER!”

“And that right there, almost! And ya still lost! You young people give up so easily, never wanting to put in hard work even with all your technical advancements. Failure isn’t an option you know~”

Castella cackled as Operetta’s face grew red with anger. Normally she’d brush the woman’s remarks off with a thought of reassurance, usually about her looks being far better. But the guilt Operetta felt from losing against her foe was like gasoline igniting the flames of Castella’s scorching jabs.

“You’re RIGHT! I don’t wanna work too hard, otherwise I'd have more wrinkles than you!” Operetta said instinctively, to no avail of easing her emotions though.

Castella glared at the serpent, knowing she struck a nerve, but at the cost of being insulted in terms of beauty once again.

“Besides! I never said I was giving up! I just needed my beauty rest-”

“Clearly.” Castella snapped in.

“...and THEN. I was going to get my revenge!”

Castella shrugged “Whatever you say deary, just don’t lose again. Otherwise you’d look ridiculous… Well, moreso than you usually do~! KEHEHEHE!”

Castella laughed as Operetta shook with anger. She needed an outlet, and teleported within an instant back to earth. She was furious all right, and ready to take out her frustrations on the girl who did her wrong; Cure Hoodie.

------

Akane stood in front of the ballet hall, a look of displeasure painted her face. Lebed peeked out of the bag, and marveled at the glorious structure. Such fine pine flooring shone as it may have been freshly polished, the structures marble pillars framing the entrance glistened, as light greenery grew out, giving the building an even more earthy feel.

“This. Is. Magnificent ~lele!” Lebed whispered from within the basket.

“I betcha one of my guy friends put me up to this as a joke. I HATE places like this.” Akane muttered, a thought of her friends hopping out with a camera to catch her in such a girly place flashed into her mind. 

She grimaced and took some steps to the entrance. Akane knocked on the large doors of the structure.

“An uncultured swine knows no difference from a jewel to a rock.~ lele”

“ Say one more thing you bird, I dare you-”

Akane was cut off as the door opened, and a docile looking girl was facing her. Akane stopped in her tracks, a little taken back by how prim and proper the girl was.

The girl was fair skinned. Her hair, a neatly put together bun with side swept bangs, was a deep navy blue in color, practically black almost. The color matched her grayish bluebelle eyes. She wore a typical ballerina outfit, one in a pastel baby blue color with white tights and matching pastel baby blue laced up slippers.

 Akane was stunned, and her face felt a bit flushed…

“Yes? Oh! Hello, are you the blueberry muffin delivery?” asked the girl in a quiet yet smooth sounding voice.

“M-Mhm…. Uh I mean, yeah! For uhhh… what uh, who are you?” Akane stuttered a bit. Must be the nerves of being in an unwanted and unfamiliar place.

“Hmm? Oh!” The girl giggled with her hand on her mouth as Akane smirked goofily, feeling a bit out of place at the moment once again.

“My apologies, I forgot myself. I am Hakuchou Junko, one of the ballerinas of the Izumi Ballet Hall!” She smiled softly at the brunette.

“Junko? Yup! These muffins are definitely for you then missy!” Akane held out the basket and Hakuchou took it and inspected it. She looked puzzled to Akane’s worry.

“Are these… plush dolls?” The girl questioned as Akane comedically froze, forgetting the fairies were also in said basket.

“Y-YEAH OH AHAHA! Sorry! I totally forgot about those in there, they're my uh, lucky plushies, yeah! Gives me luck on my deliveries ahaha…” Akane’s faux laugh trailed off as she realized how lame she must’ve sounded then.

Hakuchou stared at the brunette, and then giggled. She gestured for Akane to enter the hall.

“OH! I uh… don’t really fit in well here-”

“Nonsense. All are welcome at the Izumi Ballet Hall. Besides, I have to retrieve the payment, no?” Hakuchou questioned.

Akane gulped, and nervously followed the girl inside. The halls were pleasantly kept clean, with little to no dust in sight. Akane took notice of rooms the pair passed by, with hardworking ballerinas seemingly warming up along poles attached to the walls.

She also took note of the hanging photos that adorned the walls they walked by, showcasing various things from assumed alumni to celebratory photos taken of prizes the dancers won.

 Hakuchou led Akane to a room with the label ‘4B’ plastered on a plate on the wall adjacent to the door of the room. When the door was opened, Akane could see it was  filled with about 6 ballerinas, each practicing a different technique.

“Group 4B, Muffins are here!” Hakuchou declared, and the girls excitedly hurried over to grab a muffin from the box she took out from the basket. Lebed peeked out and marveled at the ballerinas adorned in their usual attire. It filled her with a familiar sense of belonging.

As Hakuchou handed out the muffins Akane started up a small conversation.

“S-so… these your friends or..?”

“Ah, this is my group I regularly train and perform with! I wanted to treat them to some food for all their hard work we’ve accomplished recently.”

“Hard work?” Akane questioned and quickly realized how condescending she must’ve sounded.

“I-I MEAN-”

“It’s ok.”

Akane was taken aback by the nonchalant response.

“I believe all hard work should be eventually rewarded, is all.” Hakuchou smiled and Akane couldn’t help but return one back at her earnest response.

A short bit later, Hakuchou led Akane outside the room, and handed her payment for the goods. She took note of how soft Hakuchou’s hands felt, she must use some nice skin care products.

“I assume you’ll be on your way now?” Hakuchou asked straightforwardly.

“Ah yeah! This scene isn’t really my…I mean! My job is done so yeah I am haha” Akane rubbed the back of her head, a bit embarrassed of how uncool she was probably coming off.

Lebed rustled from inside Akane’s basket., Hakuchou took notice of the it, and looked concerned.

“Did your basket….move?”

“AH! LEMME SEE HERE AHAHA!” Akane replied as she turned and shoved her head in the basket comically, Hakuchou looked on in concern…

Akane whispered within the basket to the fairies inside.

 “What are ya DOIN??”

“We can’t leave yet!~ lele! The sights are amazing! I must see more. ~lele”

“No way, nuh uh! I hate places like this! We are leavin’!” Akane snapped back, not even entertaining the thought.

“But ~lele! I sense a Precure also! ~lele!”

“REALLY??” Akane said a bit more loudly than she would’ve liked.

“I-Is everything ok?” Hakuchou questioned, a tad more concerned that the girl was seemingly talking to herself within her basket.

Akane jolted up in embarrassment at the sudden realization.

 “HAHA YEP! Just my uh, phone!”

“Oh…I don’t recall seeing a phone in the bag…” Hakuchou said looking up, placing a closed fist to her chin trying to recall correctly what was inside.

“It was uh hidden in the plushies! They double as phone cases haha! ANYWAYS! I don’t really have anywhere to be, mind givin’ me a tour of the place?” Akane pleaded.

Hakuchou looked surprised and blinked.

“Really? Didn’t you say this wasn’t ‘your scene’? Hehe” The docile girl giggled, to Akane’s burning face. She feels a bit humiliated, but it’s for the greater good! Hopefully…

“I meant uhh, my SEEIN’ of a ballet hall in forever! In fact at all!” She hoped Hakuchou hadn’t realized her changing her words to make the offer more genuine.

Hakuchou giggled, knowing fully well Akane was lying. 

“Well, let’s be ‘seein’’ the hall then!” Hakuchou led the way as Akane followed. Akane felt she was thrown off her usual game of coming up with smooth lies in this situation…

They entered many places in the hall, and Lebed was living for all of it, marveling at the various ballet related things they would come across. She felt like she found a diamond amongst the unfamiliar sights of earth that she and the other fairies have been exposed to thus far.

They took a break at the back garden of the hall, there was a stone bench on a fenced in porch outlooking a small pond, hosting a few graceful looking swans gliding by along the water.

“So how is the tour?” Hakuchou asked inquisitively.

“Really good! This place is pretty cool, lots of space, must be good for stretchin’ your legs and whatnot!” Akane replied happily.

Hakuchou smiled. “Yes, this place is like a home to me, I’ve attended this hall’s ballet program for about 9 years now…”

Akane was stunned, for some reason the thought of someone seriously committing to a dance technique never crossed her mind before today.

“That is commitment. Ya really like all this twirlin’ n stuff huh?” She playfully teased the blunette who giggled in response.

Hakuchou closed her eyes “It’s a bit more complicated than that, but yes. Being able to hone my skill has been very fun for me. The poses and exercise helps clear my mind of any worries I may have. Once I’m in the zone, I feel it’s just me  and the stage floor..”

Akane couldn’t help but smile.

“Your parents must love watchin’ ya huh?” She grinned as Hakuchou could only smile in response.

“...You wanna know why I love ballet?” 

Akane looked puzzled at the sudden question.

“It’s because I'm not just dancing. I’m telling a tale. Being able to fully immerse myself with the movements of the dance, it truly is a tranquil feeling I absolutely adore… It’s as if I am one with the story I wanna portray.”

Before Akane could speak, sniffling came from the basket, Akane froze in fear as Lebed leapt out onto Hakuchou’s lap, catching the girl off guard.

“BEAUTIFUL ~LELE! THAT WAS AN ABSOLUTELY AMAZING EXPRESSION OF THE TRUEST FORM OF EXQUISITE ARTISTRY KNOWN AS BALLET ~LELE!”

… KYAAAAAAAAA!!!!

Hakuchou got up and stepped back, leaving Lebed flapping in the air. She was unsure of what was going on.

“T-The plushie!! THE BIRD TALKED!” Hakuchou pointed at the small swan accusingly.

Akane pinched her brow in frustration and grunted.

After a short explanation, Hakuchou seemed a bit more composed, albeit still uneasy at all this newfound information of things that sounded out of this world to her.

“Precure? Magical Vigilante’s who protect earth from….?”

“The Grimm Empire ~lele!” Lebed chirped with precision in her voice.

“R-right…sorry this is just all so much out of nowhere…” 

Akane held her head in her hands, full of shame of how things rolled out.

“And you are the next Precure ~lele! I can feel it!” Akane looked up a bit more excitedly than she would’ve liked to lead on at that statement.

“....I beg your finest pardon? I don’t think I’d be a good fit for that at all!”

“Aww it’s not so bad! You get super cool powers and a new look ‘n everything!” Akane sheepishly added, trying to smooth over the ridiculous request.

“Well… ok, but fighting? That's not really me at all… I’m sorry, but I think I should go-”

“PRECURE”

The group looked across the pond to a devilishly smiling Operetta, who had seemingly conjured up a swan like monstrous Poisonink. Hakuchou trembled, as Akane lept in front of her instinctively.

“Don’t worry! I’ll keep us safe!” Eclaimed the brunette as she made a cool pose showing off her Precure Storybook.

“Precure! Curetime Everafter!"

"Hooded in red, journeying towards victory! Cure Hoodie!”

Hoodie lept into action and Hakuchou stood there, stunned at what’s unfolding in front of her. Hoodie ran up and jumped, aiming to land a sharp kick to the beast, when it started to flap it’s wings erratically, sending a huge gust of wind blowing Hoodie away into the hall’s walls with a giant crash!

“NO!” Hakuchou screeched with fear and anger seeing the hall take such a toll. Hoodie stood up slowly, trembling a bit at her knees. 

“A-are you alright??” Hakuchou asked with concern, as Hoodie nodded and ran back out into the fray.

 Hakuchou could only stare as she trembled, she heard screams from inside and footsteps of girls exiting the building. The place that was a home to her got damaged, the battle in front of her playing out dramatically until Hakuchou couldn’t contain herself anymore.

“P-PLEASE STOP THIS OBSTRUCTION AT ONCE!” Everyone within the battle froze comedically, and then Operetta slithered up quickly to Hakuchou, pointing her scythe at the girl.

“Such a frail girl trying to act tough hmmm~?”

“Leave her ALONE!” Hoodie jumped at Operetta, only for the Poisonink to tackle her, once again hitting the hall.

“N-NO! PLEASE STOP!” Hakuchou begged with desperation while reaching out towards Hoodie.

“I can make this nightmare end for you little girl. After all, such a beauty as yourself doesn't deserve to exist when someone like me is here!” She raised her scythe, and Hakuchou froze. Was this her final moment of being alive!?

“LELEEEEEEE~!!!!” Lebed flew in front of Hakucchou, to protect her. And in the process a huge beam of light shot down on the two instantaneously.

“WHAT?! NO!’ Operetta screeched with hatred, well knowing what’s occurring in front of her.

Hakuchou blinked and came to the realization she was surrounded in a warm feeling light. Lebed flapped her wings happily in front of her. She felt safe here.

 “Where….am I….?”

“We’re safe now. ~lele My name is Lebed, and I feel like we can help each other Hakuchou! ~lele!”

“By making me a Precure right? I just… I don’t know…”

“Those monsters are ruining the structural integrity and antique beauty that is the Izumi Ballet Hall! ~lele We cannot allow them to continue. If they wreck that hall, how else will you continue to dance?! ~ lele?”

Hakuchou looked discouraged, not totally believing she could be of assistance.

“It’s scary ~lele. But you CAN be strong, true strength comes from wanting to protect those you hold dear, no? ~lele.”

Hakuchou looked surprised.

 “That…is true….” she thought “The ballet hall… I don’t want to see it being damaged anymore. I want to help protect it, and everyone else, too!”

Suddenly a Precure Storybook materialized, and Lebed smiled as she pulled a swan themed charm out of her mirror shaped broach, extending it to Hakuchou.

“All you need to do is use this charm and say ‘Precure Curetime Everafter ~lele! I’ve felt this potential since laying my eyes on you! I have faith in you, Hakuchou ~lele!”

Faith…..in her…..

Hakuchou smiled and grabbed the charm and the book.

“Precure! Curetime Everafter!”

She gracefully transforms, her leaps and twirls enveloping her body as more pieces of clothing appear, and she finishes with a soft landing, water rippling as her heel touches the ground.

“Gliding upon blue waters of tranquility! Cure Pirouette!”

The light dispersed, and everyone in the scene stared in amazement as the newest Precure stood tall. 

Hoodie smiled.  “Cure Pirouette….” 

Meanwhile, Operetta growled. “NO NO NO! NOT ANOTHER ONE! Poisonink, DESTROY HER!”

“POI-POISONINKKKKK!” the large bird began to flap its wings when suddenly Pirouette zipped around behind the bird, and gave it a swift kick to the back of the head, stopping it from continuing its gusts.

“So fast!” Hoodie marveled in awe. 

Pirouette got a look at herself quickly, astounded by her speed. She noticed small water droplets glistening in the sunlight around her like gems.

“I felt like I was…gliding on air!” she said to herself in amazement.

The monster flapped its wings again, catching Pirouette off guard and blowing her into the nearby pond. Hoodie gasped out Pirouette’s name as Operetta laughed, feeling they were gaining the upper hand.

“Not so fast now are….you?”

The crash of water from the impact subsided, and Pirouette was still standing, in fact she was gracefully gliding…atop the water’s surface! She gracefully leapt off the waters, treading a small wave behind her leave, and aimed it at the Poisonink, soaking it in water!

“P-POI! POI! POI!” The beast cried out, preening its feathers in retaliation of the wave’s crash.

“No! Stop preening at ONCE!” Operetta screeched in frustration.

Hoodie jumped to Pirouette’s side, a huge smile adorning her face.

“You are AMAZING Pirouette!” she beamed with pride.

Pirouette smiled. “Thank you, Hoodie. I just needed a little more faith in myself I suppose” she said, while looking at Lebed warmly,

Lebed smiled back “Now ~lele! Use the storybook to purify the monster ~lele!”

Pirouette nodded, and faced the preening beast.The slot where the charm was inserted was glowing, and she pressed it down lightly twice, activating a symbol to trace on the left side’s mirror. She took the quill pen and traced. As she did, simultaneously the emblem was drawn out in front of her with raw energy. Once finished, the swan shaped emblem glowed, and she touched it with her quill pen, absorbing the core of the emblem within her pen. 

“Precure!” She did a graceful motion, charging up “Graceful Resolution!”

She pulled back, and pierced the glowing outline with a resounding HA, releasing the energy at the Posionink in the form of an elegant swan. Once it made contact, the beast was purified with a relaxing “Happily ever after~!” as Pirouette closed her Storybook into itself in triumph.

The red jewel from the beast shattered, returning the now purified nostalight back to a ballerina who was knocked unconscious just outside the ballet hall

“Dammit… my hair is soaking wet, and after I just brushed it too! YOU’LL PAY, PRECURE!!” Operetta swore, vanishing and returning the setting to its prior form.

-----

“So that’s what being a Precure is…how exciting!” Hakuchou giggled, Lebed joining in as she flaps beside her gleefully.

“You were amazing ~lele! Truly a fine specimen of a girl, do I know how to pick ‘em or what ~lele?!”

Akane extended a hand towards Hakuchou a bit awkwardly “G-guess this means we’re p-partners?” Why was she stuttering at that word?

Hakuchou smiled, and took her hand. “Yes, but I would also love to get to know you more, and be your friend, too!”

Akane eagerly nodded in response. “Yeah! I’d love that!”

The group laughed merrily to themselves, now assembling a small reliable group to fight this long lasting battle.

-----

Behind a nearby building, a brunette girl in a lolita dress with orange and yellow colors hides herself from the group’s sight. On her cutely decorated phone displays photos of the Precure and their battle.

“P…precure?.... What in the world is going on here…?” 

-End Chapter 3-

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Hi love, I was wondering if I could have HC or comfort fic with the sleep token boys ❤️ I’m going through a breakup and would love to read something sweet

Know that you are so loved! Sending you the biggest hug🫂

Vessel

He’s a king of little talking but big gestures. Words are overrated as it is. You can speak them but don’t mean them. Plus, he doesn’t need to hear you say it, he can see that you’re not feeling the best. That something is bothering you so to little things he turns. “Hey”, a little knock on the bedroom door makes you turn towards the sound. And there stands Vessel. Flowers beneath his arm, balancing a tray with grilled cheese and canned tomato soup.

He carefully places everything on the nightstand before turning to you. “I didn’t burn the house down making that”, Vess nods patting his own shoulder, “So you got to try it, let me know if I improved”. You know that his grilled cheese has always been amazing but it’s his way of making sure you eat. So you try to not fight it even if it’s hard.

He’s so fucking patient too. You could be stirring that soup around for a hot minute and he would not rush you. Encourage a spoonful or two along the way but let you take your own time.

He also talks so much in moments like this. It’s his way of drowning out the noises in your head. “You know I saw this sign today that said five bucks to cuddle a baby cow”, he shakes his head, “I had to talk myself out of it but we could always go back there together”.

And then because he loves physical touch - that’s how he shows love. He would wrap you up in a blanket and then cuddle you the whole night. Softly humming random bits from the albums or new tunes he’s been working on. Letting you slowly run your fingers up and down his lower stomach. Kissing your forehead every time you sigh.

iii

He is all fun and games until his baby is not feeling well. Then all shit is packed up. Unless of course, he can see that he could slowly crack away the clouds with his stupid jokes.

“Tell me”, there’s no what’s wrong questions with him. As he reaches for you. “Just… I don’t know how to even describe it”, you huff, slowly pulling at the roots of your hair. “Then don’t”, iii is quick to pull your hands closer to his lips kissing them each. “How does a bath with those bath bombs we got yesterday sound like?”, he carefully brushes strands of hair away from your face, watching you nod.

And that’s how you end up pressing against his chest, sitting in between his legs, slowly running your fingers up and down his thighs. He’s playing with your hair, twisting strands around his fingers. “Your fingers are turning into prunes”, he chuckles lifting your palms, “Should we get out?”. But you shake your head and so he doesn’t make a move. Only wrap an arm across your chest, knowing that the pressure and weight of it will slowly let the anxiety ease.

“I feel like eating chilly oil noodles”, you mutter after a while. “Eggs and lots of cheese?”, he asks with a hum. You turn to him slightly with a nod. Iii simply smiles at you, leaning in to kiss you, “Say no more baby, I got you”.

ii

I think the roles are rarely reversed. It’s mostly you weathering his storms but man when shit hits your fan and he needs to watch you crumble, that messes him up. Because watching the main source of light in his life slowly fading. That’s terrifying. So ridden in pure panic he tries to do his best to make it better.

So he’s waking up early, carefully slipping out of bed to hit the shops. Buying fresh fruits and pastries. Grabbing you your favorite drink from the coffee shop you told him about. Fuck it man even stands in a book section reading the backs of silly romances and whatnot, because hey if that might bring a smile to your face - he’s doing it.

He tries to appear as calm as possible not wanting this to turn into you worrying about him instead. But he watches your every move like there is no tomorrow. “Are we putting on another film or do you want to read?”, he asks after a while of you both just rotting beneath the blankets downstairs. You don’t answer him but snuggle deeper into his chest.

He lets you run your fingers through his tattoos. If you want he would run you through all the back stories of them even if you know them by heart by now. “Is your fave still this one?”, ii point to his lower stomach and hips, and you give him a lazy nod, “Nothing beats that”, you mutter. “Should put it on full display then”, he quickly yanks his hoodie over his head giving you a glorious view of his bare chest making you chuckle slightly and his heart ease along the way.

iv

I think he would also love to just remind you of the things you love and the things that make you feel better. You like morning/evening walks? Even if you don’t feel like going he would find a way to drag you out of the house. “I promise to buy you ice cream as a reward”, he flicks your nose, “and I promise you, you will feel so much better”. So he drives to a nice park. Holds your hand the entire time you walk. Watching you slowly start to enjoy the activity. You stop by to watch a sunset or a sunrise depending on the time you walk. And it’s one of those yeah I am alive moments. Ivy has an arm warped around you. Watching you watch the nature surrounding you both.

He would offer to take you to little places you love. You love clothes shopping? He would take you. You like browsing random stores? Say no more. He would come with you and smell all the candles. “Get that too, that in the living room”, he mutters adding yet another candle into the cart.

“I remember you said that you wanted to try pottery painting so I got us a kit”, he mutters, walking in with boxes of stuff. You can’t believe that he would remember something so random. And it’s just take-out boxes, and a bottle of nice wine as you both paint and doodle on the plates Iv picked out. It’s quality time over anything and with every stolen glance he can see the way you slowly start to flicker with happiness again.

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Abandon

Sam Winchester x little sister!reader, slight Dean Winchester x little sister!reader

Requested by anonymous

Synopsis: you and Sam haven’t been the same since he left the for Ruby, but he has to fix it before it’s too late

Warnings: injury, death

“Just talk to her.”

“She doesn’t want to talk to me.”

Your brothers’ voices were the first thing you heard as you were pulled out of your deep sleep by the jostling of the dirt road beneath the Impala. You kept your eyes closed and your breathing steady, not wanting to alert them that you were awake.

“Just try,” Dean sighed.

“There’s nothing I can do if she won’t talk to me.”

“Maybe she just needs some time, Sam. I mean you did run off with a demon.”

“Dean, I’ve apologized for that a thousand times.”

Deciding you’d heard enough, you made a show of slowly “waking up”, stretching and yawning.

“Hey kid,” Sam turned in his seat to look at you, but you turned your attention to Dean.

“Are we almost there?”

“Probably another hour,” Dean replied, glancing at you through the rear view mirror.

“I think we should talk.” Sam kept his unflinching gaze on you.

“It’s quiet in here,” you said, ignoring Sam as you reached over the partition and turned on the radio.

“Y/N-“ Sam began, but you just turned the volume up before leaning back and looking out the window, tuning your brother out completely.

For the rest of the ride to the motel, no one even looked at each other.

…

“I’m gonna get us some food, both of you stay here.”

You tried to protest as Dean left the motel, but he completely ignored you, and you gave up as the door slammed behind him.

“So…” Sam began. In response, you yanked your headphones out of your backpack and put them in, cranking the music on your phone and closing your eyes as you leaned back against your bed.

Your plan lasted all of six seconds before Sam marched over and yanked your headphones away.

“Hey!” You protested, but Sam just held the headphones out of your reach and shook his head.

“We need to talk.”

“Fine.” Your jaw clenched. “Talk.”

“I know you’re angry with me,” Sam sighed. “And I get it, I really do, but—“

“You get it?” You scoffed. “No, no you don’t. Because when was the last time someone abandoned you? Never! Because it’s always you, Sam! You’re always the one that leaves, and I always get left behind.” You shook your head. “I understood when it was Stanford, ok? I knew how much you wanted out, and I was happy for you. But…” you felt your anger slipping into despair, and you fought to stop the change. “B-but Ruby? Dean was in hell, and-and you left me for a demon.”

“It wasn’t about Ruby—“ Sam began, but you shook your head again, harder this time as you struggled to keep your tears at bay.

“I don’t care why. Dean was gone, and I-I needed you, Sammy.” Sam’s heart ached as your voice cracked. “I needed you, and you just left.”

“And I’m so, so sor—“

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” you choked out. “Can I please have my headphones back?”

Sam opened his mouth to speak before closing it again. He wordlessly handed you your headphones, before turning and walking out of the room.

…

“I thought you were watching her!”

“I was!” Sam insisted. “She was right next to me, that guy came out of—“

“Sam,” you groaned, and he stopped and twisted in the passenger’s seat of the Impala to look at you.

“Hey, hey just hang in there, ok?”

“I can’t get to a hospital,” Dean said, gritting his teeth. “There’s no time. Bobby’s is closer, we should be there soon.”

“Dean…” Sam was watching you squirm around in the back seat, which by now was covered in your blood.

“She’s gonna be fine,” Dean growled.

When you started to groan in pain, Sam climbed over the back of his seat so that he could be with you.

“Hey, I’m here,” he said with a forced smile as he reached down to press against your wound.

“Sammy,” you whimpered.

“Yeah, I know it hurts, I’m sorry kid.”

“No…Sammy…” Sam watched as you struggled to speak, to breathe.

“Hey, hey, deep breaths. Don’t try to talk, it’s ok. Just breathe.”

“Sam…” your hand gripped his with surprising strength. “I’m-I’m sorry Sammy.”

“What are you sorry for?” Sam felt tears spring up behind his eyes as he watched your breathing slow, and your hand started to weaken its grip.

“I love you,” you breathed. “I always have, I’m-I’m sorry—“ you broke off in a fit of coughs, but you started again quickly, as though you were afraid you’d run out of time. “I’m sorry for being so mad.”

“No, no,” Sam swallowed, pulling you impossibly closer to him as he tried to keep pressing down on your wound, which was still bleeding too much. “Don’t you apologize. I-I left you.” Sam’s voice cracked. “I left you, and you get to be as mad about that as you want, ok?”

“You came back.” You gave Sam a watery smile, and his heart constricted, like it couldn’t tell whether to be comforted or even more damaged. “That’s what—that’s what matt—“ you broke off into another fit of coughs, and Sam noticed Dean glancing back nervously.

“Ok, ok I get it,” Sam insisted. “I do. Thank you, sweetheart. I—“ Sam choked. “I love you too.”

Another one of those beautiful smiles, and this time Sam smiled back.

But then the smile seemed to freeze on your face, for just a second, before it dropped. You began to blink slowly, and Sam suddenly noticed that your stomach was no longer moving in those shallow breaths that you’d been taking.

“Sweetheart?” Sam breathed. “Y/N c’mon, stay with me, ok?”

You blinked one last time, and this time your eyes didn’t open again.

“Dean?” Sam croaked. “Dean, he-help…”

Sam’s voice trailed off. There was nothing Dean or he could do.

“Y/N?” Dean looked back from the front seat, his eyes wide. “Baby c’mon, open your eyes. Sam?” The last word came out in a desperate plea, but Sam could only stare at his big brother.

There was nothing they could do.

[damthosefandoms]

There's death at my door and I swear that it's following me

(ao3 link)

Summary:

“I’m going to finish it,” he says out loud to anyone who might be listening in his empty house. “I swear. I have to for school, anyway. I’m not handing in an unfinished paper.”

There is no response but the sound of Ponyboy’s own breathing.

“It’s not easy to write, Johnny!” he yells. “This is the part where I get you killed, you know!”

Nothing.

Figures he’d be quiet dead, too.

---

Neither of the greasers who died that cold, September night in 1967 had a funeral—Dally had nobody to set one up, except his friends who couldn’t afford it, and they never found out where the cops took him after they killed him anyway. But a month or so after everything ends, they find out Johnny’s mother had him cremated and that she and his father kept his ashes.

Ponyboy is particularly pissed off. Something about Johnny being trapped in that house his whole life, and even now, after death, being kept in a place he hated more than anything else…

“It ain’t right. I…we loved him more than they could ever dream of.”

As the remnants of the gang sit around the Curtises’ kitchen table, defeated, Two-Bit half-heartedly jokes they should steal his ashes. Darry rolls his eyes. Sodapop says that’s horrible. A heartbroken Ponyboy says, “Dally would’ve done it in a heartbeat.”

A week later Darry and Soda wake up to Pony making eggs for breakfast, with a new centerpiece on the table.

“Tell me that is not what I think it is,” Darry mutters, gesturing to the cheap urn.

Pony’s face goes red. “So, uh… this kid Mark at school taught me how to pick locks, and…”

“Ponyboy Michael Curtis!”

“C’mon, Darry, I had to! It was eating me alive. They don’t deserve him! I’ll bet they won’t even notice he’s gone!”

His brothers look at him like he’s finally lost it. Maybe he has, because Mark’s advice had gotten him nowhere, and Pony swears the Cades’ door unlocked on its own last night.

“All Johnny wanted was to get out of Tulsa. The happiest he ever was, was watchin’ the sunset back there on Jay Mountain. I needed to go get him so we could take him there.”

“Ponyboy…”

“I had to. I just had to. If not for Johnny, then for Dally, okay? ‘Cause god knows we couldn’t do anythin’ else for him.”

He’s got a lot of reasons to believe this is what Johnny wanted.

That weekend, the whole gang drives up to the remains of the church, so they all can say goodbye. Ponyboy pours Johnny’s ashes out over the cliffside where they watched the sunset, and if a little bit of dust gets on his hands, well. He stares for a minute before he goes to wash it off at the old water pump.

“You gotta go, Johnny,” he mumbles. “Don’t stick around me. Don’t do that to yourself. Move on.”

He’s always had a weird relationship with death. 

---

Ever since Ponyboy was little, he’d been told he had a strong imagination. His brothers call him a dreamer. His dad used to laugh and say he had his head in the clouds; his Mom said he was just the creative type. He learned pretty fast that no one else saw the things he could see, and he learned even faster not to talk about it. He thinks his brothers never believed him, but they also never forgot.

It’s one of those things where Ponyboy doesn’t see things unless he needs to. He got real good at tuning out the supernatural at a very young age, and it’s not something that comes up in his life very often anyway; death may follow him wherever he goes, it may show up at his door but he does not let it in. He doesn’t know why he’s like this. It’s like there is just something special about him, something he figures he won’t understand until he is much, much older. Or maybe he never will, and he’s just crazy.

The first time death comes to visit, Ponyboy is not feeling well. It’s been a month, it’s almost Halloween, and it is the first time since Johnny and Dally died that he’s sick again. Pony’s got just a low-grade fever, but Darry lets him stay home because that’s for the best. He promises to work on his English assignment.

Darry and Soda head out to work with promises to check up on him during their lunch breaks. He picks up his notebook and flips through it, but he is at the part where he runs into the church to save those kids and he can’t bring himself to pick up the pencil and admit that it was his cigarette. His fault.

His pencil rolls over the edge of the desk. It clatters to the floor and Ponyboy reaches down to get it. When he sits up, Johnny’s ghost is staring at him, pointing at the blank page. 

He blinks and he is alone again, but he can still feel the presence and knows deep down he isn’t. He sits back and groans. He can’t be normal for ten minutes?

“I’m going to finish it,” he says out loud to anyone who might be listening in his empty house. “I swear. I have to for school, anyway. I’m not handing in an unfinished paper.”

There is no response but the sound of Ponyboy’s own breathing. 

“It’s not easy to write, Johnny!” he yells. “This is the part where I get you killed, you know!”

Nothing. 

Figures he’d be quiet dead, too.

But writer’s block grabs him by the throat and doesn’t let go, so Ponyboy picks up his pencil again and begins to doodle on that blank page a picture of his current situation.

He falls asleep at his desk, and when his brothers come home, they find him there, snoring over a picture of himself at his desk, writing in his notebook while Johnny Cade stands watching over his shoulder like some kind of guardian angel.

---

Time passes and school starts up again, and around a year or so after the Windrixville nightmare, Ponyboy announces to his brothers that he’s going to some school dance with a couple of friends. He’s really non-committal about the whole thing, but Soda thinks it’s a good idea, and maybe Pony doesn’t really like the group of guys he’s going with but he knows he has to get out of his comfort zone and this is one way to do that. He promises to be back before curfew, so it’s not like he’ll have time to get into any trouble.

Apparently, his first mistake was one he’d made literal months ago, back in the spring—saying no to going out with Angela Shepard.

He knows it was shitty of him, the way he'd barely even acknowledged her presence after she waltzed up to him that day, but he also he knows it was never about him. It was her, expecting Pony to have her back whether or not he actually was interested in her, because that's just what Curtises and Shepards do.

But the day she approached him was—would've been—Johnny's seventeenth birthday. So, you know. There are a lot of reasons he'd turned her down. 

And now here they are, in October of 1968, at this stupid school dance. Mark’s brother Bryon brought a date and Bryon never liked Ponyboy anyway, so he and Mark walked off together to let those two hang out, and then Mark wanted to go out to Terry’s car because he brought alcohol or something—Pony was not interested in drinking the slightest, but he followed anyway—and then his second mistake must’ve been simply being at the dance or something, he doesn’t actually know. He doesn’t think he spoke to Angela the whole time.

(Later Ponyboy finds out she was trying to piss off Bryon, who he later finds out is her ex. She was mad he'd brought a date, or something like that. He still doesn't really get the whole thing, and probably never will. If you ask him, Angela should've known better than to have taken it all personally when she'd known exactly what she was doing.)

They’re sitting on the hood of Mark’s friend Terry’s car and some guy walks up that Ponyboy has never seen before. 

And the guy just swings at him! Of course he swung back!

Pony knows that he does not have a tough reputation, but he is one hell of a fighter—he may have gotten his ass kicked in the rumble but he also helped kick ass, and he’s been working out a bit with Darry so he can keep up with the track team, and he was briefly considered an accessory to murder, so clearly he can handle himself. Just ignore the fact he'd been drowning in the fountain for that whole thing. He figures Mark didn’t get the memo, because when the guy smashes a beer bottle to swing at Ponyboy’s head, his idiot friend decides to pick that moment to tell the other guy to relax.

Next thing Pony knows Mark’s on the ground bleeding and the school-sanctioned cop appointed to keep kids from killing each other at the dance grabs him to haul him away. Some job he’s doing.

He goes to get Mark’s brother, and he explains that the guy meant to hit him and not Mark, and Bryon says something about Angela Shepard but he doesn’t really explain. Pony decides he doesn't care. Mark groans and his eyes open, but it’s like he can’t see anything and Pony winces, because he knows all too well what is happening.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Shock,” Ponyboy says, and he takes Dally’s old leather jacket off and throws it over the guy until the ambulance arrives and the EMTs take over. He’s careful not to let any blood get on it, though. It’s already been through enough.

Ponyboy thinks maybe he has, too.

The brothers get into the ambulance and Cathy Carlson, the girl that Bryon took to the dance, walks up to him and asks what happened, so he tells her. She mentions that Bryon borrowed a friend’s car to drive them there—Two-Bit drove Ponyboy to the dance and then ditched him for the first girl he saw at the party, and must be long gone by now—and she points it out to him in the parking lot. She heads off to see if she can get a ride to the hospital from someone. 

Ponyboy wants to thank Mark for stopping the fight, if he can. He’s not as bad as everyone thinks he is; Pony’s got no clue why Dally used to be so insistent he stay away from the kid. He also kind of figured Bryon would need a way home too, so…

He hotwires the car. He hopes he didn’t break anything in the process, and he makes sure to have Cathy drive, because she has a license and Darry won’t let anyone but himself teach Pony—and he won’t do it until Pony’s sixteen. Probably for the best considering Soda and Steve have a million speeding tickets each and Two-Bit is chronically under the influence.

When they leave, Ponyboy and Bryon have to help Mark walk out because he can’t on his own just yet. Pony’s in the middle of saying he gets it, “I had this killer concussion last year after some soc kicked me in the head during the big rumble, and I remember bein’ out of my mind loopy after, laughin’ at how I couldn’t run… straight…”

He trails off.

He realizes he recognizes this hallway. The door across from him is slightly open and it is the room Johnny died in.

Mark half-falls ‘cause Bryon kept walking and Pony didn’t, and it takes Cathy asking if he is okay to snap him out of it. He says yes but his chest is starting to feel tight and his eyes burn.

He blinks a few times and shakes his head and mumbles a “sorry,” which just gets him an odd look, but no one really asks after that. They get Mark in the car and the only thing he says for the entire ride home are the directions to his house.

Except they don’t get all the way to his house, because they are driving down the street Dallas Winston died on and the pain in Pony’s chest gets worse and he looks out the window toward the street lamp and yells “STOP!” because he sees someone standing there and is convinced they are about to hit them.

Everyone stares at Ponyboy like he is insane but he does not care because Dally is crumpling to the ground just like he did that night, calling out Pony’s name and dropping dead. Then he is standing up, and the bullets are hitting him, and it repeats and repeats like some horrible loop. Pony feels like all his hair is standing on end. He can’t breathe.

Don’t think about how you heard Dally and Johnny’s last words, how they called for you, but you’ll never know Mom and Dad’s. If they screamed for help. If they held each other as they died. If they watched the train coming and knew they couldn't run.

“Uh, I forgot to tell y’all a turn, I… I’ll get out here. Thanks for the ride.”

He doesn’t wait for a response before he gets out of the car and shuts the door. Cathy’s got the window down and she asks if he’s okay and Pony is normally a good liar but he isn’t tonight.

“I’ll be fine. See you later.”

They drive off and Ponyboy sits down on the curb and stares at his hands. He’s never hanging out with any of them ever again.

He thinks about his dreams, the horrible ones that wake him up screaming and shaking, the ones he can’t ever remember, and he wonders why he had to be the one cursed with this stupid ability. To know something horrible is going to happen before it does. To see what happened to his friends after death. Why he has to be the one to know Dallas Winston will never move on. He has this feeling in his gut and he knows he needs to walk down this road to get home but he cannot bring himself to go anywhere near that street lamp. He already has Johnny’s spirit attached to him. He can’t deal with the idea of Dally being there too. He is too angry, and even from this distance, it’s starting to affect Pony, too.

He takes the long way home, because maybe he has a jacket tonight but he figures that if he’s going to get jumped tonight for walking home alone, what’s the worst that could happen after last time? He’s already lost two friends. He lost his parents. Who even cares anymore?

When Ponyboy gets back to his house it is well after curfew and he can see the light on inside and it is like deja vu. He has a black eye and his lip is cut, he knows it’s swelling up because he never put ice on it, and his chest feels tight and he knows he’s shed a few tears and he just. He can’t even bring himself to care as he walks inside.

“You’re late again,” Darry says. Soda is nowhere to be seen. 

“Yeah, whatever, Darrel,” Pony mutters.

“Where were you? I told you to be home by midnight. What happened to your face?”

“Some guy swung at me. Don’t worry about it.”

“You really think I won’t, Pony? We’ve talked about this.”

That is a lie. They didn’t talk. They just promised Soda not to fight anymore.

But Pony is tired and Dally and his heart hurts and he feels like he is going to explode, so he does.

“I was at the hospital, Darry, is that what you want? My friend got hurt trying to help me out because some guy I ain’t never seen in my life decided to swing at me at the dance even though I didn’t even do anything and I went to the hospital to check on Mark. And you know what? I had it all under control and then I hadda walk past that stupid room Johnny died in and now I know my brain is broken ‘cause I can’t stop thinking about it and about Dally and— and I don’t want to talk about it!” Ponyboy can’t even finish. He just storms past his brother and down the hall to his room.

He opens the door, grabs Sodapop out of the bed and shoves him out, and then slams the door shut behind him. The doorknob clicks locked and they hear a noise that sounds an awful lot like a heartbroken sob.

Soda looks at Darry.

“I told you waiting up for him would just piss him off.”

“Shut up.”

[bkglovergirl]

♡𓂃Fake it till you make it

Bakugou X Reader

𓏲 Taking Todoroki's advice, you finally confront Bakugou, and it works! Now you and Todoroki are closer than ever, and you make some progress with Bakugou.

Word Count; 2.3k

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃

It’s morning—about 5 a.m., to be exact. Is this a normal time you wake up? Most of the time. You're in the kitchen cooking yourself breakfast, and it's quite more than you normally eat, but you didn't go to bed with dinner last night. Humming a small tune, you take some milk out of the fridge, and you can’t help but be surprised by how well-stalked the house is. You make a mental note to thank whoever paid to get everything filled because God knows you wouldn't have. Being so distracted, you don't notice the sound of your new roommate leaving his room, and it takes you even longer for you to notice him standing at the entrance of the kitchen watching you. “Did you make me any?” being surprised, you accidentally touched the hot pan, completely missing the handle.

“Ow!” you hiss turning to Bakugou, “Alright asshole don’t sneak up on me like that! And no I didn't make you any, why the hell would I?!” You notice Bakugous eyes trail down your body and with that, you look down yourself. Your pink lace nightgown. It is your normal clothing but couldn't you have changed before you went around the dorm?! It's showing off your legs and thighs and that's more than anyone has seen of you. You blush looking back at Bakugou, “Hello earth to Bakugou?!” his attention is back on your face and he walks towards you.

“Well, aren't you my wife now? You are supposed to make me breakfast.”

“You said you didn't wanna wife as I recall.” Bakugou takes your hand and turns on the sink faucet moving your hand to be under the cool water. Being close to him you now notice his lack of shirt. You turn your face away thinking that the stove is much nicer to look at. Your scoreboard goes back to zero but neither of you notice.

“If it gets me breakfast that I don’t have to make, I’ll give you the title for an hour.” His voice is low. With how early it is and him just waking up, it’s much nicer than his day voice and his ear-bleeding yelling.

“Well, I didn't make you shit.” with that, you move your hand away from him and Bakugou shuts off the faucet.

“I'm the one who bought all the food, so I should at least get breakfast!” He raises his voice a little. It's possible that it's too early for even him to yell. “And there is no first aid here, so you need to deal with that at the nurse.” Bakugou makes a mental note to buy a first aid kit, as he's come to the conclusion that you are very clumsy even now.

“You bought the food?” You turn the stone off so as to not burn the eggs.

“Yeah? Did you think it just appeared?!”

“No, I thought the school board got some staff to do it!?! I don't know!!” Bakugou laughs at you as you grab two plates. Grabbing them, your nightgown goes up, and Bakugou takes no time to notice and stare. You evenly distribute the food you made. Sadly, you won't get any extra food to make up for the missed dinner, and you guess that even if you tell Bakuugou, he selfishly won’t care. “Here, this is the last time I make you anything.” you move past him and sit on the couch. He follows after sitting next to you with some distance. Bakugou won’t admit it but the food is actually pretty good. “So why are you up so early? I thought Mr oh great Bakugou had a tight sleep schedule.”

“I do and this is part of it.”

“You are such a grandpa and it’s embarrassing!” You laugh at him obnoxiously and he makes a face at you clearly annoyed but why should you care? 

“DON’T CALL ME A GRANPA BITCH! YOU ARE UP TO!” and with that you can’t help but fall on your back in a fit of laughter, your feet hitting Bakugou's leg and kicking him but he pretends to not notice and chooses to not mention it.

“I can’t believe you are getting so mad at that! Yeah, I’m up but I’m normal and have a pretty messed up sleep schedule! You are just so weird!” You take some deep breaths and look at Bakugou. You blush. With how you are lying your nightgown has risen a bit and your body is turned looking at you. There is this look on his face you've never seen before and again your scoreboard goes up but both are you are too distracted to even notice any slight change. You sit up fix yourself and continue eating.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃

“I don’t even know, Not even five minutes into being in the room with him we got down to negative points! Like that has to be marked down as the fastest bullshit in history!” you sit on Todoroki's desk whining.

“Are you fully surprised Y/N?”

“Not totally but with how competitive he is you'd think he’d wanna fake it.”

“Maybe use that to your advantage.” With that, it’s like a lightbulb goes off into your head and you hug Todoroki.

“You are a genius!”

“Icyhot is not a genius; he’s dumber than most!” Bakugou walked in, and for some reason, seeing you hug Todoroki gave him issues. It didn't help that Todoroki had a small smile on his face. 

“Everyone is a bigger genius than you!”

“You bitch!”

“Alright class settle down.” Aizawa walks in looking very much unimpressed. You quickly run up to Aizawa asking if you could speak to him outside and he agrees. As you both walk out Ida is yelling trying to get the class in order.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃

Aizawa questioned you a bit but eventually agreed. Now, Bakugou and you are both sitting out completely while the rest of the class gets to do hero training. Did you think this fully ahead? No, because now you are sitting out. You had told Aizawa that as punishment for getting to the negatives you and Bakugou should sit out. He went on his phone with a confused face showing you and Bakugous's score showing a one. Even though it's low it doesn't qualify for a punishment yet but you pushed on explaining yourself. He agreed and here you are now with Bakugou in the viewing room all by yourselves. You are both facing the big screen TV showing the battle happening between Deku, Mina, shoji, and Kirishima VS. Uraraka, Todoroki, Sero, and Momo. To say Bakugou is fuming is an understatement, he's grumbling, sometimes yelling and hitting things. You finally zone into what he’s saying. “THIS IS FUCKING STUPID! All because we got negative points?!” He kicks an office chair that’s nearby with all his might, and all that chair does is slowly roll away. You can't help but laugh. “ARE YOU LAUGHING AT ME?!”

“Yeah, I am! You got two personalities a big grandpa and a big baby!” you are slightly in tears, “Even with all your might you moved the chair just by an itch!” 

“STOP LAUGHING AT ME!” His hands spark.

“Nope! This is pure gold, screw watching the battle!” Bakugou walks up sitting next to you and puts his hand over your mouth, before you can make a comment about how gross his hand is he speaks before you.

“You speak or laugh at me I’ll blow your face off!” On the bright side, he's quiet. On the bad side, his hand is on your face and he’s basically threatening to kill you. You huff and cross your arm thinking about how stupid this is. It gets a little too quiet for comfort and you register his hand, it’s warm on your face but not in a bad way and you can't help but blush. It feels nice on your lips. Bakugous yells something at the screen and it snaps you out of your trance and you take this as a moment to lick the balm of his hand. “HUH?!” you move away from him grabbing the office chair and using it to shield yourself.

“Hear me out!” Bakugou glares wiping his hand on the couch. 

“That was disgusting. You got five seconds before you are dead.”

“Now that is not enough time.” Bakugou deadpans at you, holding up five fingers and putting down one. “ALRIGHT! Alright.. Look we aren't doing anything but making it worse for ourselves.” Bakugou puts down another finger. “Think of this as another competition, Against Midoriya!” you put to the TV screen and bakugou puts down another finger. “The sooner we get better points the faster we can switch partners and the faster you can beat and be better at this than the whole school!” Bakugou puts down another finger. “I know you don’t like me but come on! We can fake it until we make it! You win and show you are better than everyone else and on top of that you can get rid of me!” Bakugou puts down his last finger. “You can take your fingers and shove them up your ass!” you yell sitting on the chair facing away from bakugou. You really thought this would work. Being in your own head you don’t notice Bakugou walking up to you having a small smile on his face but as soon as he grabs the chair and turns you around to face him the smile is gone. 

“Alright fine. I’ll go along with it but we gotta lay down some ground rules.” You smile up at him. 

“Fine by me!” 

“One, do not get in between me and my training work. I don’t care if something will give us points. If it gets in the way of me being a hero, you can cry about it, but I won’t do it. Two, do not get in between my schedule. I won’t make time for you and fit you in. If anything gets in the way of my sleep I don’t care you can fuck off! And Three, we are not going on a first-name basis. I don’t care enough.” Bakugou lets go of the chair and stands up straight crossing his arms.

“Okay!” You stand up and look at the TV. The battle has ended, and Midoriya’s team has won.

“Don’t you have any ground rules?” you smile as Bakugou is trying to be considerate.

 “Nope! I’m not a stingy bitch like you are!” You grab your bag and run out of the viewing room.

“HEY!!??”

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃

“I could have done so much better..” Todoroki mumbles as you wipe his forehead with a cotton swab. The both of you sitting in the nurse's room by yourselves.

“You don’t need to be quiet; it’s just us.” You throw the cotton swab away and grab an alcohol wipe. “You did great, Todoroki. Focus on what you need to improve on, not so much on the battle itself.” It’s hard to give good advice when you weren't exactly watching the battle.

“Hm..” Todoroki looks at you then your hand and grabs it stopping you from touching the wound. “You can call me Shoto.” You smile.

“Alright, Shoto.”

“The fuck you two doing in here?” You look at Bakugou and groan.

“None of your business. What are you doing in here?!”

“Don’t question me after my question!” Shoto let’s go of your hand, a small signal to go back to cleaning him up.

“Y/N is helping me.” Your hand skips a beat and you blush not expecting to hear your name. Bakugou notices and the annoying itch he felt when he saw you on Todoroki’s desk earlier is back and he does not enjoy it.

“Can’t you do that shit yourself.”

“I could.” That’s all Shoto says before turning his attention back to you. Bakugou grumbles, walks over to the first aid kits, and grabs one. Walking back out the door with it, he makes it known how annoyed he is. “Did my suggestion work?”

“Yes! Perfectly to. Though he did lay down some ground rules.”

“He’s such a snob.”

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃

You walk into the dorm taking off your shoes and placing your school bag on the door hanger. Walking into the kitchen you notice the first aid kit on top of the fridge and smile. You quickly get to work and start cooking dinner. There is a feeling in your stomach. You know it's hungry but there is something else. You can’t help but overthink the simple gesture. Time passes of cooking and overthinking and dinner is done. You leave Bakugou’s plate on the kitchen counter and start eating yours on the couch watching TV and skimming through the channels. As soon as you take the first bite as in right on cue Bakugou walks right through the door. “Your dinner is on the counter.” 

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” Bakugou grabs his plate and sits next to you, keeping the same distance as this morning. Annoyed you move the remote away from him. “What the hell!?”

“No thanks. No control of the TV remote.” 

“..Thanks for the food.” you look at bakugou and smile.

“You're welcome!” The scoreboard goes up showing two points.

“NOW GIVE ME THE REMOTE!” Your smile fades as quickly as it appears and you throw it at him.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃

Bakugou stands up putting his bowl on the table. “Alright, I’m going to bed.”

“Finally!” you reach over quickly grabbing the remote, “The remote and TV is mine!”

“you aren’t going to bed?”

“Nope! A new horror movie came out and I wanna watch it! Oh, but the dishes... I'll do it after.” you quickly went from talking to bakugou to talking to yourself. Bakugou rolls his eyes grumbling some insults at you before walking to his door. He takes a quick glance at you. Your hair is messy and you are lying down on your side. The light of the TV illuminating your face. He debates staying out and watching the movie with you telling himself he is just curious about the movie. But he reminds himself about his second rule and he walks into his room.

Tags and notes;

Thank you so much for the support already! This is my first ever story, and I hope to go further with it. I'll update as much as I can and do more stories so let me know If you have any requests!

@andysdrafts @eyesforbkg

[pedroscurls]

second chances | pt. 3

Character(s): Marcus Pike x fem!Reader Summary: You and Marcus continue to get to know each other, but the feelings you both have for each other are becoming increasingly difficult to keep it at bay. Word count: 2.1k A/N: All the fluff, y'all!!! The next chapter will get a bit more deeper between these two, so stay tuned! (and also I just want to say that gif of Marcus - Pedro literally stares straight at the camera for a very brief second🫣)   Warning: None.  SERIES MASTERLIST - ultimate masterlist

It’s been a month since you moved in and you and Marcus have developed a morning routine. It helps that you both like to be up early and there have been a few times where he’d come over early enough to eat breakfast with you. You realize that you haven’t yet been inside of his apartment. Whenever you spend time with him, it’s always at your place and while you don’t mind, there is a bit of mystery to him that piques your curiosity. 

He’s sweet. 

He’s kind. 

He’s thoughtful.

He’s handsome. 

But every time you’re with him, you can tell he’s holding a part of himself back, like he has this guard up that makes it so difficult for you to get through. He only shows you part of himself that he wants you to see, but you don’t push him. You don’t ask for more than what he’s willing to share because you’ve been in his position before. 

You’ve had your heart broken before. And it certainly isn’t the greatest feeling knowing that someone you loved didn’t choose you. Marcus doesn’t have to say the words for you to know that that’s why he’s holding himself back. There’s a longing in his deep brown eyes whenever he spaces out, but you never address it. Instead, you focus on just being there for him – with him – because while his guard is up, you’re open and vulnerable. You hope that it shows him just how comfortable and safe you feel around him. 

—

It’s Friday night and Marcus finally gets home at around midnight. He’s exhausted and feeling burnt out. His workdays always start out great because he gets to see you. The routine you both established gets him excited every time he wakes up and he’s always eager to see what kind of outfit you’d be wearing for your class. You’re colorful, expressive, and he can just imagine how fun and engaging you must be while at work. 

Marcus could hear you talk about how much you love your job and your kids for hours. Your passion for teaching is so clearly obvious when you talk about it because he always notices the way your eyes light up, how big your smile gets, and it’s infectious. He can’t help but always smile whenever he’s around you. 

You’re also very different from Lisbon. When he lies awake at night, finding it hard to fall asleep, he compares you to her. He knows he shouldn’t, knows that even thinking about Lisbon always leads to more negative feelings, but he can’t help himself. Marcus had thought that his relationship and his feelings for Lisbon were real and after being married and divorced, he thought she was it. 

He should have known better. 

But when he thinks about Lisbon, you follow soon after. Sometimes at work, he will catch himself thinking about you just because Lisbon crossed his mind. Marcus isn’t sure what to make of it, but he knows that nothing could happen. Getting hurt again is a serious possibility if he were to take a chance with you and he isn’t sure that’s something he wants to risk. 

Marcus gets off the elevator just in time to see you setting a foil-covered plate on his doorstep. You’re wearing a black and red plaid hoodie that’s so large it covers most of your frame. He smiles to himself and then clears his throat quietly, seeing you stand upright and turn around to face him. 

“You know what time it is?” Marcus asks.

“It’s not a school night,” you point out. “I was just dropping off some food in case you didn’t eat dinner.” 

He walks towards you and leans down to grab the plate. “What’d you make?” 

“Lasagna. You will need to warm it up though. I made it when I got home from work.” You reply, looking up at him. “I just remember you telling me this morning that you were going to be home late and since I know you don’t usually cook when you have late nights, I just figured–” you bite your lower lip and realize that you’re talking too much. Again. But when you look up at Marcus, he’s still smiling in your direction. 

“You wanna join me?” 

“It’s a little over midnight,” you say. 

Marcus chuckles. “Thought you said it wasn’t a school night.”

“It isn’t.” you blush. 

“Well then, if you don’t have any other neighbors to drop dinner off to, I’d really like some company.” he teases with a wink.

“Hey!” you say with a quiet laugh. “You’re the only one. I promise.” 

Marcus smiles at that and then unlocks his door. He steps inside and holds the door open for you, watching you step inside. He knows his apartment is clean, but he had been avoiding inviting you to his apartment because of how bleak it was. His apartment is just a place for him to get some rest and eat; it certainly wasn’t a home. At least not in the way your apartment feels whenever he’s there. 

He turns the lights on and leads you to the kitchen. You trail behind him, looking around his apartment and biting your lower lip. It’s like you’re getting a glimpse into his life, a glimpse into what he doesn’t really show you. His walls are bare except for the paintings that you assume came with the place because it doesn’t really seem like it’s his style. His place is much bigger than yours, you notice. The only thing that does seem like he decorated or put thought into it is the bookcase that’s against the wall of his living room. You don’t get much time to veer off and see the variety of books he has displayed because the sound of him opening up a wine bottle catches your attention. 

“How was your week?” Marcus asks, pouring two glasses of white wine and then unwrapping his plate of food to put into the microwave. 

“Fun like always,” you grin. “But I’m ready for the weekend.”

“You have any plans?” 

“Well, I am planning on going to Ikea or doing some shopping for the apartment.” You respond, lifting the glass of wine to your lips. “What about you? How was your week?”

“Busy. Tiring,” Marcus says. He doesn’t know what else there is to say about his job; it pays well, but he certainly doesn’t love it as much as you love teaching. “But I’ve got the weekend off, so it isn’t a school night for me either.” 

Before you could even think about what you’re saying, you quickly blurt out, “Do you wanna come with me to Ikea?” Shaking your head to yourself, you bite your lower lip. “Sorry. I’m sure you have plans–”

Marcus turns to face you, having removed his leather jacket and now in his light grey t-shirt and dark jeans. “I’d love to.” 

Your eyes light up with hope, with excitement and it makes Marcus smile. “Really?” 

Marcus nods and takes the plate of food out of the microwave once it beeps that it’s done. He sets it down on the counter and leans against it, waiting for his food to cool down. “Yes, really. Besides, maybe you can give me some pointers about how to decorate my place. As you can tell, it’s very… bare.” 

You can’t even hear what he’s saying because you’re staring so deep into his brown eyes that you feel like you could just lean in to kiss him, to wrap your arms around him, to just be in his arms. You want to be closer. You want to know what it’s like to have his lips on you, to feel his hands roam your body, to feel–

“You okay?” he asks, interrupting your thoughts. 

“Sorry, yeah. I’m just excited.” 

Marcus chuckles. “By the way, this needs to be addressed.” He then points to what you’re wearing. “What are you wearing? It literally covers all of you.” 

You grin. “It’s called a blanket hoodie and it’s very comfy.” 

Marcus looks at you from top to bottom, not bothering to hide the fact that he was obviously checking you out. When his eyes settle on your face, though, he notices the way your lower lip is between your lips and there’s a slight pink hue to your cheeks. You’re not looking into his eyes anymore and he gently reaches out and taps the back of your hand. 

“It’s cute,” he says softly. “It suits you.”

You blush even further and look down at his hand as he pulls away. It’s an innocent touch, but it lingers and you find that you want him to touch you even more. Your mind drifts to very inappropriate thoughts as Marcus continues to eat. 

“Yeah right,” you finally respond. 

Marcus chuckles. “It is. Makes me want to get one. You think it’d look cute on me?” he teased, trying to lighten the mood and alleviate the tension that fills the air. 

You smile to yourself and shrug a shoulder. “Hm, I don’t know. I think it takes a certain type of person to pull this off.” 

He lets out another quiet laugh and shakes his head, finishing the rest of the food you packed for him. He leans against the counter and tilts his head. He had a particularly rough day at work, but you’re making it better. Marcus knows it’s late, knows that you both should be heading to bed, but he doesn’t want you to leave just yet. 

“You might be right,” he sighs heavily. “You don’t want me to out-do you.” 

You feign a gasp and gently smack his arm, letting out a quiet giggle. It fills Marcus’s heart and he can’t stop staring at you. Your smile makes his heart flutter and the sound of your laughter filtering his home is something he wants to hear more of. It’s like you belong here. With him. 

And as he’s looking at you, Marcus finds that his resolve is slowly slipping. 

Because he wants so badly to reach out to you and pull you into his arms. 

He wants so badly to feel your lips. 

He wants so badly to just be wanted, to just be chosen, and you always look at him like no one else in the world matters. 

“Maybe we can match,” you tease. “See who truly looks better in it.” 

“It’s gonna be you,” Marcus blurts out. There’s a slight blush on his cheeks and his ears feel hot when you’re looking up at him. 

“Are you flirting with me, Special Agent Marcus Pike?” you tease. 

Marcus chuckles quietly and clears his throat. “You’re telling me that you don’t think you’re good looking?”

You shrug. “I think I’m okay.” 

Marcus scoffs. “You’re beautiful,” he says honestly. “And if I’m overstepping–”

“Thank you,” you interrupt him. His compliment makes the butterflies in your tummy flutter even more and you bite the inside of your cheek as you stare up at him. You’ve had compliments before, but coming from Marcus gives you a different sensation than what you’ve felt before. “You’re not so bad yourself, handsome,” you wink.

Marcus smirks to himself and downs the rest of his glass of wine. “So, is this what happens when it’s past midnight and we share a bottle of wine?” 

“What? We be honest with each other?” you laugh quietly. “We’re both just stating the obvious.” 

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “We’re just two good looking people,” Marcus winks. 

“Exactly,” you laugh quietly. You finish your glass of wine and look at the time. You really should get to bed, especially if you both plan on spending the day together. 

“Call it a night?” Marcus asks. 

You nod. “I think so. We should both probably try and get some sleep before we head to the store later.”

“Good idea. Thank you for the dinner.” 

“Thank you for inviting me in,” you tell him. 

Marcus leads you towards the front door and before he can open it, he’s caught off guard when you wrap your arms around him in a loose embrace. He stiffens for a moment before allowing his arms to wrap around you and he realizes just how much he enjoys feeling your body against his. 

“Good night, Marcus,” you say softly. “I’ll see you later today.” 

Marcus nods and gently squeezes you before he pulls away. “Good night. Looking forward to later.” 

You step out of his apartment and walk towards your own. You look over at him and smile, seeing him lean against his doorframe. 

“Just making sure you get home safe,” Marcus calls out. 

Your stomach does flips at that and you want so badly to just run up to him, to be back in his arms. “What a gentleman,” you tease, opening your front door. 

Marcus chuckles and nods in your direction. “Good night, angel.” The pet name slips and he turns around to walk back into his apartment before you could say anything about it. 

You walk into your apartment and shut the door behind you. Letting out a contented sigh, you realize that your feelings for Marcus are only getting stronger.

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