#i would ask someone to write this but the person who needs to write it the most is myself wahh

[cheapshrimpysheep]

A Rainy Walk

SUMMARY: He invites you to go with him on one of his club's outings, but the weather is revealed, belatedly, tto be inappropriate and perhaps even dangerous for what should be a pleasant moment together.

CHARACTERS: Mountain Lover Club (Jade Leech) / Gargoyle Studies Club (Malleus Draconia)

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; Flirting; Kiss

WORD COUNT: An average of 2.370 words per character.

COMMENTS: In Jade's part, as a person who doesn't like hiking, I wanted to create a way for both those who like it and those who don't to be able to insert themselves. So I made the reader twist an ankle.

I hope you enjoy it. 🌧️⛈️

OTHER CLUBS:

But… We Lost… - Basketball Club (Ace / Floyd / Jamil)

Romantic Experiment - Science Club (Trey / Rook)

For a Quarter of a Second - Track and Field Club (Deuce / Jack)

Unlucky Overtime - Spelldrive Club (Leona / Ruggie / Epel)

P.S.: I don't know what's going on with me to make me start writing so much.

.

You had gone to the Mostro Lounge, as you do from time to time with Grim, Ace and Deuce for a snack. When Jade comes to your table to take your orders, he informs you that he has prepared a new dessert and would love for you all to try it and tell him what you think.

“Myaah yeah, I'll take any-” Grim starts to say excitedly, until he remembers who he's talking to. “Wait... what do you want?”

“Me? I would just like to know if this new dessert I made has a pleasant taste. And who better than some of our best customers to tell me?” He smiles and proceeds to describe something you would absolutely love to eat.

“Funny, that really sounds like (Y/N)'s favorite desserts. ” Deuce says.

“Truly? What a coincidence.”

“Which I'm sure it isn't.” Ace adds. “Come on Jade, tell us what you really want in return. We might even consider it.”

“Very well.” he smiled amusedly. “It would cost you 17 thaumark each.” Everyone is shocked by that price for a small dessert. “However, I have another proposal.” you see his sharp teeth through the smile for a second. “I believe you know that I am a member of the Mountain Lover Club. This weekend, I'm planning on waking up before dawn to head to the mountains so I can see a flower that only blooms in the early hours of the day.” He looks at you. “And they are such charming flowers that I would love to share this experience with... someone. Perhaps (Y/N)?” If you accept, I can give you all a discount and the dessert will only be 8 thaumark.”

“Did you really need to do all this ruse?” Grim asks annoyed. “Why don't you just ask (Y/N) out?”

“Because that wouldn't be as thrilling, would it? Fu fu.”

“My wallet doesn't need any thrilling, thank you very much.” Ace comments. “And 8 still seems a little pricey for this type of dessert.” he tries to haggle.

“Five each if you let (Y/N) come alone with me.”

They looked at each other as if they were between a rock and a hard place.

“Deal!” You say. After all, you also have a crush on Jade.

Jade laughs seeing your friends' worried faces.

“There's nothing to worry about, gentlemen. I will make sure (Y/N) gets home safe and on time. We can even bring you souvenirs if you’d like. I would be happy to share the wonders of the mountains with all of you as well.”

~

He could have promised to keep you safe and sound on the mountain, but unfortunately, he couldn't do anything, nor was he prepared for something to happen to you before the hike. In one of your Physical Education classes you ended up twisting your ankle and it wouldn't heal in time for the day of the hike. You were in the infirmary when Jade came to check on you.

“(Y/N), I heard about your accident in Professor Vargas' class.” Jade tells you with pity, or at least it seems like it. It's hard to know when it's genuine concern. “But may I confirm with you that it was indeed just an accident?”

You confirm that it was just your foot that slipped, a little confused by that question.

“Very well. Don't worry, I believe in you. But you know that if there is a classmate who is less... pleasant with you, you can tell me.” He says with a sweet smile before forming his toothy little grin. “I can have a reasonable little conversation with them.”

You assure him that it wasn't any other student's fault that made you end up like this. At worst, it was Grim's mischief to blame. Jade chuckles.

“But it was quite unfortunate that it happened right before our hike in the mountain. However, I thought of a way for you to be able to accompany me, if you still wish to do so.”

~

On the day of the hike, or rather, that night before dawn, Jade appeared at Ramshackle Dorm door and sent you a message asking if you were ready. He asked for permission to enter the dormitory and go to your room and when he arrived he had with him a flying broom with a special cushioned seat for you. Since it's still going to be a bit of a long walk, he thought that maybe the broom like you normally use in class might be a bit uncomfortable. You could accompany him on the hike sitting on the broom and that way you wouldn't have to walk and strain your feet.

“Would you like me to help you get on the broom?” He asks politely.

If you accept his help, he will gently hold you by the waist and place you in the seat.

“The weather forecasts have been a bit... surprising.” Jade says with an enigmatic smile. “The predictions have proven to be quite inaccurate recently. There is a chance of some rain so I advise you to take an umbrella. But you should also put on sunscreen and wear a hat. Hats are essential when sketching outdoors. I got horribly sunburned once when I grew too absorbed in my work.”

Jade was dressed for the occasion from head to toe. He even wore a long coat full of pockets and was carrying a camping backpack. But in your case, he didn't ask you to take much more than necessary.

As you were walking at night, Jade took a lantern with him and placed another one on the end of your broom. He was using his magic to lead the broom like someone leading a horse by the reins. He took you through the Dark Mirror to the Dwarfs' Mountain. It was a full moon night and it was beautiful. It shouldn't be long before the moon disappeared and gave way to dawn and at that height it was beautiful to see.

“They advise anyone who hike at night to do so on a full moon night, as this is the phase in which the moon provides the best natural lighting. However, if I'm correct it shouldn't be long until dawn. Maybe 30 to 45 minutes. The flower location is also not far from here, we will get there in time even if we take it slow and appreciate what surrounds us. Feel free to ask me anything if you see something that catches your interest.” He smiles and begins the hike.

If you do as he suggests and ask him about something you see or simply what his hikes are usually like, he'll be very happy to tell you anything you want to know. And if you ask him about some type of mushroom, he'll be even happier.

“I appreciate your willingness to listen to me talk about the mountains. I started to tell Floyd my thoughts about hiking in the mountains, and he nodded off not even a minute in.” Jade was telling you, “What a shame we cannot enjoy this hobby together.” when he felt something in his nose. “Hm?”

You also feel something on your nose, then on your forehead, on your cheek...

“Looks like this is your cue to open your umbrella.” He tells you. “So that is why it seemed like it was taking so long for dawn to come, the clouds are covering the sun. Fortunately... we arrived.”

You open your umbrella, it's not raining much yet. You see a small field between the trees and full of closed flowers. When you look at Jade, you see that something seems to be bothering him and you ask what he was thinking.

“Oh, you noticed.” he smiles, as if he had been caught. “I was thinking about these flowers. It says they bloom in the early hours of the day, but I don't remember if they would do so regardless of whether they received direct sunlight or not. It would be a shame not to be able to achieve our main objective.”

And then the sky gets darker and the rain starts to get heavier.

“Oh no, it doesn't look like it's going to be a light rain. You should take shelter. The mine is nearby, let's go there.”

“I should take shelter? What about you?”

“Well, it's not like water bothers me, remember? Fu fu~” He laughs amusedly.

Jade takes you by the broom to the inside of the mine, not far from the entrance, just enough to take shelter and still see the outside. As soon as you sat down on the ground the rain seemed to turn into a storm.

“Oh dear! I've never seen the weather forecast fail so badly.” he says with that toothy smile, probably enjoying the surprise a little too much. But then he looks at you. “I'm so sorry I brought you out into the middle of a storm this early in the morning. I really wanted to see those flowers with you. It seems I was reckless and let myself be carried away by impulse.”

He sees you shaking a little.

“Oh! I hadn't even realized how much the temperature had dropped. Here.” He takes off his long coat and offers it to you to put on. “I appreciate your concern, but there's no need to worry about me. I have excellent resistance to cold, remember? Speaking of your well-being, how is your ankle?”

You weren't wearing the shoe on your injured foot, but a thick sock over the bandages. That cold was good for your ankle, but terrible for the rest of your foot, especially your toes.

“Yes, as I imagined. Let me take care of you until we are able to go back to school. It's the least I can do after putting you through all this while you're still recovering.”

He looked at you with concern, but you've seen that "concerned" expression a few times before.

“You're looking at me so suspiciously. That is quite hurtful. You should know how careful I am, especially in a situation like this.”

But he still had that smile that, whoever knows him, knows there is something behind it. And so you ask him if you're going to be indebted to him after that. If there's one thing you learned from Octavinelle, it's not to accept any favor from them without knowing the terms and conditions of it.

“Fu fu fu...” his charismatic smile becomes his true smile, the one with his teeth showing. “I'm glad to see that you learned such a valuable lesson from us, (Y/N). But there is another one that we may need to teach you better. And that is the ability to realize when you have the advantage. Remember how you agreed to accompany me in exchange for a discount on the desserts? We were even then. In the case of the broom I provided, in exchange, you would offer me your company even though you were injured. In that case, I might be at a disadvantage. Since I was risking your injury getting worse by bringing you away from the protection of your home. And now, that risk has become real. Which means I'm the one who owes you this time. Which means I am the one who is in debt to you at the moment. Due to my poor decision of a date with a suitable weather for the hike. Any treatment I provide you will only and slimply make me pay my debt. Do you feel safer accepting my offer under these conditions?”

Everything he said made sense. And while the Octavinelle trio have a tendency to create shady agreements and contracts, they don't necessarily lie. They can do it by omission, but this is not the case, so you accept.

You are sitting on the mine floor with the same pillow that supported you on the broom. Jade sits in front of you and asks you to stretch your legs so he can put them over his. He takes off the sock that covered your foot and uses magic to warm your foot with the exception of the ankle that needs the cold. And while this heating magic is taking effect he massages your ankle and feet, in a way that is appropriate and specific for a sprained ankle. He was really good at it.

“There's another thing we've been even from the beginning.” he says with a smirk and without looking at you yet. “Grim was right, I wanted to go out with you. But...” He looks at you out of the corner of his eye, barely moving his head. “You wanted to go out with me as well... didn't you, (Y/N)?”

He sees you smiling, perhaps shyly, and takes it as a green light. He takes your feet from his lap and places them gently on the ground, then stretches out towards you, supporting himself on his hands, like a cat slowly approaching.

“I really feel horrible for putting you in this situation.” But he doesn't say this with regret, but rather in a purposefully seductive way. “I wonder what I can do to redeem myself? Especially if it lasts as long as it looks like it will. Making you wait here uncomfortably for so long will create a huge debt for me towards you.” He brings his face even closer to yours, with a smile as inviting as his heterochromatic eyes. “Tell me... what can I do to ease this situation?”

He won't kiss you. He'll wait patiently for you to do it first. Or better yet... for you to order him to kiss you.

“As you wish~” He says and kisses you passionately.

Rainy weather tends to get a person down, and that's what was happening to you too. Even though you may enjoy listening to the rain outside, it's never good when you have to go back to your dorm. Especially with Grim complaining.

Grim managed to get to Ramshackle Dorm dry because he made you to carry him. You, on the other hand, had your legs and feet stuck in water. It was when you were going up the stairs to change your clothes in your room that you saw some little and familiar green lights around you.

You turn around and go to the door. When you open it you see Malleus with a large umbrella and dressed in black waterproof clothes and a raincoat.

“Good afternoon, Child of Man.” Malleus greets you with a polite smile. “I couldn't help but notice you less cheerful and smiling than usual these past few days. I think it even coincided with the arrival of the rainy weather. Would the two be connected?”

You tell him yes. Maybe you don't like rain at all, or maybe you only like rain when you can sit inside and enjoy the sound. Either way, you don't like being out in the rain and risking catching a cold.

“Oh yes, that is true... a simple rain can make a human sick. But I believe that having wet clothes such as yours can also contribute to a possible sickness, am I correct?” he asks and you confirm. “Allow me to help you dry faster.”

“You're not going to use fire magic on me, are you?” you ask slightly worried.

“Yes, I was about to. Why so worried about it?”

“Because you can burn me with it.”

“Burn? Oh, no, I wasn't going to use direct fire. I know that fire hurts other living beings. I was going to use a variation of fire magic that just changes the temperature around certain objects. I have used it several times to dry my own clothes. You seem more relieved. Will you allow me to use it then?”

You accept and he uses his magic to dry your pants, shoes and socks in a second.

“You know, I personally quite appreciate this weather. It's perfect for the Gargoyle Studies Club because we can watch them perform their main function. Or at least I can see them. I would love to share this sight with you. Perhaps it could help you feel a little better on days like these. What do you say? Do you accept my invitation?” He smiles excitedly, which is also cute.

You say you'd love to, but you don't have rain gear like his.

“There is no need for this to be a deterrent. I'll be more than happy to provide you with suitable clothing.” He uses his magic again and changes your uniform into the same set of rain gear he was wearing. Seeing you in those clothes makes him smile even more. “They seem to suit you well.”

“But how do I go with you?” You ask. “Don't you usually fly up to the gargoyles?”

“I do. I was thinking, if you're comfortable with it, that I could carry you in my arms. Like I saw you doing with Grim just now when you were coming back home. This umbrella is big enough for two people. But if you prefer, I can also give you another umbrella and we can ask Coach Vargas for one of the flying brooms.”

You admit that you don't mind about the first option and maybe even use the excuse that you don't have magic and Grim clearly doesn't want to go with you, so you wouldn't be able to use the broom by yourself.

“In that case, if you're ready, we can go back to the main building to admire the gargoyles.” He smiles and bends his arm, inviting you to intertwine yours with his.

You do so, he places the umbrella between the two of you and you walk back to the school building. He was talking about his club and gargoyles in general until you got close to a wall with no doors or windows nearby.

“One of my favorite gargoyles sits right above us.” Malleus tells you. “Do you see that trickle of water? It's coming from that same gargoyle. Are you ready for me to take you up there and show you?” He extends a hand to you.

You place your hand over his and he gently pulls you towards him. He then lets go of your hand to bend down slightly, put his arm around you and picks you up. Your reflex is to put your arms around his neck to hold on, which brings your faces closer together. He looks directly at you and chuckles seeing your embarrassed/shy face.

“Hold on tight. And do not worry about hurting me, you wouldn't be able to even if you tried. Fu fu.”

As soon as he rises into the air you grab him tightly, which makes him chuckle because he was barely half a meter off the ground yet. Then he rises even higher, but slower than he would on his own. He doesn't want to scare you.

When you get close to the gargoyle, he sits the two of you next to it, you between him and the gargoyle so you can see it better. And he will never let go of your waist to hold you. If you are afraid of heights, or if you just feel a little scared at that moment and hold on to him, he will chuckle and hold you even tighter, but never too tight so as not to hurt you.

“Worry not, (Y/N). I won't let go of you. You can enjoy the gargoyle as much as you wish. I'll be holding you the entire time.”

As you admire the gargoyle doing its work and see the rainwater coming out of its mouth, Malleus admires you.

“Do you wish to know why this is one of my favorite gargoyles on the school building?” He asks and of course you say yes. “In terms of appearance, there's nothing very different about this one from all the others. In fact, there is nothing worth calling special about this gargoyle carving technique. What delights me the most about this gargoyle is not what any of us can see, but what it can see every day.”

You look ahead, trying to figure out where the gargoyle was looking, but the school grounds were so big and the sea so vast that you couldn't be sure. Malleus chuckles, as if you weren't seeing something obvious.

“You are looking too far away. See which building is closest.”

You look closer, at the least impressive building on campus.

“Ramshackle Dorm?” You ask.

“Correct. This gargoyle must have seen the whole story of your dormitory. When it was built, who might have been there before you, how it became an abandoned building and the answers to any question we might wish to know about its mysterious past.”

You look at that gargoyle again with new eyes. All your questions could be answered. If it could talk, it would certainly be a very interesting conversation.

“This gargoyle also witnessed all my visits to the ruins.” Malleus continues. “I wonder what it thought of me, coming in just to admire the decay of that dormitory. But more than that, I wonder what it thought of you. Arriving with a mischievous little monster, a being without magic and completely unaware of the history of this world. And yet, able to breathe new life into rubble and call it home. It also witnessed our meeting. Could it have found it as amusing as I did? Fu fu~”

You look at your dorm, thinking now of everything that gargoyle could have seen.

“And now, it is watching over you.” He looks at you with a sweet smile. “I've told this gargoyle a lot about you, and now it's finally meeting you.”

If you look at the gargoyle again and even greet it, Malleus will laugh in amusement.

“I am certain it was as delighted to meet you as I was that night.”

You look at him and see him looking at you with great affection.

“Speaking of which, I'm curious.” Malleus continues. “Did you also enjoy meeting me that night? You were not frightened, at least.”

You tell him how you felt that night. Surprised, especially seeing such a tall guy with horns, but also intrigued to know who he was. You also found him extremely polite by the way he spoke.

“But I remember finding you very handsome right away.” You admit it.

Malleus is taken aback for a second, but then he laughs.

“Well, I am quite grateful for your honesty. Fu fu. Therefore, I should also admit that I found you... intrepidly charming.”

“Is that a good thing?” You ask.

“For some it may not be, but for me, and the inherently way you show it, it is something wonderful. I could even describe it as cute, especially when you are oblivious to social statutes.” He smiles honestly. And after a moment of reflection, his gaze becomes tender. “I am very fortunate to have you in my life, (Y/N).”

You show him your surprise, that sudden line was very unexpected.

“These moments with you always become some of my fondest memories. I hope to be as pleasant a companion to you as you are to me.”

You feel his arm around you instinctively pulling you closer to him. It's being a cute moment until there's a flash. You both look up and a few seconds later you hear the deafening rumble of thunder. It was so loud that it felt like it was very close to you and made you flinch as a reflex. Which also caused Malleus to let go of the umbrella and let it float above you to be able to hug you with both arms.

“I need to get you out of here. We're too high.”

He picks you up with both arms without hesitation while the umbrella floats above the two of you. And then another bolt of lightning! But this time it hit the tower right next to you, which scared you and made you cling to Malleus.

“A quick trip it shall be.” He holds your head, making you rest it on his shoulder, and in the blink of an eye, you no longer feel the rain and the scene changes abruptly.

You are now at the door of Ramshackle Dorm. He has teleported the two of you there. He leans in for you to put your feet back on the ground.

“I'm sorry our study trip has been so short.” He says with pity. “There were other gargoyles I would have liked to show you. But if you enjoyed our time today, I can show them to you on another outing sometime.” He smiles at you.

Right after you say you'd love it, you hear another clap of thunder. And so, you decide to invite Malleus to stay in Ramshackle with you for a while until the storm calms down.

“You are... Well, I would love to accept your invitation, but you do know that storms are not dangerous to me, correct?”

“I know.” you simply say, without withdrawing your invitation.

Malleus starts by laughing softly, until he lets out a good-natured laugh.

“You certainly are a very strange child of man.”

Malleus is too much of a gentleman to advance much further than with charming words. So, that will have to be your job.

“I am very fortunate to have you in my life too, Tsunotarou.” You tell him.

Malleus looks at you in surprise for a second until an adorable smile forms on his lips.

“You are one of the few who would say that.” He smirks. “And certainly the only human outside of Briar Valley who would say something like that at all.”

Come to think of it, with perhaps the exception of Lilia, the Diasomnia boys tend to be a bit oblivious to subtext. So you decide to take a risk and be direct.

“Tsunotarou... Malleus... do you like me?”

“Of course I like you. I thought I was expressing myself quite well in that regard.” He says a little confused.

“I mean... could you...” He probably doesn't know what the word ‘crush’ means, or he may take it literally. “...be in love with me? Or something like that?”

He is taken aback, and looks at you with wide eyes and raised eyebrows.

“Me? The successor to the throne of Briar Valley and one of the most powerful mages in Twisted Wonderland? In love with... a powerless human from another world?” He seems to think about it for a moment until a smile forms again. “Fu fu... ha ha... HA HA HA HA HA!”

That laugh hurts your heart a little, until he continues speaking.

“I had never thought of that.” He says, looking to the side as he thinks. “But... if what I feel for you truly is what they call love... then now I understand why it is such a longed-for feeling. And if it is true then... ha ha HA HA... Oh, the obstacles we would have to face to be together. It does indeed sound exciting... Perhaps...” He looks you in the eyes. “Perhaps you are correct in interpreting my actions as such. However, I still cannot be sure it is love. But perhaps I can answer your question by admitting that, in fact, I nourish a much more intimate feeling towards you than friendship. This would explain why your company comforts and makes me happier than any other.”

He sees you smile as you listen to what he was saying.

“May I interpret that beautiful smile of yours as a possible mutual feeling on your part?”

You confirm and he leans in to take your hand and bring it to his lips to kiss the back of it. If you dare to take advantage of the fact that his face is at the same level as yours and you kiss his cheek, he will look at you in surprise before chuckling.

“Such audacity.” He says with a smug smile and still leaning over, his face close to yours. “Are you certain you wiah to find out how passionate I can be?”

He interprets your smile as confirmation and he kisses your lips delicately. Despite everything, he knows he can hurt you if he lets himself get too carried away. He's going to have to test some... limits.

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

[musicalnobody]

The Ghost You Fed - Ch. 1

bunny hybrid!reader X cane corso hybrid!simon "ghost" riley ⋆ Call of Duty ⋆MDNI⋆ 4.2k words ⋆ 18+, explicit in future chapters ⋆ tags to be added as story progresses ⋆

⋆ pinterest board ⋆ AO3 link ⋆ next ⋆

Summary: Being a service animal is all you've ever known, being spoiled as a treat for all you do for your owner. So what happens when you see something, or rather someone, you can't have? (Inspired by 'it will come back' by hozier)

Tags: pov second person, no use of y/n, eventual smut, kind of icky simon, stalking, past character death, reader is so spoiled, drug dealing, dog fighting, breaking and entering, semi-public masturbation

A/N: WOOOO NEW FIC TIME!!! To give a little heads up, I will be using italics to indicate sign language between the reader and her owner. There isn’t going to much of a description for the reader, but your hair is fairly long, and your ear and tail color are mentioned, you are also chubby bc come on, a little old lady with a hybrid? She’s gonna fatten you right up. In this universe hybrids have ears, tails, and some have claws and canine fangs. Heats and ruts also exist within this universe but without the whole omegaverse thing. The rest you’ll figure out along the way!

Being a service animal was easy enough. Tell her when someone was at the door, translate when you were out in public, comfort her when she was having a rough day, and in exchange you got pampered. It truly was an easy life.

Agnes had adopted you when you were just a kit, only five years old. She wasn’t fully deaf at the time, able to start teaching you sign language at a young age. She was the kindest woman you had ever met. Her hearing had fully deteriorated when you were 12 years old. Crying for hours at a time when she finally broke the news to you, never being much of a tough one.

She still tried her best to teach you all that she could, cooking and cleaning as well as hobbies like reading, writing, and crocheting fun little projects. You were quite spoiled, and you knew it, having you own room but preferring to sleep at the end of Agnes’ large bed, having a whole closet filled with frilly outfits, getting to be paraded about outside.

Your crème-colored fur doesn’t get dirty anymore, baths becoming a part of your routines. Agnes brushes your hair afterwards, having you sit in front of your vanity while she does. You always feel so special when she does this, especially when she gently grabs your droopy ears to brush out as well, leaving them all fluffy for you. When Agnes starts entering you in beauty pageants, you’re over the moon, pleased that your owner thinks so highly of you. You learn tricks, you show them how competent you are, how nice your coat is.

You display the awards proudly in your room.

Despite being out so often, Agnes didn’t have many friends. Just a couple childhood friends who would visit every now and then, her kids living on opposite sides of the country. They would have tea parties, none of them having hybrids of their own so you were left to bask in their attention. The scratches at your ears and tummy were what you lived for.

You were never bad, always following the rules and orders around the house, helping when needed. You were an easy bunny to take care of, Agnes couldn’t of asked for better. You had gotten your service animal papers the day you turned 13, and Agnes had given you a frilly vest that she had hand-sewed so everyone would know that’s exactly what you were. You wore the vest until the day the seams ripped, and it wouldn’t go over your arms anymore. That’s when she made you a new one.

It was a rainy day, one reserved for baking. Today, you had decided to surprise Agnes with Manchester tarts, some of her favorites. These bite sized deserts had a shortcrust pastry shell spread with raspberry jam, covered with a custard filling and topped with flakes of coconut and a Maraschino cherry. They made the whole house smell like warm raspberries and pastry, something you certainly weren’t complaining about.

You sat up in your room, brushing out your hair after deciding what to wear. Since you weren’t going outside, you decided on a frilly pink top with flowers decorating it, a short white layered skirt with white bloomers under it, and two pink lacy garters sitting atop your thighs. You wore dangly earrings with pink raspberries on the end, as well as a pearl necklace with a matching charm that went well with your pink collar sitting around your neck, proudly displaying your name. You quickly put some mascara on and some lip tint, popping your lips in the mirror. A chill went up your spine and you flicked your eyes to gaze behind you in the mirror, attributing it to the wind from your open window.

You walk downstairs, seeing Agnes knitting you a pink and white striped sweater on the recliner. Going up to her and tapping her on the shoulder, you tell her what you’re doing.

“Going to make us treats today” You signed as you smiled. You watched as Agnes returned the smile and nodded, indicating that she was going to continue knitting. You skipped off to the kitchen, since you were a bunny hybrid, you were only about 5 feet, and that was on the taller side. This meant that you often had to use the stool to grab different ingredients. You looked behind you again as another chill went up your spine, but this time there wasn’t a window open. You chalked it up to the heating not being high enough after not seeing anything.

Throwing the flour, diced butter, white fat and icing sugar together, you began the pastry. Mixing in the water, you then let it set for 30 minutes, idly watching the tv. When the timer finally went off, you leapt up, running to the kitchen. You opened the window behind you so the kitchen didn’t get too hot when you turned on the oven, setting a towel in front so that rain didn’t get on the floor.

After pre-heating the oven to 190°C and putting the baking beans in the tart, you twirled around and put the tart in the oven for another 20 minutes. After taking the baking beans out and letting it cook for another 7 minutes, you took it out and spread the jam along the bottom, sprinkling the coconut atop of it.

You made the custard, boiling the mixture and adding vanilla to taste before pouring it through a sieve. You stirred it for a few minutes, letting it cool, before pouring it into the tart. You sprinkled the top with the rest of the coconut before setting it out and letting it cool. These desserts were something that Agnes had spent plenty of time teaching you how to learn, so much so that you could do it by heart at this point. You set the timer for four agonizing hours and then pranced over to Agnes, kneeling beside her chair to receive the occasional pet as you began your own little crochet project.

⋆🐾⋆

Simon had known the streets long before he knew the regimen of the military. When his mother had passed and his brother fell into drugs, he left. Hybrids like him weren’t treated too kindly, as he wasn’t easily trainable, he wasn’t as obedient and desperate to please like some of the others. Simon found spots in alleys, abandoned buildings, and the occasional hybrid-friendly motel if he saved enough money. But that never lasted long.

When the military found him, he’d had a run in with some old “tamers” that were trying to capture him, he had fought back and paid the consequence, long lashes scattering his arms and back. Price had taken him right under his wing. Teaching him how to be a proper K-9 unit, watching him surpass that and being let on the field without a handler. Being able to be trusted with gun. Everything was going great for Simon. Until the death of his best friend.

Soap’s passing had left such a vengeance in his heart that he was forced to be honorably discharged, they feared what a man like him would be able to do if set off. They had tried to get him housing but nowhere would take his breed. The only option being those damned trainers and underground hybrid fighting rings. Simon quickly realized he could make a quick buck by entering these fights. Learning that he didn’t need a handler when he already knew how to fight. He had plenty of offers, but always snarled at them, telling them to fuck off, that he knew what he was doing.

So, there he was, a world-class soldier now turned into a common stray. Resorting to illegal fighting and other ventures to line his pockets. There was a fresh bruise blooming under his eye, the last fight ending just a couple hours ago. Simon would find a place to sleep for a few hours before moving again, not wanting to stay in one place for too long.

When he woke up to the rain, it was just another day for him, though he noted he would have to stop by a laundromat for his current clothes, thankful for the extra outfit in his backpack. It was early in the morning when he was hopping the roofs of the city. Most of the lights down because of the weather. It wasn’t until he stopped to catch his breath that he noticed the house across the street.

A small baby blue house sat in his line of sight, a lamp illuminating a room on the second story. Having been perched at the far end of the building across the street, he crept closer to the edge. That’s when he saw it, or rather, you.

You were brushing your hair with a brush that looked straight out of the Victorian era, like you were a princess. You were sitting in front of your vanity in an outfit that had Simon snarling. The garters that were sitting on your thighs were things he wanted to take off with his own teeth. He sat there, staring at you as you brushed out your, oh. Oh. You were a little bunny hybrid. He hadn’t noticed your tail tucked under you before, or your floppy little ears until you pulled them out to brush. If your window wasn’t open, Simon would’ve started to howl, but for fear of scaring your owner, let alone you, he didn’t.

He watched as you shivered, ducked as you turned to look out the window. His call sign proving its significance at this moment, his ability to disappear within a blink of an eye. He peeked his head back up, watching as you left your room and bounced down the stairs, truly getting a grasp of how small you were. He groaned, long and heavy. You were perfect. Your skirt was tantalizingly short, bloomers covering what he wanted to see most.

When he lost sight of you in the living room? Well, it was time to move. He snuck down, thankful for the bushes that surrounded your house, and peered in. He noticed your hands moving animatedly until it actually hit him. You were signing. Your owner was deaf. Simon quickly thanked whatever God was out there that he had less of a chance of being caught if he was howling, less chance of getting caught when sneaking around. He watched as you went into the kitchen, moved to the window next to him so he could see you better.

Simon was aware this made him nothing short of a creep, but he was addicted to you. He watched as you stood atop your stool, watched as your body realized someone was staring at you while he ducked down. The thrill was enough to get his breathing ragged, grateful that there weren’t windows open next to him. Popping back up to watch you throw together the dough, hiding when you opened the window next to him. Staring intently as you waited right next to your owner, wanting it to be him giving you all the desperate pets you wanted. The smell of your baking was starting to become more prominent as you put the pastry in the oven.

He could smell the raspberry jam being spread on the tart, matching your cute little earrings that he was getting a close eye of. He watched as you sprinkled the coconut on the tart before starting on the custard. The smell was fantastic, and Simon had a pretty good idea of what you were making by now. A Manchester tart. He hadn’t tasted one in years. His mother had used to make them when he was younger, holiday dinners and such. He was damn near ecstatic when he realized that’s what you were making, already looking for the weak points in your house.

⋆🐾⋆

Waiting for the tart to cool was agonizing. No matter how much crocheting you could do or how much music you could listen to, you were moping around the house bored. Agnes took pity on you, looking down at you as you tapped your foot against the ground,

“Impatient, love?”

“I just know they’re going to taste so good!” You signed back, emphasizing your words by making fireworks with your hands. Agnes simply chuckled before ruffling your hair.

“Good things come to those who wait” Her famous line being signed as you went to lay back down, continuing your little project as you waited for the timer to go off.

When the timer finally pinged, you jumped to your feet. Grabbing the pie slicer, you cut the tart into 10 equal pieces, dishing out you and Agnes a piece. Grabbing your signature mini fork and handing Agnes her piece, you dug in.

Your teeth sunk into the tart, a happy noise coming out of your mouth, it was delicious. The buttery crust melted on your tongue, the tart raspberries pulling it together, and the coconut adding a hint of extra flavor. “It’s so good” You signed to Agnes as you continued to eat. Agnes simply smiled at you before grabbing a slice of her own, making her own noise of happiness when she sunk her teeth in.

“I think you’ve learned how to make it better than me.” Agnes signed back at you, a look of proudness on her face. You smiled, big and wide, happy to please your owner so much. This was the best Manchester tart you’ve ever made, and you knew it. Putting the rest in Tupperware and putting it into the fridge, you shut the door gently.

“I’m going to go take a bath!” You signed to Agnes before bouncing upstairs, opening the door to the bathroom. Opening the window a tad, you started to strip your outfit off, making sure you had 2 fluffy towels to welcome you when you got out. You started filling the tub with hot water, just a bit hotter than comfortable so it wouldn’t get cold too fast. The large claw-foot tub held you easily as you stepped foot in the hot water. You sighed heavily and swung your other foot over, gently setting yourself down.

You began your routine by shampooing your hair and ears, the strawberry shortcake scent starting to permeate the room. You lathered your hair until it was soapy, scrubbing at your ears gently. You went to rinse your hair and felt the familiar chill down your spine despite the water being hot. You wanted to close the window, worrying that that was the problem, but you know the room will get too steamy if you do, so you decide to leave it open.

You then moved onto conditioning your hair, the matching scent adding to the smell in the air. Your hair and fur instantly felt silkier, the bubbles now surrounding you. You grabbed your scrubbing brush and put your vanilla scented soap on it before beginning to scrub yourself down. Using your hands on more sensitive areas, you traced over the area lightly, mewling softly.

Draining the water and closing the window, you pattered over to your room. Putting on a cute little matching set with a sheer pink nightdress on top, you pranced around the house feeling like a princess. You skipped down the stairs to see Agnes. Who simply smiled at your appearance, your hair still drying.

“You look beautiful my dear.” You smiled right back at her, all teeth and giggles. You pranced over to the cabinets, once again grabbing the stool to grab one of your pink bowls with white bunnies all over it. You set the bowl on the counter before grabbing the tub of neapolitan ice cream and scooping 3 large spoonsful into your bowl. Putting the tub back before grabbing a spoon and glancing at what Agnes was watching

It was one of her soap operas, a tale of a hybrid and her handler who lived out in the country, escaping from the crime they were used to. In this particular episode, the avian hybrid was being approached by a large feline hybrid from the opposing organized crime group, you tried to avoid the screen, the scene starting to cause you anxiety.

“More sweets?” Agnes signed as she smiled warmly at you, making sure you knew she wasn’t being judgmental. You nodded, offering her a bite before trotting back upstairs.

Sitting on your bed watching tv, you were kicking your feet in the air as you shoveled spoonful after spoonful of ice cream into your mouth, letting out little mewls and moans at the delicious taste. The movie was just starting, an old silent fairytale that you had seen over and over. Despite the film being old, there were still hybrids in it, having them be the two helping hands that assisted the soon to be princess in getting ready. The scene made you happy, not often getting good representation in the media, hence why this was a comfort film.

But your mind started to become occupied with other things, the movie not holding your attention very well. You tried to write in your diary, writing about how you had baked for the day, coming up with ideas on how to modify the Manchester tart. You wrote about how nice your bath was, how you needed to get more bubble bath solution. You wrote about all the mundane things that happened throughout your day, talking about how you were excited for the summer trip only a few months away, really trying to wind down.

That was until a too familiar chill slipped down your spine again, and you had enough. You stomped overed to your window, thankful that Agnes wasn’t able to hear your steps, and glared out into the open sky.

“Will you stop that!” You said loudly, looking at the moon as the rain that had been pouring down all day continued.

⋆🐾⋆

Simon crept around the house for another hour, successfully finding the back door unlocked and a way to access the upper roof so he could peek into your window. He would come back once the Manchester tarts were done cooling off. For now, he had stuff to do. At least, that’s what he told himself as he tore his body away from the window.

He was a simple man; he had to make money somehow. At least, that’s what he told himself as he gave the next sorry soul another dose of whatever high they were after. If the military could see him now, they’d be ashamed, but pushing drugs was an easy and quick fix. It wasn’t weird to wear hoods that hid his ears and masks that obscured his face, especially when he was dealing with heat suppressants, some of the most illegal drugs on the market.

When hybrids first started appearing in the general market, heat and rut suppressants were encouraged, often being prescribed when a hybrids cycle was especially rough or aggressive. But as more side effects got added and other alternatives were created, they slowly withdrew from popularity, now only being used as heavy birth control. There were also multiple brands that were illegal, brands that Simon was all too familiar with.

While he also pushed “normal” drugs such as coke or weed, there was a much higher demand for suppressants. The more he sat and thought about his profession, the more he thought about you. Wondering if you even had a heat anymore, or if they took your glands away from you when you were deemed unfit to be anything more than a pet, yet another solution they had come up with.

Simon had been offered the surgery when he first entered the military, but he flat out refused. He didn’t like his ruts, as they often fell under the aggressive category, but he would often have someone accompany him or at least keep him locked up. He had found someone that he consistently spent his ruts with, and that’s when the military’s offer came to taunt him, asking after the death of—

He shook himself out of his train of thought, busying it with you again. How your room had been covered in bows and frills, pink and cream, florals, a princess’s dream. How although not in a great part of the city, your house was still perfectly put together. So fitting for the two of you. The yellow and white kitchen looked like it came straight out of a 1950’s nostalgic catalogue, and suddenly he was imagining himself behind you as you baked sweet treats for them.

He was yet again getting too far ahead of himself, hell, he didn’t even know your name. Strays like him weren’t welcome in homes like that, he didn’t have the manners to stay within that little home. He would sink his teeth in to rip and tear at the seams. He would destroy anything he touched. And with him not being a proper working dog, well he just couldn’t let you into this life. That’s when he decided he would stay far, far away from you. Watching you only when it was safe to do so.

After three agonizing hours of wandering around the city collecting clients and thinking to himself, Simon realized that he could return to your neighborhood, return to his bunny. Ducking into his position in the overgrown bushes, he watched as you placed the first bite into your mouth, hearing the faint sound of your overjoyed squeal at the success of the pie. Your voice was a melody he was already getting accustomed to, wanting to be the reason why those sweet sounds came out of your mouth.

He watched as you finished your slice of the tart before signing something to Agnes and bounding up the stairs. It was his time to strike. Pushing open the window his was ducked under, Simon hastily climbed into the kitchen, his hulking body making too much noise for his comfort, once again grateful for Agnes’ lack of hearing.  He quickly swung open the fridge door to grab one of the Tupperware containers before dipping right back outside.

It wasn’t until he made his wander into the backyard that he realized what you must have signed to Agnes. A bath. You were bathing yourself. He couldn’t see much from the backyard, thanking the cramped alleyways of Manchester allowing him to climb the roof of the house behind yours. Giving him a perfect view into— Oh.

The bathroom window was slightly ajar, enough for the faint smell of strawberries to drift over to Simon’s nose and fuck was he already planning how many pups he was going to give you, wondering if they would be little kits or pups, wondering how you would look so round and— Christ you had a way of doing that to him. Making him space out and dream about realities that could never happen with a mutt like him. Not someone so dirty. Nor someone so depraved.

He watched as you washed your hair, taking extra time with your ears, not being able to rip his eyes off you. He glanced away when you washed your body, still wanting to be respectful to you, but you made it difficult. The second he smelled that sweet vanilla body wash he came undone, writhing on the roof before tearing himself away from the picture of you, finally giving you privacy.

He walked back to the house that was across the street, perching on that roof as he ate the Manchester tart. He had to bite his tongue from letting out an overjoyed howl at the first bite, it instantly bringing him back to his childhood. He devoured it in only a couple bites, not having the patience to savor the treat. He would have to remind himself to take another slice tomorrow, before the two of you ate it all.

When he was finished with the tart, he glanced into your room, only to be shocked to see you sprawled out on your stomach in a sheer pink nightgown, kicking your feet back and forth as you ate your ice cream, one treat not enough for you. He growled quietly; you looked simply divine. Cream colored bikini cut underwear with rows of frills caressing your ass, a matching bralette holding in your pretty tits. The sheer nightgown did little to cover you, having little accents of cream-colored lace as well. It just barely covered your ass, leaving so little to the imagination that it had Simon fuming.

But then you were writing in that diary, and all Simon could think of was those pouty lips around him, how silky your hair would be around his calloused fingers, how soft your skin would be. And when you called out into the night? Trying to get his prying eyes off you? Well, he just couldn’t stop himself from cuming right into his hand, wishing he had cum into your pretty little mouth instead.

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taglist:

@hughjackmanadict

[rentenier3148]

I Tried Not to Love You

Pairing: Thunderbolts!Bucky x F!Reader

Summary: You're an ex Avenger turned legislative assistant at the same time your ex boyfriend turned congressman. After avoiding him for years, Bucky calls you one night and asks for help. When a black void threat plunges the team, not only are you fighting the world—but also the versions of yourself you tried to forget.

Word Count: ~3.5k

Warning: THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS, So... so much angst, ex boyfriend and congressman Bucky (yes, it needs it's own warning), PTSD with a dark past, mentions of violence but nothing graphic, no use of y/n, not proofread

A.N: I did say I want to write something for Loki which is in the works! But I had to get this out of my head after watching Thunderbolts. Requests are open! I'll gladly make more!

⚡︎ ⋯ ─── ★ ─── ⋯ ⚡︎

“Are you kidding me, Barnes?” You tell him frustrated over the phone pinching your nose bridge.

You’re sitting at home munching on some grapes you had in a bowl while you reviewed some pending bills waiting to be signed on your lap. The TV is on with a movie playing that you stopped paying attention to. It’s just some background noise to disturb the silence.

“I need someone who won’t flinch.” He said on the other line.

You haven’t talked to Bucky in years, you tried avoiding him after your break up. Until you found out he was running for congress at the same time you became a legislative assistant. Then the gala came that Valentina Allegra de Fontaine hosted is where you—unfortunately, but quite amusingly—encountered him again. 

⚡︎ ⋯ ─── ★ ─── ⋯ ⚡︎

The tux he wore made you gasp slightly and stand still for a good few seconds. He saw you eye him down and a small softness glazed over his face that nobody else would notice but you. Then you both looked away at the same time. 

When you stood before the big ‘A’ he walked beside you. Quite frankly you didn’t notice him while you were reminiscing of your past as an Avenger. Maybe your keen assassin senses were starting to lack, or maybe his super soldier stealth was too good for you to catch up. You two were always butting heads about that.

“Didn’t think I would see you here.” He told you softly, he glanced my way but I stayed looking at the ‘A’. He pulled you out of whatever memory was playing in your head, and now you’re back to reality.

“Only here for the hors d’oeuvres and also my boss wanted me to gather information on others for an impeachment of someone.” You said with a sigh, like you were exhausted.

Bucky’s ears perked up. “Impeachment of who?” He asked but quieter this time. Hiding the fact he already knows who the suspected person is.

“It’s none of your business. Besides, why are you talking to me, congressman Barnes?” I say finally looking at him. I furrow my eyebrows at him, hoping it would scare him off but to no avail.

“I can’t compliment you and your outfit tonight, sweetheart?” He smiles the smile that makes you cause a flutter in your stomach. You hated it.

“No.”

“Well, you look absolutely beautiful tonight.” 

You stayed quiet with the scowl on your face that’s contradicting with the blush slowly coming up your cheeks. 

“Look, I know we ended things on bad terms back then. But since we’re in the same job now—why not at least be a bit friendly?” Bucky asks gently this time. That smile is still plastered on his face.

“I'd be more friendly if I was your assistant, but I’m not—aren't I? Plus if I was, one of us would've been dead by now.” 

“I would love to be killed by you, doll.” He says playfully. I’ve had enough of his smile and petnames already.

“You’re infuriating.” You say as you quickly turn around and walk away. You didn’t notice the biggest breath of air he let out and his smile faltering as he remembers how much he loved you. 

⚡︎ ⋯ ─── ★ ─── ⋯ ⚡︎

“So… his name is Bob?” You ask. It almost sounds like a joke. On the other side of the line you hear a faint ‘Yeah, Bob.’ and a sigh from Bucky.

“... I’ll go.” You said after a moment. Bucky on the other side sort of hoped you didn’t agree so that you could stay safe. But he has no other option and really needed you to help him out.

“I’ll send you the coordinates so be prepared to leave soon,” he says until he goes softer, “thanks, by the way.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that. You both stayed on the line until you finally tell him that you’ll be on the way. You hang up on him and stare off at the TV huffing a big sigh. You cannot believe that you got yourself roped into this. But you needed a bit of excitement anyway. 

⚡︎ ⋯ ─── ★ ─── ⋯ ⚡︎

You are currently sitting in the back of a van on the way to the old Avengers tower—now called the Watchtower—where it held many fond and sad memories. You feel an ache in your stomach the closer you get. 

Bucky and a bigger and older—though probably not as old as Bucky—man who you met named Alexei sit in the front while Bucky drives. You can slightly overhear them talking about being super soldiers and what kind of ‘super serum’ each one got.

“I don't know. Regular? Hydra.”

It’s an awkward silence between everyone else that you briefly met. You try to look anywhere else but at the others, but you guess the ceiling is quite appealing.

“How do you know Bucky?” Asks the blonde short haired girl. Yelena you faintly remember. You were best friends with her sister, Natasha. Yelena sought comfort in you after she died trying to find some type of closure. But you don’t think you helped her out much with that, and you get the sense she still feels the same way.

“We fought together when we were in the Avengers.” You intentionally kept it short and sweet. Yelena slightly squints her eyes at you—probably sensing I’m hiding more. A lot more.

The man with an odd copycat uniform of Steve’s Captain America suit—John—barks a short chuckle with a small shake to his head. You’re confused by his reaction.

A soft hum of acknowledgement from the other girl in the much cooler uniform comes out of her—Ava you think—until you crash into the tower. 

You all get out of the van and start fighting the OXE group soldiers. 

Then someone’s voice overhead speaks. It’s Valentina. She says that she intentionally left the doors unlocked and was expecting us. You watch Bucky headbutt a soldier as they hit the ground, making you slightly jump at the sight.

⚡︎ ⋯ ─── ★ ─── ⋯ ⚡︎

Bucky’s arm is broken off as he is hauled to the wall. Bob—or Sentry as he is referred to now—sees you and comes towards you. You don’t know if it’s because of how terrified you are or because he is too quick, but he seemingly appears behind you and grabs your neck. Cutting off your oxygen supply and throws you hard against the wall making everything in your vision a bit blurry and feeling lightheaded.

You lift your head and see Bucky’s metal arm being picked up at the same time you are lifted by your feet and stumbling quickly to the elevator. The lights in the elevator are so bright that you don’t notice that Bucky was holding your side, gripping hard enough to not let you fall but supple enough to not hurt you further.

You all stumble out of the elevator and into the streets. The heated arguments commence between each other while you try your best to catch your breath. With your eyebrows knitted together, you take a look at Bucky as he reattaches his arm and does that swing thing to get it working again. 

How it still makes your stomach flutter, but your emotions are so strong that you don’t notice.

“Are you okay?” He says to me with concern.

“James, what the hell was that?” You scold. “I didn’t agree to this, I agreed to help you get Bob and take down Valentina. Not almost die.”

“I… didn’t think this would happen.” he looks at me solemnly, a hint of regret behind that sentence.

“Yeah, like how you didn’t think I would be hurt after what you said that night.” You are full on angry and seeing red at this point. 

It was bound to happen that you and him were to eventually work together. But not like this. You expected an office, writing memos and debate about the tax increase on produce. Quick, simple, and nothing more. This was more than that, and you were livid. Along with the past starting to resurface. 

“What does that have to do with what’s going on now?” His eyebrows are now furrowed. By this point, everyone else had already walked away, you both were the only ones left in front of the tower. 

“Oh, it has everything to do with what’s going on now. I really didn’t want to be part of this at all. And I really didn’t want to see you at the gala, much less have you talk to me. I wanted to never see you again because you let me go that night and I wanted so badly for you to come chasing after me… and yet you didn’t.”

A beat.

“I want to hate you so bad… but I can’t bring myself to do that sometimes…” you grew quieter with your head starting to hang low and your eyes staring at the concrete. 

Bucky stood there listening to me. His eyebrows slowly unfurrowing and a sigh comes out of his mouth. 

“I didn’t want to let you go that night. I couldn’t chase after you either, I thought that you didn’t want me around anymore. At the gala, you looked so stunning that I needed to talk to you. I couldn’t resist how beautiful you looked. I thought things were okay and that maybe I could fix things.” He spoke softly, as if he slightly raised his voice that you would disappear. 

“Well obviously they aren’t okay. Especially now.” You huffed out, you looked up at him to fully see his sorrowful expression.

A quiet wave came over the both of you.

“I’m sorry, doll.”

“A bit late for that.”

Then suddenly a suspicious overcast started looming over you. You both look up with a squint and see a floating black figure, It’s hard to recognize who it is at all. Even the outfit and cape the figure wore was pitch black.

You see the figure stretch out their arm and slowly a black starts emerging from the ground. The moment it touched a person, it was just a shadow.

A panic crashes into you as you see people running, cars are crashing into each other, and a helicopter crashes into a building. The rubble starts falling, you and Bucky immediately run to rescue any standbyers who were about to be crushed. 

Bucky saves an elderly couple by a car flying towards them with his metal arm sending the car flying over. I speed over to a little girl to grab her away from the falling rubble.

The blackness is starting to creep closer and closer.

From the corner of your eye, you see John trying to hold up a large piece of rubble from a mother and baby. You go over and try to hold it up as well, then everyone who had swarmed off came to help. Bucky was the last to join, you sensed his reluctance. 

After saving the mother and baby, the six of you head over to find cover under an alcove in a building. 

The blackness is quickly spreading, turning more and more people into shadows. You lean against the wall looking down at the ground, wondering what can be done. This is basically impossible, there’s no way to fight a thing that can turn people into shadows. 

You’re taken out of your trance to see Yelena step out to confront the being. You stare off in shock when she's turned into a shadow. Something hits you on the inside which makes you realize what needs to be done—or perhaps a guess at trying to fix it.

You step out and follow Yelena’s footsteps immediately turning into a shadow. 

You didn’t hear when Bucky cried out your name thinking that you had just made a suicidal decision.

⚡︎ ⋯ ─── ★ ─── ⋯ ⚡︎

You jolt awake, looking around your surroundings. You recognize it too well.

You’re standing in the warehouse of your first mission during your youth. 

The organization was a hybrid between the Red Room and Hydra, it essentially was the worst of the worst. Training you and rehabilitating you to become their most perfect assassin. Potentially becoming better than their Winter Soldier program and the girls who were trained in the Red Room.

You stood with a pistol in your hand that’s aimed at the temple of your older sister. You remember that your age didn’t hit double digits yet while your sister just turned ten. Your sister is on her knees with her hands tied behind your back. Your job was to execute your family to prevent you from being held back and expressing empathy.

Your sister pleaded your name and cried to let her go. You did not want to remember anything else so you merely closed your eyes as you heard the ‘bang’ that little you produced from the pistol. Your breathing staggers, then you open your eyes.

The same scene is repeated. You go over and grab hold of the gun to stop little you from doing anything else. 

“Don’t do this, please.” 

“You’re in my way, you need to leave!” Little you squeaks, quickly positioning the gun to your face and pulling the trigger.

You seemingly open your eyes again to turn and see the same scene repeat again. Before doing anything else, you see an open door with a white light emitting from the other side. You run towards it and step through.

As you step through, you open another door. You looked back and it looks like you stepped out of a small storage closet with the warehouse completely gone. You look around and it’s your room back at the Avengers compound. 

You see ahead of you the scene play out. Past you and past Bucky in the most heated argument you’ve ever had. You look outside the large panned windows of your room and recognize it’s night time. 

It’s that night.

“I can’t believe you did that shit! Are you too stuck in your Winter Soldier ways? Is that why you turned on me?” Past you scolded. 

“You know I had no choice, you would do the same if you were in my position. I know how blood thirsty you can be…” He says with a scowl. You notice the blood stained knuckles past Bucky has and past you’s hair was slightly damp from sweat and stress. 

“I’m not as bloody thirsty as you, Winter Soldier.” Past you leaned closer with her finger pointing into his chest.

“Winter Soldier or not, I would’ve murdered you on the spot if I wanted to… And I really did.” Past Bucky said with no remorse. Not even a change of expression, from your perspective you could see a hint of Winter Soldier peeking through his pupils. 

Past you was mortified at his emotionless retort. With a small breath in, she looked deep into his eyes and said those words that you—and possibly her—never thought you would ever say in your life. 

“I’m done with you.”

With that, past you storm out of your room slamming the door. You watch past Bucky bury his face in his and a long breath comes out of his mouth.

He didn’t go chasing after past you. 

A single tear also falls from your face. You feel a presence slightly behind you. You quickly turn around and see it’s Bucky.

Your Bucky. 

You can’t contain it anymore and the flood gates open. A hitch escapes from you from the sight of him. Bucky comes over and holds you so tight as if the entire world depended on it. 

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” Bucky whispers so gently. You cry into his chest, unable to produce any other word. But you feel like Bucky understood what you wanted to say.

The scene starts repeating itself. Neither of us could help to look at it again. It was already too painful to experience it a second time.

“I found a way outta here.” He tells you once you started to calm down. You look up at him and see a few tears falling from his eyes as he wipes yours away. His hand stays there a bit longer cupping your cheek and you both give in to a kiss.

It was deep and emotional that it almost made you cry again. You missed this so much, you’re certain that he does as well since his hands didn’t leave your face. Cradling you so soft and so warm, despite his cold vibranium hand and his flesh one. 

It feels like eternity when you both finally separate. Bucky’s hands graces down your neck to your shoulders, however the vibranium hand is the one that holds one of yours to guide you to the supposed exit out of this nightmarish memory. 

⚡︎ ⋯ ─── ★ ─── ⋯ ⚡︎

You wake up on the ground all sprawled out. Your head is pounding with a fading memory. The last thing you remember was holding back Bob from beating up his ‘Void’ with everyone else holding on as well. 

Also when we all reunited within the ‘Void’ someone asked about how our pasts were and Bucky said a sarcastic comment. “Oh I have a great past, so I’m totally fine.” or something along those lines with that stupid smirk he sometimes gives. 

You slowly gather yourself up and push your hair out of your face. You notice everyone else is getting up as well, then you see Bucky. You both embrace and lips crash. The moment was shortened when you overhear the others checking in on Bob who’s no longer the other ‘him’. 

Turns out, he doesn’t remember a thing and is just happy to know that he’s back with his friends.

You all spot Valentina Allegra de Fontaine getting up from the rubble. We walk up towards her as she tries to defend herself and walks behind a plastic sheet. From behind it, we are encountered with the press. The flashing lights and shuttering noise of the cameras overwhelm you that you don’t even hear Valentina introducing the lot of you as the ‘New Avengers’.

But you do see Yelena going up to Valentina and whisper something in her ear—a potential threat—as she falters slightly.

⚡︎ ⋯ ─── ★ ─── ⋯ ⚡︎

“I don’t think Avengers with a ‘Z’ is gonna cut it…” You say concerningly to Alexei.

“It’s so soft too! It feels like the bottom of a baby seal. ‘Lena touch it.” Alexei proclaims in his new ‘Avengerz’ jumpsuit as he walks to Yelena and stretches out his arm inviting her to feel the… softness.

“No. I don’t want to touch the bottom of a baby seal.” Yelena sternly says without looking up at him.

You sigh and lay back on the couch. You never would have thought that Sam—of all people—would have a lawsuit against us. He is Bucky’s closest confidant and someone he considers as family. You’re sure that Bucky feels a little backstabbed by all this.

You glance up at Bucky, his elbows resting on his knees as he looks down in deep thought. You place your hand on his lower back and draw circles of comfort on them. Bucky looks back at you and gives you a small kiss. This—unfortunately—catches the attention of Alexei.

“Wait, since when did you and him become… a thing?” He points between us trying to connect the pieces together.

“Since last year right? Our anniversary was a few months ago.” You say calmly while Bucky tries to—very poorly—hide his gentle smile.

“Months?!” Everyone says in unison. 

You draw an awkward smile at everyone with a prolonged “Yeah…” and a giggle right after.

“So there was more of a history between you two, huh?” Yelena confidently says. Her suspicions a year ago were proven correct.

“A lot more history.” Bucky quietly says looking back at you confirming his statement. You just softly nod back with a hum.

“Wonder when we’ll know the rest…” Ava says quietly.

Silence hits the room, until the suction of Bob’s milkshake ignites a lightbulb in your brain. You stand up immediately. 

“You know, if Sam is going to file a lawsuit against us he’s gonna have a good lawyer with him.”

Everyone chimes in, intrigued but confused at what you’re trying to say. 

You start pacing the room with a finger on your chin, Bucky could probably see the gears turning extra hard.

“That means we’re gonna need a lawyer.”

“Well duh, how else is this supposed to go down? We represent ourselves?” John retorts to you while fiddling with the unlabeled buttons of his chair.

“I think that wouldn’t go well if we did, you know… since my other ‘me’ did that last year… um, yeah.” Bob says out loud from his secluded spot, then returns to drinking his milkshake.

Your pacing stops as you look at everyone in the room, a devious smirk spreads your cheeks. Bucky also smirks, but you don’t think he has the same idea as you do.

“I know a lawyer… a really good lawyer…”

⚡︎ ⋯ ─── ★ ─── ⋯ ⚡︎

I really love all the engagement on my series so far! I promise I'll return to it soon. If you want to be tagged, just comment or pm me and I'll add you. Thanks for reading!! <3

[yvaineseleneposts]

would you ever write singlemom!reader x Nico or anyone? 🥹

A/N: I hope this does your request justice, because I have no clue how to write singlemom!reader or any motherly fics

Requested: yes by @one-sweet-gubler

Pairing: Nico Hischier x Singlemom!Reader

Words: 2k

Warning(s): none (I think)

You weren’t looking for anything — especially not love — when you agreed to take your six-year-old son, Jamie, to his first Devils game. Hockey had always been something your ex loved, but Jamie had taken to it in his own way. Obsessed with jersey numbers and face-offs, he chattered endlessly about his favourite player: Nico Hischier.

“I like him because he’s the captain,” Jamie said solemnly, clutching his tiny Hischier jersey, too big for him but worn constantly. “And because he always skates fast, even when he’s tired.”

You smiled and ruffled his hair. “Then let’s hope he scores tonight.”

You didn’t expect to catch Nico’s eye. You certainly didn’t expect him to catch yours — not in a sold-out Prudential Center, not from your modest seats near the glass. But in the third period, after a hard-won goal, he skated by, met your gaze — and lingered.

Maybe it was just coincidence.

Except… after the game, a staff member tapped your shoulder and said, “Nico Hischier asked if you and your son would like to come down to meet him.”

You blinked. “Sorry, what?”

Jamie was beaming. You were stunned. And Nico? He was… surprisingly shy.

“Hey, buddy,” he said, crouching to Jamie’s height. “Nice jersey.”

Jamie couldn’t speak, just nodded, eyes wide.

Nico grinned, then looked up at you. “I hope this isn’t weird. I just—saw you in the stands. Thought your son might like this.” He handed Jamie a signed puck. “And maybe… I thought I’d like to say hi.”

You blinked again, heat rushing to your cheeks. “That’s very kind of you. He’s a big fan.”

“I can tell.” Nico’s voice softened. “And you?”

“I’m… more of a coffee fan,” you replied, half-joking. “But I’m warming up to hockey.”

He laughed, that boyish, crooked smile melting something in you you hadn’t realized was still frozen. “Maybe I could help with that. If you ever want to… grab that coffee.”

You hesitated. It had been a long time. You weren’t sure you remembered how to do this. But then you glanced at Jamie — who was still talking Nico’s ear off now — and realized you were already doing the hardest job in the world. Maybe you deserved something soft. Something sweet.

You nodded. “Okay. But only if you promise not to quiz me on power plays.”

“No promises,” he grinned.

Nico never rushed you. Never made you feel like your son was an obstacle. In fact, half your “dates” took place at playgrounds or pizza joints with booster seats. And somehow, he never minded.

“I like this,” he said once, after helping Jamie tie his skates. “It’s real.”

You weren’t used to real. But you were starting to crave it.

He kissed you on a Thursday. Lightly. Like a question. And for the first time in years, you said yes.

It had been three months since Nico kissed you. Three months since he'd officially become part of your orbit — not just yours, but Jamie’s too.

You'd worried, in the quiet of night, whether this was fair to Nico. Whether the weight of loving you and your child would be too heavy for someone with skates instead of roots.

But he never gave you reason to doubt. He showed up with hockey cards and coffee, sat through school plays with his arm around your shoulders, and texted you photos of Jamie napping in his lap after “movie night with the boys.”

So when he asked, "Will you come to the team family skate?" — it felt more like a milestone than an invitation.

You hesitated. “Won’t that be weird? I’m not a wife or a fiancée or—”

“You’re my person,” he said, voice low and sure. “That’s all anyone needs to know.”

The rink felt different when it wasn’t packed with roaring fans. Empty stands. Warm smiles. Players skating with toddlers holding onto their sticks for balance, wives wrapped in puffer coats, babies strapped to chests.

Nico had his hand wrapped around yours, Jamie bouncing beside him in his tiny Devils beanie.

“Are you sure you can skate?” Nico teased as you laced up your borrowed skates on the bench.

“Barely,” you muttered. “If I fall, you’re catching me.”

“Always,” he said, eyes soft.

You didn’t fall — not at first. You wobbled, held onto his arm like a lifeline. Jamie took to the ice like he was born for it, zig-zagging with more confidence than grace.

“You look good out here,” Nico said, smiling.

You raised a brow. “I look terrified.”

“Still good,” he murmured, leaning closer, brushing his lips against your cheek — public, tender, intentional. Like he wanted everyone to see.

That part surprised you most: how proud he was. How openly he loved you.

A woman skated by and gave you a warm smile. “You must be Nico’s girl. He talks about you all the time.”

Your cheeks flushed. “Good things, I hope?”

“The best. And that little guy?” She nodded toward Jamie. “Nico already calls him his shadow.”

Later, Nico was skating backwards, arms open, coaxing Jamie forward. “Come on, bud, bend your knees! I’ve got you!”

Jamie grinned, wobbled, then threw himself forward — Nico caught him, lifting him like he weighed nothing.

You pressed a hand to your mouth, watching them. A lump formed in your throat, thick and unfamiliar. Was it happiness? Relief? Hope?

He skated over with Jamie on his hip. “He says he wants to be captain when he grows up.”

You laughed, brushing snowflakes from Jamie’s beanie. “Ambitious.”

“He’s got good taste.” Nico looked at you — really looked. “So do I.”

Later, in the locker room hallway, Jamie sat sipping hot chocolate, wrapped in Nico’s extra hoodie that swallowed him whole.

Nico took your hand. “You okay?”

You nodded. “More than okay.”

He exhaled, nervous now. “I know this isn’t how most things start. But I’m not going anywhere. I want this—” he gestured toward the two of you, “—you, him, all of it.”

Your voice was barely a whisper. “Even the hard parts?”

“Especially those,” he said, stepping closer. “I want to be the guy who shows up. Always.”

You kissed him. And this time, it wasn’t soft or uncertain. It was a yes. A promise.

That night, as Jamie fell asleep in the car, Nico glanced in the rearview mirror and smiled.

“What?” you asked.

He shrugged. “Just thinking… he called me ‘my Nico’ today. Not Mr. Hischier. Not ‘the hockey guy.’ Just… mine.”

You rested your hand on his. “You are.”

Jamie’s cheeks were flushed, curls poking out from beneath his new youth team helmet. He skated wobbly but determined toward the bench, his jersey hanging off him like he was still growing into it — which he was. The name on the back read YourLastName — but Nico had joked they’d need to stitch Hischier underneath one day too.

“Nice hustle, bud!” Nico called out, kneeling on the ice in his Devils tracksuit, whistle hanging from his neck.

Jamie beamed.

You sat in the stands, watching the exchange. There was something deeply full-circle about it: Nico guiding Jamie through drills the same way he once coaxed him across the family skate rink months ago. Only now, there were other kids, other parents. And yet somehow, Nico made Jamie feel like the center of it all.

“He’s so patient with them,” one mom beside you said, watching Nico tap a kid’s stick and offer a quiet high-five. “He doesn’t act like he’s a star.”

You smiled softly. “He doesn’t have to act. That’s just who he is.”

But the season brought new challenges too.

Road trips got longer. Away games meant silence in group chats and phone calls that dropped before bedtime.

One night, Jamie padded into the living room in his pyjamas, clutching the stuffed hockey puck Nico had won him at a carnival.

“Is Nico coming home tomorrow?”

You hesitated. “Not tomorrow, buddy. Couple more days.”

Jamie’s lower lip trembled, but he nodded. “I just miss him.”

You pulled him into your lap, his weight familiar and comforting. “Me too.”

You hadn’t meant to say it. But it was true. When Nico was gone, it was like a light dimmed in your home — like something was always slightly off. You used to be good at being alone. You had to be. But now… now it just felt empty.

Two days later, Nico showed up with coffee and that smile. You opened the door before he knocked.

“Hi,” he said, soft and tired from travel.

“Hi,” you said back, trying not to launch yourself at him — and failing.

He wrapped his arms around you, face tucked into your neck. “Missed you.”

You closed your eyes. “Me too.”

Jamie came flying down the hallway, nearly skidding in his socks. “NICO!”

That was the best part — watching Nico drop his bag and scoop Jamie up like nothing else mattered. And maybe that was when it clicked. He was part of this life. Your life. Not just on weekends. Not just when the schedule allowed. He was woven into the fabric now.

Later that night, with Jamie asleep and your couch dimly lit by a single lamp, you curled into Nico’s side, finally speaking the truth that had been pressing on your chest for weeks.

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to be two people,” you said quietly. “Nico the boyfriend. Nico the NHL captain.”

He turned to you, expression soft. “I’m not trying to be two people.”

“But you are doing it all,” you whispered. “And I know that’s not easy. But I also know… I want you here more. In my life. In Jamie’s life. Not just for skates and sleepovers and Sunday dinners.”

He looked at you then — really looked. Like your words had landed exactly where they needed to.

“I want that too,” he said, voice low. “I already feel like I live half here anyway.”

You gave a quiet laugh. “Then maybe it’s time we stop doing halves.”

He leaned forward, forehead against yours. “You mean it?”

You nodded. “Come home, Nico. For real.”

There was a beat. Then his hand slipped into yours, anchoring you.

“I was just waiting for you to say that.”

The next morning, Jamie bounded into the kitchen to find Nico making pancakes in his socks, whistling some cheesy pop song.

“You stayed over!” Jamie grinned, eyes wide.

Nico grinned back. “Think your mom’s gonna let me stay a lot more.”

Jamie didn’t even blink. “Good. You make better eggs anyway.”

[cate-planchette]

Okay, well in correspondence: I don't have personal experience of sex work, but I have family members and friends who have. So I'm not completely without understanding here. I've also had family experience of DV, and volunteering in that area.

If you have experience around working with victims of DV or the sex industry, you must know that there are narcissistic victims who think it shouldn't have happened to them, they shouldn't be included with the other losers, and will bully any other victims they're housed with. Bullying is a huge problem within DV shelters. Bullying is also a problem within sex work.

Often they are aggressive women who aren't trapped by economic circumstance but will have put themselves in a bad situation because they thought having the most aggressive husband or boyfriend would pay off until he started to hit them instead of the other people. Often they think that having the biggest baddest boyfriend will keep them safe, due to a traumatic family history, and that if they act right he won't hit them, until he does. And then they end up in the shelter and bully the non-aggressive women who deserve bullying because they're weak, not like her. I have met women like this.

Do you think we should just tolerate the bullying as it comes out of trauma even though it disadvantages the other victims we're also trying to help? Shelters have rules for a reason.

They are not the 'whore' part of a madonna vs whore dynamic I have, they're just shitty humans who will, if you let them, suck up all the time and attention you have at the expense of equally traumatised women who aren't like that.

Is there any point where I am 'allowed' to draw a line and judge that a woman put herself in the situation she's in, the situation being asked to leave the fucking shelter, even if there are also external factors to why she ended up there?

If feminism is the shelter, is it allowed to have rules about whether you have to consider the other women around you?

I think Mia Khalifa is someone who thought she could benefit from a pre-existing patriarchal system, and was willing to make that choice regardless of what she was enabling in choosing to do so. I already made the comparison point about Dworkin's Right Wing Women.

If you spend time around trauma victims, and see how many trauma victims don't choose to hurt someone else to make themselves feel better, how can you just write off every decision that a woman makes that hurts other women as a result of trauma? Women need to be held accountable for their decisions too. To act like these women don't exist is honestly acting like women can't behave like humans, because women also suck sometimes.

As radfems I think we need to be more comfortable calling Liberal sex worker women class traitors.

Obviously I'm not speaking about women who've been trafficked or groomed into the industry, but the women who have made an informed choice to join the industry from a privileged position for personal profit whilst actively contributing towards women's sexual objectification.

I saw an tiktok about a woman who was disciplined in the workplace for wearing an outfit that was "inappropriate". The picture displayed an attractive woman in her mid twenties with a curvaceous figure, the dress itself while form fitting was full coverage. I've experienced a similar situation so I had a lot of sympathy.

And yet when I clicked on her tiktok to see if there were updates about the situation, I saw multiple videos of her being "confronted" by a voiceless HR woman, in outfits that got progressively more revealing. It turned out this woman was an OnlyFans creator who had fabricated this situation to drive traffic to her page, showed videos of her in lingerie in her "office" and videos of her being groped at her desk by a faceless male "coworker." Her office job was nothing more than set dressing for her to film her adult content. Yet she performed as a woman experiencing sexual harassment and discrimination by her workplace, something that truly happens to millions of women at some point in their careers.

This is just one of many examples of sex workers fetishising real life situations that happen to women. There are many more examples of women who style themselves to emulate teenagers or children, who make content simulating being assaulted or raped.

And yet I'm supposed to support these women? The woman who deliberately talk over impoverished trafficked women, and use their platforms to campaign against regulations such as the Nordic model that would make the industry safer because it would impact their revenue? The women who tout the industry as being empowering and glamorous to teenage girls, and encourage them to join? (Don't forget that OnlyFans has an affiliate programme where you can sign up under another creator while they gain a percentage of your earnings, similar to an MLM.)

I'm tired of saying I'm against the industry but supportive of sex workers. I am supportive of women and girls who are victims of the industry but I refuse to pander to women who will gleefully participate in an industry that dehumanises all women whilst using feminism as a get out of jail free card.

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Didn’t Know, But Never Forgot

Pairing: Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x Reader

Warnings: One night stand, implied smut (fade to black), alcohol, strong emotions, surprise baby, heartbreak, soft reunion

Author's Note: I had read a fanfiction that inspired me to write this, but it was with Simon instead I can’t remember who it was that wrote the fanfiction of someone knows what fanfiction I’m talking about. Please go ahead and tag the person in the comments or find the fanfiction and link in the comments or DM it to me so I can add it on here!

Summary: Soap never expected to see you again after your one-night stand. He definitely didn’t expect to see you holding a baby… that looks just like him.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The door chimed. Warm air rushed out to meet him as Johnny stepped inside. Soft jazz played over low conversation, the smell of espresso thick in the air. He had no reason to be here—just a random stop on a morning walk during leave.

But fate had a cruel sense of humor.

Because there you were.

By the window, sunlight haloing your face. Your hair was a little longer, your features more mature, more tired—but you were still you.

And in your arms… was a baby.

His heart stalled.

You looked up. Eyes met. Your smile faltered. And the moment cracked like glass.

Flashback – That Night, 10 Months Ago

The bar was dim, noisy, crowded. One of those places with sticky floors, neon signs, and cheap whiskey. Johnny had come out with Gaz and a few others, blowing off steam before deployment.

He hadn’t expected to meet anyone. He’d told himself he wouldn’t.

But then you laughed.

It cut through the noise like a melody—full, free, just drunk enough to be careless. You stood at the far end of the bar, holding a drink with a cherry in it, talking with friends. And when your eyes met his, it wasn’t shy. It was bold. Curious.

He gave a crooked smile. You raised a brow, challenging.

He made the first move.

"Can I buy you another one of those?" he asked, nodding to your glass.

"Only if you promise to tell me what kind of accent that is," you said, smirking.

The conversation flowed like whiskey. You were sharp. Funny. Gorgeous in that magnetic, too-good-to-be-real way. He couldn’t stop looking at your lips. You told him your name—he gave you “Johnny.” Not “Soap.” Not MacTavish. Just Johnny.

Hours blurred.

Laughter in a booth. Sharing fries. Sitting too close. His knee brushed yours—and neither of you moved away.

One drink turned into two.

And suddenly, you were in his lap in the backseat of a cab, fingers tangled in his short hair, your lips tasting like cherry and sin.

Flashback – The Apartment

He remembered your place. Tiny, warm, a little cluttered. You kicked off your shoes and pulled him inside like gravity itself was on your side.

Clothes scattered. Breathless laughter. Kisses that landed too hard.

In your bed, he memorized every inch of your skin like he was afraid it would vanish by morning. It wasn’t just sex. Not with the way you held him afterward—or the way he couldn’t stop brushing your hair back, staring at you like he’d found something he didn’t know he needed.

He’d almost told you.

Almost said, I’m leaving tomorrow. I want to stay. I wish I met you sooner.

But you were asleep.

And before dawn, he slipped out.

A note on your counter: Didn’t want to wake you. You were perfect. — J

Back to Present – The Café

“I didn’t know how to reach you,” you said quietly. “Didn’t know if I should.”

He swallowed. “I would’ve come back if I’d known.”

“I didn’t even find your last name until after she was born,” you said, glancing down at the baby. “Then I found some records. Photos. Your name came up next to Soap. That’s when I figured it out.”

His gut clenched. “Christ…”

“I wasn’t going to track you down and throw a baby in your arms, Johnny. I just wanted to know. For her. For me.”

You looked away then, blinking fast. “You left before I woke up. I thought it was just one night to you.”

“It wasn’t,” he said softly.

You didn’t respond.

Isla—that’s what you called her—babbled gently, nestled in your arms. Johnny looked at her like she was made of glass and gold. All the fear, the guilt, the regret—it swirled inside him, heavy and choking.

“I want to hold her,” he said.

You blinked, surprised. “Are you sure?”

He nodded. “I need to.”

You carefully transferred her into his arms. He held her like she was the first good thing he’d ever touched.

“Hey, wee one,” he whispered, eyes wide. “I’m your da.”

Isla cooed, reaching up and catching a fistful of his hoodie.

He laughed, startled and breathless. “You’ve got a grip on you already, don’t ya?”

You smiled for the first time in the conversation—soft, but real. “She does that when she likes someone.”

“She likes me?” he asked, and even he could hear the wobble in his voice.

You nodded. “She should. You’re her father.”

Johnny swallowed, emotion thick in his throat. “I want to be here now. In her life. In yours. If you’ll let me.”

You looked at him for a long, long time.

“She deserves to know her dad,” you finally whispered. “And… I think you deserve to know her too.”

Johnny reached across the table with one hand, gently resting it over yours.

“I’ve been to hell and back, lass. Thought I’d lost the only good thing I ever stumbled into. But you’re here. And she’s here. I won’t take that for granted.”

You blinked back tears. “Then stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Flashback – One Week Before This Day

Johnny stood in front of your building. He’d been back from deployment for a few days, and the memory of your face wouldn’t leave him alone. He didn’t even know what he was searching for—maybe closure. Maybe hope.

But he hadn’t knocked.

Not yet.

Now, sitting across from you, with his daughter in his arms, he silently promised he’d never hesitate again.

The Park, Later That Day

The three of you sat on a bench under the first blue sky of spring.

Isla giggled as Johnny held her above his head, making silly faces. You watched him, hand wrapped around a coffee cup, heart in your throat.

He looked over at you.

“What?”

“You’re good with her.”

He shrugged with a grin. “She’s brilliant. Gets it from her mum.”

You flushed. “She’s stubborn. Gets that from her dad.”

You sat in silence for a beat.

Then he leaned toward you and whispered, “Do I get a second date? One that doesn’t end in deployment?”

You bit your lip. “Only if you promise to stay for breakfast this time.”

He smiled. And for the first time in months—you smiled too.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[mysticalcrowntyrant]

Hello hello! I’ve been OBSESSED with your writing and it’s so good, my head goes BRR

I wonder if it would be okay if perhaps you could do a people pleaser MC who’s essentially very dedicated to filling tasks or requests, both inside and outside of work, even in the personal life. The Yandere essentially catches wind of it after seeing just how far the lengths go and manipulates it both in their favor while also encouraging rest and recharging. A double edged sword where the Yandere wants the pleasing to be for them but also let darling have a recharge.

Sorry this took me so long!!

You were, by all outward appearances, the dream employee, the ideal friend, the model partner—even to people you weren’t actually dating. If someone asked for help moving apartments, you showed up an hour early with coffee. If a coworker missed a deadline, you stayed late and filed the report without asking for credit. If a neighbor's dog needed walking, you rearranged your schedule, never complained, and even picked up specialty treats on the way. Your phone was a cascade of unread messages, all asking something of you, and you answered every single one. Always.

There was something soothing in it, the predictability of being needed. It gave your life shape, form, importance. A purpose. Every "thank you" was a small reassurance that you hadn’t wasted your day, hadn’t wasted yourself.

But of course, it took its toll.

You were always tired. Not the kind of tired that a nap or a weekend could fix, but the bone-deep fatigue that creeps in when you never say no, when your worth becomes synonymous with service. Your shoulders slumped even when you smiled. Your phone vibrated, and you flinched. Your apartment was clean—but only after a friend mentioned they'd be stopping by.

They noticed it first. They noticed you first, really. They watched you refill someone’s coffee at work like it was second nature. Noticed how your fingers trembled slightly as you massaged your temple while answering an eighth back-to-back favor over text. You weren’t doing it for attention. That’s what made it so genuine. That’s what made you so dangerous to yourself—and so irresistible.

At first, they simply made themselves part of the background. A supportive coworker, an innocuous neighbor, maybe a classmate if you were in school. They inserted themselves like a bookmark into your day, gently noting which requests you accepted, which ones you stumbled under, and—more importantly—which ones you never denied.

It became a game, of sorts.

"Hey, can you help me carry this box?"

Of course you did.

"Would you mind reviewing my proposal tonight?"

No problem. Midnight was still technically today.

But one day, they broke the rhythm.

"You’ve done so much for everyone else lately. I want you to rest tonight. Just rest. For me."

And of course, you did. For the first time, you took a long bath instead of answering emails. Ate dinner while it was still warm. Slept without an alarm.

The next morning, they smiled sweetly. "See? Doesn’t that feel better? You're no good to anyone burnt out. Least of all to me."

That was the start of the double-edged sword.

You, ever the pleaser, couldn’t deny the earnest tone, couldn’t resist the gentle push to care for yourself—especially not when it was framed as another form of service. Rest, because I want you to be okay. Because I need you to be strong—for me.

And so, the manipulation deepened. They made themselves the center of your orbit, cloaking control in kindness.

"Skip helping with the community cleanup. They won’t appreciate it like I do."

"Don’t exhaust yourself on their problems. Let them fail. I’d never let you drown like that."

"You don’t need to fix everything. Just be mine. Be well. Be whole. That’s what I want."

So you began to withdraw—gently, quietly—from the world. Your phone still buzzed, but you turned it face-down. You still smiled, but mostly at them. Because suddenly, pleasing someone didn’t hurt. It didn’t leave you hollow. It left you seen. Valued. Loved.

Of course, you didn’t see the subtle tracking apps, the ghosted messages they intercepted, the small favors "accidentally" sabotaged so others would stop relying on you. You didn’t question why you had more free time lately—or why it was always spent under their watchful eye.

And them? They were content, in a twisted, possessive way. Because they encouraged the rest. They were a good influence. They made you healthy again. But only in their arms, only in their world.

"You don’t have to be everything for everyone. Just be mine. That’s enough."

And you, who had never felt like enough, finally believed it.

Masterlist

[benispunk]

Safety Net

logan howlett x reader

Logan experiences a rage episode.

A/N: hello everyone!!!! am I back??? well...I guess we can kinda say that? So, life hasn't been good, like, at all, and a whileeee ago I saw a post about mental health and Logan and I saw the "rage episodes" part and I cannot find this post anymore which is killing me ughhhh but ANYWAY, this is my rendition of a rage episode. this was very therapeutic to write because of the things I went through recently and over the past few years as I have witnessed someone in my family have a rage episode like the one depicted in this fic. I really hope I do not offend anyone with this??? cause this is based on personal memory and also I've done a lot of research on it and as I said, I felt lots of different emotions while writing this....anyway...I hope you have a good time?? reading this or like...you didn't choke on your tears or whatever. my exams are ALMOST over which means....more fics soon?? see you!!

Masterlist

Logan never thought he’d make it this far.

He wasn’t the type for relationships—not real ones, not the kind that lasted. The ones he’d had before were brief, messy, and built on things that never stuck. But Y/N was different. She didn’t just put up with him; she understood him in ways that no one ever had. And somehow, despite everything, she was still here.

He didn’t say it much—not in words, anyway—but he cared about her. More than he should. More than he knew how to handle. He’d show it in other ways instead. Walking her home when she worked late. Holding her a little tighter in his sleep when he thought she wouldn’t notice. Memorizing the way she took her coffee, the songs she hummed under her breath, the way her nose scrunched up when she was thinking.

She saw through all of it.

"You’re not as grumpy as you think you are," she’d teased him once, her fingers lazily tracing patterns on his forearm.

He’d just snorted, shaking his head. "You sure about that?"

"Mhm. You just pretend to be."

And maybe she was right. Maybe, with her, he didn’t feel the need to pretend so much.

Which is why, one night, tangled up together in her apartment, she had said something that stuck with him.

"I was thinking… maybe one day, we could live together."

It wasn’t a question, not really. Just an idea, something she had tossed out so casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world. But Logan had frozen for just a second too long, and she must have noticed because she quickly added, "Not now, obviously. Just, you know… one day. If you’d want that."

He forced himself to relax, to keep his voice even. "Yeah… someday."

That had been enough for her. She had smiled, kissed him, and let it go.

But he didn’t.

It stayed with him, gnawed at him from the inside out. Someday. What did that even mean? A month? A year? What if she asked again? What if she expected something from him?

What if he said yes and fucked everything up?

At first, he managed to push the thought aside.

Days passed, and nothing changed. They still met up when they could, still spent nights tangled in each other’s arms, still fell into that easy rhythm that had become so natural.

But then, the idea started sticking.

It crept up in quiet moments—when he was alone in his apartment, staring at the ceiling. When Y/N texted him goodnight, and he imagined what it would be like if she was just… there.

And that’s when it started. The overthinking. The doubts. The realization of everything that could go wrong.

Logan had never had anything that lasted. Not a home. Not a real future. Not someone who stayed. And if he let himself believe—even for a second—that this could work, that he could have something good, then he’d just be setting himself up for the inevitable.

Because eventually, he would hurt her.

Not on purpose. Never on purpose. But he knew himself. He knew what he was.

His nightmares alone were enough proof of that.

The thought of waking up next to her after one of those nights—claws unsheathed, sheets shredded, breath ragged—made his stomach twist. What if he lashed out? What if she got caught in it?

What if one of his rage episodes got out of hand?

No.

He couldn’t let that happen.

So when months later she asked about it again—actually asked—he hesitated.

They were sitting on her couch, her legs thrown over his lap, a movie playing in the background. It was the kind of easy, quiet moment that usually put him at ease. But this time, he could feel her looking at him, like she was weighing her words before speaking.

"You never really answered me before," she said finally. "Do you actually want us to live together?"

Logan’s jaw tightened. He could hear the uncertainty in her voice, like she was scared of his answer.

He should have told her the truth. That it had been eating him alive for months. That he wanted to say yes, but his fear screamed louder than anything else.

Instead, he said, "I just need some time to think about it."

Y/N’s expression didn’t change. She just nodded slowly, studying him in that way that made his skin itch.

"Okay," she said, like she didn’t believe him.

And then she squeezed his hand. Just briefly. A small, warm reassurance.

But to Logan, it didn’t change anything.

He could only see what he thought was disappointment behind her understanding. He convinced himself she was just trying to be strong about it, pretending it didn’t hurt her when really, she was just waiting for him to figure himself out.

The guilt settled in his chest, heavy and suffocating.

That’s how it started.

The beginning is always subtle. He stayed out later, made excuses when she asked to meet up. His texts became shorter, more infrequent. He spent more time alone in his apartment, staring at the walls, trapped inside his own head.

And the longer it went on, the worse it got.

Logan convinced himself it was nothing. He was just thinking. That’s all.

But the thoughts never stopped.

Every time Y/N messaged him, guilt curled in his stomach like a sickness. He’d stare at his phone for minutes at a time, fingers hovering over the keyboard, before locking the screen and tossing it onto the couch.

He didn’t want to ignore her. But if he answered, he’d have to talk, and if he talked, she’d hear it in his voice—how torn he was, how he could barely keep himself together. And he couldn’t let that happen.

So he let the distance grow.

He told himself it was for her own good. That he was doing her a favor.

That lie worked for about a week.

Then came the restlessness.

The apartment, always too small, started feeling like a cage. Logan found himself pacing the length of it, muscles coiled so tight they ached. He tried training to burn it off—push-ups until his arms gave out, running until he couldn't feel his legs—but it didn’t help.

The frustration built like pressure under his skin, like a ticking bomb he couldn’t disarm.

And worst of all, he felt it creeping up—an old, familiar feeling, something he’d kept at bay for months.

The anger.

It started small. A twitch in his fingers. A tightness in his jaw. A heat in his chest that never fully went away.

The second week, it got worse.

His hands trembled when he wasn’t paying attention. His breathing came too fast, too shallow, like something was crawling under his skin. He felt his temper snap quicker, his patience wear thinner.

And then, one morning, he caught his reflection in the bathroom mirror and barely recognized himself.

Dark circles burned under his eyes. His face was drawn, sharp, his shoulders tense. He looked haunted.

It was getting bad. Too bad.

He needed to see Y/N.

The thought hit him like a slap. His first instinct was to shove it down, bury it under everything else, but it wouldn’t leave.

He missed her. But worse than that—he needed her.

And that terrified him more than anything.

Because what if he showed up, and she looked at him the way he looked at himself?

What if she finally saw him for what he really was?

A monster. A wreck. A lost cause.

The fear made his blood run cold.

The first punch isn’t planned.

One second, he’s gripping the sink, breath ragged, jaw locked so tight it aches. The next, his fist slams into the mirror with a force that shatters it instantly.

Glass rains down like ice. Tiny shards bite into his knuckles, but he barely feels it.

His chest heaves. His heartbeat pounds against his ribs. He stares at his own fractured reflection—his face split into a dozen broken pieces, each one warped, wrong.

It’s not enough.

The rage claws higher, burning his veins, crushing his ribs. He steps back, breathing sharp and uneven. He moves away from the bathroom, into his small living room. And then he snaps.

The lamp goes flying first. It crashes against the far wall, exploding into pieces. The chair follows. He barely registers the sound it makes as it shatters.

His claws threaten to unsheathe, but he fights it—barely.

Instead, he tears through the apartment with nothing but his hands.

The table gets overturned. Books get ripped from shelves. His dresser—too heavy, too solid—takes three violent attempts before it topples over with a thunderous crack.

Still, it’s not enough.

He needs to break something. To hurt something. To feel it.

His breathing is ragged, his vision tunneling. His hands tangle in his own hair, yanking, as if he could pull himself out of his own skin.

The storm inside him is suffocating.

It doesn’t stop until there’s nothing left standing.

And then, silence.

His shoulders tremble. His hands curl into fists at his sides, still shaking.

He looks around, blinking through the haze, and finally sees it—

The wreckage.

His apartment is destroyed.

He stares, breath coming too fast, too shallow. His head is spinning. His chest aches.

What have I done?

The thought slams into him, knocking the air from his lungs.

He wants to scream. To punch something again. To disappear.

And then—

A soft knock.

His stomach drops.

He goes rigid, pulse hammering in his ears. He barely has time to process before her voice follows—gentle, uncertain.

"Logan?"

No. No, no, no.

She can’t be here. Not now. Not when the air still vibrates with rage. Not when his body still hums with it.

He staggers back, breath shaking, trying to make sense of anything.

She knocks again. "I know you’re here."

Panic surges through him.

He grips the edge of the still standing counter, heart hammering. Think. Think.

But his mind is blank.

She can’t see this. She can’t see him.

But she’s already here.

And it’s too late.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. If he stays completely still, maybe she’ll leave. Maybe she’ll assume he’s out and walk away.

But then—

His phone rings.

The sound shatters the silence like a gunshot.

His stomach drops.

Shit.

His body jolts into motion, eyes darting wildly through the wreckage. Where the hell is it? He moves without thinking, shoving aside broken furniture, tossing clothes and debris out of the way. His hands are unsteady, frantic, as he digs through the mess.

The ringing continues.

Come on, come on—

His fingers finally close around the device, and he scrambles to turn it off, but—

The damage is done.

Outside, Y/N goes silent.

A few seconds pass, then—

"...Logan?" Her voice is softer now. Knowing.

His chest tightens.

He grips the phone so hard it creaks in his hand. His breathing is too loud, his pulse a hammer against his skull.

She knows.

"Logan, open the door."

No. No, no, she can’t.

"You can’t come in," he blurts out, his voice hoarse. He clears his throat, tries to steady himself, but it’s useless. His hands are still shaking. His entire body is.

"Please." Her voice is so gentle it cuts through him like a blade.

"Just—just go home, alright?" He forces the words out, presses his back against the door like he can physically hold her out. "I’m fine."

He knows how it sounds. Knows she doesn’t believe it.

"Logan…"

There’s something in her tone—something aching—that makes his stomach twist.

"You’re not fine," she says, quiet but firm. "Please. Just let me in."

He squeezes his eyes shut. His head is spinning.

She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t see this.

But she is.

And deep down, he knows. She’s the better option. She always has been. And with a sharp breath, his fingers fumble with the lock.

The second it clicks, the door opens.

And Y/N steps inside.

The air was thick with dust and the sharp scent of splintered wood.

The apartment—once messy in a charming, lived-in way—was destroyed. Furniture overturned, glass shattered across the floor.

In the middle of it all stood Logan. Frozen. Shaking. Like an animal cornered after ripping itself apart.

Y/N didn’t hesitate. Her heart ached so violently in her chest it almost knocked the air from her lungs, but she didn’t hesitate.

Carefully stepping over the broken glass, she made her way to him. Her hands reached out—gentle, slow—like approaching something fragile.

“Logan,” she breathed.

He flinched at her voice. His hands, bloody and trembling, curled into fists at his sides, as if trying to hold himself together. He wouldn’t look at her. Couldn’t.

But Y/N wasn't afraid. Not of him. Never of him.

She checked his hands first, ghosting her fingers over his knuckles, over shallow cuts that were already starting to heal. It didn’t matter—they could have hurt. She still touched him with the same care she would have used on something broken beyond repair.

“Come here,” she whispered, finding a chair that hadn’t been completely wrecked. She kicked aside some debris, made enough space, then turned back to him.

He didn’t move. Didn’t even seem to breathe.

So she went to him and she led him by the hand—gently, so gently—until he sat down with a heavy, defeated thud.

Y/N disappeared into the kitchen for a second, somehow finding a clean cloth and wetting it with cold water. When she came back, Logan hadn't moved. His eyes were empty, far away, like he wasn’t really there.

Kneeling in front of him, she pressed the damp cloth to his face, wiping away the blood, the dirt, the sweat.

He flinched again at first—then, slowly, surrendered to her touch. His head bowed forward, his whole body trembling under her hands. Tears fell down his cheeks. Silent. Endless. He didn’t even seem to notice them.

Y/N caught every tear with the cloth, and when that wasn’t enough, with the soft brush of her thumb against his skin. She kissed the corner of his mouth so lightly he barely felt it, her hands cradling his face like he was something precious.

“It’s okay,” she murmured, over and over again. “I’m here. You’re okay.”

Logan let out a breath that sounded like it hurt to release. His shoulders collapsed inward, and for a moment, he leaned into her, desperate and broken. But even then, even shattered, a part of him tried to pull away. He didn’t deserve this. Didn’t deserve her.

“You shouldn’t be,” he rasped, voice thick with guilt and misery.

Y/N’s heart twisted, but she didn’t loosen her hold. She shook her head and pressed her forehead gently to his. Her hands threaded through his hair, slow and steady, grounding him.

"I’ll always be here," she whispered.

And that—That broke him all over again.

Logan choked on a sob, rough and ugly, and Y/N gathered him close. She guided him toward the bedroom, somehow navigating the wreckage without letting go of him, like if she let go, he might fall apart completely.

They reached the bed—half wrecked but still standing—and she urged him to sit.

He obeyed, dazed and exhausted.

She climbed behind him, pulling him against her chest, holding him the way you would hold someone drowning. Her hands never stopped moving—through his hair, over his face, down his chest—silent promises written into every touch.

Logan tried to speak—tried to tell her he was sorry, that he was dangerous, that he should be alone—but the words tangled in his throat.

Instead, he cried.

For everything he was.

For everything he wasn’t.

For everything he was terrified to lose.

And she listened. Patient. Endless.

Her tears fell into his hair as she presses soft kisses there and whispered, “I’ve got you, Logan. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

For the first time in days—maybe longer—he believed her.

He stayed there, trembling in her arms, every breath a struggle. He was exhausted—but he couldn’t close his eyes. Couldn’t let himself fall into sleep, not yet. Not when every part of him screamed that he didn’t deserve this. Didn’t deserve her.

Y/N must have sensed it—the way he was still locked in the fight, even as his body sagged against her. Because after a long moment, she leaned back just enough to look at him, her fingers brushing through his hair again, slow and soothing.

"Logan," she said softly, "let’s go to my place, okay?"

Her voice was a balm, warm and certain, like she was offering him a lifeline he didn’t think he deserved.

"We’ll come back here when you're ready," she promised. "We'll clean up together. But right now, you need a place that feels safe."

Safe.

The word hit him like a punch.

Logan stiffened, guilt flaring so hard it made his stomach churn. He shook his head, tearing away from her touch even though it hurt to do it.

"I can’t," he rasped, his voice cracking. "I’ll... I'll just wreck that too."

Y/N’s chest squeezed painfully. Logan’s fists curled again, self-hatred bleeding out of every line of his body.

"I could—" he swallowed hard, his throat burning, "I could hurt you."

He didn’t say again. But it was there, unspoken.

He was a monster. A ticking bomb. Someone who could tear everything good apart without even meaning to.

But Y/N. She just reached for him again, steady and unwavering, like a lighthouse cutting through the storm.

"You won’t," she said, firm but gentle. "You won't because you're not alone. Because you don’t have to fight this alone anymore."

She squeezed his hand, grounding him back into her.

"And even if you still don’t believe it," she whispered, "even if you push me away, even if you try to shut me out... I’m not leaving you, Logan. Not now. Not ever."

Logan’s breathing hitched. He shook his head again, broken. "You don’t get it," he choked out. "I’m not... I'm not worth it. You should walk away. You should've walked away the second you saw—" He gestured weakly at the wreckage, at the wreck of himself.

But Y/N only moved closer. Closer until he couldn't look anywhere without seeing her. Feeling her.

"I saw you," she said, voice thick with emotion. "Not the mess. You."

That shattered something deep in him. Not in a violent way. In a way that stripped him down to the raw truth beneath all the pain: He needed her. He wanted her. He loved her more than he even knew how to say.

And she loved him right back, with a kind of love so fierce it scared him more than anything else in the world. But it also saved him.

Slowly, hesitantly, Logan reached for her again. His hand fisted in the back of her shirt like he was terrified she might vanish if he didn’t hold on tight enough. And when she leaned into him, wrapping him up in her arms again, he buried his face in her neck, letting himself finally, finally fall into her.

Maybe he didn’t deserve her. Maybe he never would.

But she was here. And for tonight, at least, that was enough.

She kept her arms around him for a long moment, just breathing with him. When she finally pulled back, it was only to cup his face in both hands, her thumb brushing gently across his cheek.

"Stay here," she whispered. "Don’t move, okay? I’ll be right back."

Logan didn’t argue. Couldn’t. He just nodded faintly, like a man barely clinging to the surface.

Y/N kissed his forehead so softly it made his chest ache, then she stood up, stepping carefully over the wreckage as she made her way back into the main room. He watched her go, guilt gnawing at him.

In the living room, Y/N moved quickly but carefully. She picked up the sharp shards of the broken mirror first, wrapping them in a towel before tossing them safely into the trash. She pushed splintered wood and broken glass out of the pathways, clearing a narrow, safe space from the bedroom to the front door. She closed the shattered shutters as best she could, dimming the room so that when Logan would come back here later, it wouldn't feel so raw. So exposed.

She worked with quiet determination, her heart breaking a little more every time she caught sight of the destruction. Not because she cared about the mess, but because she could feel how much pain Logan must've been in to cause it.

When she was satisfied that nothing dangerous remained, she made her way back to the bedroom.

Logan was still sitting exactly where she left him, on the edge of the bed, his shoulders slumped and hands loosely clenched in his lap.

Y/N’s heart squeezed.

She didn’t say anything at first. Instead, she moved around the room, finding a worn duffel bag tucked under the bed. She gently packed what she could: clothes that weren’t destroyed, a couple of small things she knew mattered to him.

In the bathroom, it was harder—cracked tiles, broken shelves—but she found his toothbrush, some of his toiletries, a couple of personal items, and tucked them into the bag too.

The whole time, Logan stayed silent, waiting on the edge of the bed.

It felt unreal. Like he wasn’t sure any of this was happening. Like any second now, she’d realize who he really was and walk out that door forever.

But she didn’t. She zipped the bag closed, slinging it over her shoulder and when she turned to him, her expression was still soft. Still his.

"Alright," she said gently. "Let’s go."

Logan hesitated, his body locked between guilt and the pull of her voice. But then she held out her hand to him and after a long, trembling second, Logan reached out and took it.

Her fingers wrapped tightly around his, like a promise.

She led him out of the bedroom, guiding him carefully around the worst of the wreckage she’d cleared, never letting go of his hand. Out the door. Out of the prison his fear had made.

The walk to Y/N’s apartment was quiet.

She kept a steady hand on Logan the whole time, whether it was gripping his hand, brushing his arm, or gently guiding him through doors and up steps.

Logan didn’t speak. He felt hollowed out and brittle, like if she let go of him even for a second, he might just blow away with the night wind.

When they finally reached her door, she unlocked it quickly, ushering him inside with a tenderness that made his throat ache.

The apartment smelled like her. Warm. Safe.

Home.

She kicked off her shoes by the entrance but didn’t ask him to do the same. Instead, she led him straight to the couch, easing him down carefully like he might break if she moved him too fast.

"Stay right here," she said softly, brushing his hair back from his forehead. "I'll be back in a second."

He nodded numbly, watching her flit around the small space. She pulled out a fresh blanket, fluffed a pillow behind him, checked the thermostat to make sure the place was warm enough. Every move was made with him in mind—with the kind of care he didn’t think he deserved.

And maybe he didn't. Maybe he was fooling himself to think he could have this. Have her.

As she moved into her bedroom to grab some extra clothes he could borrow, Logan’s eyes wandered without meaning to.

Her apartment was small but filled with life—books, photos, cozy little touches everywhere. He caught sight of something pinned to the fridge and frowned. He pushed himself up a little and squinted.

It was a photo. Worn and creased from being touched so often.

It was him. Him and her.

A candid photo from some random night he barely remembered, probably taken when they'd gone out for drinks with some of her friends. In it, he was looking off to the side, a rare, unguarded smile on his face. And she was laughing, leaning into him like she belonged there. Like she'd always belonged there. Someone had drawn a little heart under the picture.

Logan's chest tightened so hard it hurt. He hadn't even known she had that picture.

Y/N came back just then, carrying some sweatpants and a soft hoodie, but paused when she saw him up, looking at the fridge.

"Logan?" she said gently, setting the clothes down.

He shook his head, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. Trying to breathe past the crushing guilt and the unbearable love that wrapped around him like chains. He sat back down on the couch.

"I..." he started hoarsely. He dragged a hand down his face, then gritted out, "I don't deserve this. I don't deserve you."

Y/N didn’t hesitate. She dropped to her knees in front of him, cupping his face in her hands again, forcing him to look at her.

"Listen to me," she whispered, voice trembling but sure. "You’re not a monster. You’re not broken beyond saving. You are good, Logan. And you don’t have to do this alone anymore."

He squeezed his eyes shut, a broken sound escaping him—part sob, part plea.

"I could hurt you," he rasped. "I could—"

"You won't," she said fiercely. "I trust you. I know you."

Her thumbs brushed away the tears he didn't even realize were falling again.

For a long, trembling moment, Logan didn’t move. Didn't even breathe.

And then, like a man surrendering a battle he never wanted to fight in the first place, he leaned into her touch. Collapsed against her.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself believe he wasn't beyond saving.

Not as long as she was here. Not as long as she was holding him like this.

Logan’s body was heavy against hers, all tense lines and shuddering breaths. For a moment, he let himself rest there, forehead pressed to her shoulder, letting her hands ground him—gentle strokes along his back, soothing circles at the nape of his neck.

But then, as always, the guilt clawed its way back up his throat.

He shifted, starting to pull away.

"I—I should go," he muttered roughly, not even knowing where he thought he could go in this state. "I’ll just—I’ll sleep on the floor. Or— or the couch."

Y/N immediately tightened her hold.

"What are you talking about..." she said, firm but gentle, her hands sliding up to cradle his face again. "You're not going anywhere."

He shook his head, a pained sound escaping him, "You don’t—You shouldn't have to—" His voice cracked under the weight of it. "Look at me, Y/N."

"I am," she whispered, her thumb stroking just beneath his eye, brushing away a tear. "And all I see is the man I love."

He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing ragged.

She didn’t let him turn away. Didn’t let him fall back into that pit.

"You're staying right here," she said again, softer this time, like a promise. "With me."

For a second, he was frozen.

Then Y/N pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, lingering there.

"Come on," she murmured against his skin. "Let’s get you comfortable, alright?"

He nodded weakly, too exhausted to resist anymore.

She helped him out of his ruined jacket, guiding him with slow, careful movements like he was made of glass. He let her pull the sleeves down his arms, let her tug the hoodie over his head. Every touch was tender, every glance full of nothing but care and patience.

She handed him the fresh sweatpants and shirt she'd found earlier, giving him the dignity of changing in the bathroom if he wanted— but he just stood there, trembling, needing her near.

So she stayed. Helping him change, steadying his shaking hands when they fumbled with the fabric.

Once he was in clean clothes, Y/N led him to her bed.

The second he sat down, the mattress dipping under his weight, he seemed to lose what little strength he had left. He dropped his head into his hands, shoulders heaving with silent breaths.

Y/N knelt down again in front of him, brushing her fingers through his hair with infinite gentleness.

"You’re safe now," she whispered. "You’re safe. I’ve got you."

Logan swallowed hard, blinking back another wave of tears. He was so fucking tired. Of fighting. Of hurting.

Tired of believing he didn’t deserve this.

Slowly—so slowly—he lifted his head.

And she was there. Still there. Still looking at him like he was worth staying for.

"I’ll stay," he rasped, voice breaking.

Her smile trembled, but it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"Good," she breathed, wiping another tear from his cheek. "That's all I want."

She climbed into bed beside him, pulling the blankets over them, never once letting go of his hand.

And for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, Logan let himself believe that maybe—just maybe—he didn’t have to be alone anymore.

XXX

feel free to comment if you want a part 2 or any other request!!

[amara-amor]

a/n: Hey y’all! I only write for funsies, i’m not a professional AT ALLLL pls don’t judge me too harshly 😭.

Busted and Blue

Andrew Pope Cody is many things. Strong, fearless, intelligent and very very protective. Two things he is not though are patient and forgiving, so the way he’s looking at me now is no surprise. My name sounds so strange coming from his mouth, especially with the way he almost spits it out as he looks at me as I sit on the couch, face bloody and swollen. “I’m not going to keep asking you. Tell me or i’m gonna go and find out myself.” His threats could never be described as empty. He glares at my face as if it personally offended him, in a way it did. The bruises and swollen lip glare back at him, taunting, mocking. “Just stop Andrew” I softly plead, not wanting him to retaliate and also feeling guilty for putting him through this. “Stop?! Someone fucking-!“ He pauses as he glances at me again, my head low and my eyes glassy. I can hear him take a deep breath, see his fists clench then unclench in the corner of my eye and finally, meet his gaze as he squats down in front of me. His hand’s work to move some hair out of my face, the hair having been held against my cheek by dried up blood. He softly grabs my face, holding it so I have no choice but to meet his eyes.

“Come on, Sweets. You gotta tell me who did this” He pleads. Pleads. Andrew Pope has never asked anyone for anything before. He demands things. Takes them. My eyes begin to water before the tears finally fall. I all but throw myself into his arms, burying my face into the crook of his neck as I feel both of his arms wrap around me. One hand wrapping around my waist while the other snakes up to cradle my head close to him. “I don’t want you to do anything. Can you please just.. let it go? Please? For me, Andrew” I beg as I cry into his shoulder. I feel his arms tighten around me and I feel his breath hitch. I can basically hear the way his jaw clenches before he speaks. Calm. Too calm. “Don’t worry. You don’t need to tell me anything.” He places a kiss to the side of my head, pulling away so so can look at the bruising and swelling again. His eyes dart across my face and I don’t miss the pure rage swimming in his eyes or the way he dodged the question.

“Are you mad at me?” I find myself asking. I watch as his brows furrow before he asks “Why would you think that? Why would I be mad at you?”. I move to tear my gaze away from him again, a useless attempt as he simply follows my eyes. After a moment of silence he soothes my hair down and out of my face before humming a small “Hm?” and I frown. “I don’t know.. maybe if I was stronger or faster or something..” I trail off and he takes a deep breath. His hands reach to cradle my face, our eyes locked. “Never. Ever. Think this was your fault. It isn’t. This has nothing to do with you. This isn’t on you. Okay?” He holds my gaze, almost daring me to disagree. I sniffle and give a weak smile. “Okay. Sorry” I whisper. I watch as his face contorts with displeasure before he scolds out “Don’t apologize. Never. Not for this. Not to me. Ever. You got nothing to apologize for”. I smile and press a soft kiss onto his cheek, ignoring the pain that shoots through my split lip. Unfazed, he leans in to press a long, soft kiss onto my lips. Pulling away he mumbles “Come on. Let’s get this shit off of you.” Before helping me off the couch, walking with me to the bathroom.

He helps me up to sit on the sink before pulling out a tin box from a cabinet to his left. He opens it and I see gauze, bandages, antibacterial wipes, medicine and i’m pretty sure what’s supposed to be suture kit. He glances back at my face, probably wondering what to tend to first. I smile and joke “Yeah… Pretty ugly, huh?” before i watch him frown and shake his head. Is he pouting? “Shut up.” He says softly, no real bite to his words. I sit and let him tend to my wounds. Smiling softly as he mumbles out small apologies when I wince. We sit in a comfortable silence as he works. His hands soft as he patches me up. Finally, he breathes a soft “Okay.” before helping me down. I turn over and glance at myself in the mirror, frowning as I take in the discoloration and swelling. It really is ugly. Andrew mumbles out a small “Stop.” as he guides my gaze back over to him. He takes my hand and leads us out of the bathroom, heading towards his room. As we walk in I almost sigh at the sight of his bed. Wanting nothing more than to just sleep the day away. He walks over to his closet, pulling out a long sleeve shirt of his and holding it out to me. “Here” He offers. I smile and thank him before pulling off my bloody shirt and changing. I find some shorts I left here and change into those. My black jeans also find themselves in Andrew’s laundry basket.

He sits in bed, making his way under the covers, holding them open for me as I crawl in bed next to him. I situate myself so i’m pressed against his side, my head resting on his bicep as his left arm moves to wrap around me. His other arm also moving to drape over me. I wrap my own arms around him before placing a kiss to his clothed chest. Right over his heart. “Thank you” I say into the darkness of the room. “You never have to thank me.” Andrew brushes off. I breathe out a laugh and close my eyes. Exhaustion creeping in. “Goodnight, Andrew” I whisper. He presses another kiss to my temple, his arms tightening around me for a second before he mumbles out a quiet “Goodnight, Sweets”. I fall asleep like that. Feeling protected, safe and loved. Wrapped up in his arms and sheets, I know theres no where else i’d be safer. The way he cradles my head to his chest, the weight of his arms around my waist and his soft, even breathing slowly lulling me to sleep.

I wake up a little over an hour later to Andrew shuffling out of bed. I keep my eyes closed, listening to the sound of him rummaging through his closet, the shuffling of clothing and his footsteps as he walks back over to his bed. He leans down and presses a soft kiss to my head. “Sorry. Be back.” before walking out of the room. I hear the faint jingle of keys and the front door opening and closing before silence envelops the house. I sigh into the quiet, darkness of the room. I’m not going to ask him about it later. I already know where he’s going and even if I did ask him, he wouldn’t tell me. The blood on his clothes and cut knuckles will tell me everything I need to know. I know the men who did this to me will never be seen again and I feel terrible because I don’t feel sorry for them. For what he’s about to do. I never know how he finds their identities but I close my eyes and lull myself back to sleep knowing he’s going to take care of it.

I startle awake a while later as his bedroom door opens again. Listening to him change out of his clothes before once again slipping back into bed. “Andrew?” I sleepily mumble out, reaching for him. He softly shushes me as he lays next to me, grabbing my hand before wrapping his arms around me. The smell of blood on his hands doesn’t go unnoticed.. but undiscussed. “Shhh. Sorry for waking you. Go back to sleep.” He soothes. I nod before closing my eyes again, the familiar weight of his arms around me lulling me back to a dreamless sleep.

a/n: y’all this was my first fic PLSSSS be nice & give me some advice on how to write better & any tips & tricks for the app!! alsoo sorry i wasn’t sure how to end it lollll

[dior-luxury]

HI

💐 here to confess my love because your twst ficlets are SO FREAKIN GOOD I AM LITERALLY FCKING DYING RN (out of love!)

My humble self has come to beg for yandere lilia bc i am a hopeless lilia simp 🙂‍↕️

If the inspo hits and you are so inclined, please feed the poor starving peon crouched outside your doorstep. They are probably not feral, but they havent eaten in days, and may faint for several hours after consuming a single morsel of food.

But also no pressure! I honestly just also want to pick your brain for this cuz you’re SO GOOD at writing him in character

Lilia Vanrouge As A Yandere

( ✧ ) ────── yandere stories . yandere/angst - f!reader .

- [𝐜𝐡.] lilia vanrouge

- [𝐩:𝐬] Yandere Behavior . Gaslighting and Isolation . Mind Control/Memory Alteration . Romanticized Toxic Behavior . Power Imbalance . Implied Imprisonment . Dark Fantasy Themes . Ambiguous Consent . Potential Identity Loss

Note: Tried to keep it creepy but still true to Lilia’s charm- y’know, “haha I might’ve kidnapped you but I’m still adorable” energy. Hope it gives you chills and also maybe a little “wait why is this kinda hot tho” moment LMAO 💕 Let me know if you want versions with other characters!! ♡(｡•́‿•̀｡)

Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia Vanrouge is ancient, powerful, and deceptively playful — a fae who has watched centuries pass like falling cherry blossoms. But even immortals are not immune to obsession, especially when their hearts — long dormant — are unexpectedly stirred. And when an immortal falls in love, they fall forever.

You were just a human — mortal, fleeting, fragile. But Lilia found you fascinating.

At first, it was innocent. You made him laugh. You were kind in a way that reminded him of simpler, long-forgotten eras. He would appear unexpectedly around you, draped in upside-down smiles and playful banter, his glowing eyes always glinting with something unreadable. You thought it was harmless attention.

You were wrong.

He was watching.

Lilia didn’t need to sleep like you did. So during the deep, quiet hours of the night, he’d wander — to your dorm, your classroom, even your dreams, using faint, ancient magic to peek into the worlds behind your eyes. Every expression you made, every person you smiled at, every fleeting interaction — he catalogued it.

You never noticed the bats near your window at night. You should have.

Things escalated slowly.

Lilia began appearing wherever you were — always just in time to “protect” you. A spilled potion in alchemy? Lilia was there. An overzealous duel from an NRC student? Lilia stepped between, laughing while he disarmed them. He said he was just helping, but there was something sharp in his gaze when others got too close to you.

At first, you thought it was your imagination. Then your phone began behaving oddly. Messages unsent. Calls dropped. Friends pulling away after odd, brief conversations.

“Are you lonely, little bat?” he’d ask with mock pity, holding a tray of snacks or a handmade charm. “Don’t worry. I’ll always be here.”

He didn’t look like he was joking anymore.

Lilia’s obsession is sweet — like a poisoned wine.

He still jokes, flutters around, and teases. But now there’s an edge to it. He refers to you as his. He leaves you gifts that seem impossible to procure: relics from the Briar Valley, enchanted music boxes that sing only your name, or petals from flowers that bloom once every thousand years.

When you try to talk to someone about it, strange things happen. People don’t remember your conversations. Even Crowley avoids eye contact when you mention Lilia’s name in a fearful tone.

You begin to suspect he’s altering memories. His magic is old — deep-rooted, almost forgotten by modern mages. You're not sure how much of your life is still your own.

And then you wake up one morning to find an old lullaby playing softly in your room — one you never learned, but find yourself humming anyway.

He’s been whispering it into your mind at night.

Eventually, he tells you.

Not in a romantic flourish, but in the still quiet after a storm, when he’s rescued you (again) from a danger you suspect he may have orchestrated.

“I’ve lived long enough to see empires fall and rise. But nothing has captivated me as much as you,” he says, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, fingers cold and gentle. “You don’t understand what that means to someone like me. I’ve chosen you. That doesn’t happen more than once in a few millennia.”

You try to pull away. He only smiles.

“You’ll understand. In time. Humans always break so easily… but love can make you last.”

He kisses your forehead. And you swear you feel a mark burn there, invisible, but real — an ancient fae seal claiming you.

Lilia wouldn’t keep you in chains — not literal ones.

No, he’s too refined for that. Instead, he builds you a world where you don’t want to leave.

A hidden part of NRC’s grounds, warped by old fae magic. Days feel like dreams. You stop remembering time — memories blend, feelings shift. Lilia is always there: doting, smiling, grooming you into someone perfect for eternity.

Your dreams start to end in his voice. Your fears vanish — because you can no longer recall what they were.

Even if you tried to escape, you’re not sure where to go.

Because by now, you aren’t even certain who you were before he loved you.

You age. He does not.

But when your body grows frail, Lilia offers you a choice — sealed with a kiss, bound in blood and starlight.

“Become mine. Truly. Let me preserve you… as I have always longed to.”

You hesitate. Just for a moment.

He smiles.

You no longer dream of the outside world.

You no longer remember why you ever wanted to.

[r0manceplanet]

Do scene!reader.. x... Noob.. pls.. I .. need.. it...

A/N: oooohh this is good… and here you go my friend! I hope you enjoy! This was definitely the easiest piece I’ve written so far and such a fun and simple concept to write!

NOTE: reader will always stay gender neutral unless if gender is stated in following request!

• Pairing Noob with Scene! Reader is one of the perfect people to pair alongside Noob and their old companion, Guest 666!

• They are absolutely smitten with the reader, what’s gotten them so attached to the reader is how they dress (bonus if the reader is always helping him patch up during those murder sessions).

• They definitely ask the reader to help them dress up, and once they also dress like the reader they are gonna take multiple selfies of themselves and beg to record TikTok’s with the reader (as long as the reader is ok with it of course!)

• You and Noob would bond over fashion, in fact Noob seems like the type of person to be really interested in fashion, definitely someone who would play fashion games and watch videos of designing unique clothes.

• Though, at first, when they were introduced to the reader they were a bit shy and awkward when meeting them, they would stutter a bit when talking to the reader at first, and even even complimenting their style, But they grew out of that once they got more comfortable being around them.

• Even though they are mostly quiet around the rest of his friends and acquaintances, they are the only ones who will get out of their shell for you, if it’s to ask for help or just anything, they won’t be quiet or reserved around you.

• The way you carry yourself makes them more comfortable to be around you, and the way you dress is pretty refreshing since most of the people don’t dress up as much, it’s good to see someone be creative with their outfits.

[nionom-art]

Man every time I see your art as well as other Miraculous AU writers/artists it makes me really want to make my own au. I've got ideas, but i always worry it won't ever be as good as I'd want it to be or too ooc. How do you get past all those concerns? Do you have a support system for things like this?

Well, one thing that weirdly helps me is knowing that no matter how good I do, someone out there is going to dislike my au- and that’s perfectly okay. I mean, even the best books out there have one star reviews on Amazon, after all. We all have different tastes and interests, which is awesome, actually.

The thing is though, there is always someone out there who will LOVE your work- it’s exactly their thing. One thing I’ve learned is that if you like what you create, others will too (if you want to create a story, chances are there are people out there who want to see exactly the thing your writing about in a story as much as you do).

I am a people pleaser unfortunately, so I worry about people’s perception of me all the time. Keeping this in mind helps a lot with that.

The way I personally get past my own concerns about being ooc or not being good enough is by realizing that all I really need to do is try my best. There’s no way my renditions of specific characters will be completely in character all the time. I mean, look at all the most popular fanfics out there- I guarantee a good number of the characters in those fics are ooc. But that’s what’s cool about fanfiction- we all have our different takes on characters- and I think that’s really awesome. Personally, I think it’s fine for characters to be ooc, not only because it shows the author’s creativity and intent, but, well, also cuz it’s inevitable honestly. So, as long as you’re happy with how you wrote the character, don’t worry too much about them being ooc.

Now, if I ever feel like I’m not getting a character, or am unsatisfied with the way I wrote them, I often ask for another opinion (usually from my sister). She thinks very differently from me, which is helpful for writing characters I wouldn’t otherwise get very well (Lila and Adrien- looking at you). She thinks of all sorts of things I never would have thought of on my own (big thanks to her for being my pseudo editor, haha).

So I would say having a small group of irl or online friends to share your work with really helps- even if it’s just one person. They can give helpful feedback and can offer some support too.

Hope something in here helps!

[letters-to-lgbt-kids]

My dear lgbt+ kids, 

This is not a guideline on how to come out. I can’t write that for you - and in fact, I don’t think anyone can. 

That’s because „Coming out“ is not one specific thing but covers a wide range of social situations. Coming out to your best friend will be a different deal than coming out to your parents, and both of that is completely different from coming out at work. Coming out to someone who is vocal about being an ally or is even queer themselves will be a different story than coming out to someone who is deeply conservative. And so on! 

On top of that, coming out is such an incredibly personal path. Something that helps one person feel more confident could actually make it worse for another. A script that works well for one person could feel uncomfortable and awkward for another. A reaction that makes one person go „Wow, this coming out went well“ could hurt another. And… you get the picture, there are too many variables to write you a step by step guide. 

But a step by step guide is something that’s quite commonly requested. Understandably so! Deciding to come out - to anyone, in any circumstances - is always a big step, and every big step like that naturally comes with some uncertainty and fear. It’s normal to want some support. 

So, what I can do for you, is to give you some questions to think about. Importantly, there aren’t right or wrong, good or bad answers to any of them. There are just individual answers. This isn’t meant to be a test on coming out that you can fail or pass - these are just a bunch of potential things you may want to consider when deciding on how to come out in a way that feels safe, comfortable and fitting for you. 

Some considerations, in no particular order: 

How would a bad reaction look like? Would you be in any (physical or mental) danger and if so, which safety precautions can you take to bring yourself to safety quickly if things go south? 

Are you dependent on the person in any way (money, housing, caretaking etc.)? Do you need to take that into consideration re: safety measures? 

If the worst possible reaction wouldn’t be acutely dangerous but emotionally painful/distressing/embarrassing/frustrating: how would you deal with these feelings if they arise? How could you calm yourself down afterwards? 

How familiar are they with lgbt+ themes and terminology? How much explanation, if any, will they need? Would it be more helpful to provide the explanations right away or to wait which questions they ask? 

If there are multiple people you plan to come out to who belong to the same group (such as „parents and siblings“ or „boss and coworkers“), do you want to come out to everyone at once or to each person individually? 

If you want to come out to each person individually, is there a risk that the first one(s) will out you to the others before you get to come out to them? How would you handle that situation? 

If you want to come out in person: Would it help to write down exactly what you want to say beforehand? Or write down just a few keywords? Or does it feel more natural to keep it completely spontaneous? 

If you want to come out in a letter, text etc.: do you need to consider the possibility that something written could be shared around? 

Is there a definite next step you want the person to take (like calling you by a new name, meeting your partner for the first time etc.)? If so, do you want to bring that up right away or in a second conversation? 

If you’re (romantically or queerplatonically) interested in this person, do you want to bring that up right away or gauge their reaction first? How would you handle a rejection? 

Are there any specific things you do not want to share with them (you do not want to talk about your sex life, you do not want to disclose if you had bottom surgery etc.)? How would you handle it if they bring these things up? 

Do you need to keep any upcoming plans in mind regarding timing (either in your or their life)? Are there any times they’re especially likely to be in a good or bad mood? 

Do you want to do it alone or with someone supportive (a friend, your partner etc.) by your side? If the latter, do you want them to take on an active role (helping to explain etc.) or just be there as silent support? 

How will you celebrate yourself afterwards (no matter how it went)? How will you reward yourself for taking this brave step? 

With all my love, 

Your Tumblr Dad 

[kotton-kandy953]

❏ 𝐓𝐄𝐘𝐕𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐋 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐔𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑 !

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🔪 love interest ꒱ . . . yandere ! venti ! high school ! au x fem ! reader

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🔪 format ꒱ . . . headcannons

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🔪 warnings ꒱ . . . clinginess, jealous themes, kazuha is referenced, mentions of murder, obsessive themes, wriothesley is mentioned, yandere themes

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🔪 authors note ꒱ . . . since I pulled venti, furina and mavuika anything is possible. kinich is mine. I’m pretty sure he has the biggest wc for hc’s in this au, that’s actually crazy || thss homepage!

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🔪 word count ꒱ . . . 0.6k

Venti is a fairly popular student among his peers, often described as “irresponsible” and “carefree” by both teachers and students.

As for his appearance, his dark, messy, blue-black hair is in two side braids with little white ribbons tied at the ends of them. His uniform tie is tied rather lazily (like Izuku’s but better) and either wears a cardigan around his waist or only the collared shirt with the top button undone. In his hair, he wears a pretty white Cecilia every single day. It’s strange, because that flower never seems to wilt…

Venti is a pretty average student when it comes to grades, but he especially excels at English and Band. It’s funny because he’s usually either sleeping or daydreaming through class. Quite a few believe that he goes to school high, but honestly, all he eats in the morning is an energy drink and an apple. That’s it.

Nevertheless, the drinking theory would explain why he’s so… giggly at seven in the morning. Well, until he gets to class, that is, and sleeps through most of it (mainly math). Yet he still manages to barely get a passing grade by the end of the semester. It’s a miracle he made it to high school.

Venti is incredibly skilled when it comes to playing a wide variety of different instruments, but he particularly enjoys playing the flute.

He also likes writing songs, or song-poems, and having them proofread by the flute player who sits right next to him and just so happens to love poetry. Little does the “poet” know that Venti’s having him proofread something he’s written for you.

Venti skips class so often that he’s basically best friends with Wriothesley, the dean of students and also the one who monitors detention.

Venti’s favorite classes are Band and Lunch. (When asked to choose a real subject he said Band and English)

As a yandere, Venti is a rather possessive and clingy. It’s almost like he’s everywhere. Did he have his schedule specially altered to match yours or something?

When he is around you, he just has to make his presence known by wrapping his arms around you or even staring at you from across the room with that smile on his face.

He just loves how awkward you get from his intense staring, he loves it when you get all flustered when he leans in close to your ear to tell you the stupidest joke he could think of. He loves you.

Venti isn’t really the stalker type, he’d rather prefer to be in your presence, to let you know he enjoys your company. Although, he will memorize your school schedule by heart; he needs to know when and where to find you! Even if that means running halfway across the campus and being late to class every other day. (This is one of the many reasons why he stays in detention.)

Because of how possessive Venti can get, he can also get insanely jealous. Yes, the thought of strangling someone to death has crossed his mind a few times before, but he never acted on his impulses. He may be a trouble maker, but he wasn’t a monster.

But he’s the only one who can laugh with you, hug you, study with you, talk with you… or is that a bit too much?

Is he being a bit dramatic? Yes.

Venti will do anything in his power to chase away said cause of his jealousy before he does something even the Archons above couldn’t forgive.

When said person is around, he’ll be as close to you as physically possible with the sole purpose of pissing them off. It’s also a bonus for him to see your pretty face flush red from the close proximity of his face from yours.

If Venti were to murder another it’d either be out of jealousy or to “protect” you. After all, he’d do anything for you.

Stupid lazy drawing I made of him in this AU that I did not feel like remaking digitally

[clairewritesfanfics]

A-Z Fluff Alphabet: Mohawk Mark Grayson

Author's note: The alphabet here is an amalgamation of fluff templates from the following writers: @themarauderstheoutsidersandpeggy, @snk-warrior, @queervibesmydude and @imagineimagineimagine, and my own personal additions.

Adoration: What does he can’t help but gush about you? 

Your brain. Your intellectual curiosity and passion for discussing various concepts, regardless of which field they originate; be it writing an essay about a random video game’s exploration of identity and the Ship of Theseus, drawing out an outline for the evolution of meme culture across generations, or borderline obsessive studying of his own alien physiology. The way your eyes light up and how confident you sound get him excited.

Baby: Does he want a family? 

No. You are his family, the only one he will ever need. 

Comfort: How does he help you when you’re down or stressed?

He tries to joke, hoping it would help you laugh and release some of the anxiety frying your nerves. But if that doesn’t work, he will seat you on the nearest counter and make you look at him. He’ll ask what’s wrong and when you don’t tell him he will kiss you until you feel better.

Dates: What are his ideal dates?

He likes taking you to concerts, can be anything as long as both of you enjoy it, from rock bands to Opera. Alternatively, he would surprise you with tickets to a museum involving your most recent hyperfixation. You two would hold hands and talk while you pass each display. He also flies you to different parts of the world at a moment's notice; "Oh, you suddenly want to collect volcanic rocks? I got you, babe."

Everything: You are his __________.

You are his inspiration, his muse. Your passions are his passions, not for some shallow reason like getting you to like him (he has good looks and nice ass for that), but because your sincere drive to know more, to explore the world beyond what it is, encourages him to seek for more, too. 

Fight: How often do you argue? How does he handle the fight itself and its aftermath?

“Me and my girl don’t argue, she tells me to shut up and I do” kind of guy. But in all seriousness, he doesn’t like upsetting you, so unless it’s something serious, like your health, then he just goes along with what you want. 

Gifts: Does he spoil you?

I discussed this before in my husband headcanons for him, but he doesn’t actively seek out to buy you presents as often as one would think. It’s just that, when he sees something in a store window or on his phone that reminds him of you, without thinking, he buys it. 

Honesty: Does he keep a lot of secrets from you? Are they white lies or hide world-shattering truths?

He tends to hide his negative feelings, covering them up because he would rather push down all the bad then bother you with it. Otherwise, he’s an open book. You already know the password to all his accounts and he registered your fingerprint on his phone.

Injury: What’s his reaction when he finds you physically hurt?

Tries to alleviate the gravity of the situation with jokes as a way to keep you calm. Actually, if we’re being honest, the bad jokes are to keep his composure while he assesses your injuries and starts planning a murder. 

Jealousy: Is he a green-eyed monster?

He can be prone to jealous fits, but they’re rarely that deep and never last long enough to warrant violent responses. That being said, the one thing that can really grate him is when someone else manages to have you ramble about your most recent hyperfixation–only he gets the privilege of listening to your spiel.

Kiss: Describe the way he kisses you.

Lifts you up on kitchen counters, stands between your knees and has his hands over your thighs. Kisses you playfully.

Longing: Who fell first? How did you two get together?

He is a natural flirt, so you didn’t take him seriously at first. “That’s just how he is with everyone,” you used to say. Mark didn’t realize it himself, but he stopped hitting on others and unconsciously focused on you every time you were near. When he finally had that "oh shit" moment, he immediately tried to convince you that he wanted you.

Marriage: Does he want to be your husband?

Originally, no. He used to believe that marriages were pointless in that they were “merely labels” and if two individuals truly love each other then a piece of paper was meaningless. You then countered that if it was meaningless then it shouldn’t matter if he agreed to marry you. To this day, it was still his favorite loss.

Nightmare: What is his greatest fear?

That one day you would lose your wide-eyed curiosity.

On Cloud Nine: Is it obvious to tell when he is happy?

He’s already a pretty chill guy, but his underlings know he’s in a really good mood when he isn’t mocking everyone he comes across, and they all know it’s because of you.

PDA: Yes or no? If yes, to what degree?

Yes. He isn’t opposed to giving you a peck or having his arm around your shoulders while you’re out on a date, but he’s not going to make out with you in a park or a family restaurant. 

Quaint: What is his favourite non-modern thing?

Ink and paper books.

Rhythm: What’s his favorite song or genre of music?

Doesn’t have one. His rule is that if he hears a beat that he likes then he likes it. He’s an open-minded guy, so you would be hard-pressed to find him disliking anything. He’s no poser. 

Spa: What helps him relax?

Lying with you, on a bed or a couch or a picnic blanket, while he reads, shutting you up with kisses when you laugh at the stupid lines.

Tea: What do you two often converse about? 

Everything under the sun. The beauty of your relationship is that you two don’t feel restricted about the topics of your conversation, you’re not afraid of sharing your thoughts about the most niche topic and he knows you can keep up with his interests. Each of you has something to offer and nothing is off the table. 

Understanding: How well does he know you?

Enough to know what kinds of books you would definitely fall into obsession with. 

Value: How important is the relationship to him?

So much so that if he ever lost you, he would try to erase every trace of you, because if he didn’t how else was he supposed to breathe? He would turn to violence and parties and meaningless one night stands to forget about you, even if just for a moment. He wouldn’t be able to stand anyone who looks like you, so every single one of his flings would be the opposite of what you looked like. 

Wild Card: Random fluff headcanon

He’s a philosophy nerd. When he was younger he was interested in ethics, but right now, he’s really into existentialism and absurdism. He also dabbles in poetry. 

XOXO: How affectionate is he?

Super affectionate. He is never afraid to tell you and show you how much he adores you. 

Yearning: How does he cope when you two are apart?

Mark always preferred the epicureans, but you’re more of a stoic, and stoics believe that patience is a virtue, so he bites his tongue when you tell him that no, he can’t come with you to girls’ night. He distracts himself by reading so that he can complain to you about the garbage he had to read while you were away.

Zebra: If he wanted a pet, what would he get?

He wouldn’t call them pets, more like decoration, but he would like a whole bloom of Turritopsis dohrnii, a species of jellyfish. One of his favorite dates with you was scuba diving somewhere in the Mediterranean Sea, and that was where you first saw one in person. “It’s functionally immortal,” you said when you two resurfaced. He hopes that, like this jellyfish, your time together will be everlasting. 

I'm thinking of taking requests again (last time I did it was for MHA back during The Plague, LOL), but until I sort out my rules, you guys can ask for Mark Grayson (and his variants) fluff for now. Also, I must say, after seeing that post about semicolons, I found myself using them a in my recent fics. Subliminal messaging at its finest LOLOLOL

[mikkomacko]

I’m not sure where you wrote this but you said sometimes timo is with reader when she’s texting nico naughty thing. Timo made a joke too that he takes the pictures, is that true? Is he helping her write the things also? Can we get a small blurb on this?💛

Timo was just teasing Nico when he said he takes the photos for her haha. Reader would never let someone have a role like that in her intimate life with Nico, even if Timo is the person she tells everything too.

About the texting though, he always knows when she’s sending Nico dirty texts because she’ll curl up in the passenger seat of the car with her back to the door so that he can’t see her phone. And she gets this very specific, like devilish smile.

“Who are you texting?” He asks, trying not to laugh because he already knows. He knew from the moment you took a little too long in the dressing room at the mall that you were either waiting for Nico’s opinion on what you were trying on, or you were trying to get him to come home early. Or probably both.

“Who I’m always texting,” you reply vaguely which isn’t exactly a lie. He’d once witnessed you send Nico a text about how you peed for a solid two minutes and now feel dehydrated and ten pounds lighter. Any and every thought you have when he’s not around gets typed out to him.

“What did he say?” Timo asks, “About the set?”

He should’ve known that going shopping with you for new workout sets was going to turn into this, into something Nico just had to see. He’d have been better off just taking the day and going with you if Timo is being honest. I’d at least save him from whatever words you’re sending his way that have you giggling like that.

“Um,” you hesitate “he was more interested in the set I had on underneath it.”

Timo falters, confused for a moment because everything you tried on was basically just a bra and shorts, skin tight with not much room for anything on underneath.

And well you had turned to him and ran your hands over your thighs, asking if it made your butt look good. From what he recalls, there were no lines to reveal any kind of set underneath.

“You had nothing on underneath.”

Almost bashful, you shrug. “I had underwear on. Just none you could see.”

“Ooooh,” Timo laughs, “yeah alright. So what, did he like the set? Or I guess sets?”

“Yeah he did,” you mumble, tongue poking out of your lips as you text Nico back. Timo is very grateful that he can’t see the reflection of those messages in the window behind you. “He told me to ditch you and help him at work.”

He snorts. “Help with what?”

“Something about needing a new desk,” you say, amused. “Or wanting to need a new desk.”

Timo side eyes you. “Wouldn’t be the first time, would it?”

And you’re giggling that evil little laugh, almost proud as you remanence on who knows how many times Nico’s bent you over the desk at the bar.

“Not exactly,” you reply.

“Hey tell him you’re wearing one of his shirts,” Timo says, glancing over to find you looking at him all giddy. There’s no way you’d wear some of Nico’s clothes shopping like that, in the rich parts of town where even going in without a designer handbag turns everyone’s head. But Nico doesn’t have to know that.

“Yeah?” You ask but you’re already send the message.

“He told some of us once, a bit ago, that the only thing he thinks he misses from not dating is not getting to see girls in his clothes. That’s like his thing.”

Letting out another of those little laughs you take Timo’s advice, eyes lit up with mischief. You usually hang around the house in Nico’s stuff, sleep in his boxers and steal his sweaters, and he knows Nico is into it. But this is different.

If you’re really trying to get him to leave work early, this is the way to do it.

Not even five minutes later you’re cackling. “We have to beat him home so I can change. That way I’m not a liar T.”

“You got it boss.”