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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 days ago

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Not a Word 4

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, violence, parental abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You live a life in hiding, away from your father and the world, until a man decides to drag you into the light. (non-verbal reader)

Characters: Captain Syverson

Note:😻.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The cops wade in and out of the house as your world turns as dusky as the ocean depths. You sit at the table, staring as the smell of seasoned pork wafts in the air with the voices and the crackle of radios. Footsteps go back and forth down the hall as shadows loom over you.

The one across from you says your name. Again. Officer Bolton has thinning gray hair but a thick mustache. You know him. He knew your dad and would stop by whenever his cruiser needed a top-up.

“I need ya to write it down, miss,” he taps on the notepad in front of you. “Since ya can’t talk. Need a written statement anyway.”

You blink at him. You feel sick. The smell of the cooking meat is making it worse. You frown and get up. You go to the stove and turn the dial off. It’s probably dried out anyway.

“Miss,” Bolton calls after you.

A sniff comes from behind you and you turn. Sy enters with another officer; Private West. He’s probably about your age.

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen as many of us in one place,” West says in a tone brighter than the circumstance.

“Well, it’s a sight to see, isn’t it? Old Don, crushed...”

You wobble forward and latch onto the back of the chair. You can hear the impact of Sy’s fist over and over. You glance at him as his brow furrows. You just got to tell the same story he did. The one he went over before they got there.

“It’s her daddy,” Sy says as he comes forward to help you into the chair.

You sit and rub your throat. You don’t have much of a choice. If you tell the truth, it doesn’t get you much. Your dad is still gone. You don’t know that anyone would believe it anyway. He always told them all you were too stupid.

“Sorry, miss,” West scratches the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean nothing.”

You stare at the paper and pick up the pen. Your hand shakes as you hover it over the page. What happens after? What happens if you don’t listen? Will Sy hurt you too?

You put the nib to the paper and lean forward. It’s like writing a story. You go through what he told you too. You were in the kitchen and you heard a loud noise...

“Good girl,” Officer Bolton praises. “We just need that statement then we can go file the report. They’ll have that body down at the morgue by midnight.”

“Awful stuff,” Sy shudders. You almost believe him.

“Should we keep someone here?” West asks.

“Ya think the engine’s got a mind of its own,” Bolton scoffs over the scratching of the pen. “Sy, you gon’ look after the girl? Don’t think she ever spent a night without her daddy.”

Just like always, you’re not there. They talk about you like a thing. Like you can’t understand them. You’re just the same burden you always were.

“Well, that’s the thing, isn’t it? Her daddy just gave us his blessing, like I was telling the Private. You know, I offered to help finish up that old Bronco so we could talk about the wedding...”

“Blessing?” Bolton leans back and stretches his arms behind his head, “well, how about that? Syverson, you a good man. Knowing she need someone, huh?”

“She’s a nice woman,” he puts his hand on the back of your chair. “Quiet. And she makes a hell of a dinner. Seeing as you and the boys came all the way out, I’m sure you can help out with the roast she was slavin’ over. Can’t have it goin’ to waste.”

You put the pen down. That’s it. The lies are in ink.

You stand up and go to the stove. This is how it will be. Same as it ever was but it’s Sy now. You open the oven door and put on the mitts to take out the pan.

“Does smell good,” Bolton says. “My old lady always overheats the damn thing and she got not taste for flavourings.”

“If you don’t mind,” West adds. “I usually just pop a frozen pizza in after my shift.”

“Y’all been so good about Don and there’s lots to go around.” Sy affirms as you carve up the tender meat. Not dry at all though to you, the smell is sickening.

“It is late, past dinner, ain’t it?” Bolton grumbles.

“We’ll get some plates down. Least we can do is feed y’all,” Sy drawls.

You keep your head down and obey his indirect orders. You blood is a flow of ice. You’re trembling as you scoop the gravy and potatoes over the roast.

Your dad’s dead. It’s a startling reality that hasn’t quite sunk in. That’s not what has you unnerved. No, it’s that new truth that you’re struggling to accept. Sy. He’s not going anywhere.

You understand now what he was asking your dad. He wants to marry you, but why? Why you? Your dad wasn’t wrong. You’re boring. You’re dull. There’s something wrong with you. So why would anyone want you when your only family could never even stand you?

💍

When the house is quiet, you don’t know what to do. When it was you and your dad, he ignored you. It was just like being alone. But with Sy, everything is different. Nothing can be like it once was. Like it always was.

He calls your name from down the hall. You haven’t moved from the kitchen table since you served up the roast to the men invading your home. You didn’t kill your dad but you feel like you helped.

If you could just speak up and tell Sy to go home before everything turned bad. No, you just stood there and listened. You put your back to it all and then...

You get up and peek around the corner. His silhouette is like a cloud of gloom at the end. You shuffle toward him, hands fold, feet heavy. He flips on the light and you squint.

“Hey, sugar, you tired? It’s real late, isn’t it?”

You shrug and look at your bedroom door then back to him. You flinch as his large hand lands on your shoulder. You pout up at him and hold back a quiver of fear. You can feel how easily he hurt your dad.

“I’m gonna have a shower, wash the day off,” he says. You notice his tie is undone. “You go on and lay down. You deserve a rest.”

You lower your chin and he catches it in his hand. You bat your lashes and stare up at him. You move your hands behind you and bunch your fingers until your nails jab your palms. He leans in as you stand rigid and terrified.

His lips meet yours and his coarse beard tickles you. He hums as he kisses you softly. You squeeze your eyes shut as your heart thumps. You’ve never been kissed before. Never even thought of it because it was just never something that would happen to you.

You feel as if you might tip over as he pulls away. You stay like that as his hand falls away and he clears his throat. You open your eyes and blink.

“Was that... okay?” He drags his hand over his beard. “Ahh, probably scratchy,” he combs his finger through the hair. “I’ma get nice and fresh for ya, sugar.”

Your lips are tingly and hot. You turn and push through your bedroom door. He’s watching you but you’re too afraid to look back.

You close the door but don’t latch it. You don’t want to make him angry. He exhales and his weight creaks in the floor. The bathroom door clicks and the shower buzzes shortly after.

You turn on the light and glance around. You sit at the folding table. The small beads lay in their clusters, sorted by colour, but you can’t bring yourself to put them into the grid. Your vision blurs as you languish in the aftermath.

You should cry. Your dad is gone. You should be sad. You’re scared, you’re confused, you’re lost, but there’s nothing in your heart missing.

The air ripples and Sy’s yawn frightens you. His shadow moves into the room behind you. He grunts as you watch his arms stretch above him in his grey silhouette. Even then, he is huge.

“You should come to bed, sugar,” he girds as he sits and tests the frame of your bed with a bounce. “Come ‘ere.”

You look down at your hands and splay your fingers over your legs. You slowly stand and turn to him. He tuts as you gape at his shirtless form. He wears only a pair of plaid boxers. You gulp. You’ve never seen a man like that. Through the fabric, you can’t even trace... well...

“You can’t sleep in that, can ya?” He says.

You peer down and up again. You jump into action and go to your dresser. You take out a loose pair of linen pants and a bulkier tee. Before he can react or you can think, you flit out.

You lock yourself in the bathroom and change. The familiar task keeps your panic from flowing over. When you’re done, you hesitate. You gather up your clothes and face the door. You have to go back now.

You shudder and leave the bathroom. You enter your room and go straight to the basket of dirty clothes. You drop in the day’s outfit and stay facing the corner. He coughs.

“Turn the light off, sug.”

You keep your gaze averted as you obey. You turn off the light and tiptoe to the bed. You linger before it. You wince as he locks onto your wrist and tugs you closer. Your knees hit the frame and you let him bring you down next to him. It’s a small bed, narrow just for him, crowded with both of you.

He nestles you against him as you curl up on your side. He brings the blanket over both of you and hugs you snugly. He nuzzles your hair and drones in content.

“Isn’t this nice, huh?” He asks.

You can’t move. If you had a voice to speak, you couldn’t. You just give in to his power. That’s what always kept you safe. To appease is to survive.

You close your eyes and he yawns again, “I’m beat too,” he rasps. “But I’ll be all too happy to wake up next to you.”

His breath puffs into your hair and swathes your scalp in damp heat. As each intake and exhale slows and steadies, he snores like rumbling thunder. It isn’t the noise that keeps you awake though.

The night wears on with the subtle movement of shadows through the window. You listen to the house and its creaks and cracks. Even with Sy wrapped around you, you feel alone. Desolate. You wallow with the whirling winds as they swim through the leaves.

Morning slowly peeks over the window sill but your world is no brighter. You grow restless and squirm beneath his arm. You turn on your back as you try to peel it away. He grunts and draws his hand back, cupping your chest to your horror.

You clasp onto his hand and he purrs, “so soft.”

You pinch his forearm then slap his bicep. He can’t touch you like that! You didn’t say he could. His eyes snap open and he leans back against the wall with a grunt.

“Hmph, sugar, what’s going on?” He asks groggily.

You sit up and cross your arms over your chest. You put your chin down and scowl. He reaches for you again, this time he strokes your arm, and you swat him away. He took your dad, he made you lie, and now he’s just touching you! Kissing you!

You turn quickly and hop off the bed. He calls your name and you wave at him dismissively. You hurry from the room without looking back. Your heart races as you listen for his pursuit. You don’t hear it, even as you get to the kitchen.

You stop on the tile and take a breath. Coffee. You can handle that. He drinks it, just like your dad. You remember. If men are all alike, then all you need to do is cook and clean and keep to yourself.

#captain syverson #dark captain syveron #dark!captain syverson #captain syverson x reader #series #not a word #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #sand castle

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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 7 hours ago

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Part 2: It Is A Big Deal

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Dean Winchester xf!reader,

POV: Reader POV

Summary: Dean's in for a rude awakening when he finds out exactly what you did when you got stranded in another universe.

Tropes: Frenemies (Dean and the Reader), Awkward Situation, Multiverse Problems, ANGST

Word Count: 7.4K

Warnings: I'm gonna label this 18+ just to be sure. Cursing, Making Out, DEATH, Violence (only a little), Jealousy, Pining, Kinda Sad Vibes In Some Places, Sexual Innuendo, References to Sex, Feelings, Angst, Self Deprecating Thoughts? References to Past Sex (it happens quite a bit). References to Future Sex. Soldier Boy Being Soldier Boy (Everyone knows he’s a warning). Dean Winchester Being Dean Winchester (aka. being moody and super hot).

Listen While You Read: Jealous Again By The Black Crowes

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is no use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person

A/N: It was so fun to come back to this universe again! Thank you so much to everyone for all the love and support that you've gave me in writing the first part and thank you for all the encouragement to write a part 2! And also please don't forget to check out Stranded by @justagirlinafandomworld that inspired me to write this fic!💗

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

"Can the two of you stop playing find my tonsils and tell me where the hell it is I'm supposed to be driving to?" Dean grouses from the driver's seat while Sam leans over a road map squinting to look at the small print.

"Ready For Love" is playing over the speakers, barely audible over the thud of fat raindrops pummeling the windshield, blocking out the world around you, and sending the shadows racing across your skin where Ben and you are sitting in the backseat.

“Well, if you’d given me a few hours to fuck her at the motel instead of throwing a bitch fit-" Ben begins to say, turning his gaze your face to stare at the back of Dean's head with a lazy smile.

“Dean why do you care?" You interrupt Ben with red cheeks. "I know for a fact worse things have happened in the backseat of your car than Ben and me making out."

"Really? Because I can’t think of anything worse that you and him sucking on each other's tongues and helping the spread of mono." Dean's hands tighten on the steering wheel and his shoulders tense.

He’s more wound up than a tinker toy.

It has been exactly thirty three minutes since Dean's mental breakdown back at the motel when Ben showed up. Furthermore, despite how much Dean had screamed at you at the motel, it appeared that he was still going to act like a two year old who wanted a cookie before dinner.

Sam's suggestion for the four of you to figure out why Ben was here had been a welcome distraction from Dean's spiral. It had prompted all of you to pile into Baby to try and find where it was that Ben landed in your universe and find a clue as to why.

But so far the trip had been less like riding in the Mystery Machine and more like riding with the Griswold's on their road trip to Wally World…

Dean had been supportive of trying to find a solution to what he deemed the "Ben problem," but it appeared that Dean was going to spend every waking minute getting on your nerves.

Honestly, what's new?

You didn’t understand why Dean was so damn argumentative whenever you showed up, it was like he lived to make your life as difficult as possible.

It had always been that way. Since the first day you met Sam and him at Ellen's bar forever ago, Dean had never once said something nice about you or to you.

He always found some little thing to nit pick, whether it be your aim, your research skills, or your technique when hunting and you were sick of it. Each time the two of you worked together, it was Sam's job to make sure it didn't end in bloodshed. Even Cas noticed Dean's underlying hostility towards you and when he asked Dean what was wrong, Dean had brushed him off with a "not now Cas."

Worse was the time that you got hurt (only a minor injury) on a hunt a few weeks ago when you got thrown into a glass cabinet while facing down a poltergeist. Dean had chewed you out for a good twenty minutes and even with Sam's ability to intervene, you'd broken Dean's nose for speaking to you like that, and then rushed off to your room in the bunker before he had a chance to see you cry.

It was the one thing that you never allowed yourself to do in front of Dean Winchester, cry. He didn't deserve your tears, especially not when he was being a total grade A asshole.

When Sam came in later to help you get patched up, you asked him why Dean hated you and Sam tried to convince you otherwise, but you knew the truth.

Dean Winchester hated you, and you had no idea why. So you decided to stop trying to make him like you, because if he was going to act like a total dick he didn't deserve you being nice to him.

You knew that was why you liked Ben more. Ben appreciated you (sort of), he wasn't mean, he listened to you (sometimes), and he did give you compliments… well, they all revolved around the way you looked and that was nice, but just you wanted someone to give you a compliment that had to do with something else. Or maybe just a simple "I see you."

Is that so hard to ask?

Your few flings in the past hadn't been anything special. You didn't have the kind of stable lifestyle that prompted or supported long serious relationships, especially with non-hunters. Not to mention you'd always had this fantasy about meeting another hunter who understood exactly what you went through and what you had gone through over the years. It was often difficult to find a non-hunter who could understand that.

The bunker was the first permanent address that you'd ever had. Your mother had been one of the best hunters in the US, known by all, and you never met your dad, which meant that growing up on the road was the only life you knew. She'd died a year before you started working with the Winchesters which meant that you didn't exactly have anyone that you cared about or anyone who cared about you.

The thought often brought the feeling of loneliness stirring in your chest, but you pushed it down, throwing everything you had into hunting.

Healthy right?

Ben's muscular arm is wrapped around your waist, his hand splayed over your lower back to keep you tight against his chest so there is no space between the two of you, while your hands locked at the back of his neck. You didn't usually like PDA that much, occasionally yes, but you'll admit that you were only allowing yourself to give in to Ben a little more, because you liked how much it annoyed Dean.

Yes, you thought that it was absolutely ridiculous how Dean was acting, but you wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine. Because in all the years you'd known him, you’d never found one thing to hold over his head or one thing that really irritated him, and Ben was working like a charm.

It also felt really good to kiss him, but that was beside the point.

You understood that Dean was having a psychotic break with his constant proclamations that Ben "was him," but you wanted to at least understand why Dean was still hung up on it.

Ben isn't Dean. Sure they have the same face, but Ben is different… isn't he?

When you'd encountered Ben for the first time you had done a double take, but the more you were around him, the more you appreciated the way he treated you differently from Dean. Yes he was a little sexist, but Ben made you feel wanted and Dean had a way of making you feel stupid and often like a burden, as if you'd been plopped on his doorstep like a box of kittens and he was stuck with you.

There was only so much that you could take.

You didn't know what you'd done to earn such hostility. Dean was far from sexist, and you'd seen him interact with other people, it was just you he treated differently and it made you want to strangle him.

"Calm down kid-" Ben sighs.

"Stop calling me that!" Dean turns around to glare at the man next to you.

"Keep your eyes on the road." Sam says, not looking up from the map. He didn't need to.

"What a wonderful suggestion Sammy, but see I can't because I have no idea where the hell it is I'm going!" Dean snipes at his brother.

I swear at this point if Gabriel pops out of nowhere and tells me that this is all just a fucked up dream, I'd believe it.

"Stop being damn hormonal kid, and keep driving." Ben rolls his eyes and moves his lips to your throat, nipping and biting along the flesh visible over the top of your jacket, making you gasp softly and lean into Ben's warm embrace.

Your eyes meet Dean's in the rear view mirror and just for a second you see something flash through them that isn't anger, but it's gone just as soon as you clock it.

What was that?

Dean slams on the brakes and Ben tightens his grip on your body so you don't go flying forward into the bucket seat.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" You snap, curiosity gone, as you glare at Dean.

The tension in the car is high, popping and crackling around the four of you like popcorn. You still couldn't understand why Dean had such a problem with Ben. If anything you'd think that they'd get along a little bit.

"I am not being hormonal or whatever other chauvinistic shit that is about to come out of your mouth." Dean snarls, ignoring you, as he turns and narrows his eyes at Ben. "And I am not your chauffeur. So tell me where the hell it is I'm going so you can get the fuck out of my car and out of my life!"

Ben opens his mouth to retort something, no doubt that'll trigger Dean, but you speak before he can.

"Ben, do you remember anything about where you came through?" You ask him. You were trying to be more diplomatic even though Dean was making your blood boil.

Just because Dean is mad at me does not mean that he gets to take it out on Ben. Ben hasn't done anything wrong. He got sucked into this reality and immediately got pulled into Dean's soap opera.

Ben huffs out a sigh as he turns back to look at you. His gaze softens a little as his eyes meet yours, turning from a dark green to a jade. "There was a building-"

"Oh wow, how helpful!" Dean snarks. "Did you hear that Sammy? There was a building! Mystery solved!"

Ben whips his head in Dean's direction, the air in the car growing hot as Ben's skin begins to heat, but you gently lay your hand on his cheek to bring his gaze back on you. "Dean is an asshole. We all know." You say to Ben, reassuring him and ignoring the look Dean gives you when you say it. "Do you remember anything about the building?"

Getting Ben angry wasn't the way to get information out of him, he was, after all, more like Dean than you were willing to admit. And just as you'd seen Dean get worked over by numerous women, including Bella, sweet talking worked the best.

Well, it never worked when you tried to do it, because Dean refused to treat you any way other than an annoyance.

But two could play that game, especially with the way that Dean was acting right now.

Ben's jaw tightens and you know that he's biting back some remark to throw Dean's way, but you pull him closer, trailing your hand over his bearded cheek to keep his attention and gently bring your lips to his. You feel the tension shift from Ben's shoulders beneath the palms of your hands as he relaxes into the kiss, and this time Ben smiles when you pull away, giving your hips an encouraging squeeze. "It was a school or some shit. And there was a billboard for "World's Biggest Beer Can.""

"Okay. We can work with that." Sam says giving you a sympathetic look before pulling out his phone to type something in.

At least Sam is being normal about this whole thing.

Sam and you always got along, from the start he was the older brother that you never had, and it was refreshing. Not to mention Sam was your best and probably only friend. The hunter life was lonely and you found it difficult to make friends anyway, but something about Sam always stuck. He got your abnormal sense of humor, he gave the best hugs, and he stood up for you when things got heated between Dean and you. It was his idea for you to move into the bunker with him and Dean, and also him that convinced Dean to let you move in.

It had taken days for Dean to finally say yes. And when he did, he made you move into the bedroom next to his as if he wanted to keep an eye on you because he didn't trust you.

And as much as you hated living with Dean, living with Sam made up for it. You liked helping him research while Dean bitched and moaned about reading through dusty volumes, liked helping him clean up while Dean followed behind you as if you couldn't be trusted, liked helping Sam try to make dinner that ended up more burned than anything else until Dean stepped in and shooed the both of you from the kitchen so he could make something, and liked kicking back on the couch watching movies with Sam while eating copious amounts of popcorn.

Unfortunately, Dean didn't get the hint that you wanted him to leave you alone so he'd follow Sam and you, crack open a beer, and proceed to give a personal commentary on the movie the two of you were watching, occasionally throwing a look in your direction as if he was checking that you were listening to him. Weirder still was the fact that Dean would do that when Sam wasn't with you.

You noticed that sometimes, that no matter where you were in the bunker, Dean just happened to find himself in the same room. But that didn't mean he would speak, sometimes he would just be cleaning one of his guns or quietly reading through a dusty volume or writing something down in a notebook, but you swore sometimes you thought that Dean was looking at you. Each time you looked up though, he was looking down at whatever else it was he was doing.

It was those moments that made you think that things could be civil between the two of you, and then he'd get on your case for doing something he deemed "wrong" when you knew you did it right the first time as if you hadn't been a hunter as long as he had.

He probably does that because he doesn't trust me.

Dean grumbles something under his breath and turns his gaze back out the windshield, watching the wiper blades go back and forth over the glass, crossing his arms over his chest. Ben frowns and you know that he must have been able to hear whatever it was Dean said.

Why can't we all just get along for five minutes? Is that too much to ask?

"Alright I've got something." Sam says ending the uncomfortable silence in the car. "The World's Biggest Beer Can is in Northwood about ten miles ahead of us."

"Finally. At least someone is pulling their weight." Dean states before he hits the gas, the force throws you backwards into the seat.

Your gaze flicks up to the rearview mirror and notice that Dean is watching you again, but you turn away to Ben who smiles wide and pulls you back towards him for a kiss.

But deep down you can't help but wonder if Dean had been watching the two of you in his rearview mirror the whole time and why he cared so much.

The building that Ben remembers is in fact, an abandoned school.

The roof sags inward allowing rainwater to pool in the front lobby over black and white checkered tiles, the lockers are rusted and thrown to the floor at odd angles making you worry about the possibility of tetanus, and there is an ungodly stench that you can only describe as old gym socks, axe body spray, and unwashed feet.

Ben's nose wrinkles where he stands beside you, and you're sure that no matter what your sense of smell is experiencing it's a million times worse for him.

You press your lips into a tight line, toeing around a puddle of something gray and sticky that you can't identify, but know for a fact you don't want it in your shoes. Your eyes squint into the looming darkness that grows the more you stare down the forgotten hallways.

It’s always gotta be an old creepy building. Just once I want to get to investigate a donut shop or a burger joint or a Starbucks.

"Any of this looking familiar Captain Sexual Harassment?" Dean asks turning with his flashlight to point in Ben's face.

Ben shrugs and squints at the offending light. "I don’t fucking know."

"Enlightening." Dean huffs out a breath. "Well, guess we can split up and-"

Thank God I won't have to listen to Dean mutter things under his breath and freak out.

"Fine." You interrupt. "Come on Ben." You start to walk down one of the dark hallways, but Dean slides in front of you to block your path.

"No way. You're not going with him." Dean waves his flashlight in Ben's face again and you can see the twitch on the corner of Dean's mouth to see how much he enjoys blinding him.

Why does he always have to act like such a child?

"Why?" You demand.

"Because as soon as Sam and I get out the picture, Grandpa over there is going to pull you aside and fuck you in one of the classrooms." Dean says it without blinking, but it makes you flush red in embarrassment and anger.

"No, he's not!"

"Yes, he is!"

Dean is so close that you can feel his warm breath on your face. His eyes are narrowed in anger, but you can see another emotion flick through them so quickly you think you imagined it. It was the same emotion that you thought you saw in the car, but you can't identify it, not yet.

Ben's hand comes down on Dean's shoulder, a wide smirk on his face. "Look kid, I get it. She's fucking hot and I know you think I'm trying to horn in on your action-"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean exclaims shaking off Ben's hand.

"You're jealous because she decided to be with a real man instead of you." Ben shrugs. His gaze travels up and down Dean as if appraising him before he shakes his head with a chuckle. "I can't blame her. Someone like you couldn't handle her.

"I could handle her just fine!" Dean snaps back his face flushing as he forces his chest against Ben's, who only smirks back.

What did he just say?

Your entire body goes stick straight in surprise and you turn your head to stare at Dean. In all the years that you'd known Dean he's never once said something like that to you.

Sure there was the night you met…

You hadn't thought about it in years. You'd been back in town because Bobby had called asking you to help out some friends of his on a case and you'd stopped in to Ellen's bar to see Jo. Dean had come on to you and you'd splashed a beer in his face and also maybe pinned him down against the bar. It had been awkward the next day when you found out that Dean and Sam were the friends that Bobby wanted you to help out, but you pushed past all the weird feelings to help.

Dean had flirted with you that night and you will admit to yourself that you thought Dean was attractive before he opened his mouth, but since that night the two of you hadn't spoken about it. In fact, you were both perfectly happy pretending that it didn't happen.

Or so you thought.

Dean's dark green eyes flick to yours in realization. "That's not what I meant."

"Sure kid." Ben's smirk grows to Cheshire Cat proportions.

"Stop calling me that!"

The weird thing was, you'd seen Dean lose his temper, it always flared fast and hot broken up with sarcastic comments, but for some reason this felt different and you didn't understand why. It didn't feel like Dean just getting angry because Ben was getting under his skin, it felt like something else.

"Whoa!" You get between the two of them for the second time in an hour. "If you guys keep fighting like this I'm going to put you both in time out!"

"He started it!" Dean glares at Ben, who doesn't look the least bit upset.

"I don’t care who started it! You're grown men and you're still acting like toddlers. I shouldn't have to separate you." You snap waving around your flashlight at Dean.

"How about this?" Sam sighs from where he stands a few feet away. "I'll go with Ben and the two of you can try not to shoot each other."

"Why can't I go with you?" You sigh to your friend.

"You want to leave them together? Alone?" Sam raises his eyebrow.

Not really.

Sam takes your silence rightfully as confirmation, because the both of you knew if you left Dean and Ben together it would probably be a Thunderdome situation or a reenactment of the WWE.

"Maybe we shouldn't split up." Dean says looking at his brother.

"You scared kid?" Ben smirks. " No wonder she decided to fuck me instead of you. You’re acting like a little bitch."

"You son of a bitch-" Dean finally snaps and launches himself towards Ben, but your hand fists in the back of Dean's leather jacket to stop him from starting a fight that you know he won't win.

It wasn't that you thought Ben was a better fighter than Dean, it was that Ben had super strength and would have no qualms ripping Dean in half. And despite how much Dean annoyed you, you didn't want him to die. Sure he was a jerk, but he didn't deserve that after everything he'd been through, and Sam didn't need to bear witness to that.

"Fine." You say. "Ben please go with Sam."

Ben rolls his eyes and follows after Sam, leaving Dean and you standing in the lobby alone, the only sound the soft plop of water echoing down the empty hallway.

Great. Now I'm stuck with Dean in a creepy old building. It's a dream come true. The stuff of Disney movies.

"Why did you do that?" Dean snaps at you when Ben and Sam turn a corner out of sight.

"You should be thanking me! Ben would rip you in half without batting an eye!" You turn back towards the empty hallway and try to put as much distance as you can between Dean and you.

Distance is good, nice. It means that I can only partly hear his disapproval.

"You don't know that." Dean catches up with you, sweeping the path in front of you with his flashlight looking for holes in the floor.

"Yes, I do. I've seen him do it before."

By now you were aware that there was a chill in the air, it was unnatural, creeping down the hallway in a thin mist that made a shiver crawl down your spine. Dean must sense it too, because he pulls his gun at the same time you do.

That or he's doing it because he's about to go Rambo on Ben's ass.

Because that'll end well…

"If he rips people in half why do you like him so much?"

“He’s not a bad person if that’s what you’re getting at. Ben did it to save me.” You point your flashlight into one of the classrooms along the hallway noting the rotted desks tipped over onto the checkered floor. “He wouldn’t hurt me.”

Ben's world was filled with more than a few crazed individuals, and when you'd been in his universe Ben had stepped in when a supe threw themselves at you. Truthfully, even though Ben did what he did to protect you, watching him pull someone apart with his bare hands made you sick to your stomach. Given what you'd seen, that was saying something. But you knew that Ben wouldn't hurt you, he wasn't that kind of man, and you weren't afraid of him.

“You’ve known him for five days! How can you tell after five days?!” Dean nudges a cardboard box with his boot sending a family of cockroaches scuttling into the shadows.

"Because I can!" Your lip curves up in distaste at the appearance of the roaches and try not to imagine all the walls infested with the little bugs.

You didn't like roaches. Especially ones that all of a sudden developed the ability to fly in your presence as if it were a miracle.

The two of you continue to walk down the hallway, the sound of your footsteps masking the constant dripping noise that comes from the floor above.

Your temper was flaring all over again. You didn't think that you needed to explain any of this to him. Dean never felt the need to discuss his extensive history with women with you and you didn't feel the need to discuss the ins and outs of your and Ben's situation.

"Come on-" He begins to say, but you don't want to hear it.

"Dammit Dean just fucking drop it." You throw your shoulder against a door at the end of the hallway, putting everything you have into it and a little more. You were getting frustrated at Dean's continuous commentary on your life. "I don’t want to talk about this anymore or listen to any of the ridiculous reasons why you think that it's any of your business who I sleep with."

“I think it is my business because you were about to reenact the scene from Titanic in the back of my car!”

“Oh please. I’m sure that you’ve reenacted it billions of times back there. Mr. Saturday Night!” You roll your eyes hitting the door again with your shoulder.

“It’s my car!" Dean shouts, moving you out of the way in a surprisingly gentle way, before he savagely kicks down the door. "I can do whatever I damn well please!”

I wonder if Sam and Ben are having a better time than us. It wouldn't be difficult to.

The door opens with a snap under the force of Dean's kick depositing Dean and you into a large auditorium. The seats are a faded gray and the curtains that hang from the sides of the stage, once blood red, were more of a muddled pink stained with splotches of dark spots and filled with holes the size of the Impala.

Crawling vines and ferns have begun to tangle over the empty seats and over the floors, absorbing anything in their path. The wooden stage is dilapidated and caving in on itself, the boards jutting upwards instead of laying flat as they should in some places from years of water damage. The carpet beneath your feet is squishy and moth eaten, and each step sends another cloud of dust into the air making the room hazy and you cough into your elbow.

"Not to mention he's me!" Dean continues, tramping into the room behind you.

"How many times are you going to say that?" You pinch the bridge of your nose, trying your best to keep it together.

"As many times as I have to, to get the point into your thick skull!"

You whirl around and poke your finger into his chest. "You know what Winchester? You can take all your opinions and shove them right up your uptight ass!"

"The two of you don't get along at all. Odd given how you seem to get along with my fiancé." A bored voice says from somewhere behind you. "But it is a lot more entertaining than I thought it was going to be."

Dean and you both lock eyes and turn to look in the direction of the voice, but there's no one there.

"Um, did you hear-" Dean begins to ask.

"Yes I did." You reply clicking the safety off your pistol.

"Just checking."

"Though I will say, with the way today is going for you and if this is you having a psychotic break, I wouldn't be surprised that you're having auditory hallucinations."

"Shut up." Dean sighs.

"Hello?" You shout, looking around the empty auditorium for some answer, but it remains empty.

Dean snorts. "Now who's craz-"

"Hello?" The voice mocks in a nasally voice. "Wow you're pathetic. I don't understand what he sees in you."

"You call me pathetic, but you're the one hiding. So why don't you come out?" A chair from the front row plucks itself off the ground and hurls itself at your head. You duck and it sails into the aisle behind Dean and you.

"You're not even that pretty." The voice continues and you can imagine a pout on the end of its words like a petulant child who wishes to get their way.

This is so fucking weird.

"Thanks." You reply dryly. "I like to think I've got a great personality."

"You don't." Dean mutters, making you throw an elbow into his side.

A high pitched giggle echoes through the space making it impossible to identify where it came from, until finally a woman materializes on the stage. You blink your eyes to make sure that she's really there.

Her blonde hair falls over her shoulders in perfect ringlets, and she's wearing a bright pink fur trimmed dressing gown. The kind you'd see on an eccentric billionaire's trophy wife who spent most of her day drinking gin martinis poolside while being fanned by cabana boys or the kind that she'd be wearing when she heard of her husband's "untimely demise." There's a silver diamond crown perched on top of her head and she's smoking a cigarette from a long white cigarette holder, while she lounges back on a golden throne.

What. The. Fuck.

"Do you see her too?" You whisper to Dean out of the corner of your mouth.

"You mean Glinda the Good Witch the later years? Yeah I can." Dean replies looking just as confused as you do. "You thinking Gabriel?"

"I thought he was dead."

"He's pretended to be dead before." He shrugs.

"Fair enough. Any reason why he's making us see her?"

"Maybe your new boyfriend has a fetish."

"Hasn't anyone told you that it's rude to whisper?" The woman says, taking a drag from her cigarette.

"Sorry. Um. Who are you?" You ask.

"I don't speak to homewreckers." Her face contorts into a sneer. You watch her eyes shift from Dean to you. "But I'll answer for your friend. I'm Iris, Benjamin's Fiancé."

If pigs could fly right now an entire fleet of them would be taking flight around you. You tried to wrack your brain remembering a single time that Ben said that he had a fiancé or was in a relationship at all, and you can't find a single moment.

Well… today officially sucks.

"Wow. Nice." Dean looks at you with a scoff. "Real nice."

"Hey woah, I didn't know he had a fiancé." You hold up your free hand in surrender. "He never said anything about a-"

"Hey gorgeous. Did you find anything?" Ben says materializing behind Dean.

"You're engaged?" You shout.

"No?" Ben looks confused. "Who told you that?"

You point a thumb over your shoulder to Iris, who is still lounging on the stage completely in her element. She giggles and wiggles her fingers in a cute wave.

"Hey Benny Wenny, did you miss me?" Her lips curl up in a wide smile when she rises from the throne, her bright blue eyes crinkling around the edges. The air around her seems to sparkle, sending scattered light out into the broken seats.

Ben is still staring up at the woman, looking utterly confused.

"You know that freak?" Dean whispers to Ben who is now standing shoulder to shoulder with him.

"Fuck no."

"Well, congratulations Benny Wenny." Dean snorts. "Guess you're getting married."

"I am not-"

"And don't worry, of course I'll be your best man." Dean continues, holding back laughter.

"Shut the fuck up kid!" Ben snaps at Dean, before turning back to the woman on the stage. "Look baby, I don't know who you are but-" Ben begins to say to the woman, who only laughs.

She throws back her head, golden curls bouncing with the force of her body moving, laughing for an unnatural amount of time before she locks her blue eyes on Ben again.

“Stop being silly. We met a few months ago at Legend’s party. We had a few drinks and then you came back to my apartment where we made love for hours-“ Her cheeks blush. “It was sooooo romantic. What I always dreamed about!”

“Um-“

“My parents are so excited to meet you and my little sister said that she’s so happy to have a big brother!” She giggles. “I even made us matching t-shirts to wear on our honeymoon and a scrap book of our children!" She holds up a magenta colored bedazzled photo album that’s the size of a medium sized dog.

Wow she put a lot of work into that.

“Children?” Ben stutters, his voice cracking on the end a little bit. It's the first time that you've ever seen him look afraid.

“What they’ll look like, where we’ll vacation each year, where we'll live, where you'll work-” Her expression turns sour, eyes flashing a dark pink as she glares in your direction. “But then you met that little whore who took you away from me and poisoned your mind.” She points a perfectly manicured pink nail at you. “So I decided to bring you here so you could help me kill her.”

“I’m sorry rewind-“ You say holding up a hand. “You brought Ben here? How?"

"I found a website while I was looking at destination weddings." She shrugs.

"There are websites about traveling through different universes that show up in the search engine-" Dean begins to say.

"DON'T QUESTION ME!" The girl shrieks and the entire room begins to shake.

"And you wanted Ben to be here because?" You haven’t lowered your gun. Frankly you had no idea what her powers were. She looked more like she would start tap dancing down the yellow brick road rather than start hurling chunks of the stage at you, but you needed a plan.

“Because we’ll get to share this moment together.” Iris sighs looking over at Ben again, who is just as shell-shocked as he was a moment ago.

“Killing me?”

Iris nods enthusiastically. “We'll make love on top of your dead body and no one will come between us ever again!”

Dean snorts under his breath and you elbow him again, trying not to think of the image.

Please let this be Gabriel messing around with me. Because if it's not my life is officially a joke.

The three of you stand there for a minute looking up at where she prances on the stage in mixed stages of disbelief.

And just as Iris takes a step forward, a sandbag falls on her head. She crumples to the floor like a sack of potatoes as Sam appears in the wings of the stage looking from her to where the three of you are watching.

"You guys okay?" He calls.

"Yeah." Ben shrugs. "Too bad about her though. She was hot."

He's kidding right?

"The crazies always are." Dean adds with a sigh, patting him on the back.

"I'm so happy the two of you are having this bonding moment, truly I am, but-" You begin to say, turning your back to the stage, but as soon as you do Sam goes flying across the room and into one of the fern plants.

"That was so uncool!" Iris squeals, hovering over the stage, her hands glowing an unnatural magenta color. "Ben and I are meant to be together, we're soulmates, perfect, fated, destined, and no one is going to stand in my way."

The entire room begins to tremble with the force of her anger, dust floats down from the ceiling as it begins to crack and crumble under her powers. You can feel the warmth of Ben's skin as he begins to power up the beam in his chest, burning through the air like a supernova.

There's a crackling sound that comes from above and you look up to see a giant piece of the ceiling falling in slow motion towards your body. Dean shouts your name, but he sounds far away, the sound ringing through the few seconds that you still have left before it crushes you.

But the hit doesn't come from above, it comes from the side.

Dean tackles you, just as the piano sized piece hits the ground where you had been standing a second ago, to the ground, cradling your head in his hands. Your bodies tumble into the moth eaten carpets as Ben explodes, the heat and power of the beam causing more of the room to fall around the two of you.

There's a terrible high pitched wail that's cut off abruptly mid scream and you don't need to be a genius to know what or rather who it was.

Dean covers your body with his and your hands come up under his arms to hold him tighter to you. You bury your face into the warmth of his coat where his throat and his shoulder meet with a whimper as everything around the two of you shudders and shakes. He doesn't pull away, his muscles tensing as he tightens his grip around you, his own face buried in your hair.

The room continues to shake and fall apart in the aftermath of the blast, dust and ash rising in clouds. But you can’t see any of it, Dean's body is shielding you from the room as it crumbles around the two of you, tucking you further beneath him the longer it goes on, making it impossible for anyone or anything to hurt you.

You could feel something curling in the pit of your stomach the longer you laid there under him, an odd feeling that you'd tried to push down whenever you were around Dean, a warmth that begins to spread like wildfire through your body everywhere the two of you are touching. His body is warm and heavy, but it's not oppressive, it lays over you protective and unyielding in the wake of the destruction.

The smell of him invades your senses, a mix of gunmetal, leather, and a spicy scent that tickled your nose. You'd smelled Dean's shampoo before, when it wafted out of the bathroom as you walked down the hallway, imprinting itself in your mind. It was how the impala smelled, always like Dean, and with it brought a feeling of comfort that you'd never known before.

It was odd.

"Are you okay?" Dean whispers, and you can feel the rumble of his words through his chest where it's touching you, his hips laying in the cradle of your thighs. He pulls back to look at your face, the rough grate of his stubble catching your chin as he does so. His eyes are wide with worry and it's the first time that you'd ever seen him look at you that way.

Dust and ash caught in his hair in graying clumps, sticking to the shortened brownish gold strands, the ones that were just a little shorter than Ben's. You longed to run your fingers through, to feel if it was as soft as it looked.

"I think so." You murmur, not used to the weight of his body on top of yours, but you're also trying not to notice how a part of you liked it. "Are you okay?" Your fingertips trail against the smooth leather of his jacket, working up to the back of his head, feeling just the subtle brush of the hair at the nape of his neck.

You don't miss the soft sigh that rushes out of Dean's chest when you do that, fueling the fire that was spreading in the pit of your stomach.

What is happening?

"Yeah." Dean's fingers brush your hair from your face, so quickly that you think you missed it, but the burn of his skin over your cheeks is the only reminder. You gasp softly with the movement, confused as to why Dean was acting this way, why he was worried about you, and why you liked it. Your arms are still wrapped around his body, fingers curled into the back of his leather jacket, but Dean makes no move to get up, he continues to look at you.

You'd never seen Dean look at you like that, look at you as if he wished to understand you, as if he saw you. No one had ever looked at you that way in your entire life.

"Dean!" You hear Sam yell from somewhere, followed by your own name.

It jolts Dean out of wherever his mind is and he gets off of you, but he helps you to your feet, one of his warm calloused hands taking yours to pull you up before dropping it as if he didn't do it in the first place.

The room is destroyed. The roof has completely caved in allowing the rain to soak through the remaining seats of the auditorium and into the musty carpets. The stage no longer exists, all that remains is a black blob of what you're sure used to be Iris, and although a part of you feels bad about the turn of events, you can't help but feel a little relieved.

She was going to kill me. You think to avoid the wave of guilt that washes over you.

"Ding dong the witch is dead." Dean mutters under his breath, but it doesn't make you feel better.

Fires burn over the edges of the stage, small and controlled, but sending rivulets of smoke into the air. You knew it meant that the fire department would be here any minute and that's the last thing you wanted to explain. That and the body on the stage.

Ben stumbles to his feet a few steps away from Dean and you, pushing off a piece of roofing that must have landed on top of him. His suit is covered in dust and drywall, but he looks okay. He's got that far-away look in his eye he always does after he uses his power.

You step towards him to make sure he's okay, but Dean stands in your way.

"Are you out of your mind?" Dean snarls at Ben.

"What the fuck is your problem?" Ben snaps.

"You almost killed us! Almost killed her!" Dean gestures towards you.

"I fixed the problem." Ben rolls his eyes and glances to you, as if trying to reassure himself that you're okay. You knew that Ben might have wanted to only have a physical relationship with you, but you knew that he did care about you in his own way. "You okay sweetheart?" He pushes past Dean, gently touching your face, tilting it up to his. "Did you hit your head?"

"No. I'm okay." You smile tightly at him, but a part of you can still feel the ghost of Dean's fingertips trailing against your cheeks to push away your hair and feel the weight of his body over yours. "Are you okay?" You ask, noting the way his eyes still are a little unfocused.

"Course I am." Ben scoffs. "Takes a little more than a building to bring me down doll."

You nod, while Ben's hand still continues to rest on your chin, and just as he leans down for a kiss, you see Dean's face in the corner of your eye and finally you're able to identify the emotion reflected in his gaze. It's the same emotion that you saw in the car when he stared at you in the rearview mirror. It's the first time that you've ever seen Dean look at you that way in all the years you'd known him.

It's hurt that flashes behind the green eyes you knew so well, shifting to jealousy on around the darkened edges the longer he looks at Ben and you.

And when Ben's lips touch yours, you feel guilt begin to creep along your skin and extinguish the sparks you'd felt moments ago in the pit of your stomach.

A/N: I'm not going to lie, I did not mean for this part to be a little sad... but oh my word 😭 BUT I also promise that the next chapter will have a happy ending ❤️

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, Reblogs, and Comments are not required, but are always appreciated. I love hearing what y'all think! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for Part 3 please let me know!

Taglist:

@roseblue373 @mrsjenniferwinchester @livya99 @zepskies

@winchesterwild78 @ladykitana90 @spnfamily-j2 @whyyouegg

@suckitands33 @pizzagirlxnsfwx @s0uz4s @schinug @just-levyy

@xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @minas-fantasies @ladysparkles78

@mochminnie @peachhiz @impala67stellawinchester @nancymcl @lunaleah

@lightdancingwords @kamisobsessed @justwhisperingfantasies

@lunaleah @kamisobsessed @kmc1989 @djudy99

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yaniluvs · 1 day ago

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𝒾𝒾𝒾 ⁞ AS WE ARE “𝑎 𝑏𝘰𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑦, 𝑠𝑎𝜈𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑦 𝑦𝘰𝑢𝑟 𝘰𝑛𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝘰𝑛𝑙𝑦.” ── hang out. libraries. kids. food. turns out, baseball guy isn't only a baseball guy..?

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𓍯 baseballcapt!seungmin ʚଓ fem!reader ：（ 𝒾 ）9.1k── ༯ SERIES uni au, slow paced & slow burn, curiosity, fluff, strangers to friends to ???, small town, slight angst, language, skz ensemble, very long, y/n is a foreigner/has mixed ethnicity, angsty, humour. ⸝⸝𓂃 LiBRARY . /ᐠ.ꞈ.ᐟ\ྀིྀི

yani's note ˖˙ ᰋ a month and 5 days to the last update of this fic omg !!!!! yes it is finally here and it's very long. IM SORRY but i love this chapter sm im actually so proud of myself with this :3 hope you all like it !! <3 i love seungmin sm guys, pls tag me if you find any good seungmo fics mwah. also when i posted the last chapter, i had only crossed 300 followers. right now, as of when im posting this, i actually just passed 600 of you, oh my god. in a span of 36 days, thank you so much to every single one of you ! this really motivates me a lot :(( i am also posting the requested fics soon loves, please be patient !!! comments, likes, req/asks and reblogs are always appreciated ! send in a reply or an ask if you want to be in my mastertag, or my individual series' taglists. happy reading <3

the sun hung low in the sky, its warm rays stretching lazily over the quiet baseball field. a faint breeze rustled the leaves of nearby trees, carrying with it the distant hum of voices from the university festival on the other side of town.

y/n strolled across the usual field with her usual carefree stride, her satchel slung over one shoulder and a grande paper cup of peach tea in her hand. her gaze caught a familiar figure, who she may have been hoping to find.

he stood on the pitcher’s mound, his cap pulled low over his face as usual, a baseball gripped loosely in his hand. his focus was sharp, his movements practiced and fluid as he wound up and pitched the ball toward the net. the satisfying smack of the ball hitting its target echoed across the empty field.

she paused for a moment, watching him. he looked so at ease here, like the field was an extension of himself. she smiled to herself before calling out, “practicing alone again?”

seungmin turned at the sound of her voice, his expression softening slightly when he saw her. “car girl, again,” he said, a hint of amusement in his tone.

she rolled her eyes at the nickname, though she couldn’t help but smile. “that nickname is never going away, is it?”

“not a chance,” he said, turning back to the net and throwing another pitch.

she began teasingly, walking closer to the netted boundary of the field. “so, has this time now become your usual or are you just excited to see your new friend everyday now?”

he shrugged, tossing the ball idly in one hand. “don't flatter yourself, maybe it's because i'm actually bored for once.”

“oh well, didn't hurt to try,” she laughed softly, the sound light and warm like the breeze that rustled the trees surrounding the field. she stopped a few feet away from him, crossing her arms as she watched the ball sail cleanly into the net. “your friends aren't here today?”

“nope,” he replied, brushing a bit of dirt off his palm. “they’re at some event thing on campus. didn’t feel like going.”

“why not?” she asked, genuinely curious.

he shrugged, retrieving another ball from the bucket nearby. “not my scene.”

she tilted her head, a teasing smile on her lips. “you say that about a lot of things.”

“that’s because it’s true about a lot of things,”

“so, instead of loud festivals, you decided to spend your evening throwing balls alone?”

“better than standing around pretending to have fun,” he said, his lips twitching into a faint smirk as he pitched the ball again.

“you really do have a grumpy streak, don’t you?”

“i’m not grumpy,” he shot back, catching the ball as it rebounded off the glove.

“you keep saying that,” she said, her voice light with amusement. “but i’m not convinced.”

seungmin glanced at her, shaking his head. “you talk too much.”

“again, only because you talk too little,” she countered easily, her grin widening.

he let out a soft huff—somewhere between a sigh and a laugh—before walking over to grab the ball again. this time, instead of pitching, he sat down on the grass near her, resting his elbows on his knees.

she blinked in mild surprise but quickly recovered, sitting up straighter. “taking a break?”

“something like that,” he said, spinning the ball absently in his hands.

“so,” she began, tucking her legs beneath her and leaning forward slightly. “if you don’t like festivals or loud places, what do you like?”

he gave her a sidelong glance, as if deciding whether to answer. “quiet places. like the library.”

“oh, so you did like the library,” she teased, her eyes sparkling.

he shook his head, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “i liked that it was quiet.”

“and because it had me,” she joked, “and what else? besides quiet places?”

he was quiet for a moment, his gaze drifting to the horizon where the sun hung low, casting long shadows across the field. “baseball,” he said eventually. “obviously.”

“obviously,” she echoed with a playful smile. “what else?”

“you’re really nosy,” he said, though his tone lacked any real bite.

“i prefer ‘curious,’” she said with a shrug. “come on, there’s gotta be more to you than baseball and quiet places.”

he didn’t respond right away, and for a moment, she thought he might not answer at all. but then he said, almost reluctantly, “music.”

her eyes lit up. “really? what kind?”

“depends,” he said, turning the ball in his hands. “mostly calm stuff. acoustic, sometimes jazz.”

“same!” she said excitedly, leaning forward. “do you play anything?”

he glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “guitar. a little, a friend is helping me.”

“seriously?” she asked, her excitement growing. “that’s really cool. i tried to play piano in elementary.. but let's just say i'm not too good with two hands and multitasking.”

"well, guess it’s a good thing breathing only takes one set of lungs."

“you're mean.”

“i prefer honest.”

“what about singing?” she asked again, her voice softer now.

he raised an eyebrow. “what about it?”

“do you sing?”

he shook his head. “not really.”

“not really or not at all?”

“not at all,” he said firmly, though there was a faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

“hm, interesting.” she mumbled under her breath, as he looked at her for a bit, and then stood up, dusting the dirt off his tracks and walking back to the field.

“so, what’s your plan? just… keep throwing balls at a net until sunset?”

“pretty much,” he said, glancing at her. “unless you’ve got a better idea.”

“are you admitting to wanting to be in my company?”

“no, i'm simply taking your offer from yesterday. you know, if i ever need help venturing around.”

“oh, did i say that?”

“you compared yourself to dor-”

“it's a rhetorical question!” her cheeks warmed up, at the realisation of her random 'boldness' from the previous day.

“but.. fair enough,” she shrugged, “in that case, i might have a better idea or a few.” she said, her grin widening mischievously.

he raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical but willing to entertain her suggestion. “oh yeah? let’s hear it.”

“well, it’s not much of a plan yet,” she admitted, resting her chin on her knees. “but you could hang out with your beloved library-worker-plus-her-who's-mysteriously-at-the-field-every-day-now-turned-friend, later. you know, after you’re done being all serious and athletic.”

he paused, the ball in his hand, and looked at her fully for a moment. “hang out?”

“yeah,” she said casually, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “you’re bored and free, i’m bored and free… why not?”

he considered her for a moment, his expression unreadable. “you’re pretty straightforward, you know that?”

she grinned, unfazed. “pretty? check. straightforward? definitely check. so yeah, what do you say?”

“i’ll think about it,” he said, turning back to the net.

“wow,” she said, pretending to be offended. “that’s the most noncommittal answer and rejection i’ve ever heard.”

he smirked slightly, not looking at her. “better than a no.”

“fine.” she said with a shrug, leaning back on her hands.

they fell into a comfortable silence after that, the rhythmic thwack of the ball hitting the net filling the air. the sun hung lower in the sky now, casting long shadows across the field and painting everything in shades of gold and orange.

eventually, the guy had straightened up, stretching his arms over his head. He glanced over at y/n, who was still sitting in the grass, absentmindedly twisting a strand of hair around her finger as she watched the sky.

“you’re still here,” he said, his tone more surprised than accusatory.

“oh you're done!” she replied, smiling up at him. “and yeah, of course, i was waiting for your answer.”

he shook his head slightly, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. “you're not gonna leave unless i say no, are you?”

“glad to know you're catching up! but i know you were never gonna say no, if you had a choice too.” her face lit up instantly, her grin so bright it could’ve rivaled the setting sun. “i promise i won’t be too annoying, by the way.”

“somehow, i don’t believe that,” he said, though there was no real bite to his words.

she laughed, springing to her feet and brushing the grass off her skirt. “you’ll survive. come on, let’s go, baseball boy.”

he rolled his eyes but followed her off the field, the faintest hint of a smile still lingering on his lips.

“call me a creep,” she said with a grin, glancing back at him as he tried to catch up with her. “but i did see a messy stack of crumpled music sheets under your backpack the other day. so i know you're not good at lying.”

seungmin froze mid-step, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processed her words. he stopped walking, turning his head slowly to look at her with a mixture of suspicion and amusement.

“you what?” he asked, voice laced with disbelief but not quite sharp.

y/n stopped a few paces ahead of him, spinning around to face him with an innocent shrug and a playful grin. “you heard me.” she leaned slightly toward him as if to emphasize her point.

he blinked at her, “you really are a creep.”

“hey!” she exclaimed, laughing as she placed a hand over her chest in mock offense. “i wasn’t snooping or anything. i just.. happened to see it while you were busy.”

“you just happened to notice crumpled music sheets under my backpack? that’s oddly specific.”

“call it observational skills,” she said matter-of-factly, tilting her head as she smiled at him again. “besides, you’re dodging the point.”

“which is?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest.

“you’re not good at lying,” she said, her tone teasing but her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “you said you didn’t play anything? but clearly, you’ve got something going on with music.”

he stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. she could tell he was debating whether or not to admit anything. finally, he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked off to the side while they walked slower.

“it’s not a big deal,” he muttered, his voice quieter now.

she raised an eyebrow, her grin softening into something more genuine. “clearly, it’s a big enough deal that you’re hiding it.”

“it’s just.. something i mess around with sometimes,” he said, still avoiding her gaze. “nothing serious.”

“mess around with?” she echoed, “like ..writing? playing? singing?”

“all of the above,” he admitted reluctantly, his voice barely audible.

“that's really cool, you know.”

“it’s not,” he said quickly, looking genuinely embarrassed now. “it’s just something i do when i’m bored.”

“doesn’t matter,” she said with a shake of her head. “it’s still cool. and honestly, it makes so much sense now.”

“what does?”

“why you’re so good at reading people,” she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “music’s all about emotions, right? you must have a knack for it.”

he blinked at her, clearly caught off guard by her logic. “…that’s a stretch.”

“is it?” she asked, tilting her head as she looked at him again. “come on, admit it. you’re secretly a genius, aren’t you?”

he rolled his eyes, but there was a faint flush on his cheeks now, barely visible in the dimming light. “you’re really weird, you know that?”

“and you’re really deflecting,” she said, grinning as she nudged his arm with her shoulder.

silence. the field was quiet, as the pair finally exited through the rusty old gates.

“i’m not hiding it or anything,” he said after a long pause. “it’s just something i don’t really talk about. that’s all.”

she nodded, her smile softening into something more understanding. “i get it. but for the record, i think it's a great hobby. you don’t have to hide it around me.”

he glanced at her then, his expression unreadable for a moment before he let out a quiet chuckle.

the walk was simple. the quiet of the small town wrapping around them like a warm blanket. the golden-orange glow of streetlights lit up the pathway in patches, casting soft shadows as the two strolled side by side. the occasional passerby—an older man walking his dog or a young couple holding hands—added a gentle hum of life to the evening, but it was mostly just the two of them.

y/n kicked at a stray pebble on the sidewalk, the sound of it skittering ahead breaking the silence. she looked over at seungmin, who was walking with his hands in his pockets, his shoulders relaxed but his face unreadable.

“you walk like you have all the time in the world.”

he raised an eyebrow at her. “and you walk like you’re about to challenge someone to a race.”

“funny you should say that,” she grinned, already picking up her pace. “because i was just thinking—”

“y/n, no,” he said immediately, his tone flat but his eyes narrowing as if he already knew where this was going.

“oh, come on!” she laughed, already a few steps ahead of him now. she spun around to face him, walking backward as she pointed toward the distant outline of the bus stop up ahead. “race you to the bus stop. loser owes the winner a snack!”

“i’m not racing you,” he said, shaking his head.

“scared you’ll lose?” she taunted, her grin widening.

he let out a small sigh, running a hand through his hair. “considering i'm the least athletic, y-” he mumbled to himself.

“fine,” she said, throwing her hands up dramatically. “guess i’ll just win by default, then!”

with that, she turned and took off, her laughter trailing behind her as she sprinted toward the bus stop.

seungmin stood there for a second, watching her with an incredulous look before muttering under his breath, “unbelievable.” despite himself, he started jogging after her, his strides quickly closing the gap between them.

she reached the bus stop just a second before him, her chest heaving as she laughed and turned to face him. “looks like you owe me—”

“nothing,” he interrupted, standing just a few feet away, barely out of breath. “you cheated.”

“what?” she exclaimed, her hands flying to her hips. “how did i cheat?”

“you gave yourself a head start,”

“excuses, excuses,” she said, waving him off as she leaned against the bus stop pole. “a loss is a loss, seungmin.”

before he could reply, the bus pulled up, its headlights cutting through the dim light. the doors hissed open, and y/n wasted no time, darting inside with the same energy as before. “i call the window seat!” she called over her shoulder.

seungmin followed her at a more relaxed pace, shaking his head. “you’re a child,” he muttered as he climbed the steps.

“aren't we all?”

inside, the bus was mostly empty, save for a small group of middle schoolers sitting near the front. they were chatting animatedly, their voices a mix of excitement and laughter. she had already claimed her spot by the window, her bag plopped down on her lap as she looked out at the darkening sky.

“don’t just stand there,” she said, looking up at him with a teasing smile. “sit.”

he sighed, sliding into the seat beside her. “you’re really full of energy today.”

“always am,” she replied cheerfully, leaning her head against the window as the bus started moving.

the middle schoolers noticed them then, their curious eyes flicking toward the older pair. one of the boys leaned forward, his face lighting up as he addressed the girl. “are you guys dating?”

seungmin nearly choked on his own breath, his head snapping toward the kid in disbelief.

y/n, however, paused, then shaking her head and senses back. “we’re friends.”

“really?” the boy asked, tilting his head. “you look like you’re dating.”

“we’re not,” seungmin said firmly, though his voice lacked its usual sharpness.

another girl from the group leaned in, grinning. “but you’d make a cute couple!”

“i swear, all kids this age only talk about crushes and dating..” he mumbled silently.

“see?” she said, nudging him with her elbow. “even kids think we’re cute together.”

“don’t encourage them.”

she laughed again, turning back to the kids. “what about you guys? why are you out so late?”

“we had cram school,” one of them replied, his tone dramatic. “it’s the worst.”

y/n gasped in mock horror, clasping her hands together. “cram school? at your age? you poor things.”

the kids laughed, clearly enjoying her playful energy. “do you go to uni?” one of the girls asked.

“yup,” she said, nodding. “and i work part-time at the library, too. it’s fun, but uni is… a lot.”

“you work at a library?” the boy from earlier asked. “that’s so cool!”

“not as cool as you think,” she said with a wink. “but it has its moments.”

as the conversation continued, seungmin found himself watching her more than he intended to. the way her eyes lit up as she talked to the kids, the easy way she laughed and made them feel comfortable—it was… nice. she had this warmth about her, this effortless ability to make people smile.

he didn’t realize he was staring until one of the kids pointed at him. “what about you, mister? what do you do?”

“baseball,” he said simply, his gaze flicking away from her as he addressed the group.

“whoa, really? are you on a team?”

“not really an official one,” he said, his tone calm but polite. “but it's with my uni friends.”

“that’s so cool!” the kids chorused, their admiration genuine.

“looks like you’ve got some fans.”

he rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at his lips. “you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“absolutely,”

as the bus continued down the quiet streets, the group fell into a comfortable rhythm, the kids’ chatter filling the space. and though seungmin wasn’t much of a talker, he found himself joining in, answering their questions and even cracking a joke or two.

she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, her smile softening as she watched him interact with the kids. for someone who claimed to be reserved, he had a way of connecting with people when he let his guard down.

by the time the bus reached their stop, the middle schoolers waved goodbye with big smiles, their energy still high.

“see you around!” one of them called as they hopped off.

“bye!” y/n had replied, waving back enthusiastically.

as the two of them stepped off the bus, the quiet of the town greeted them once more. she stretched her arms above her head, a content sigh escaping her lips. “come on,” she skipped quickly.

“so,” seungmin said, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets and giving her a skeptical look. “where exactly are we going? you never actually said. are you sure you’re not kidnapping me?”

“if i were kidnapping you, wouldn’t i have tied you up and thrown you in the bus trunk or something?”

he tilted his head, pretending to think. “you’ve clearly never kidnapped anyone before. that’s not how it works.”

“oh, you’re an expert now?” she shot back, her grin widening as she glanced over her shoulder at him.

“i’ve watched enough movies to know you’re doing it wrong,” he deadpanned, his lips twitching upward.

“good to know.” she gave him a mock salute before skipping a little farther down the street. “come on! i know a great street food cart around here. you’re not afraid of trying new things, are you?”

he raised an eyebrow as he followed her. “i think i’ll survive. lead the way, sunshine.”

they stopped at a small street food cart nestled on a quiet corner, the warm smell of grilled meat and savory spices filling the air. a cheerful elderly vendor greeted them with a smile, his weathered hands busy flipping skewers on the grill. the small counter was lined with colorful condiments, sauces, and steaming bowls of rice.

“ah, young love!” the vendor teased as they approached. “out for a date, y/n?”

y/n's cheeks flushed, but she recovered quickly, laughing as she leaned her elbows on the counter. “not a date. just two people enjoying good food.”

“hmm, that’s what they all say,” the man said with a wink, handing her a menu.

seungmin sighed, shaking his head. “we’re not—”

“shh,” she interrupted, whispering, nudging him with her elbow. “let the man think what he wants. who knows, we might even get a discount.”

he gave her a look but didn’t argue, instead glancing at the menu she was holding. “what’s good here?”

“everything,” she said with a grin, handing it to him. “but if i had to pick, the japchae and chicken skewers are my favorites.”

he nodded, ordering exactly what she suggested while y/n added a few other things to their order. as they waited, she leaned back against the cart, looking up at the star-dotted sky.

“you’re not from around here, are you?” seungmin asked suddenly, his voice breaking the comfortable silence.

she shook her head, still gazing upward. “nope.. well not exactly. had to move here after elementary. my grandparents live here, though. i’ve been staying with them.”

“must be nice,” he said, his tone soft. “having family nearby.”

she smiled at that, turning to face him. “yeah. they’re great. super nosy, though. if they knew i was out with you right now, they’d probably be interrogating me over dinner later.”

“oh, so i’m a topic of conversation now?” he teased, one corner of his mouth quirking up.

“only because they’re obsessed with matchmaking,” she replied, rolling her eyes fondly. “they're caring, though. they just.. want me to be happy.”

he studied her for a moment, his gaze lingering on the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled. “you seem happy.”

“i try to be,” she said simply, her voice quiet but steady, though there was an unfamiliar flicker in her eyes as she blinked it away. “life’s too short not to find little things to smile about, you know?”

before he could respond, the vendor handed them their food, and y/n immediately brightened, clapping her hands together. “perfect timing! let’s eat.”

they found a bench nearby, the soft glow of a lamppost casting a golden halo over their little spot. she handed him his share of the food before digging into her own, her face lighting up with every bite.

“this is so good,” she said around a mouthful of cold noodles, earning a laugh from seungmin.

“you’ve got sauce on your face,” he pointed out, gesturing to the corner of his own mouth.

“where?” she asked, swiping at her face with her sleeve.

“other side,” he said, leaning forward slightly. when she still missed it, he sighed, pulling a napkin from the bag and reaching over to wipe it off himself. “honestly, you’re worse than a kid.”

she froze for a second, her cheeks warming as his fingers brushed her skin. “thanks,” she mumbled, her voice softer than usual.

he pulled back quickly, clearing his throat as he sat up straighter. “you’re welcome.”

they ate in comfortable silence for a while, the sounds of the town around them—distant conversations, the hum of passing cars—filling the gaps. every now and then, seungmin would glance at her out of the corner of his eye, watching the way her face lit up as she talked about her favorite foods or how she waved enthusiastically at strangers passing by.

“you’re really… outgoing,” he said finally, his tone thoughtful.

“is that a bad thing?”

“no,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “it’s just.. different. in a good way.”

her smile softened, and she looked down at her hands. “thanks. i think?”

he shrugged, taking another bite of his food. “don’t let it go to your head.”

she laughed, the sound light and musical, and he found himself smiling despite himself. for someone so different from him, she was surprisingly easy to be around.

she leaned back on the bench, her chopsticks idly stirring the remaining japchae sauce in her container. her eyes sparkled with curiosity as she turned toward seungmin, who was quietly munching on a chicken skewer.

“so,” she began, her tone playful yet pointed. “you said you did play the guitar right?”

he paused mid-bite, his brows furrowing slightly as he glanced at her. “why does it sound like an interrogation?”

“because it is,” she replied, grinning. “i mean, you didn’t mention it until i asked you. oh and what’s the deal with the music sheets under your backpack the other day? planning to start a band or something?”

he huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “hardly. i’m just.. messing around. nothing serious.”

“messing around?” she echoed, her head tilting slightly as she scrutinized him. “come on, min. you don’t just carry music sheets around for no reason. what are you working on?”

he shifted uncomfortably, avoiding her gaze by focusing on the skewer in his hand. “i’m not working on anything. i just play a little when i have time. that’s all.”

she squinted at him, clearly unconvinced. “you’re being suspiciously vague.”

“maybe because there’s nothing more to say,” he countered, raising an eyebrow at her.

“oh, there’s definitely more to say,” she retorted, leaning closer as if trying to read his expression better. “do you write songs? or are you just playing covers? be honest—are you secretly a rockstar?”

he rolled his eyes, but there was a faint smile tugging at his lips. “definitely not a rockstar. and no, i’m not writing songs. i barely know enough to play properly as it is.”

“barely know enough?” she repeated, her tone skeptical. “you strike me as the type who’d quietly get really good at something and then pretend you’re just ‘okay’ at it.”

he let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “i’m really not that good. i’m just learning the basics. chords, strumming patterns, that kind of stuff.”

“that’s still cool,” she said earnestly, her face softening. “everyone starts somewhere. are you teaching yourself?”

“yeah,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “i found an old guitar in the storage room at home and thought i’d give it a try. it’s.. relaxing.”

she smiled at that, leaning back against the bench. “music is good for that. it’s like.. this little world you can escape to, you know?”

“music is.. kind of magic, don’t you think?” she said, her voice tinged with awe. “like, it’s not just sounds. it’s emotion. it’s stories. it’s—” she paused, searching for the right word, “—connection. you can listen to a song in a language you don’t even understand, and still feel it. isn’t that amazing? like, how can a few notes and some words make you feel like that?”

she tilted her head back, staring up at the sky as she continued, her voice softening but growing no less passionate. “and it’s not just the big, dramatic moments, either. it’s the little ones, like how a single chord can make your chest ache, or how a melody can take you back to a memory you thought you’d forgotten. it’s so… alive. like it has this way of pulling you in, making you feel something you didn’t even know you were missing.”

he had just been listening, watching her as she spoke, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“and it’s so personal,” she said, her voice quieter now. “everyone has their own song, you know? something that feels like it’s just for them, like it knows them in a way no one else does. that’s what i love about it. music isn’t just one thing. it’s so many things, all at once. it’s chaos and comfort and beauty and sadness. it’s… everything.”

she exhaled, a small, almost sheepish smile crossing her face as she looked at him. “sorry, i’m rambling. i just—when i think about it, i can’t help it. it’s like… music’s the closest thing we have to magic.”

he glanced at her, surprised by how sincere she sounded. it was quiet for a moment, until he spoke. “do you?”

“hm?” that had gotten her attention, though the air felt slightly thicker now.

“i mean, you said earlier that you can't multitask. despite how hard i find it to believe- what i meant to ask was if you sang.. or tried playing after that or not.”

the girl only shifted her gaze and paused for a bit, exhaling as she smiled briefly again, “i did, try to play the guitar, in middle school. but i just kinda gave up after that,” she chuckled awkwardly. “and as for singing? i just hum here and there, but nothing professional or serious.”

“the way you talk about it says otherwise.”

“how do i talk about it?”

he tilted his head, studying her with an intensity that made her shift slightly in her seat. then, he smiled, soft and a little disbelieving, as if he couldn’t quite figure her out.

“you talk about it like it’s your whole world,” he started, his voice quieter, almost reflective. “like, when you mentioned music, your tone changed. it’s.. different. it’s not just words with you — it’s like your entire energy shifts. you sound so.. alive. like you’re describing something that’s a part of you, something you feel in your bones.”

he paused, glancing down at his hands as if he were trying to piece the rest together. “it’s in the way you look when you talk about it, too. you get this light in your eyes, like you’re remembering something important. like you’re somewhere else entirely—like music isn’t just something you like. it’s something you need. like it’s this space where nothing else matters, you know? like it’s a place that’s just yours.”

she blinked, caught off guard by the weight of his words. he ran a hand through his hair, clearing his throat as though realizing how much he’d said. but then, as if he couldn’t help himself, he continued, his gaze locking onto hers again.

his words hung in the air, heavy and quiet, as if they were something fragile. “am i wrong?” he asked finally, though he didn’t sound entirely convinced that he could be.

“for a baseball guy you're quite the poet.”

“that's not an answer.”

“i didn't mean to answer.”

“well?”

“well what?”

“am i?”

“you're not wrong. but music is just something.. i adore. like everyone else! that's all that there is to it.” she pursed her lips, getting up with the wooden bowl that was once full of japchae, to walk to the stall again and hand it to the man with a smile. seungmin followed shortly after, feeling slightly curious but he shook it off.

“seungmin!” she called out. “come on!”

then they were on the street again. she walked slightly ahead, her steps light and playful, occasionally skipping over cracks in the sidewalk. seungmin followed at a slower, more measured pace, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket.

“so,” she said, turning her head slightly to glance at him with a bright smile. “since we’re walking and have time, i think we should play twenty questions.”

he raised an eyebrow. “that’s a dangerous game.”

“not if you answer honestly,” she replied with a shrug, her grin widening. “come on, it’ll be fun. i’ll start. what’s your favorite color?”

he paused, thinking. “blue, i guess.”

“safe choice,” she teased. “very original.”

he rolled his eyes. “alright, my turn. why are you always so upbeat?”

“hey, that’s not a yes-or-no question!” she protested, narrowing her eyes playfully.

“neither is ‘what’s your favorite color,’” he pointed out, smirking.

she huffed, crossing her arms as she walked. “fine. i guess i’m just naturally optimistic? or maybe i just don’t see the point in being gloomy all the time. life’s too short to be grumpy.”

“are you calling me grumpy?” he asked, his tone mock-offended.

“well, you are kind of the poster child for ‘brooding baseball guy,’” she quipped, flashing him a cheeky smile.

he let out a short laugh. “i’m not brooding.”

“sure you’re not,” she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “alright, your turn again.”

he glanced at her, his curiosity piqued. “what made you want to work at the library?”

she tilted her head, thinking. “well, i’ve always loved books. and libraries are… peaceful, you know? there’s something magical about being surrounded by so many stories. plus, it’s a good excuse to read a lot while getting paid for it.”

“that makes sense,” he said, nodding. “what’s your favorite book, then?”

“oh, that’s impossible to answer!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up dramatically. “there are too many. but if i had to pick.. maybe white nights. classic, romantic, sad. it’s got everything.”

“romantic, hm?” he teased, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

she shot him a look. “don’t make fun of me! it’s a great book.”

“i’m not making fun,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “i just didn’t take you for a romantic. or someone who liked reading sad love stories.”

“well you'll be surprised,” she said. “i like reading everything. it's art. whether sad, or happy, or anything else.”

he noticed the shift in her tone and decided not to press further. instead, he changed the subject. “alright, my turn again. what’s something most people don’t know about you?”

she thought for a moment, a mischievous glint returning to her eyes. “i have a terrible sense of direction. like, really bad. if i didn’t have my phone, i’d probably get lost on my way home.”

he snorted. “good to know. i’ll make sure to never follow you if we’re lost.”

“rude,” she said, sticking her tongue out at him. “my turn. same question. what’s something most people don’t know about you?”

he hesitated, his gaze dropping to the ground. “well, most people don’t know that i’ve always wanted a pet, like a dog. a big one. like, a golden retriever or something.” he chuckled softly at the thought. “my friends say i resemble a dog. but can't put up with one. i guess it’s kind of random, but i don’t know. i’ve always imagined having a dog, like, after i’m out of school, you know? just someone to come home to, someone who’s always excited to see me.”

he paused, a small, almost wistful smile tugging at his lips. “but i never really had the chance to get one, with school and everything. plus, i’m always busy with baseball or music, and i feel like i’d end up neglecting it. so… it’s one of those things that kind of stayed on the back burner.”

she had been watching him intently, her gaze fixed on him for a moment longer than usual. he didn’t seem to notice, too caught up in his own thoughts.

��hmm,” she said, breaking the silence with a light laugh. “you’d be a good pup owner, i think. you seem like the type.”

he raised an eyebrow at her, the mischievous grin returning. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

she just shrugged, her lips curling into a smile. “nothing, just.. you’ve got this calm about you. i don’t know. you’d probably spoil it.”

his grin widened, but he didn’t reply right away. instead, he sat back and looked up at the sky, clearly lost in his own thoughts for a moment.

“i see it though.”

he raises an eyebrow.

“the resemblance of you, physically, and in another way, to a dog.” she spoke, her gaze tracing his features. “you might seem mysterious to a stranger, and me, sadly, but i get a feeling you're really happy and playful around people you're close with.”

“and as for physically, when you walk like this, your hair jumps and it actually looks like puppy ears. overall your face, especially with that wide smile that you try to avoid in front of me,” she laughed, “makes you seem more like a dog. playful. familiar. friendly.. and comforting.”

he stared at her, stunned into silence for a moment. her words had caught him completely off guard, and he wasn’t sure how to respond. finally, he let out a laugh—soft, genuine, and a little disbelieving.

“well, that’s… definitely not what i expected to hear today,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, a faint flush creeping up his cheeks. “i don’t know if i should be offended or flattered.”

“flattered,” she replied without missing a beat, a playful glint in her eyes. “dogs are great!”

“i can’t believe you just compared me to a dog. you’re really out here calling me mysterious and playful in the same sentence.”

“it’s true, though,” she insisted, crossing her arms with a smug grin. “i’m pretty good at reading people.”

“clearly,” he said, his tone teasing, though there was a warmth in his gaze as he looked at her. then, after a pause, he added, “you know, no one’s ever said anything like that about me before. it’s.. weirdly nice to hear.”

she tilted her head, her smile softening. “you’re welcome.”

he chuckled again, shaking his head. “alright, since you’re so good at reading people, what does that make you?”

her eyes lit up at the challenge, but she hesitated for a moment, her expression growing thoughtful. “hmm.. i guess you’ll just have to figure that out for yourself,” she said with a sly smile, leaving him to wonder as she walked further and quicker, the conversation still lingering between them.

they walked in comfortable silence for a moment, the sound of their footsteps echoing softly. the quiet of the town felt almost intimate, like they were the only two people in the world.

“where are we going?” he finally asked, watching as she spun around to face him briefly, walking backward with an impish grin.

“you’ll see,” she replied, her voice sing-song. “it’s a surprise.”

“i don’t like surprises,” he muttered, though there was no real bite to his words.

“well, you’ll like this one,” she countered, skipping ahead. “trust me.”

the library loomed ahead, its lights dimmed, the glass doors reflecting the moonlight. seungmin frowned. “wait. isn’t the library closed?”

“of course, it is,” she said casually, fishing a key out of her pocket. “but i work here, remember?”

“that doesn’t sound very legal, miss librarian.”

she laughed softly, “relax, mr. rule follower. felix closed up about half an hour ago, and i have permission to be here after hours. perks of the job.”

“okay,” she said, breaking the silence. “last question before we get there. what’s your happiest memory?”

he looked at her, caught off guard by the question. “happiest memory? that’s a tough one.”

“well, think about it,” she urged, her voice soft but insistent. “it doesn’t have to be big. just something that made you really happy.”

he thought for a moment, his gaze distant. “probably my first baseball game as a kid. my dad and grandpa took me. i remember the crowd, the excitement, the smell of popcorn. it was perfect.”

she smiled warmly. “that sounds amazing. thanks for sharing.”

he glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “what about you? what’s your happiest memory?”

she paused, her steps slowing. “probably… baking cookies with my mom when i was little. she’d let me lick the spoon, and we’d make such a mess, but it was always so much fun.”

her voice had taken on a wistful tone, and he found himself studying her face, the way her eyes softened with the memory.

“you’re really close to your mom, huh?” he asked gently.

“yeah,” she said softly, her smile bittersweet, as she didn't say more.

before he could say anything else, she stopped abruptly and turned to him with a grin. “we’re here.”

he looked up, realizing they had arrived at the library. the sight of it felt almost surreal in the quiet of the night.

“come on,” she said, pulling out her key and unlocking the door. “i’ve got something to show you.”

he followed her inside, the familiar scent of books and polished wood enveloping them. the quiet was even deeper now, the kind of silence that felt sacred. she flipped on a small desk lamp near the entrance, its warm glow casting long shadows across the shelves.

“you said you write and like literature, right? so what made you start writing in the first place?” seungmin asks her.

she paused mid-step as they walked through the library aisle, the soft glow of her phone flashlight illuminating the dust particles that floated lazily in the air. she turned her head to glance at seungmin, her expression thoughtful, as if the question had unlocked a memory she hadn’t revisited in a while.

“wow,” she said, breaking into a small smile, “that’s a deep question. you’re really pulling out the big guns tonight.”

seungmin leaned casually against the nearest bookshelf, crossing his arms with a faint smirk. “what can i say? i’m curious. you seem like the type who’d have a good story behind it.”

“flattery will get you nowhere,” she teased, sticking her tongue out at him. but then her expression softened as she considered his question more seriously. “i guess… it all started when i was little. mum loved stories. she’d always read to me before bed—fairy tales, myths, even poems sometimes. and she’d make up her own stories too, ones that no one else could tell like she did.”

seungmin nodded, his gaze steady on her as she spoke. he didn’t interrupt, sensing there was more to this than just bedtime stories.

“she had this way of making the ordinary feel magical,” she continued, her voice quieter now, as if she were speaking more to herself than to him. “when i was about seven, i remember her telling me that everyone has a story worth sharing. that stuck with me. writing became my way of… i don’t know, capturing moments, feelings, the things i was afraid i’d forget.”

there was a brief silence, the kind that felt heavy but not uncomfortable. seungmin tilted his head slightly, his voice softer than usual. “and you still feel that way. that everyone has a story.”

she turned to him fully, her lips curving into a small, sincere smile. “yeah, i do. even if someone thinks their life is boring or unimportant, there’s always something unique about how they see the world. i think that’s worth writing down.”

his expression shifted slightly, his usual neutral demeanor replaced with something warmer, more introspective. “that’s… a nice way to look at it.”

she chuckled lightly, breaking the intensity of the moment. “you sound surprised.”

“i’m not,” he said, shrugging one shoulder. “it just makes sense. it sounds like you.”

she blinked, taken aback for a second, before a faint flush crept up her cheeks. “well, thanks, i guess. so, mr. musician slash baseball guy, your turn. what made you pick up the guitar?” she said, still walking around the dark library, slowly, as he followed behind.

seungmin shifted his weight, suddenly looking a little sheepish. “honestly? i think it started because i wanted to impress someone.”

she raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. “oh? do tell.”

he let out a small laugh, shaking his head. “it’s not that exciting. back in middle school, i had this.. huge crush on someone. she played piano, and i thought maybe if i learned guitar, we could do some duet thing.”

she burst into laughter, the sound light and infectious. “that’s so cute! did it work?”

“not at all,” he admitted, his own laugh mingling with hers. “i was terrible back then. and she moved schools before i even got the courage to play in front of her.”

she grinned at him, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “well, at least you stuck with it. now you’re here, a brooding baseball player with a secret musical side. very intriguing.”

“brooding again?” he teased, narrowing his eyes at her playfully.

“hey, it’s your aesthetic,” she said with a mock-serious shrug. “don’t fight it.”

they both laughed, the sound echoing softly through the quiet library. after a moment, she nudged his arm. “but seriously, i think it’s cool that you play. even if you started for, uh, questionable reasons.”

“questionable?” he repeated, pretending to be offended.

“okay, fine, romantic reasons,” she corrected, grinning. “but you must’ve kept playing for more than just that, right?”

he hesitated, looking down at the worn wooden floor beneath them. “yeah. after a while, it stopped being about anyone else. i started to enjoy it for what it was. there’s something calming about it, you know? like it’s just you and the music.”

her smile softened, her voice gentle. “i get that. music has a way of making everything else disappear, even if it’s just for a little while.”

her back and his chest collided suddenly, when she paused her footsteps to look around. their eyes met briefly, and for a moment, the space between them felt charged with an unspoken understanding. then she cleared her throat, breaking the moment with a grin. “alright, enough with the deep talk. we’re here.”

she gestured to a row of shelves, her excitement bubbling up again. seungmin watched as she reached up, pulling down a few old, dusty books and placing them on a nearby table, after turning the lights on.

“these,” she said, running her fingers over the faded covers, “belonged to my mom. she loved music almost as much as she loved literature.”

he approached the table, his curiosity evident as he looked at the books. “why are you showing me this?”

“because,” she said, her tone soft but earnest, “you’re still learning, right? these might help. and i don’t know, it just felt right to share them with you.”

seungmin glanced at her, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. “bold of you to assume i'm gonna take something that belongs to someone who has more passion for music than i do.”

“bold of you to assume i'm letting you leave without it.”

she smiled, softly. “these books, seungmin, helped her a lot. now, it's no use to her because she's learnt all from them. so, giving this to you seems as the best option, especially when compared to letting them catch dust in these shelves.”

seungmin picked up one of the books, flipping through the yellowed pages. the notes in the margins and the slight creases on the edges gave it a sense of history. he hesitated, then glanced back at her. “you know, you make it sound like this is some kind of inheritance or something. like i’m supposed to treat this like a family heirloom.”

she chuckled lightly. “well, maybe it is, in a way. but if anyone’s going to appreciate it, i figured it’d be you.”

he tilted his head, giving her a curious look. “why me? there are probably a hundred other people who’d jump at the chance to take something like this. people who might actually deserve it.”

her gaze softened as she met his eyes. “because you care,” she said simply. “even if you try to hide it, i can see it. music means something to you. and i think that’s enough of a reason.”

he looked at her for a moment, the words sinking in. then, with a small smirk, he set the book back on the table. “you’re really good at guilt-tripping, you know that?”

“it’s not guilt-tripping!” she said, crossing her arms with a playful smile. “it’s… persuasion.”

seungmin let out a breath, shaking his head in amusement. “fine. but only if you let me return them when i’m done. deal?”

“deal,” she said, her smile widening. “but i don’t think you’ll want to give them back. just saying.”

he laughed, picking up the book again and tucking it under his arm. “you really don’t let people argue with you, do you?”

“not when i know i’m right,” she quipped, earning a small shake of his head and a smile as he started for the door.

“hey,” he softly reached out, “thank you.”

she turned to him, her grin returning. “you’re welcome. but you owe me now.”

he chuckled softly, shaking his head. “what do i owe you?”

“hmmm,” she pretended to think. “how about.. a song? once you learn something new from these books, you have to play it for me.”

his lips quirked up in a small, reluctant smile. “deal.”

seungmin carried the stack of books they’d borrowed from the library, his expression as neutral as ever, but there was an unmistakable warmth to his presence. she walked beside him, hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket, her usual smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“thanks for helping me with the books,” she said, glancing sideways at him.

“no problem,” he replied casually. then, after a beat, he smirked. “i mean, it’s only fair since you’re sharing your mom’s secret stash with me.”

she chuckled, bumping her shoulder lightly against his. “it’s not really a ‘secret stash.’ it’s just stuff that mattered to her. stuff that matters to me.”

he looked at her, his gaze softer now. “that’s what makes it important.”

her steps faltered slightly, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. she recovered quickly, brushing it off with a small laugh. “look at you, mr. philosophical. spending time with me is really rubbing off on you, huh?”

“i think i deserve some credit,” he teased. “i was already pretty deep before.”

“sure,” she said with exaggerated skepticism. “if by ‘deep,’ you mean good at dodging questions about yourself.”

“i answer questions,” he defended, raising an eyebrow at her.

“uh-huh,” she shot back, grinning. “vague answers don’t count.”

their banter was interrupted by the sound of excited chatter. up ahead, near an open lot, a group of kids and a few elderly folks were gathered, their laughter mingling with the occasional crackle of fireworks. sparklers lit up the night, little bursts of light spinning in the hands of children as they ran around, their faces glowing with pure joy.

she slowed her pace, her eyes lighting up as she took in the scene. “oh, that looks so fun.”

“really?” seungmin asked, raising an eyebrow as he followed her gaze. “it’s just sparklers.”

“just sparklers?” she echoed, feigning offense. “excuse me, but sparklers are the most magical thing ever. you clearly don’t understand their charm.”

before he could respond, one of the kids noticed them and waved enthusiastically. “noona! hyung! do you want to play with us?”

her face broke into a wide grin. “of course! seungmin, come on!”

he hesitated, looking a little awkward. “i don’t think—”

“don’t think, just come,” she interrupted, grabbing his wrist and pulling him toward the group. he stumbled slightly but didn’t resist, letting her drag him along.

the kids and elders greeted them warmly, handing them sparklers and showing them where to place their books and bags safely away from the fireworks. y/n immediately lit her sparkler, holding it up and twirling it around with a delighted laugh.

“see?” she said, looking over at seungmin. “magic.”

he couldn’t help but smile at her, even as he reluctantly lit his own sparkler. “if you say so.”

“come on, you have to at least try to have fun,” she teased, stepping closer to him. “look, like this.” she moved her arm in a sweeping motion, drawing a glowing pattern in the air with her sparkler. “isn’t it pretty?”

he watched her, his sparkler momentarily forgotten in his hand. the orange-golden light reflected in her eyes, her face alight with joy. she looked so completely in her element, like the world around her had faded away, and she was just… glowing.

“you’re staring,” one of the elders said suddenly, catching him off guard. his tone was teasing, and his cheeks flushed as he was caught.

“a-ah sorry. i wasn’t,” he lied, quickly focusing on his sparkler. “i was just lost.. in thought!”

“you seem to have feelings for her, don't you?” the ahjussi asked.

“we're just friends.”

“that's what they all say, kid,” the ahjussi laughed, “and that's what i said when i met her, too.” he pointed towards a lady of the same age as him. “she was, is, and always will be everything to me.”

seungmin only glanced between them, gaze softening, and the moment being interrupted by y/n's voice.

“seungmin!” she called, giggling with the kids, “look! we fused all the colors of all the sparklers together and it made a rainbow!”

seungmin could only stare at her with a smile.

“good luck, kid.”

one of the kids ran up to them, holding out a small box of colorful sparklers. “noona, hyung! these ones make a big circle when you spin them really fast!”

y/n took one eagerly, thanking the child before lighting it and spinning it around. she let out a delighted laugh as it created a bright, shimmering circle in the air. “seungmin, try it!”

he took one reluctantly, lighting it and attempting the same motion. his first try was clumsy, earning a giggle from her.

“okay, that was terrible,” she said, stepping closer. “here, let me show you.”

before he could protest, she reached out, her hand brushing against his as she guided his arm. “like this,” she said, her voice softer now. the proximity between them suddenly felt charged, the air around them growing quieter despite the noise of the sparklers and laughter.

he followed her lead, their hands moving together in a smooth arc. the sparkler drew a perfect circle in the air, its light casting a warm glow over their faces.

“there,” she said, her smile bright and triumphant. “much better.”

“thanks to you,” he said, his voice quieter than usual.

their eyes met for a moment, the sparkler’s glow reflecting in both their gazes. it was one of those moments where time seemed to slow, the world around them fading into the background.

then, one of the kids yelled, “noona, hyung! look at this!” breaking the spell. she stepped back, laughing nervously as she turned to watch the child show off their new sparkler trick.

seungmin exhaled softly, a small smile tugging at his lips as he watched her. even in the chaos of sparklers and children’s laughter, she was like a beacon of light, drawing everyone—and him—toward her.

as the night wore on, they stayed with the group, laughing, playing, and creating memories under the starry sky. and though neither of them said it out loud, they both knew this evening would stay with them for a long, long time.

and maybe, just maybe, something shifted in the quiet corners of both their hearts that night.

taglists ୨୧ (mt) @cosmicalily @hyunjiiza @woozarts (st) @vixensss @miyeonna

!! please let me know under this chapter post, or this one, if i forgot you in the taglist, my inactivity made me lose track, i'm really sorry !!

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daemonbrain · 2 days ago

Text

when I say i GASPED the moment i saw a new chapter hello? Still sososososososo traumatized from ch 12 but wtv!!! Your writing literally makes me lose my marbles. I see an update and I literally plan my little sit down to read bro tumblr is sm fun. Quite literally i think this fic made me give tumblr fics more chances and read around. like how r u so awesome ma'am??

His tresses looked tangled in its dripping state. A towel covered his belly and thighs, skin still damp. And his skin, his skin was burned. Were once you remembered both faint and deep cuts rested, now rested there was thick and textured marks.

So what if they just..... made more babies....

"It pleases me," he blurts, stroking your hair, "thank you."

this little ho should be BEGGING ON HIS KNEES FOR THIS OPPORTUNITY

He clenches his teeth, trying not to sound so sour as he speaks. He fails, "you write to him oft?"

mhm she wrote to you often too babe but we all know how that worked out 😊😊

"I... I want to be civil with you." His nostrils flare as he chuckles dryly. "I do not want to be at war with you." "But we are!" Daemon blurts, "love is war." "Says who?" you knit your brows. "Says my bleeding heart," he mutters, as he fixes his doublet himself. His eyes begin to water, so he turns away.

ur so good with writing whipped daemon like I loveeeeeee. He's such a selfish guy it drives me insane but i love reading it

You rub your belly, "we will be sending our Alaeric and Alyrie off."

DON'T NOT WITH TEH BELLY JUST NO WHY. WHY. SHE DESERVED HER BABIES SHE LITERALLY WOULDVE BEEN THE BEST MOM I CANT. You stabbed me. You stabbed me and i KNOW you enjoyed it. GO AHEAD AND TWIST THE KNIFE EVEN MORE YOU KNOW YOU WANT TO (pls don't you scare me)

Daemon grits his teeth, looking over his shoulder. He turns to you then his brother, "visagon aōha tresy." Control your son.

The prince takes a deep breath, eyes fixed upon his children, "dracarys."

"In any case," you wipe your philtrum, "I am glad to have a friend."

THANK YOU FOR FINALLY GIVING MY GIRL A FRIEND LIKE

Anyways loved the update, tyvm for this lovely little labor of love. Your writing always paints such a good picture which really makes you feel the nice awesome super cool great gut-wrenching feeling for my fav hightower twin. Take care of yourself, drink lots of water, have fun etc etc!!!!!!

Tormented Spirit | 16

Part 1 [...] 14 15 16 17

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 5k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, violence, pregnancy, miscarriage, panic/anxiety attacks, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: guys we're just gonna roll with the fact daemon knows how to braid hair realllly well ok stfu. also ASHFOASF long time no see i hope you enjoyyy!!!!!! | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching @myllovellybones

You find it hard to dress yourself for your clothes were far too heavy for you. What's more, they looked like they were eating you alive with how much weight you've lost. Your sister offered to have new dresses commissioned for you, but the moment your father caught wind of it, he made sure to send away any tailor that would fit you, insisting that you would regain your weight. You only did after Aegon was born, but as it remains, you look odd in your ill-fitting garbs.

By the time you are finished dressing yourself, you stare at your reflection. Black suited you, you think... it made the little color that remained on your face pop up.

Daemon emerges from the bathroom as you were about to fix your hair. His tresses looked tangled in its dripping state. A towel covered his belly and thighs, skin still damp. And his skin, his skin was burned. Were once you remembered both faint and deep cuts rested, now rested there was thick and textured marks.

"Dae-" you start but immediately stop when he heads straight towards his closet, hastily moving to dress himself.

You fidget with your fingers, unsure if you ought to help, approach, or even speak. You stare at him, hoping he'd acknowledge you. He doesn't.

You sigh and slowly walk to your vanity, though your eyes remain on him. He spares you a look, immediately looking away when he catches you staring. He puts on his breeches and pulls his towel off. He ties its laces, as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. It wasn't. In fact, it was not even an easy feat, as his hands were trembling.

You don't notice that exactly, but you do notice his frantic movements which were so unlike him. You wonder if it was consequence war, and you find yourself pretending not to notice in case it was the case. The last thing you wanted was to trigger him today of all days. You wanted the day you send off your children to be peaceful for the both of you.

You walk sit before your mirror, eyes on your reflection as you comb your hair. Your gaze keeps flickering back to Daemon though.

He notices, and can hardly bare it. He haphazardly puts on his dress shirt then grabs his doublet, pacing across the room. He shudders as he chucks his towel on the bed. He huffs and leans on the table where an ewer of wine laid. He chucks his top on the surface beside it and pours himself a drink.

His aim is poor. Red sputters on the table due to his shaky grip. He nearly makes the cup overflow, but manages to control himself. Quickly, the prince downs the alcohol, but it seems to do nothing for his nerves, and absolutely nothing for the maddening nightmare that was torturing him so greatly.

In truth, he did not know if he quivered out of fear or anger because of it. He did not know which part haunted him more, the fact that his subconscious thought this up, or the fact that it might be true.

He gasps when he hears his name. He sets his cup down with a thud and turns over his shoulder. He scratches his eyes as he looks at you, face shining though your brows were furrowed.

"A-are... are you-"

"It's nothing," he quips, stuffing his dress shirt into his trousers.

You shift on your chair to face him and frown, "Daemon."

He freezes, jaw clenching with an unwillingness to confess what was torturing him.

You see his steely gaze and his tensed shoulders. You knew better than to pursue an uncomfortable conversation with him right now, so you lower your gaze and slowly shake your head, "I... I simply wanted to ask if you would help braid my hair."

He freezes, "what?"

"I thought it would be good to-"

Daemon grabs his doublet and hastily wears it, nearly sprinting towards you.

"- have you..." your breath hitches. You look at him through his reflection as he comes behind you, "... do it in the fashion of your house."

His hands tremble as he reaches for your hair.

"... if... it pleases you."

"It pleases me," he blurts, stroking your hair, "thank you."

You shake my head and sigh, "I-... thank you." You lower your gaze to your hands, "might I write while you do this?"

Daemon's brows furrow as you apprehensively turn to him. He shakes his head but then nods, "o... of course."

You watch him reach for the comb.

He feels its weight before shaking his head again, "wh... to whom?"

"My twin," you say simply, opening the drawer to pull out some parchment and ink. Your eyes slowly look at his reflection as you get your quill and shut the drawer.

Daemon nods. He grips the comb and shrugs. He shakes his head before gathering your locks and brushing through it. He clenches his teeth, trying not to sound so sour as he speaks. He fails, "you write to him oft?"

You nearly tell him everyday, but you change it to: "yes."

He notices that you had two pieces of parchment on your table. He cannot help the jealousy that blooms at the idea of you writing long letters for him. "Much to say, have you?"

Your eyes flicker up to him.

Daemon does not look at you as he parts your hair and begins braiding.

"What?"

"You have two pieces of parchment."

"Oh..." you look back to the table, not thinking he'd notice, "the other is for Laenor."

He freezes.

"I do not write to him as oft," you mutter.

Daemon cannot help the sound he makes. His breath hitches as he gathers your dark hair into his fingers. He chuckles rather manically, "of course."

You decide not to reply. You simply leave him to his work as you work on your letters.

You finish writing your letters before he finishes fixing your hair. Daemon watches you fold the notes neatly and prepare wax to seal them off. Part of him wishes to enquire what you have to say to those wretched men, but another part knows he might regret it. Surely, to your brother at least, you would air out your grievances. The prince does not know if he could stomach the knowledge you'd express your hatred for him with someone else.

You melt wax over a candle and seal the letter with your stamp. He watches you do this, and as he does, he imagines all the times you did the same for his letters. He wonders if you did so with the same ease. He wonders if you paid it littler or more attention than this. He wonders if he'd ever be at the receiving end of your affections ever again.

When he gets to the last part of the last braid, he finds himself unwilling to pin it in place with the rest for your hair. He stares at his work, at the interwoven plaits going down your shoulders. He tucks some stray hair behind your ear, so badly wishing he could kiss you.

Perhaps he could, but then you'd push him away. He would not survive.

Finally, he pins the last part of your hair and slowly withdraws his hands, "it is done."

You immediately come to stand and turn to him.

Daemon watches as you look at his unbuttoned doublet. His stomach drops when you begin to fasten them.

"Shall I braid your h-"

"No," he blurts, shaking his head, "I do not want you to touch me."

You freeze, unsure if you heard him correctly. You slowly pull away, "you... you don't want me to touch you?"

"No," he shakes his head.

You knit your brows and nods slowly, "I see... why?"

"Why?" he whispers, as if he was stabbed, "why does it matter? Do you want to touch me?"

"I... I want to be civil with you."

His nostrils flare as he chuckles dryly.

"I do not want to be at war with you."

"But we are!" Daemon blurts, "love is war."

"Says who?" you knit your brows.

"Says my bleeding heart," he mutters, as he fixes his doublet himself. His eyes begin to water, so he turns away.

You feel your throat tighten. You shrug, "is this your way of saying you love me?"

"I have always loved you," he turns back to you, tears staining his cheeks.

You laugh.

He rarely hears such a sound from your lips and seems to hate it. "Mazemā nyke syt iā pirtirys?" he mutters under his breath. You take me for a liar.

You chuckle again and shake your head. You shrug, "mazeman ao syt iā mittys." I take you for a fool.

Daemon lowers his head.

You nearly reach out for him, but then you remember he does not invite your touch. You turn to the door then back to him, "let us be civil today."

"No," he lifts his gaze, walking to the vanity. He grabs a hair tie and does his hair, "I want a peace treaty."

"What?"

"The Stranger has scratched my skin in the Stepstones. I know better than to believe civility can be achieved between your enemies."

You laugh again, but this time, it is far unbearable. It is loud and anxious and broken. You clutch your chest when you begin to feel it tighten, "and I am your enemy, Daemon?"

"Daor," he says desperately. He grabs your arms and rapidly shakes his head, "dōrī ao.... yn nyke." No. Never you... but I.

You stare at him as he slowly pulls away.

"I have become your enemy whether either of us care to admit it or not," he shakes his head as he turns to his feet, "I cannot reconcile my mistakes; I can ask only for a peace treaty."

You rub your forehead as you lean on your chair, "I do not understand."

"You-" he chokes. He clears his throat, "you say look at me and see only grief and loss." He wipes his face, "I do not want it to be so."

You huff and shake your head, "it is not something you can change."

"Not if you don't let me," Daemon mutters, "kostilus..." he shakes his head, "ivestragon nyke skorkydoso olvie yno kostā mōzugon gō ao pykagon nyke hen." He scratches his eyes before looking at you. Please... tell me how much of me you can drink before you spit me out.

"Daemon."

He looks at you, violet eyes shrouded by pink.

"I..." you shake your head, "don't know."

He sighs, "plea-"

"I'm telling you, I don't know."

He sighs again, shaking his head then nodding it, "sȳz." Fine.

You watch him step back and motion to the door.

"After you."

You stare at him for a moment and grip your skirts tightly in your hands. You draw a deep breath before walking off.

When you open the door, you hear the clanking of steel. You see Arryk and Erryk stationed outside your door.

"Princess," they greet in unison.

You frown at them, "Erryk... Arryk."

Arryk's eyes rather unwillingly catch sight of Daemon walking towards you. He clenches his jaw and steps aside, not wanting to see him. Erryk ignores him altogether as he reaches a hand for you, "will we be heading for the solar to break fast?"

You shake your head and push his hands down.

Erryk's jaw feathers as Daemon comes to your side.

Daemon's gaze remains lowered. He mutters softly, "kesan bartos naejot se ripo," before slipping past you and walking off.

Erryk eyes him hotly where Arryk turns to you, giving you a wary look, "what did he say?"

You shake your head and offer a smile, "he said he'll be going to the pit."

Arryk simultaneously thinks how fortunate and cowardly it was that Daemon will be flying off. Erryk says it out loud, "so, he's leaving on Caraxes?"

You rub your belly, "we will be sending our Alaeric and Alyrie off."

The twins freeze.

"I do not know if Daemon spoke to the maesters about it already," you mutter, "would one of you go and check. I... I do not want to see them... not like that."

"I can go," Arryk nods.

You nod rapidly and offer a smile, "thank you."

Just as his brother leaves, Erryk reaches a hand out to you again, "perhaps you ought to break fast."

You shake your head, finally taking his hand, "I... I will be sick."

His brows furrow, "you must promise me you will eat something after then."

"Erryk-"

The shake of his head cuts you off.

You take a deep breath, "you know it is hard."

"Then perhaps you can eat with the prince."

Your eyes widen at the idea.

It takes a moment for Erryk to realize why and he quickly dispels the thought, "Aegon. With your nephew, the prince."

You heave and shake your head.

His jaw tightens, "I would never im-"

"I know," you raise a hand, "I just... I misunderstood. Forgive me."

His nostrils flare, "there is no world in which you could ever do something that offends me."

You come to life when you reach Aegon's quarters. The boy immediately runs towards you. You smile and lean down. He jumps into your arms and you tenderly pick him up, sealing him into a hug

"Aunt!" he beams, clutching your cheeks.

"My boy," you coo, embracing him fondly.

Aegon giggles, his little arms wrapping around you. You remain like this for a moment before he pulls away and grins, clutching your cheeks again, "play!"

You kiss his forehead, "actually, we're going to go outside today."

Aegon blinks, his silver lashes fluttering, "play?"

You rock him in your arms, "zaldrīzes." Dragon.

He gasps.

"Gaomagon jaelā naejot ūndegon iā zaldrīzes?" Do you want to see a dragon?

"KESSA. KESSA!" Aegon cheers in agreement.

With this, you head to your sister's chambers and tell her of your plans for today. Alicent offers you a solemn expression before giving you a hug. She says she will change and inform the king. You then head off to the last person you wished to invite.

"Come in," his voice is deep.

Aegon leans into you as Erryk opens the door. You step into the Hand's office and nod at your father, "hello, my lord."

Otto lifts his gaze from his desk and furrows his brows, "what's happened?"

You shake your head as he slowly comes to a stand. You rub Aegon's back, "nothing... I... I've told Daemon about the twins."

He tenses at the thought, eyes turning to Erryk, who stood just by the door.

"We will be sending them off now."

Sending them off? Otto relaxes when he realizes who you actually meant. He nods and walks towards you. He places a hand on your shoulder, "I am glad."

You gulp as you look at him, unable to hold his gaze any longer.

The walk is long and quiet, save for the babbling of Aegon. He was rather fond of his grandfather's pin, and reached out to it every time Otto got close enough to.

"No," Otto would quip each time, raising a brow at the boy.

Aegon, none the wiser, would giggle, thinking it was a game.

At some point, the old man had to surrender his pin denoting his status to the boy when he managed to get pull on it. With a sigh, he hands it to his grandson.

You immediately pull it away from Aegon when he tries to eat it. You quip with a raised brow, "no."

The sight of your babies on a pyre sends a chill down your spine. The maesters and Arryk are already there, waiting for the rite to commence. The sight is too much, thus why you fix your eyes on Aegon.

Otto notices your discomfort and comes to your side, blocking your view of the pyre with his back. He turns to one of your wards, then the other. He motions with his head, wordlessly beckoning them over.

Erryk and Arryk oblige.

"It would be best if my daughter have this moment with her husband," Otto says, "stay back unless called upon."

Arryk clenches his jaw and Erryk purses his lips. Regardless, they nod and speak in unison, "my lord."

Soon, the king, the queen, and the crown princess arrive. It's rather fitting, for right after, there is a loud screech in the sky. Aegon immediately reacts, gasping as his hands fly up to cover his ears. A flash of red soars overhead.

The poor boy is overwhelmed by the sound of beating wings and begins to clamor and panic. You do your best to calm him and instinctively turn to your sister, finding her clutching her swollen belly in worry. You debate whether you should hand her Aegon, but you decide to try and calm the boy, not wanting to strain her by making her carry the boy.

You turn to my father, who wipes his grandson's cheeks and strokes his head.

You kiss Aegon's cheeks and rock him, beginning to sing, "the fishes swim in seas of blue, and dragons breath fire so red— shhh it's alright."

Caraxes soon lands before the pyre and screeches.

Aegon joins suit, screaming into you shoulder as he clings onto me for dear life.

Daemon sees this, jaw clenching at the sight. He watches Otto block Aegon's view of Caraxes, muttering something to the boy. He watches his sister come forward to calm the boy. He watches you rock him. The Hightowers are unified because of his brother's son. He unsaddles himself from Caraxes.

"DAOR!" Viserys screams, just as the blood wyrm cranes his head dangerously close to you. Rhaenyra gasps as he watches Caraxes seemingly try to attack. The king steps forward, repeating the command, making Caraxes pull his long neck back and screech back in offense.

Aegon shrieks in terror of the loud noise.

The king does not flinch, but he does turn to Daemon, "visagon aōha dyni, valonqar!" Control your beast, (younger) brother.

Daemon calls out to Caraxes, ordering him to calm and obey. He soon is on the ground, marching towards his dragon's head, "gīda ilagon!" He raises his hands, "gīda ilagon." Calm down.

Caraxes huffs through his nostrils.

Aegon wails into your shoulder.

The dragon screeches again.

Daemon grits his teeth, looking over his shoulder. He turns to you then his brother, "visagon aōha tresy." Control your son.

Upon hearing this, you glare at Daemon, "he's just a babe!"

Caraxes bleats at the sound of your voice.

"Do not be so defensive. A babe's wailing is meant to be annoying," Daemon rebuts.

"Here," Alicent mutters, taking Aegon from you.

"Ali-"

"It's alright, sister," she turns to you, kissing her boy, "I can manage." She turns to Otto, "might I have your arm, father?"

Otto obliges.

The two walk off, enough that Caraxes was not so close. You can't help but glare at the beast, though you knew any irritation you had towards him was irrational, as he was just a dragon and Aegon was just a boy.

Caraxes cranes over to you again, letting out another loud noise.

Both Daemon and Viserys call out to the beast, expecting the worst from him. Even Arryk and Erryk, who was watched from afar, grip their swords involuntarily and find themselves stepping closer as Caraxes pushes his snout into you.

Caraxes does nothing perilous but does huff. Still, it garners a corrective command from his rider, who comes in front of you

The beast makes a displeased sound, baring his teeth, frightening Aegon yet again. The sound of the boy's cries make you snap, "lyka, Caraxes," you call out, "skoros gaomā?" Quiet, Caraxes. What are you doing?

Daemon turns to you then Caraxes, calling him to obey.

Viserys watches his brother gaze upon you. He watches Daemon take your hand and reach it out towards his ride. His lips part as Caraxes leans into your joined hands. He turns back to his wife and frowns at the sight of his red faced boy. It was clear Aegon was frightened for you with how he was reached his hand in your direction.

The king sighs and comes to him, taking the boy into his arms. Rhaenyra watches his father rock his half-brother. He watches the boy sigh into his arms. She looks away, focus back to Caraxes.

Daemon leans against Caraxes. He mutters softly to him as he presses your hand into the dragon's snout. The beast is finally calm. You feel the warmth of his scales and you wonder if he'd eat you now that you were no longer carrying his rider's children.

Daemon topples back as Caraxes pushes into him, hard enough to brush against you. You gasp when he nudges your chest.

Your husband recognizes the affection and finds himself unable to bridle his own. He pulls you into his chest, pretending it was out of concern— to keep you upright. He presses his arm against yours, his palm resting on the back of your hand. He links his fingers into yours and rests your joined hands atop Caraxes, whispering, "he missed you."

You chuckle, looking over your shoulder to Daemon, "that's not possible."

Daemon leans his forehead against yours and you immediately look away. Though the sentiment hurt, he looks back at his mount and persists, "yet it's true."

Caraxes huffs and begins to curl before you. He then lies down, shaking his head as he did.

Daemon's eyes turn to the pyre, throat tightening at the sight of the two small bodies, wrapped up in cloth. It was no longer white, as time brought a brownish hue to it.

You look at him when he withdraws his hand. You watch his jaw clench as he looks to the distance. You pull away to place a hand on his rib, "do you want to go closer?"

His hand comes atop yours. For a moment, you remember how he said he didn't want your touch, but instead of pushing you away, he squeezes you. His lowers his head and licks his lips, "I am unworthy."

You face him fully. You shake your head and fix his collar, "you are their father."

You entire body seems to react when he speaks your name. Your shoulders tense. Your breath hitches. Your eyes water.

He watches you intently. He takes your hands and clutches by his chest. He frowns and leans closer, daring to press his forehead into you again.

You let him. You close your eyes and let him press against you. Tears rush down your cheeks.

"Would they have liked me?" Daemon whispers.

You chuckle bitterly, eyes opening. You see that his face is just as teary as yours. You sniffle and shake your head, "the gods only know."

Daemon wipes his nose on his sleeve.

You both walk towards the pyre. Caraxes lifts his head to look down upon you. Daemon frowns when he sees just how tiny the bodies are. He notices then they smell like the oil you put on yourself, albeit mustier. He cares little about the unpleasant undertone and presses a kiss on both their bodies.

When he pulls away, he takes deep breath and mutters, "kepa iksis kesīr, Alaeric se Alyrie... shijetra nyke... geros ilas." Father is here, Alaeric and Alyrie... forgive me... good bye.

Daemon turns to you, his hold on you tightening, "gaomagon emā mirros naejot ivestragon?" Do you have anything to say?

You step forward, biting your lips as gaze upon your babes. You release Daemon, immediately bursting into tears. You reach out to them one last time, lips trembling, "I wish you knew how much I love you."

You nearly topple back as you pull away.

Daemon reaches for you, one hand on your arm, the other on your back. He rests his head on yours, his voice is pained as he mutters, "they know," he shakes his head and presses a kiss on your ear. He whispers, "everyone knows."

You crumble. You turn to him and sob into his chest.

He wraps his arms around you, stroking your hair. He calls out your name, "I'm here now."

You whine.

"It would take sword and flame to sever me from you."

When you were calm enough, Daemon leads you off. He is vigilant of his surroundings but more importantly, you. By the time you and him stand far away enough, Caraxes inspects the pyre before him. He sniffs it and shakes his head. He cranes his neck back, looking at his master. They share a silent understanding.

Daemon has his arm around you as you continue to weep into his chest. He rubs your shoulder, looking down upon you, "would you like to give the command?"

You sniffle and look up to him, "what?"

He turns to Caraxes, who is already stood in attention rather knowingly, "I think he would obey if you commanded."

You shake your head, turning to Caraxes, "I do not want to." You face the pyre, wiping your face, "I've given them their sorrowful beginning. I do not wish to give them their sorrowful end."

Daemon clenches his jaw, "very well." He rubs your shoulders, "when you're ready."

You sigh, leaning into him, "I will never be."

He does not reply. He does, however, squeeze your shoulders.

You turn to him, a line between your brows, "when you're ready, Daemon."

He turns to you just as you look forward. He sniffles and turns to his mount, "Caraxes."

Caraxes rumbles.

The prince takes a deep breath, eyes fixed upon his children, "dracarys."

You gasp at the burn of the flames. The fire is so bright, it's like the sun stops shining for a moment. It's fitting, for that is what it felt to lose them. Warmth cascades across the ground. Caraxes screeches upon finishing his task. Aegon weeps again.

Daemon takes you back to the Keep on dragonback. He is grateful you agreed, though he knows it was more because you felt too weak to walk, rather than the fact you wanted to keep his company.

When he arrives at the pit, Caraxes squawks in recognition of the dragon that seemed to have just arrived, judging by the amount of servants and dragon keepers around.

When you land, hear a voice call for you and you look, not recognizing the voice. Daemon does, just as he recognizes the dragon.

Daemon dismounts and helps you down. You hear your name called out again, "who-"

"Princess!"

Your lips part as you turn to see the young man running towards you. You recognize him solely from his hair, "Laenor?"

Daemon eyes the boy as he bows. He eyes the flowers in his hand. Quickly, his eyes are averted back to you when you begin to weep.

Laenor is mortified. He nearly drops the bouquet as he calls out your name.

"Forgive me," you wipe your face and shake your head, "it is good to see you," you say, breaking into a soft chuckle, "to finally meet you."

Laenor gives a half-hearted smile as he nods, "it is good to meet you, though... I hear you have just come from the pyre."

You sniffle and nod, linking your hands together, "yes... I... we-" you turn to Daemon, "put our children to rest."

Laenor nods slowly, looking between the two of you, "my deepest condolences princess, prince."

You turn to him, finding he was offering you pink flowers.

"Bougainvillea," says the young lord, "I thought to bring you flowers since you wrote of picking them oft."

Your lips wobble and you sob even more.

Daemon clenches his jaw, reaching out to you.

He doesn't reach you though, as soon, you've thrown yourself into Laenor's arms.

The Velaryon yelps in surprise but naturally returns your affections.

"Thank you," you mutter, squeezing him tightly.

He chuckles, matching the intensity of your embrace, "it's nothing really, I saw some on my way. I'm glad you appreciate it."

When you pull away, Laenor catches the withering glare Daemon was shooting his way. He widens his eyes, only because he dares not to roll them, then hands you the flowers.

You gratefully take them, "thank you."

"You're welcome."

"I wrote to you just this morn."

"Did you?" his brow quirks, "you might be glad to know you needn't do anymore."

Your brows furrow.

"I..." he smiles softly, "... am promised to Princess Rhaenyra."

Daemon's brow quirks.

"Oh," you mutter, "oh..." your lips wobble, "d-does that mean you will be staying here?"

Laenor chuckles, "yes, I-"

He grunts when you embrace him again.

Daemon looks away and scoffs.

"That's wonderful!" you sob, "oh, my dear Laenor."

Laenor chuckles as he pulls away, "surely mine own company is not so much a relief from my uncle's."

"Careful, boy," Daemon snaps, eyes narrowing, "I respect you, but that doesn't mean I like you."

Laenor's eyes widen again, "of course, uncle."

"In any case," you wipe your philtrum, "I am glad to have a friend."

Friend... I could be your friend, thinks Daemon.

Laenor nods, "as am I."

With that, Laenor walks off and you turn to the Bougainvilleas in your hands.

"You write to Laenor about flowers?"

You turn to Daemon, seeing him grind his teeth. You nod simply, "upon his request."

He opens his mouth but then shuts it. Would you have obliged himhis request if he ever wrote back to you? He banishes the thought and turns to the ground, "you should plant them."

Your brows quirk at the thought.

"Grow them in your garden," he turns around, walking back to Caraxes.

You watch him caress his dragon. You mutter to yourself, "that's not how that works."

You wait for him to finish doting on his ride. You stare at your flowers as you do so.

When Daemon turns back, he sees you gently caressing the pink buds. He imagines you doing the same to his cheeks and lips; it makes him rapidly shake his head and call your name.

You look up at him.

Daemon's lips are curved into a frown, "I do not keep you prisoner."

Your brows furrow, "what?'

He motions with his head, "go."

You turn to where he motioned, eyes immediately falling on Laenor. You look back at him, "I-"

"He's surely famished from a long ride," he slowly turns back to Caraxes, stroking his scales. The dragon huffs, lying down. "I doubt you've eaten yourself."

You stare at him, brows knitting together.

He turns back to you, "go to him. Be with your friend."

You pull your head back, "I-"

"I wish to clear my head," he pats Caraxes, "I'll do it in the sky."

Of course, what he really wanted was to find solace in your arms, but he tries to convince himself flying will be just as good. After all, that was how he calmed himself before... before you.

"I'll be back before dark," he mutters, walking off to mount Caraxes.

You watch him climb on his dragon's back. You watch him as he commands Caraxes to stand.

You nearly ask him to stay, but your memories convince you to do otherwise.

You gasp softly when Caraxes takes off.

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen #daemon fanfic #hotd fanfic

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cakesunflower · 1 day ago

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lovelorn (and nobody knows) [rafe cameron au fic] chapter 20

Summary: Isla Carrera had planned for the summer before college to be focused on three things: helping out at her family’s restaurant (the helpful daughter), preparing for college (the good student), and having fun with the Pogues (the loyal friend). But one fateful night, where her car breaks down and her rescuer is none other than Rafe Cameron, seems to send her summer down a path she didn’t see coming–one teeming with a secret, illicit romance with the last person she expected. And if her friends and sister found out, Isla isn’t sure they’ll be so understanding, no matter what her feelings are.

A/N: omg i'm sorry i know i said i'd post on monday but work is busy and i'm getting ready for a month long trip so i didn't have time to write and post but yeee here we are

When Rafe opens the front door to see his teary eyed girlfriend, he’s hit with a torrent of emotions. Worry and anger battle, but the first thing he does is wrap an arm around Isla’s waist and pull her in for a hug. He knew it; he had an awful feeling that shit might hit the fan between Isla and her sister by the end of their shift, and the sight of Isla’s red rimmed eyes and pink nose proves him right.

Rafe holds her close, her head against his chest and his free hand at the back of her head. “Are you okay?” he asks, the first and only important question to ask. He holds her close, inhaling her familiar and sweet lavender scent as he feels her arms wind around his waist, sliding under his unzipped hoodie. When he hears her sniffle, Rafe’s grip on her tightens, his jaw clenching in time with his chest. Rafe presses his lips to her temple and when he feels her shudder slightly, his pulse quickens. “Baby, please, talk to me.”

“I’m fucking tired,” she mumbles against him. “Can we—” Isla takes a breath and pulls back a bit, her arms still around him as she looks up. There’s a heaviness in Rafe’s chest when he sees the glassiness of her eyes as she sniffles, the hurt in her eyes that twists his stomach to the point of nausea. Alarm bells ring in Rafe’s head, demanding that he takes care of this—of her. To put an end to what and who is hurting her to the point of making her cry more than once. “Can we get in bed first? Please?”

The way her eyes are begging him, Rafe has no choice but to agree. “Let’s go,” he murmurs, pulling her further into the house and locking the door behind her. Sarah’s not home, and neither are his parents, while Wheezie is up in her room. So Rafe takes Isla’s hand in his and leads her up the stairs to his room, shutting the door behind them. “Let me get you some clothes.”

Opening the dresser drawers, he grabs a worn shirt and shorts, and Isla quietly takes them and heads to the bathroom. Rafe sits on the edge of the bed as she uses the bathroom and changes, running his fingers through his hair as nervousness and worry makes his heart pump. He almost prefers the anger to these feelings though, overall, he just wants to make her feel better.

Rafe presses his teeth together, recalling the dirty scowls Kiara had been sending his way when he had gone to The Wreck for lunch. Frankly, Rafe doesn’t care about it; it would be nice if his girlfriend’s sister and friends accepted him, but at the end of the day, he only wants it so things are easier for Isla, so that she isn’t stressed out about worrying over her sister’s and friends’ feelings.

He knows it’s only been a day since they all found out, that it would likely take them time to accept this relationship, but he wishes they would hurry the fuck up. He wishes they would stop making Isla cry before he does something he might end up regretting—solely because it might upset Isla.

In an ideal world, they all would get along; or, at the very least, Rafe and Isla’s friends would be able to tolerate each other because all that mattered was Isla’s happiness. Why is it so hard for her own friends to see that?

Rafe hears the bathroom door open and shut, looking over his shoulder to see Isla wearing his shirt, which hangs like a dress off of her, hiding the shorts she wears underneath as she places her folded clothes on his desk chair. There’s a dryness in Rafe’s throat as he sees the soft features of her crestfallen expression, full lips downturned and gaze lowered as she crawls onto the bed. Rafe gets up and walks over to the otherside, watching as Isla slides under the covers and he lifts the comforter on his side to get in as well.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna eat something?” he asks, voice gentle as though she’s a fawn he doesn’t want to frighten away.

He watches as Isla turns to her side, facing him, hugging the blanket as she lifts her gaze to look up at him where he sits with his back against the pillows. She looks so small, nibbling on her bottom lip as she shakes her head. “No, I’m not hungry,” she murmurs, the corner of her mouth lifting in a brief half smile.

Rafe nods, not wanting to push her. He turns to sit sideways, facing her, and reaches out to push tendrils of her hair away from her face. He sees the hurt swimming in her eyes and it makes his jaw clench. “You wanna talk about it?”

Isla sniffs, her gaze lifting to meet his. She’s quiet for a moment and Rafe waits patiently—anxiously—and she lets out a breath. “She called me desperate.” The air stills in Rafe’s lungs at the sound of Isla’s slightly hoarse voice, the words she just spoke. “Kiara. They all think I’m making a mistake, that they know you better than I do. They think you’re using me, that I’m just falling for an act you’re putting up. They kept bringing up the past, and I reminded them they’re not all innocent in it, either, and that people can change.” Her gaze remains fixed on his while Rafe feels his chest growing tighter and tighter. “They have no idea what they’re talking about. They’re just. . . Too angry right now to actually hear what I’m saying. It’s all so fucked—” She lets out a dry laugh and he sees a tear leak out of the corner of her eye, falling onto the pillow beneath her. “And talking to them right now is pointless. Not when they’re too stubborn to acknowledge they might be wrong, or that they’re being assholes.”

Rafe’s head spins, processing Isla’s words. Her sister called her desperate? He hates that Isla has faced them by herself, without him by her side to be the pillar of support he wants to be for her. A part of him—a stupid, naíve part of him—had hoped that this wouldn’t be too big of a deal for Isla’s friends, and he knew it before and knows it now how ridiculous that hope was, even if it wasn’t hope for him but for his girl. The pang vibrates pain through chest when he sees the sadness that has settled on her features; he saw it yesterday, and seeing it again today makes him even more desperate to make this right. Even if he’s clueless as to how.

He’s not sure how talking to any of them will go—especially considering how pissed he is with how they have been treating Isla, he may end up saying or doing something he’d regret. The idea of having to prove himself to Isla’s friends irks him, but not more than how much he likes her and wants to be with her. He’ll do anything to prove to her friends that he adores her and wants this relationship to work. But whether they believe him or not is up in the air.

“They’re not being fair to you,” Rafe finds himself saying, his eyebrows furrowing together. “I doubt anything I say will hold any weight with them, but I can try—”

“I know you want to help,” Isla cuts in, sitting up and making the blanket fall around her lap as she faces him, the light of the lamp glinting against her nose ring. “But I told you, they’re too stubborn right now, and angry about it all. It’s all too fresh right now, you know? I doubt talking to them is going to help, whether it’s me or you. And I’m—” She lets out a sigh, her shoulders slumping as she looks at him a bit guiltily. “I’m half afraid if you talk to them, it might not end well for anyone. I don’t want them attacking you or you saying something that might, like, trigger them.”

He scoffs slightly, though he begrudgingly agrees with her. Whether it’s her friends or him, someone out of any of them could say anything that could make things worse for Isla, and Rafe would much rather not contribute to that. She knows her friends, so he trusts her in what to do, but. . .

“I just feel helpless, you know?” he admits, reaching out and absently playing with her name necklace, noting the way her expression softens. “I want to make this better for you. I hate that you’re hurting and I. . . I hate that it’s because of our relationship.”

“I don’t blame our relationship,” Isla says with a shake of her head, frowning as her gaze searches his. “And I hope you don’t, either. It’s because I hurt my friends—”

“By being with me,” Rafe counters with an arch of his eyebrow, even if his brain is yelling at him to shut up. Is he trying to give her a reason to leave him? To make her realize things with her friends and sister will go back to normal if she left him? What the fuck?

“But they’re hurting me too by not listening to me,” Isla returns firmly, unwavering. “Rafe—” She sighs, taking his hand that was playing with her necklace in both of hers, holding their joined hands to her chest. He can faintly feel her heart thumping under his hand, her touch warm and soft. “I told you, this is all still new for them. It’s a reality they didn’t see coming and I really think they just need some time to accept it. I mean—” Isla exhales heavily. “It’d be great if they stopped being jerks, but I still want to just give them time, you know? And I hope during that time, they’ll see how happy you make me and realize they were wrong.”

A small, hopeful smile appears on her face as she says those words, and even as Rafe admires the sight of it and the dimples that make an appearance, he sees the hurt that still lingers in her gaze; a sadness that has been there since yesterday. “Just gotta wade through all of the shit.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, his throat working in worry. “I hate that you’re having to deal with this.”

“It’s not your fault,” Isla assures him in a softened tone that makes his heart ache. Her smile returns, dimples and all, as she raises their joined hands and presses a kiss to his knuckles. His skin sears where her lips touch it. “I know I’ve been crying like a baby—” She cracks a smile when he shoots her a disapproving look because he doesn’t fault her at all for crying “But I do think it’ll work out in the end. Just gotta—”

“Wade through all of the shit?” Rafe repeats, mirth dancing in his eyes and a downturned smile on his lips. He doesn’t like it, this struggle she’s having with her friends, but the least he can do is be here for her. “Alright, you got it.”

Isla smiles before nodding towards the pillows. “Bed time?”

He returns the smile, dipping his chin in a nod. Whatever she needs. “Bed time.”

*****

Opening his eyes when he wakes in the morning, Rafe is in no hurry to get out of bed. He’s got a whole morning routine to work out, take a shower, have breakfast before heading off to work, but this morning he’s ready to postpone all of it in preference to remaining in bed next to his sleeping girlfriend.

He lays on his right side, watching Isla, who lays on her left side. Her body rises and falls gently with the steady breaths she takes, tendrils of dark wavy hair resting against the curve of her cheek as she sleeps. Face bare of any makeup, Rafe admires the light smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, more prominent now that it’s the summer time and she spends a lot of time out in the sun. Those full lips are barely parted, her dark hair splayed against the pillow. Beautiful, as always. To the point where just looking at Isla summons a sweet ache in Rafe’s chest.

Lucky. He’s so damn lucky to have her. . . And he hates that it’s causing her pain because of her friends. His own friends have been giving him shit for dating her, but they’ve shut up quickly after Rafe made it clear he wasn’t going to put up with any of that shit—and he was not going to let it slide if any of them made Isla feel uncomfortable in any sort of way. She’s already getting enough of that from her friends, it won’t be happening from his side, too.

Rafe lets out a sigh before leaning in and pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of Isla’s head, reveling in her lavender scent, before he carefully gets out of bed, not wanting to disturb her. Running his fingers through his hair, he quickly uses the bathroom before exiting his bedroom. The house is quiet, which means his family is either still asleep or not at home and has already started the day.

As Rafe walks down the stairs, he looks out the window and notes his dad’s car isn’t in the driveway. Walking to the kitchen, he pulls out his phone and texts his old man.

To: Dad

I don’t have any meetings today, but do you need me for anything important?

Rafe begins pulling out ingredients to make breakfast when his dad responds.

From: Dad

No, nothing I can’t handle. Why? Playing hooky?

To: Dad

I wanted to spend the day with Isla. She’s going through a hard time.

From: Dad

Of course, kiddo. Take care of your girl.

Rafe smiles briefly at his dad’s message before putting his phone on the counter and getting to work, grateful to be a part of the family business so he doesn’t have to answer to anyone other than his dad. Until Rafe takes over, but that won’t be for another couple of years. He’s perfectly fine in putting off that weight of responsibility.

So now, he works on cooking breakfast, relieved that they have all of the ingredients for him to make some omelets. Pulling out some tomatoes, onions, and green peppers, Rafe begins to chop them up. The coffee is brewing and he’s got slices of bread in the toaster, ready to toast, as he pours the cheesy and vegetable omelet mixture onto the pan. The aroma hits him as it cooks, the sizzle of the eggs distracting him from the sound of footsteps entering the kitchen.

“That smells delicious,” Isla muses from behind him, bringing a smile to Rafe’s face when he feels her arms slide around his waist as she comes to stand at his side. His free arm hooks around her shoulders, his other hand holding the spatula, and Rafe presses a kiss to the top of her head, her dark hair in waves down her shoulders. “How’d you sleep?”

“Good,” Isla answers softly, her voice still sleepy as she cuddles into him. Rafe smiles, holding her close as he cooks their breakfast. “Your bed is stupidly comfortable.”

Rafe chortles quietly as he flips an omelet. “You can stay here whenever you want, baby,” he murmurs, meaning every word as he feels Isla relax against him. He hates seeing her upset, feels an intense combination of anger and concern whenever he sees the tears in her eyes. It goes against his nature to not confront Isla’s friends and sister for how they’ve made her feel. They made her cry and he’s supposed to just sit back and let it happen?

He knows Isla said he shouldn’t interfere out of fear that it could make things worse and he respects it because those are her friends. It’s already complicated, and he doesn’t want to fuck things up more. Keeping his mouth shut, though, is difficult because all he wants to do is take care of Isla, in every way possible. If he can’t tell her friends to lay the fuck off, the least he can do is just be here for her. And being right next to her is his favorite place to be.

“Want some help?” Isla asks, her gaze looking around, and Rafe can tell she wants to do something to keep herself occupied.

“Yeah. You wanna get our coffee?” he asks, nodding towards the Keurig.

Isla hums in affirmation. He feels her rise up on her toes, though, before her lips press to his cheek, and Rafe smiles at the sweet kiss as she moves to make their coffee. “When are you going to work?” she asks.

“I’m not,” Rafe answers. When she throws him a quizzical—yet hopeful—look, he chuckles. “Took the day off because I wanted to spend it with you.” When Isla’s lips part in surprise, Rafe pauses before sucking a breath through his teeth, realizing he may have gotten ahead of himself. “But I should’ve checked if you had plans today already.”

She lets out a laugh, the sound lightening his chest as she gives a shake of her head. “No other plans,” she says, the Keurig now on as she walks back over to him. “You have something in mind?”

Rafe plates one of the omelets and pushes down the lever of the toaster. “How ’bout a beach day?” he asks, nodding towards the window that shows clear blue skies. “It’s the perfect beach day, I think.”

Isla’s gaze flicks towards the window before a smile grows on her face. Dimples and all. Rafe’s heart pounds. “Yeah, that sounds fun,” she agrees with a gentle nod. “I’m gonna need to head home to grab my bathing suit and—you mind if I surf?”

Rafe snorts out a laugh as he plates the second omelet. “Why would I mind?” Shooting her a smirk, he adds, “You’re not getting me on a board, though.”

She mirrors his smirk, shrugging a shoulder. “We’ll see.”

When breakfast is ready, Rafe sets the small round table by the glass wall looking into the backyard. Isla laughs when, after she sits, Rafe grips the bottom of her chair and drags her towards him so she’s as close as she can be. The morning sunlight bathes into the room as Isla pulls her hair up in a bun, a few wavy tendrils escaping and framing her heart shaped face. She’s glowing, even if her eyes are a little red rimmed—but she’s smiling, and he doesn’t want that to disappear.

“This is so good,” she mumbles after swallowing the first bite of egg and toast, widening her eyes at Rafe from where she sits on his left. As she reaches for her mug, she adds, “Gonna need you to make me breakfast, like, every day.”

Rafe grins, arching an eyebrow. “You won’t hear any arguments from me,” he answers.

“Been holding out on me,” she mumbles, shooting him a feigned glare as she eats. “We should have you work at the Wreck. That’d really set Kie off.”

Rafe scoffs, leaning back in the chair as he grabs his own mug. “She might kill us,” he points out.

Isla scoffs after swallowing her bite. “I’d like to see her try.” Sigh, she leans back as well, right leg crossing over her knee as she shakes her head and looks at him. “I don’t wanna think about what happened yesterday, okay? I just—we move forward. Whatever the hell’s gonna happen, is gonna happen. I’m fine.”

When Rafe meets her gaze pointedly, not wanting her to lie to him, she huffs. “I will be fine,” she corrects begrudgingly. Putting her mug down, she reaches towards him and rests her hand at the back of her head. He leans his head back slightly, more into her touch as he feels her fingers in his heart, the sensation one he loves feelings as much as she loves doing it. “Thank you for breakfast.”

His hand rests on her knee. “Literally any time.”

“Is your family home?” she asks as they return to eating.

“Dad and Rose are at work,” he answers, his gaze sliding in the direction of the stairs. “Wheezie’s probably asleep and Sarah. . .” He trails off with a confused stretch of her name. “She’s either also asleep or spent the night at John B’s. I can’t keep track anymore.”

Isla hums in acknowledgement, gaze dropping to her plate as she goes to take another bite. But Rafe catches the melancholy look that darkens her eyes, and Rafe wants to desperately get rid of that look. “So! Shower after breakfast and then the beach?”

Isla nods, looking at him with a gentle smile. “Sounds good.”

They finish up breakfast and Isla helps Rafe clear the table even though he tries to gently bump her hip out of the way, but she only shoots him an easy smile as she helps him load the dishwasher. It doesn’t take long for them to head back to his room without running into either of his sisters, and as Rafe opens his closet door, he glances at Isla over his shoulder.

“You wanna shower first?”

She looks at him, gaze flickering up from her phone. A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. “Or we can shower together,” she suggests, cheeks prettily pink.

She doesn’t have to tell him twice.

Five minutes later, they’re under the hot spray of his shower, massaging shampoo into their hair and Rafe can’t help but smirk at the fact that Isla is going to smell like him afterwards. “Ugh, this feels so good,” Isla moans in satisfaction when she stands under the spray, washing the shampoo out with her head tilted back and eyes closed—and utterly oblivious to Rafe’s hungry gaze.

His breathing shallows out as he watches rivulets of water trail down the swells of her breasts, a delicious handful as his mouth waters with the need to get those pert nipples in his mouth, just a few shades darker than the smooth brown of her flawless skin. Before he can even think about it, Rafe’s hands are reaching forward until they’re resting on the swell of her hips, prompting Isla’s eyes to open to meet his immediately.

The green of her eyes always takes his breath away, reminding him of the deep green of tree leaves when spring and summer meet. His new favorite color, he admires, as he pulls her close until their fronts are pressed together, feeling the perfect mounds of her breasts against his torso as she looks up at him with arched eyebrows as she pushes her dark hair until it’s slicked back.

“Can I help you?” she inquires playfully as he admires the way droplets of water caught on her eyelashes. A smile dances on the edge of her mouth, showing off those dimples he’s obsessed with.

“Just admirin’,” Rafe answers, his thumbs rubbing circles on her hips as the water surrounds them both.

Isla’s grin widens, effectively deepening her dimples. It makes him weak in the damn knees. “Maybe you should be showering instead.”

Rafe scoffs out a laugh, tilting his head. “Isn’t that why you asked me to shower with you?” he muses with a slow growing grin, looking down at her. He raises his hands, cupping her cheeks, her face heart shaped and perfectly sized to fit in the palms of his hands as he wipes droplets of water away from the apples of her cheeks, though new drops replace them. He is sure his heart does a somersault in his chest when she squints her eyes with that grin she gives him. “Pretty sure it wasn’t for just showering.”

“Oh, so you can read my mind now, huh?” Isla asks, her own arms winding around him and Rafe’s grin widens impossibly when he feels her familiar touch cup his ass as she pushes herself closer into him. When Rafe hums his affirmative, Isla laughs and he watches as she goes on the tips of her toes and tilts her chin up to him.

“Yeah, baby, I can read your mind,” Rafe murmurs before kissing her, using his grasp on her cheeks, his pinkies under her jaw, to tilt her head back up. Rafe groans appreciatively when her lips open under his almost immediately, always loving how responsive she is as his hands bury in the thick of her wet hair, feeling her fingers run up and down his back as Rafe turns her until her back is against the wall.

Isla’s back arches, her nails digging into his back as she gasps, “Oh, my God, that’s cold.” She laughs, the pretty sound echoing off the tiles of the shower as her arm hooks around his neck and Rafe keeps kissing her smiling lips.

“Want me to turn?” he asks, thinking of her comfort even as he nips at her lower lip.

“Nuh-uh,” she murmurs with a shake of her head, returning the kiss eagerly. “Just want you.”

Well, he’s never one to deny her anything, shooting her a smirk as he lowers down to his knees, trailing kisses down her body as he does. His gaze never leaves Isla’s face, her cheeks flushed and lips kiss swollen as her chest moves quickly with the way her breathing grows shallow with every kiss he places across the planes of her stomach and her hip bones as his fingers brush and down the backs of her thighs.

The hot shower spray hits his back and shoulders as he kisses up the inside of her thighs before he licks up her center. He earns an instant reaction from her in the way she cries out and her hand finds home at the back of his head, fingers sliding through the short wet strands of his hair as Rafe licks into her. She tugs, he groans, and her body shudders as his tongue flicks her clit and when Rafe flickers up, he sees her tilting her head back and her free hand pressed to her mouth to silence the sounds escaping.

And Rafe won’t have that.

“What’re you doing?” he asks lowly, looking up at her but not fully pulling away, teasingly using his tongue to trace her lips from where he remains kneeling. “Let me hear you.”

Isla shakes her head, skin flushed, and Rafe knows it’s from both the hot shower and from him licking and sucking at her. Through her fingers, she gasps out, “Your sisters—”

“They can’t hear shit from here,” Rafe says, his words coming out as a low growl. When he sucks her clit into his mouth, Isla lets out a sharp cry, the sound just as loud as he wants, and he grunts in satisfaction. “That’s it, baby.”

He feasts on her as if he didn’t just have breakfast, spreading her open with his fingers and diving his tongue in as deeply as he can, drunk on the taste of her as he feels her tremble under his touch. He’s obsessed, honestly, with how her body reacts to him; every ragged breath and desperate moan and quiver of her muscles all the while her fingers tighten in his hair.

“God—oh, God, yes,” she moans, her hips moving with him, grinding her pussy against his mouth “Just—I’m so close—”

Another suck of her clit and she falls apart with a sharp cry and Rafe groans as the sweet, familiar taste of her hits his tongue, taking everything she’s giving him and letting her ride her climax on his tongue. She grows limp but Rafe’s hold on her his tight as he rises to his full height, and although Isla is catching her breath, she doesn’t hesitate in surging up and kissing him.

Their tongues meet and Isla moans softly as she no doubt tastes him on her tongue and it sends a rush of hot blood straight to his cock, making him realize just how painfully hard he is. “Fuck,” he hisses when Isla’s hand wraps around his cock.

“Need you inside of me,” she says into their kiss—if it can be classified as that, with just their lips sliding against one another, breathing together. “Now, Rafe.”

His lips quirk up in a breathless sort of a smirk, his pulse electric when she gives a slow, teasing pump of his cock. “Love it when you get bossy,” he murmurs as his hands slide to her hips, then lower to her thighs.

“I prefer to call it knowing what I like,” she laughs gently as he grips the back of her thighs. “Now?” she asks knowingly.

Rafe nips at her bottom lip. “Now.”

She jumps up carefully, Rafe’s grip secure on her thighs as she wraps her legs around him, her arms around his neck and lips finding his again under the spray of water. Isla’s hand, wrapped around his cock, guides him towards her entrance, and all Rafe can think is that he wouldn’t mind adding this to his morning routine.

taglist: @jenniesbuttercup-blog @combatbabys-world @talkfastromance4 @you-got-me-starry-eyed @invisiblexcth @freshsturniolo346 @theafournier97 @danismyth04 @fl0werlver @perfectprettypisces @pameluuu @melsbels-zip @gabrielaperez11 @katieeeeb @cenzie811148

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reocidal · 3 days ago

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day 04 : alhaitham x gender neutral reader ; police x criminal ++ modern au!

wc : 3022, swearing, angst??, fluff, horrible humour, reader has a personality and dyed hair, reader is a criminal, occasional minor violence, unestablished relationship for a majority of the fic, happy ending, kissing? art by @/strayuu

author's note : @phantasmaebg pick me choose me love me?

"nice to meetcha," you grin, and alhaitham raises a brow, immediately on guard. this is… not what he'd been expecting.

"i'm… here to arrest you. for your crimes. that you've committed. and are committing. right now." he hopes he does not sound too bored.

"are you, now?" your smile grows bigger, and you toss something to his right. his head whips around instinctively, and you take the opportunity to lunge towards him, withdrawing a concealed knife and digging it ever so slightly into the back of his neck. the blade doesn't cut the skin yet, but before you get to even utter another word, he automatically flips you over his shoulder. now you weren't expecting that.

"ow!" a startled yelp escapes your throat, but you don't waste any time lying on the floor or wallowing in self-pity like he'd hoped. instead, you're back on your feet in a remarkably fast time, and edging towards him again, looking… hopeful?

"y'know," you begin. "i didn't expect you to be, y'know, not the usual potbellied dwarfs they send after me."

he raises a brow in question, not really sure where you're going with this.

"what i'm tryna say is, are they real?"

"are what— what?"

"your, um." you jab at the general direction of his abdomen with a finger. "your abs."

alhaitham, for the first time in a good few years, is rendered speechless. he blinks at you silently, wondering if you are some alien species he has not yet been informed about, then shakes his head. "what? it doesn't matter. now don't move."

you ignore him. "so they're fake?"

"no, of course not!" he hates the fact that he replies.

"can i touch?"

"what? no." alhaitham is appalled.

"aw, okay. well then, i'll get going—"

"no you're not." he takes a step towards you, and then another, and another—

you turn around and grab him by his fancy tie, pulling him down to your level.

"listen, lemme go and i'll show you a real good time when we meet next," you promise.

when you let him go, when you actually leave, alhaitham makes no effort to follow. instead, he just stands and watches you go.

alhaitham's experiencing a day off. not enjoying it, just experiencing it. there's a difference, really. to be honest, he might even hate it a little. he kind of wishes he was back at work — and oh, apparently he's manifested it into existence, too. angry yells ring out all around him, and a single figure — rather familiar if he does say so himself — runs out from the crowd, leaping and diving over the cars on the road. His first — very unpolicemanlike — instinct is to pause. instead of running after the thief, he freezes. subway surfers, says his brain. like the ones on your mother's phone, when you were a kid.

he hates thinking of his mother.

he grimaces but complies, setting off in their direction. for a moment or two, he thinks he might not make it. maybe he'll have let the thief go. but it'll be his second failure this year, and the third in his entire career. in other words, this simply cannot happen. (the second had been the first time you met him; the death of his mother when he was eighteen, the fact that he'd let the killer get away is the first. it's all personal for him, though — none of these show up in his records.) his energy seems to spike, almost, and he speeds up, and the thief — you come back into view. he knows it's you because you turn back to see who's chasing you, and your eyes widen in recognition when you see him. (he's the exact same, and even though your hair is now a concerning mess of purple and green, he still knows who it is, and he still knows it's you. even though you've only met once. no, don't say anything about it, please.)

you slide into an alleyway (even though you know there's a dead end) and he follows, right into your trap, unthinking.

"hi, alhaitham!" you say, much too cheerful for a situation like this. "i'm glad you recognised me!"

"didn't," he forces out; it's a lie.

you smile at him knowing. somehow, it's worse than if you'd just responded.

"you're doing this on purpose," he ventures, guarded. "what do you want from me? how do you know my name?"

"i googled you!" you say brightly. "as for what i want… how do i phrase this?"

you pause, pretending to think for a moment. in his opinion, you lack the ability to do so completely.

"alhaitham, i think we may be soulmates!" you announce with a flourish.

he raises a brow. "no, we're not?"

it comes out as more of a question than an answer.

"well, if you're so sure, what's your wrist say?" you demand, peering at him as if you're going to go over to him and investigate his wrist yourself; he backs away defensively.

"y/n l/n, why?"

"that's literally my name," you deadpan.

his first instinct is to deny it. (how does that even make sense?) the second one tells him to run.

"i'm sure there are a lot of y/ns around," he says at last.

"none with alhaitham on their wrist, i'm sure," you retort, and his heart drops into his, well, ass, for lack of a better word.

"…ah."

"yeah."

alhaitham honestly fears the worst. he's had two other run-ins with you over the past month, and it gets worse each time. like, you're soulmates. okay. he's part of the law enforcement, and slowly but surely falling in love with you, an anonymous but wanted criminal. not okay.

you keep showing up in the most unlikely places — like right now, at his favourite cafe. you're almost sheepish, and you're not radiating your usual confidence, and you don't even make a move to approach him. not until he curses himself and beckons you over, that is. and you're too happy to bound over; you also take the opportunity to make him pay for your coffee and an overpriced, underwhelming pastry.

your hair is pink and blue; "tv girl reference," you tell him, then, "i don't even listen to tv girl."

he doesn't know what a tv girl is, nor does he want to find out, but he assumes it's an obscure internet reference. how are you a basically homeless robber but also chronically online? that's his soulmate for you.

his chin is cradled on his palm as he surveys you with the air of a depressed old professor facing their one hundred and twelfth petri dish; you're going on and on about something unimportant that he doesn't care about very much, just because he likes your voice so much. he understands that it means he's not a very good — boyfriend? partner? situationship? the two of you aren't exactly dating, per se, but whatever you've got going on isn't very platonic either. he decides not to worry about it right now. maybe he'll just enjoy his time with you instead.

"sorry," he says, voice rough from disuse. "can you repeat that again?"

and if you were anyone else, he'd expect you to be upset, maybe annoyed, but you just seem so happy to be able to talk to him. you perk up; "what were you even zoning out about?" you ask before launching back into whatever you were talking about.

but you're barely two sentences in when he interrupts you once more.

"you," he says. "i was thinking about you."

for the first time in a while, you lose the ability to speak, and your face turns a brilliant shade of red.

"oh," you say. "don't say that."

"but it's true," he hums thoughtfully. "i don't do lies."

"oh," you say again. "okay."

he's always been very careful about who he lets in, who he lets see certain parts of him. no one gets to see him at his very best, for example, and no one gets to see him at his worst either. it's just one of the many rules he's set in place for himself. rules make life easier.

you, on the other hand, seem to break all of them simultaneously as you crash into his life repeatedly without notice; you see him display more emotion in the short time that you've known him than people he's known for decades. and the worst part is, he doesn't hate it at all.

alhaitham doesn't hear you approach the first time, head buried in his arms as he tries to block out all external stimuli — the noise cancelling headphones are working, yes, but not as well as they should be. even then, he's quite startled when you pull the hood of his jacket up and lean right into his face.

"fuck off," he says, and your eyes widen. you've never once heard him swear before.

"you good, bro?" you ask, sliding shamelessly into the chair opposite him at his little cafe table.

"i'm not your bro," he says, sitting up straighter. "and i'm fine."

"no you're not," you reply immediately. "you're wearing a hoodie and sweats. something's not right."

"it's just a bad day," he says at last. "i'm having a bad day. there, happy?"

you sigh. "why're you out and about, then? let's go back home."

"no." it comes out harsh, harsher than he wants it to, and you flinch, and he's never felt worse in his life. but you shake your head like a dog shaking off water, and smile at him, big and bright. he thinks you might be the sun, coming down from the sky to cater specifically to him, even though it's raining outside.

"that's fine, we can go to mine instead."

"you have a place?" he asks, so surprised that it slips out before he can stop it. you laugh at his taken-aback face, and even he musters up a smile at that. maybe all is not yet lost, he muses as he gets up.

alhaitham hates the dark, hates not being able to see. the blinds in your dingy apartment are pulled down to the floor, and you haven't bothered to turn the lights on yet. rain pelts the windows around you, and alhaitham's hoodie is slung carelessly over the back of a chair — your only one, actually, but it doesn't matter — which is wildly uncharacteristic; when'd he stop caring about hygiene so much?

you're on top of him — wow! — and he watches you through half-lidded eyes, free hand coming up to play with your hair. it's green again, he notes; this time it's the colour of his eyes. he's not sure how you've ended up here, in bed, instead of at the table where he'd opened up to anyone for the very first time in his life. not that he minds it, really. your fingers are cool around his wrist — your hands are always rather cold — and you press your lips to his soulmate tattoo, and he grins, and maybe his bad day isn't that bad after all.

but just because your relationship — that's still not really a relationship, considering he only sees you on and off every few months — has its highs, doesn't mean it doesn't have its lows, either. after all, you are still from very two different worlds.

it's only natural for him to be upset when you show up at his door again, bloodied and bruised. he knows it's hard for you, he knows this is all you know, but really. he's let you in, so why don't you do the same? or let him do something for you, even if it's in return for everything you've ever done for for him.

so he tells you that (for the sixth time over the course of knowing you, if he's kept count correctly) and as usual, you deny.

you're sitting on his kitchen counter by a stack of books you've taken from his shelves, mouth full of grilled chicken when he comes up to you, looking more serious than usual. though he's between your legs, hands on the counter on either side of you.

"what's up?" you ask after you swallow, confused.

"you need to stop this. stop running around and risking your life for unnecessary shit."

"it's not unnecessary, i need all that," you argue.

"i can get you everything you need and more, so if you think about it logically—"

"fuck logic!" you snap. "i'm good just like this, thanks. besides, i don't want to depend on anyone else, not anymore, anyways."

"and i am risking my job for you, so maybe stop and look at the bigger pciture." alhaitham is calm, eerily so. but you know he has a point. you know this isn't something he — either of you — should be doing. "y/n, please, if you stop this— this foolish thieving you've got going on, i can help you, the way you need."

"i don't want your help," you retort before realising that this is escalating too fast. you decide to change the subject instead. "there's a lot of other things you're giving me, and it's enough. hell, it's way too much!"

"what do i even give you?" he asks, genuinely intrigued. you make a funny face at him, and his curiosity turns into distaste as he grimaces.

"you're disgusting."

something between a scoff and a lugh escapes you, and you get up, placing your plate by the sink as you head towards where you kept your shoes. "you're even worse, mr. respectable police officer. helping out a lowly thief like me? on a regular basis too!"

he glares at you, crossing his arms defensively. "you know there's a reason."

"i think i forgot." you smile without remorse; it's obvious that you haven't forgotten anything. alhaitham, for one, knows your memory is top tier. "actually, i think i need you to remind me again."

he makes a discontented noise low in his throat. "it's because we're soulmates, because i'm in love with you. there, are you satisfied?"

"very." you are. "so gimme a kiss, alhaitham, and i can go on my merry way— see you at my next crime scene, maybe?"

"maybe not." he leans back when you lean up, and your lips turn down in response.

"what, hate me that much?"

he shakes his head. "give it a try, please. not being a nasty little thief, i mean."

you roll your eyes. "and what do i get in return? exactly, nothing!"

he sighs. "c'mon, pretty—"

"what'd you call me?"

alhaitham purses his lips. "you have nothing left to lose, i'll take care of you. we can have an actual—"

"my honour doesn't allow that."

"what honour do you have, living off— off shit you steal?" his voice, in contrast to his words, is surprisingly gentle. "when you know i could help you make a change."

you swallow. no one's happy now.

"like i said," you begin, and your voice wobbles. "like i said, i should get going now."

"alright." he moves automatically now, like he's only doing it because he's being forced to, deflated, like something in him has been extinguished. he doesn't attempt to talk to you again, although he does kiss you goodbye like he usually does. it's only when you've walked halfway down the drive does he speak again.

"y/n," he calls; you turn around, caught off guard by the sudden use of your name. "we're soulmates. no matter what, you'll always end up with me. try to fight it all you want, but it's the truth. it's as true as the sun in the sky and the books you read."

and he shuts the door, and you don't see him again for the next six months.

when you do see alhaitham again, there's not only a defeated look in his eyes — as usual, every time he finds you — but one in yours too. you're covered in dirt and grime and blood, knuckles bruised a sick mix of blue, purple, and green that he knows will look even worse later. you look like a cornered creature, feral, flighty, ready to attack at any given moment. your poise looks relaxed, but from years of experience and knowing you he knows that it's nothing less than a disguise. you're so on guard, you're physically unable to let it down around him.

"what happened?" he takes a single, firm step towards you, but nothing more. no sudden movements, no actions that will cause you to work yourself up further.

"almost got caught," you force out. you're panting, voice raspy, eyes following all his movements.

"oh." he softens, visibly. "well. not much i can do now, right?"

"yeah."

"unless…"

"yeah, i'm done."

he tries to hide the smile that creeps up on his face, and fails miserably.

you let him take you home that night; whatever inside you that had been fuelling all of this seems to have finally burned itself out. you let yourself cry when he bandages you up, rough hands tender upon yours. and when he begs you, again, to allow him to take care of you, you don't refuse.

opening up to people is hard; he knows that better than anyone else, and when you do begin to speak, eyes trained on your lap, where your bandaged hands fidget with each other. your voice is shaky, but you are speaking, and he is listening. and in the little piece of the world that's yours — you, and him, and the house that you now share — that is enough.

the robberies around town die down all of a sudden; coincidentally the records of the perpetrator of those aforementioned crimes are all erased due to a mishap while saving some files. alhaitham's records are perfectly clean; better officers than him — if any — are found few and far between. and no one makes the connection between you and the infamous thief in town.

and it's while it's not the easiest or most enjoyable ride ever, the two of you do get your happy ending. you think you don't deserve it, but he knows you do.

#alhaitham x reader #al haitham x reader #alhaitham x you #al haitham x you #alhaitham x y/n #alhaitham fluff #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #genshin x y/n #genshin fanfic #genshin fluff #alhaitham genshin #genshin imagines #genshin impact #alhaitham #al haitham #mine🫀

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katareyoudrilling · 1 day ago

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Taglist Refresh!

It feels like it's time to refresh my taglist. It has been almost two years since I started it and I am sure some people have moved on since then. I have some exciting (I think) things I'm working on and want to make sure they get to the people who want them!

I am tagging my current taglist below. Please:

Like this post if you are on my current taglist and want to stay on it

Comment on this post if you would like to be added to my taglist. Or fill out my Taglist form.

I will repost this a few times to hopefully catch everyone!

As for what's coming up.... I will be posting the Epilogue for Sweepstakes Javi in the next few days! (I'll use my old taglist for that to make sure I don't miss anyone) I also have plans to write another Sweepstakes installment! I find this series very inspiring lol.

But the big thing I have been working on is a multi-chapter Marcus Pike fic! You all know how much I love him. I'm very excited about it and hope to be ready to share it soon!

Thanks for hanging with me and my writing. I know there hasn't been much lately. I appreciate each and every one of you that reads my fic and if you comment/reblog/DM me about it/send an ask about it you have my heart forever ❤️

Current taglist below:

@alexxavicry @amneris21 @avengersfan25 @aynsleywalker @bitchwitch1981

@burntheedges @casa-boiardi @chloepluto1306 @davnittbraes

@eppy816 @greeneyedblondie44 @harriedandharassed @its-nebuleuse @kaitieskidmore1

@kirsteng42 @loonymagizoologist @lovesbiggerthanpride @maievdenoir @mandoblowmybackout

@mswarriorbabe80 @nothoughtsjustmeds @pagannightwitch @pedrohoe04

@quicksilvermad @raspberrymama @ruhro7 @runningmom94 @starfleetteddybear

@theravenreads @thevoiceinyourheadx @thirddeadlysin @vabeachazn @veryprairieberry

@weasleywinchester @yorksgirl @deadhumourist @grogusmum @something-tofightfor

@mandobi @mymommmy @artpoppstar @iamskyereads @missladym1981

@pix-writes @syd-djarin @tintinn16 @harriedandharassed @stevie75

@secretelephanttattoo @schnarfer @drillingkat

@bport6 and @mortheroftorches I have not been able to tag you.

#taglist refresh #the sweepstakes #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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daryltwdixon · 2 days ago

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summary: Joel and you finally give in to the tension that’s been building, confessing this isn’t the first time you’ve thought of each other this way. In the quiet safety of the moment, walls come down, and everything changes.

warnings: I did promise eventual smut in my fic summary, so here we are. smutty chapter! beware! lots of feelings tho too!! 18+ please

a/n: not sure if it helps but I did listen to all around me by flyleaf when I wrote this

Joel’s lips linger on yours as he lays you down on the bedspread, his breath warm against your skin as his hands slide firmly down your back, pulling you closer. His kiss is tentative at first, almost careful, but it deepens quickly, carrying a sense of longing that makes your chest tighten.

Your fingers thread through his hair, holding him there, as though letting go would break whatever fragile thing is building between you. His hands shift, tracing along your sides, his touch steady as you lean into him, your body pressing closer until there’s no space left between you.

When he pulls back slightly, his forehead brushing yours, his gaze locks onto you. His eyes hold a question, but there’s no hesitation in your answer. You meet him halfway, capturing his lips with yours–it’s like you can’t get enough of him. The feeling of him touching you, of being here in this moment.

Joel’s hands slip under your shirt, his calloused fingertips grazing your skin as he gently tugs the fabric upward. The sensation makes your breath hitch, your body stiffening instinctively for a moment. No one has ever touched you like this before, and the unfamiliarity sends a nervous flutter through your chest. Your pulse quickens, not just from the warmth of his hands but from the uncertainty swirling in your mind.

His eyes flicker up to meet yours, pausing as if he’s sensed your hesitation. There’s no impatience in his expression—just a quiet understanding that steadies you. Slowly, you nod, lifting your arms to let him pull the shirt over your head. The cool air brushes against your bare skin, and your heart races as you resist the urge to cover yourself. But then his lips find the curve of your neck, leaving a trail of soft kisses, and the nervous tension begins to give way to something warmer, something that makes your breath catch for an entirely different reason.

Your hands slide over his chest, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. Your fingers tremble, unused to the task and the intimacy of the moment. The fabric is soft and familiar, but what lies beneath it is entirely new to you. You focus on the feel of him beneath your touch—the solid warmth of his chest, the subtle catch in his breath when your fingers graze his collarbone.

For a moment, he pauses, his gaze sweeping over you, his expression almost unreadable. It’s not hesitation this time—it’s something heavier, like he’s committing this moment to memory. Your hands reach for his skin, trailing over the curls of hair that cover his chest and belly, his body so sturdy, even in places it's gone softer with age.

Joel’s touches grow more deliberate, his hands roaming, learning, as though every inch of you is something he’s been searching for. Your breaths mingle, quick and shallow, and you feel the tension between you deepen when you kiss him again, pulling you into something you can’t, and don’t want to, resist.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says between kisses, his lips beginning to trail down your neck onto your chest.

“I don’t know about that,” you manage to say, your voice shaky, but he pulls back slightly, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that leaves no room for doubt.

“You are,” he insists, his tone firm but gentle. “Don’t argue with me.”

A breathless laugh escapes you, soft and unexpected, breaking through the tension. The sound seems to relax both of you, and Joel’s lips curl into a faint, almost imperceptible smile before he leans in again. His kisses grow more purposeful, trailing down your neck and along the curve of your shoulder. Each touch of his lips leaves a trail of warmth in its wake, your skin tingling as he moves lower.

When his mouth finds your breasts, you can feel his breath ghosting over you, warm and teasing. The moment stretches, every nerve in your body alive and waiting. Then, his lips close around one of your nipples, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak. The sensation is electric, a spark that shoots through you and settles low in your belly, igniting something primal and consuming.

You gasp, the sound soft but unrestrained, and your back arches instinctively, pressing yourself further into him. Joel’s hands slide to your waist, holding you steady as his mouth continues its ministrations, his touch deliberate and patient. It’s overwhelming, yet you can’t bring yourself to pull away—instead, you find yourself craving more, wanting to lose yourself in him completely.

Your heart pounds in your chest, the anticipation building with every passing second. His fingers work deftly, sliding the fabric down your hips and leaving you bare beneath him.

Your nerves flare again, a rush of vulnerability coursing through you. But Joel pauses, his hands stilling as he looks up at you, his gaze searching. “We don’t have to keep goin’, not if you’re not ready,” he says softly, his tone filled with reassurance.

The vulnerability in his voice matches your own, and you feel a swell of affection for the man in front of you. “I want this,” you say, your voice steadier now. “I want you.”

Joel exhales a slow, measured breath, as if he’s been holding it. He leans down, kissing you deeply, and the kiss says everything neither of you has dared to put into words. It’s tender and consuming, a moment of connection in a world that offers so little.

His hands resume their exploration, his touch careful and steady as he learns the shape of you, every curve, every inch. You let yourself relax into him, your body yielding to the unfamiliar but intoxicating sensations, your trust in him anchoring you to the here and now.

As his mouth moves to continue teasing and kissing the sensitive skin of your breasts, his hand trails lower, rough calloused fingers tracing over your hips and thighs. The butterflies in your stomach stir as his palm cups the underside of your knee, hitching your leg up to make room for himself. His kisses travel lower, trailing down your stomach, each press of his lips leaving heat in its wake. Your breathing falters, your nerves prickling as anticipation builds.

Joel pauses again, his breath warm against the inside of your thigh, his hands gently spreading you open. He kisses the soft skin of your leg, his scruff grazing you in a way that sends shivers up your spine as he settles himself between your limbs. Then his voice comes, low and gravelly, cutting through the haze clouding your mind.

“Ya know,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your thigh between words, “all those times I had to walk off when we’d settle into camp…”

The fog in your brain barely clears enough to process what he’s saying. You manage a soft, questioning, “Mhm,” your mind replaying the moments he’s referring to—the quiet nights when Ellie had fallen asleep and the two of you stayed up talking, or simply enjoying the stillness of the night. How often had he excused himself, leaving you to drift off alone?

Joel chuckles softly, the sound almost dark, as his lips travel higher, brushing closer to the apex of your thighs. “I wasn’t exactly,” he pauses to kiss your skin, “goin’ to take a leak.”

Your brows knit slightly, trying to piece his words together through the rush of blood in your ears, but the moment his scruff grazes your mound, all coherent thought scatters. His voice drops lower, almost a growl.

“The thought of you,�� he mutters, his mouth skimming just above where you’re already slick with need, “your legs, that cute ass in those jeans…” He groans, kissing the soft folds of your pussy, igniting a gasp from your lips. “Christ, I’d lose my goddamn mind.”

His nips gently at the tender skin, eliciting a soft whimper from you. “I’d go out there, into the woods, or another room if I could, just to take care of myself,” he confesses, his lips moving against your skin. “Just thinkin’ about you. Those big eyes, that sweet voice… and wonderin’ how you’d look underneath me.”

Your moan escapes before you can stop it, low and desperate, as his mouth finally finds your center. His tongue flicks out, tasting you, and the sound he makes—a low, guttural groan—vibrates against you, sending shockwaves through your entire body.

“I’d jerk off,” he continues, his voice muffled between kisses and licks, “just picturing this… you spread out for me like this.” His tongue delves deeper, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you steady as your hips buck instinctively. “And now that I’ve got you, darlin’, I’m never lettin’ this go.”

Joel’s tongue continues its deliberate rhythm, his hands steadying your trembling body as you grip the sheets, your breath escaping in shallow, uneven gasps. Every nerve feels electrified, every sensation heightened in a way you’ve never experienced before. It’s unfamiliar—intense and consuming—but not overwhelming in the way you might have feared. It’s good, so good it steals your breath and leaves you craving more.

The pressure inside you builds, hot and insistent, threatening to spill over. You’ve touched yourself before, in the lonely nights when sleep wouldn’t come and your mind wandered to places it shouldn’t. You’d thought of Joel then, his hands, his voice, his body. But nothing—nothing—comes close to this, to the way he makes you feel like you’re coming apart under his touch, only to be pieced back together again.

“Joel,” you gasp, your voice barely a whisper as your fingers tangle in his hair, grounding yourself in the solidness of him. “I… I’ve thought of you too.”

He stills for a fraction of a second, his gaze flicking up to meet yours, dark and intense. His mouth is still so close, his breath hot against your sensitive skin. “Yeah?” he murmurs, his voice rough and low, sending a shiver through you. “Tell me.”

The words come out hesitantly, a confession dragged from the deepest parts of you. “Nights when I was all alone,” you whisper, your cheeks flushing despite the haze of pleasure clouding your thoughts. “I thought about you. Touched myself, thinking of you,” your voice breaks as you arch into him, your hips moving instinctively toward the heat of his mouth.

Joel groans, the sound guttural and raw, and his grip on your thighs tightens for a moment before his lips return to your folds. The admission seems to fuel him, his movements more focused now, his tongue and mouth driving you closer and closer to the edge.

“Joel—” you whimper, your voice breaking as you arch into him, your hips moving instinctively toward the heat of his mouth. His hands steady you, his touch firm but still careful, as though he’s guiding you through this.

“I know baby, you’re doing so good. How’s that feel?” he whispers against you, and you can feel him forming the words with his lips against you. You moan, hardly able to string together any coherent thought to say anything more but his name.

He groans against you, the sound vibrating through every nerve, his beard tickling your inner thighs as they clench around him, and that’s all it takes to send you flying over the edge.

The release crashes through you like a wave, leaving you breathless and shaking as stars split your vision. Your back arches, your body tightening before you melt into the mattress beneath you, boneless and undone. Joel doesn’t stop right away, drawing out your pleasure with slow, deliberate strokes of his tongue until the intensity becomes too much, and you gently tug at his hair.

He pulls back, his lips and scruff glistening, his chest heaving as he looks up at you. There’s something possessive in his gaze, but it’s softened by the tenderness in the way his hands slide up your thighs, grounding you.

“So pretty,” he murmurs, his voice husky and low, and the praise makes your heart stutter. He shifts, pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs before moving up your body, taking his time as he works his way to your lips.

When he finally kisses you, it’s slow and consuming, his weight pressing down on you just enough to make you feel enveloped by him. Your fingers find their way into his hair again, tugging gently as his hands brace on either side of your head as you taste yourself on his lips and scruff. His body fits over yours like he’s meant to be there, solid and warm, but you can’t ignore the undeniable…intimidatingly sizeable press of him against your hip.

Joel pulls back slightly, his hand cupping your cheek and his thumb brushing against your skin as he studies you carefully. “We don’t have to keep goin’ if you’re not ready,” he says softly, his voice steady but tinged with restraint.

“I want this,” you whisper, your voice shaky but certain. “I want you. Need you.”

Joel exhales sharply, as though your words are both a relief and a challenge to his self-control. “Alright,” he says, nodding slightly. “We’ll take it real slow.”

He shifts, his hands sliding under your thighs to hitch your legs around his waist. The intimacy of the position makes your cheeks flush, and when you feel the weight of him pressing against your entrance, your breath catches. Joel notices immediately, pausing to kiss you deeply, his lips lingering as if to reassure you.

“Breathe for me, baby,” he murmurs, his voice like a soft command. “I’ll go slow, I promise.”

You nod, relaxing as best you can, and he begins to push forward, the thick head of him pressing into you. The stretch is unfamiliar, bordering on too much, and you let out a soft gasp, your fingernails digging into the skin of his arms.

“Hey, look at me,” Joel says, his voice low but firm. His eyes find yours, steady and real, grounding you. “You’re alright,”

“It’s just… a lot,” you admit, your voice barely audible.

He leans down, kissing the corner of your mouth as his hand strokes your thigh. “I know, darlin’. Just say the word and I’ll stop. We can just lay together.”

You take a deep breath, nodding again, urging him on, and he continues, easing into you inch by inch. The burn gradually gives way to something fuller, something that feels like it’s breaking you apart and putting you back together at the same time. Joel moves slowly, pausing frequently to let you adjust, his lips brushing over the skin of your shoulder, your cheek and jaw and clavicle–so loving, so reverent– with every small thrust forward.

“You’re doin’ so good for me,” he murmurs, his voice rough but gentle, the words keeping you here in the moment.

When he finally sheaths himself fully, his hips aligning to yours, the fullness steals your breath, and he stills completely, giving you a chance to acclimate. His face rests in your neck, his breaths coming in soft, shallow puffs against your throat. “You feel… amazin’,” he whispers, his tone full of awe.

After a moment, you shift slightly, testing the sensation, and your body instinctively clenches around him. Joel groans, his restraint evident in the way his arms tremble as he holds himself back.

“Joel, please,” you say softly, the word shaky but filled with an undeniable need, “Please, God, move.”

Joel obeys, chuckling a little as he pulls back slowly before thrusting forward again, each movement careful and deliberate. The stretch still lingers, but it begins to fade into something warmer, something that has you clutching at him, pulling him closer as you lose yourself in the rhythm he sets.

The world outside fades into nothingness, leaving only the two of you, tangled together in a moment that feels impossibly real. Joel moves with a deliberate care, his thrusts slow and steady, as though savoring every second. The stretch of him still lingers, but it’s mingled with a warmth that builds steadily with every roll of his hips.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders, holding onto him like he’s the only solid thing in a world that constantly shifts beneath your feet. His name falls from your lips in breathless whispers, each syllable carrying a mix of disbelief and longing. You watch his face as he moves above you, his brow furrowed, his jaw tight, but his eyes—when they meet yours—are filled with something that makes your stomach flutter.

“You feel so good,” he murmurs, “So damn tight, sweetheart,” his voice low and gravelly, roughened by restraint. His words only add to the heat pooling low in your belly, the ache building steadily with every deliberate stroke.

Your body begins to move with him, the tension rising to an unbearable edge. Joel seems to sense it, his hand sliding between you to find that sensitive spot, his fingers pressing in a rhythm that matches his thrusts. It’s almost too much, too sensitive, too much pleasure for your first time ever experiencing this. That funny feeling, deep in your belly, spreading to the base of your spine intensifies, every nerve alight as you arch into him, your head falling back against the mattress.

“Joel—” you cry out, your voice trembling as the wave crashes over you. Your body tightens around him, and he groans, the sound guttural and deep as he slows momentarily, letting you ride out the crest of your release. His hand slows, gentle now, grounding you as you tremble beneath him.

“Jesus,” he mutters, his forehead pressing against yours as he fights to keep control. His breathing is ragged, his movements stalling as though he’s giving you time to recover.

But you don’t want him to stop—not yet. You trail your hands down his back, urging him on, and he lets out a low growl before pulling back slightly. His hips move again, slower now, more deliberate, as though drawing out the moment for both of you.

“I’m so close, hunny,” he confesses, his voice strained, his pace faltering, “Tell me where—”

It takes you a moment to process his words, your mind still hazy, but you manage to whisper, “On me… it’s okay.

Joel pulls back just enough to give himself room, his hands sliding to your hips to steady you as he drives into you a few more times, each movement more purposeful than the last. His eyes stay locked on yours, the tension in his face intensifying as his breathing grows erratic. And then he stills, his head falling forward as he groans deeply, the sound vibrating through you as he pulls out of you, leaving you clenching and aching.

You feel the warmth of him spill onto your stomach, creamy and white and hot, his body shuddering as he lets go, his grip on your hip tightening for a moment before softening. He stays there, leaning over you, his breaths ragged and muscles flexing and quivering above you.

After a moment, Joel reaches for something—a discarded towel nearby—and gently wipes you clean, his touch careful and unhurried. When he’s done, he lies down beside you, his arms pulling you close against him. The weight of his body against yours is grounding, and the silence between you is comfortable, filled with a kind of quiet intimacy that doesn’t need words.

You rest your head against his chest, his heartbeat strong and steady beneath your ear. His hand moves to your hair, brushing through it absentmindedly, and for the first time in a long time, you feel completely safe.

“That was…” you begin, your voice soft but full of emotion. You trail off, struggling to find the right words, but you don’t need to finish. A small laugh escapes, and you tilt your head to look up at him. “It was amazing.”

Joel’s lips twitch into the faintest smile, his hand stilling in your hair as he gazes down at you. There’s something vulnerable in his expression, something that tells you he needed to hear that more than you realized.

Joel exhales a quiet breath, his hand pausing for a moment. “Yeah,” he says softly, almost to himself. “It was.”

He brushes his hand gently down your arm before pulling you a little closer. He doesn’t say anything else, and he doesn’t need to. The silence between you feels easy, comfortable, like there’s nothing left to prove. For now, it’s enough just to be here.

#all that remains #Joel Miller smut #Joel Miller x you #Joel Miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #the last of us Joel miller #Joel tlou #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfic #the last of us fanfiction #Joel Miller fic #Joel Miller fanfic #Joel Miller fanfiction

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ladykailitha · 9 hours ago

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The Caged Bird Sings Part 20

Hello! We are back with more of this lovely fic. I think this will have 24 chapters if it keeps going the way it's been going this last week. It might surprise me. It has before, so we'll see.

In this we have Chrissy apologizing and Steve meets the family.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19

The next morning there was a knock on Steve’s hotel door and he went to go get it. He wasn’t expecting anyone. All the kids knew to wait for him down in the lobby and Eddie was off visiting the mysterious Uncle Wayne. And as far as he knew the rest of the guys were off doing other things today, too.

He opened the door to a large bouquet of purple hyacinth obscuring the person who was carrying them. He knew it wasn’t from Eddie. They would have been yellow and daffodils. His favorite.

Suddenly they were being thrust at him, forcing him to take them. “Oh!”

But once they were in his grasp he could see the bearer’s face. Chrissy was standing there looking sheepish.

“Oh hello,” Steve said awkwardly, standing there with the flowers in his hands. “Um...thanks for the flowers?”

She bustled past him into his room. “Sure, come on in.”

She flopped down on the chair and leaned her elbows on her knees. “Look, I’ve been an ass. I big one. And that’s on me. But I think I need to explain why. So sit down and buckle up. This is going to take awhile.”

“Uh...” he waved at the phone. “I was going to order some breakfast if you want anything.”

Chrissy blinked up at him for a moment. “Sure...um, an egg white omelet with sour cream and ham please.”

“Right on it!” Steve said with a grin. He wandered over to the table and took out the flowers that housekeeping put in a vase on it every two to three days and replaced it with the hyacinths. Then he called down for room service.

“You didn’t have to dump the other flowers,” she said tilting her head to the side as Steve threw them away.

“Nah,” Steve said like a half shrug. “Eddie gets me flowers all the time and I do the same thing. Rosa prefers those to the high priced unscented things the hotel gets and is always happy to see me trash them.”

“You really made friends here,” Chrissy said, leaning back in the chair. “I’ve heard nothing but good about you from the staff.”

Steve huffed out a laugh. “Look my parents were assholes, but they were rich assholes who knew that if you didn’t treat staff well, than you would get stiffed in service. They raised me to do the same. Then they became my friends when the only people still talking to me were barely teenagers and their parents. Oh and Eddie of course. I would have been lost without them.”

“I’ve severely misjudged you,” she murmured. “Hence the flowers. According the florist purple hyacinths mean ‘please forgive me’ so...”

Steve shrugged and came over to sofa, where he flopped on it sideways, tucking one arm behind his head. “Story of my life. I think the only person who’s come into my life that immediately didn’t judge me for being who I am was Eddie. And even then he was worried I might be under eighteen.”

Chrissy snorted a giggle. “Look, you looked like a baby chick out there in a sea of metalheads so it’s not hard to see why.”

“Oh didn’t I know it,” he said shaking his head. “I was looking to get laid to have a warm place to spend the night and maybe a couch for a week or two while I tried to get out of town. But then Eddie happened and the rest is history.”

“Well,” Chrissy said with a smile, “you certainly made him happy and I’ll admit sending him your fake ID was inspired.”

“Thanks!”

“So as an apology,” she said, continuing, “I’d like to something special for each of your kids. We got Lucas on lock, but I don’t want the rest of them feeling like you love Lucas more...”

“You’ve got younger siblings, don’t you?” Steve asked with a small smile. “I bet they were the gold child that could do no wrong while you were constantly told you’ll never measure up?”

Chrissy blinked at him for a moment. “How did you know? I’m pretty sure if you had sibling they would have been brought up before now.”

Steve sat up and ran his fingers through his hair. “My cousin, Scott. Not the one who bounces for The Hideout, but the one who made my ID. His parents always wanted a little girl and after three boys, finally got one. Amanda was their parents little darling who could burn down an orphanage, steal a police cruiser as her get away vehicle, and crash it into a cancer ward, and they would still find a way to blame Scott or one of his older brothers.”

“Okay then,” Chrissy said with a huff of breath. “Yeah, that’s exactly how it goes. Thankfully he has sense, but yeah. I just don’t want your other kids to feel left out.”

“Agreed,” Steve said. “I don’t know if you’ll be able to fulfill all of them but here’s what they like.” And then he broke down all their passions.

Chrissy nodded. “Hey do you have some paper and a pen? I want to write this all down.”

“On the desk,” Steve replied. “It’s where I tried to live up to other people’s expectations by trying to get a job, even though my dad made it super fucking hard.”

Chrissy got up and moved to the desk. “I heard about the ice cream incident,” she said over her shoulder. “Eddie wanted to sue, but Chief Hopper talked him out of it. I’m still not sure it was the right move to let it go. You could have been seriously hurt by the stunt. What if it had hit your head or you slipped on the sludge? You could have died.”

“Yeah, I know,” Steve said with a sigh, rubbing his hands on his jeans. “But Hopper thought that scaring them by taking them down to the police station would have been enough of an incentive to never do it again.”

Chrissy came back with the paper and pen. “Still bullshit. So let’s make sure I have this right, Max likes skateboarding and video games. Dustin is a huge Corroded Coffin and heavy metal fan, but also likes building little machines and stuff. Mike is also a metal fan, but he likes writing and D&D.” She paused for a moment. “Well, they all like D&D, but especially Mike. Ellie likes fashion and fabric arts. Will is a little artist and has gotten into painting lately...” she looked up from her list. “Does that cover it?”

Steve nodded. “Yup! I hope you can do something for them. Lucas was the easiest because of the basketball game.”

“I can knock out all of them in one event,” she said with a smile. “Or at least one event will spawn a couple of others if I finagle it right. And finagling is what I do best.”

“Oh?” Steve said, tilting his head to the side. “Wha’cha got?”

She stood up with one fluid motion and a change came over her features. Steve suddenly got why this tiny woman was in charge of the biggest metal band in the world.

“You haven’t met Uncle Wayne yet, have you?”

Eddie was vibrating happily beside Steve in the Sunbird. “I can’t wait for you to meet Uncle Wayne. He’s the best the thing that ever happened to me.”

“So you’ve said,” Steve said, shifting to let his baby unwind on the country road. “He instilled your sense of responsibility and caring to others in a bad way.”

“Yeah,” Eddie chirped. “He took me in when dear ole dad decided that the best way to pay back the loan sharks on the house was to burn it down for the insurance. Only the dumb bastard used gasoline and even the stupidest adjuster can tell a gasoline fire on the spot. He tried to tell them it was the loan sharks, but they didn’t believe him and he went to jail for arson.”

“Ooh,” Steve said with a grimace. “My dad is an abusive ass, but at least he’s not trying to burn down houses.”

Eddie snorted. “Dad of the Year he was not, ole Al Munson. Was even worse when I got famous and he tried to take credit for my success.”

“From the confines of a jail cell?” Steve asked, raising an eyebrow. “That’s some pretty fancy mental gymnastics. Maybe he should try out for the Olympics.”

Eddie laughed.

They pulled up to the house and Steve secretly thought it was amazing. It was a sprawling ranch style house nestled on acres of land, stretching out as far he could see. There weren’t any animals that he could see, but there was an amphitheater and things that were set up for parties and weddings.

A lovely gazebo, a dance floor with an area for the band or DJ, beautiful trees everywhere with fairy lights strung up everywhere. But there was also a wilderness to it as well. Steve could almost hear the sounds of laughter and tinkling of glasses raised in cheer.

It was magical.

Eddie hit his shoulder. “Come on, let me introduce you to the man of the century.”

Steve got out of the car and hurried to catch up to Eddie. They knocked on the door. The door opened to reveal an older man that looked nothing like Eddie at first glance. He had short, thinning grey hair without so much as a hint of a curl, deep set eyes that spoke of a life of hard labor, and a face that was closed off.

Until he saw who was standing on his doorstep. Then the man lit up like it was Christmas. His face fell into an easy smile and the brown eyes twinkled. And there it was, the resemblance.

“Eddie!” Wayne greeted and pulled him in for a hug. “You said you’d be dropping by today, but I thought it would be later in the evening.��

Eddie smiled. “I assumed we’d be later, with lazy over here liking to oversleep, but it turns out the jock is strong with this one!”

Steve pushed Eddie’s shoulder playfully. “I do not oversleep! I get up at eight every morning to go for a swim or a run. You’re the one that likes to sleep in!”

Eddie cackled as Wayne let them in. The house was as beautiful on the inside as it was on the outside. It was warm browns and soft reds with wood paneling everywhere.

“You have a lovely home,” Steve breathed, eye wide, jaw slack. “You can tell it’s well loved and not some stand-in for a catelogue somewhere.”

Wayne tried to suppress his smile, but the amusement crinkled his eyes. “Thank you. The perks of having a rich nephew who likes to dote on everyone and everything.”

Eddie ducked his head and shoved his hair in front of his face. “Flatterer!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Wayne said shaking his head. “Flattery works on you. Get in here, you big goof.” He led them to front room and pointed at the biggest, fluffiest sofa imaginable. “Go ahead and have a seat. I’ll go get us some drinks. Is Coors okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve said with a smile. “Sounds good.”

Eddie nodded and then when Wayne left the two of them alone, the manic energy returned. “So what did you think of him? Like first impressions?”

“I’d have him adopt me from the house alone,” Steve said with a snort. “But no, he seems nice. I like him.”

Eddie grinned. “So this is the type of place you like? Interesting, very interesting.” He stroked his chin like he was stroking an invisible beard.

“You’ve bought me a car, clothes, and even jewelry,” Steve said pulling out his canary necklace from his shirt, “you buy me house and I’d marry you on the spot.”

Eddie leaned into Steve’s space. “That’s an incentive, not a deterrent there, Stevie.”

Steve blushed and was grateful when Wayne came back with the beers.

“It’s nice to finally put a face to the name,” he said as he settled into his arm chair. “Eddie liked talking about ya, every phone call, every visit would have something you did or said.”

“Wayne!” Eddie huffed, shoving his hair in front of face again.

“He taking good care of you? My boy?” he asked leveling Steve a stern look. “Don’t feel you hafta lie to me because I’m his relation.”

This time it was Steve’s turn to duck his head to hide his blush. “Yes, sir. He’s been taking care of me better than my own parents could. Or would.”

“Good,” Wayne said with a smile. “Now tell me what you think your Pacers chances are against my Hornets this year...”

Eddie groaned, but Steve leaned forward and started talking to Wayne excitedly.

Eddie smiled fondly as he settled back to watch his two favorite people get acquainted. And if the night went on as it started, they would end up liking each other. And that was all he could ask for really.

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @itsall-taken @wheneverfeasible @zerokrox-blog @beelze-the-bubkiss @blondie1006

2- @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @themoonagainstmers @cryptid-system @maya-custodios-dionach

3- @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @irregular-child

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1

5- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

6- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

7- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @w1ll0wtr33 @sticknpokelightningbolt @just-a-tiny-void

8- @scoops-aboy86 @kurofuckingshi16 @watermelonmite @eyehartart @dreamercec

9- @little-birch-boy @yearningagain @micheledawn1975 @sadisticaltarts @steddieislife

10- @fearieshadow @kultiras @thesecondfate @tartarusknight @genderless-spoon

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #age difference #ten years between steve and eddie

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vialviolence · 2 days ago

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Hi! I saw requests are open and I was wondering if you’d be willing to write some Cuddling Fluff with Jason Todd? If not please disregard this ask. Thank you!

Hi lovely! First of all thank you for being my first request and yes! This is such a cute idea and I love it! I know that this isn't really a fluffy fic for the most of it but i had the idea and i couldn't stop it.

Softcore

Jason Todd x Reader

Training had put a strain on your body that you just couldn't seem to shake for anything. The shower didn't work, yoga didn't work, stretching didn't work, it felt as though your body was contracting into itself and it hurt like a bitch.

So there you laid in your bed facing the ceiling as you rested the heating pack against your back and let out a sigh. It had done little to nothing to numb the ache in your back but it helped you more than you thought it would. The pain was excruciating. The heat drifted up into your back and it felt comforting.

Then there was a knock on your bedroom door and you lifted your head and turned it to see jason looking through your door with a smile on his face. He pushed the door open and leaned on the wall.

"whats going on with you sunny? you're never this tired" he asked, he had called you sunny since you had met him. You were literally sunshine in a bottle, that and you had the powers of the sun stored in your body.

"dicks been training us everyday for the past week, won't send me on patrols or missions but he'll make sure my body is in pain for the next fucking week" you exclaimed and he laughed as he walked into your room and closed the door

"how bad is it?" he questioned and you turned your head in his direction making eye contact and raising your eyebrows.

"jace, i swear i think im dying, i've never felt this type of pain and i was kidnapped before" you said and he nodded as he walked over to your bed and sat on the edge of it.

"hes been pissy lately, something happened with bruce, he won't tell me what but i think its bad. like really bad but he won't say anything and i'm not going to force him to" jason said and you nodded

"yeah i thought so, doesn't mean he has to take it out on us during training" you spoke and he laid down on your bed as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you closer to him. You rested your head on his chest and let out a sigh.

"im sure you'll survive sunny, you always do" he stated as he kissed your forehead gently and ran his fingers down your back. He played with a strand of your hair as you nuzzled into him and he watched you with a smile on his face.

You two hadn't specified your relationship yet but he didn't care because he at least got to hold you close. he wouldn't push on the idea because he didn't want to. he didn't want to push you away with the idea so he left it alone.

however in that moment, it was clear that there was something there and you two had something and he knew it. So he held you close and he kissed your forehead and he let your fingers trace the scars he had gotten over the years and he let you get close because he wanted you close.

he had what he wanted, just not the full thing in that moment but he knew that he would get it. He would get the girl.

A/N: hey lovely, thank you so much for being my first request. I truly love you for it and i hope you like this fic!

#titans x reader'#titans fanfiction #dc titans #jason todd x reader #jason todd #titans Jason Todd #Curran walters

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 hours ago

Text

The Gray Woman 4

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Lloyd Hansen

Summary: You meet a man who tests your patience. (grumpy!short!reader)

Note: To those who didn’t help me resist this beast, I blame you.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You hand over the statement and send off the client with ‘have good day’. The recitation is lifeless, meaningless as it leaves your lips on habit alone. It’s all by rote. Greet them, figure out what they want, and get them out.

Your next customer steps up as you take a chug of cold coffee. A glimmer of recognition flickers in your head and you squint at his reddened eyes. Oh, you know this man. Well, you’re aware of his existence.

“Hello, sir, how can I help--”

“Shut up,” he scowls. “You serious with the hello bullshit? Look at my eyes?”

You blink and put your cup down, “did you try milk?”

“Milk?! Milk? You fucking burnt my retinas out.”

“Are you having issues with your sight--”

“That’s not the fucking point. You—You remember me now, don’t you?”

“You grabbed me. I reacted,” you shrug. “If you’re only here to yell at me, I’ll need to call security--”

“Fuck security,” he steps up and his nose almost touches the glass. He snarls, “do you understand who I am? How many ways I can fuck you? Figuratively and literally?”

You stare back at him dully. You deal with people yelling about their money every day. You’re desensitized to their threats. To their chagrin. Do they really think you care? That you have any sort of emotion tied to this job? It pays the bills.

“Would you like to make a transaction today or--” You move your hand under the desk.

“Don’t you fucking hit that button, sweet cheeks. I’m not going to do anything. Not here. You think I’m fucking stupid?” He growls as he jabs the glass between you. “No, I want you to see what the fuck you did and why I’m going to do worse to you.” He makes a fist and hits the barrier. “And you’re going to fucking remember me.”

You keep your hand on the edge of the counter. You sit up and look around him, “I have other customers to help. Please step aside.”

He scoffs and thumps on the glass again. “You’re a real fucking piece of work. You let this bullshit job go to your head? Why? Cause you can hit a few keys on a computer? Money’s still in my accounts, honey. You’re nothing. I could buy you a hundred times over and still have as much left.”

You exhale and look at him as you wave up the next person in line, “unfortunately, it doesn’t appear that money can buy class.”

He stomps as the waiting client hesitate, “you can come up. We’re done.” You beckon them again with your fingers then reach for your cup again.

He looms as the woman comes up to your woman. He’s close enough that you feel your discomfort. You give him a look as take her card.

“Sir, you need to go.” You warn him.

He puffs and shakes his head. He tuts and paces back then toward you again. He stops as if he only then notices the woman watching him in horror. He throws up his hands then marches away.

“Sorry, about that,” you say to the woman. You take her card and swipe it.

“No, I’m sorry. Must be horrible to deal with that at work,” she replies as she touches her cheek and glances over her shoulder.

“Money is very personal,” you utter. “How can I help you today?”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll be quick,” she assures. “I’m just adding a new payee to my account. I switched phone providers but their online portal isn’t working for me...”

You nod and help her through the process. As promised, she’s quick. The rest of your day is not. You can’t help but check the clock repeatedly. It’s almost the weekend. So close yet so far away.

As you get down from your chair at the end of your shift and grab your bag, Veronique approaches. You face her as you hitch up your purse. It’s unusual for her to come to you. Ever. She hides at her desk, more interested in her phone than her management role.

“Before you go, I’d like a word.”

You frown. This can’t be good. You rely on predictability. You could drown in it but it’s easier than change. Easier than the unexpected.

“Sure,” you agree and follow her as she spins on her heel.

You trail her strut into a back office. One of the executives is there. Gerald, you think? He doesn’t bother with you either.

“Please, shut the door,” he greets you. You do as he says and Veronique perches herself behind his shoulder like a parrot. “Have a seat.”

Wary, you cross the office and sit in the stiff seat. It squeaks as you stay on the edge. You cradle your bag in your lap. Veronique grins then wipes it away as she clears her throat.

“You’ve worked here for more than ten years.” Gerald states. You confirm. “A long time. Must get dull.”

“It’s work, sir,” you say.

“You haven’t moved up much. Typically yearly raise but nothing extravagant,” he looks at his lit monitor. “You work for base pay. Not very much, yet you handle a lot of money, don’t you?”

Your heart picks up. You can’t remember the last time you felt anything like this. That you were uncertain. Everything was always the same. Go to work, go home, sleep, wash, rinse, repeat.

“Sir, I do my job and I do it by the book.”

“Do you?” He tuts as he leans back and clicks around. “Because we’ve had some discrepancies brought to our attention. On a particular account. A client you’ve dealt with several times, and according to Veronique, you’ve had as many issues with.”

You shake your head in confusion.

“No, I don’t... no.”

“He was here today. Mr. Hansen? We were just reviewing some footage from his last visits and his statements. There’s some really strange back and forths here.”

You sit up even higher, “sir, no. It can’t-- I did exactly as he requested. All I did was ask for his ID.”

“Veronique,” he looks up as his tone turns to disinterest.

“We have the evidence. We’re submitting a report for investigation. You will be suspended. Beginning immediately.”

Her lips curve again. Your chest turns to a pit and you puff out in disbelief. This can’t be. How could they have proof when you did nothing?

“Security is waiting outside to escort you from the premises,” she continues with a catlike smirk.

You look between her and Gerald. He’s already distracted by his phone. “How about the steak house, V?” He swivels to her. You’re dismissed by the back of his balding head.

You get up and clutch your bag to your stomach. You turn and march to the door. As you exit, two uniformed men await you. They walk on either side of you, past other tellers and several managers. You’re mortified.

How could this happen to you? You have a feeling Veronique is behind it but why? She ignores you, like everyone else. What could she possibly get out of this?

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #series #drabble #the gray man #the gray woman

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pneumosia · 1 day ago

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sorry if this sounds rude,,, 😢 but you haven’t been posting lately and that’s like the only thing you have to do right? just post something it’s not that big of a deal? dygwim? i think fanfic writers especially on the anime side like to exaggerate things too much,,, and if you don’t post then just deactivate? there’s no point of staying if you’re not gonna do anything but ramble all the time (again sorry)

hi anon! i’d like to correct a few things here, based on the way you worded this — you likely don’t know how insensitive this ask is.

yes, i haven’t been posting anything lately, totally on me. but at the same time, im a person — with feelings, a life, and friends + family outside of tumblr. i don’t exist just to provide you with fics, i have to clarify that for you since i don’t think you understand that bit just yet.

like any other human being, i have struggles. i usually don’t talk about them openly here because i don’t want to bring the mood down, and i wont even bore you with that information either. but i struggle. so my fics don’t come out as fast as you’d like, there’s a lot that goes into writing instead of something as simple as just “posting something”, you get it? if you’re not sure then you try writing your own work, tell me how it goes.

fanfic writers do not exaggerate, please be mindful that these are real people you have no idea about. they work hard on their pieces and should be appreciated for the joy & love they bring with every word they post. their followers should learn how to be patient.

i’m sorry if this comes off as rude too, but you don’t get to dictate what i do. i’ll deactivate when i feel like deactivating, but it won’t be because you sent me this. rambling helps me let out any pent up feelings i might have, it can be a distraction from the things going on in my life that i’m sure you have no interest in — but it’s comforting for me. so i will continue to do so, and if i make you so upset that you felt this ask was necessary to send, then please feel free to block me, no hard feelings at all. thank you for your concerns, but because i felt this ask comes from you being misguided instead of you straight hating — im answering it. otherwise i would’ve simply blocked you, i hope you have a good day or night 🤍

#彡 ( incoming! )

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yandere-sins · 20 hours ago

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I love you so much, you know? I’ve been reading your work for a while now and I’ve been holding back from requesting until now. I just read your Sylus fic and oh my god??? I can’t anymore. You write him so good I was engrossed the entire time. I wanted to request some LaD stuff from you but I didn’t know if you played the game or even knew it existed (despite its popularity) so I was too embarrassed to.

That brings me to the request itself. Xavier is my fav, if you’re comfortable writing for him, can I ask for a possessive/obsessive fic for him? How he’d be possessive/obsessive in a yandere sense, since we already know he’s pretty possessive canonically. I get major wolf in sheep’s clothing vibes from him. And I think he has potential yandere traits with the whole “No matter how many times it takes, no matter where you are… I will find you.”

I love how you write smut so I would love some of that in it, if it feels right to you. If not that’s completely okay. I may not be giving enough substance to write with so please let me know if you feel like you need more elaboration. Thank you so much!

Feel free to ignore! Take care! I love ya!💕

Thank you so much for requesting some LaD, I'm so glad you enjoyed the other story ♥ Some friends to enemies for you, coming right up ♥

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

"Is this where he touched you?"

"Ngh— Xav— What are you—!"

"Or was it here?"

A shuddering breath escaped your lips as his hand slipped beneath the waistband of your sweatpants. Your back arched as he pressed you towards the front door of your apartment, the cold wood heating up quickly from your own body heat. With his leg pushing between yours, kicking aside your right ankle, and loosening your position, you were quickly caught in his trap, feeling his fingers brush over your panties, sending tingles up your spine.

"What's gotten into you, Xavier?! Why are you even here?! I locked the door before coming home, didn't I?!"

It wasn't unusual for you two to hang out at the end of the day, Xavier being your closest friend ever since you two became mission partners. But you never crossed the line with him, never felt his hands roam your body so hungrily, reaching for what wasn't his.

The grip around your wrists tightened, pinning them even harder against the door in front of you, and you hissed at the sting of pain it caused. You knew how capable Xavier was firsthand, having watched him fight countless times, but he had never used his strength against you before, causing a flare of panic to rise inside you.

"Where was it? Where did he touch you?" he urged, his voice laced with anger that you had never heard from him before. He leaned forward, lips brushing against your earlobe until you felt the pattern of his teeth against your skin, nipping away. You didn't remember doing anything wrong, so why was he so upset?

Digging his middle finger between your folds, he dragged it upwards until it scratched at your clit, immediately turning into Xavier manipulating the little knob, flicking and abusing it while your back arched, buttcheeks pressing against his crotch. A surprised gasp eluded you as he reminded you of the more pressing matter of his assault rather than playing his little Q&A.

"Wait! Stop! That's not— We're not like that, Xavier!"

"Really? Because you seemed perfectly fine getting chummy with that guy."

"Wait, you mean the neighbor?!" you squeaked, followed by your head falling forward and breathing off the shameful moan that nearly escaped your throat as Xavier's hand changed its rhythm to include more fingers rubbing side to side. Goosebumps erupted on your arms, your body reacting with familiar glee. It was the very same touches you sometimes used on yourself, but with the fabric of your panties in the way, the friction was much better than your own fumbling.

"We shouldn't be doing this," you complained between heavy breaths, barely able to stop your hips from moving against his hand, inflicting more pushes of pleasure.

"I thought you didn't care about who gets you off, seeing how you let just anyone touch you."

"He just returned my sugar jar!" you whined loudly, your body caving into his touch. It had been so long since the last time someone actually touched you like this. So long since you had the chance to let off some steam, too, with new missions trickling in constantly. You hadn't even been home for the last few days—which your neighbor had noted when he returned the jar, having tried it a few times before.

That didn't justify Xavier's actions, though.

"Stop it! Stop it right now!" you finally spoke up, twisting your torso around and tearing one hand from Xavier's hold, instead pressing it into his chest. You, too, had enough training to qualify for the hunter position, and your strength was remarkable in every aspect as well. However... you were no match for his surge of emotions.

"So he did touch you," Xavier concluded, and despite the strain on your wrist, he stepped even closer, his hand slipping further down your sweatpants. You broke out of the clutch, retracting your hand only to reach up and grab him by the hair, the only easily reachable thing you could use against him. But by the time you made your first tug, his fingers had already pushed aside your panties.

You gasped while Xavier hummed appreciatively, even with your full hand in his hair, pulling the strands as hard as your tense position allowed, he seemed no more stressed or urged to end this. Instead, he slipped his fingers through your slick, feeling the welcoming warmth of your pussy as it enticed him with its wetness. Traitor, you thought, biting your lips while tears welled in your eyes. What a shame it was to be betrayed by your own desire while the man you presumed to be one of your best friends treated you like shit.

"Please..." you whimpered. "Let's just stop?"

"So you can go back to him now that I prepared you? Is that what you want?" Xavier asked, danger swinging in the voice he used to spit this at you.

"I'm not going to anyone, but this isn't right, and you know it!"

"Of course you won't. I won't allow it."

And with that, his fingers curled inward, spreading apart your eager lips and allowing him to slip inside. The first one made you gasp, despite barely being all the way in. But by the time the second finger arrived, you couldn't hold back a moan, Xavier's hand molding to the shape of your pussy, covering it possessively while giving his fingers the freedom to sink inside up to his knuckles. He only arched his palm to place his thumb back on your clit, slick and swollen, more jolts of pleasure zapping through you as he connected with it.

"Fuck," you breathed out heavily, feeling your grip on his hair loosen as your body sunk down onto his hand, easily lifted by his strength. But once you noticed, you jolted back up, gulping down a gasp as Xavier began pumping his fingers in and out of you.

"Is that what this is about? You think you own me? And you're jealous of someone giving me back my jar of freaking sugar?!" you managed to bite out between his fingers spreading you apart savagely.

"Correction," Xavier mumbled, and you felt his hot breath next to your ear, his movements becoming much more vigorous as he sandwiched you between his body and the door.

"You've been mine long before anyone else. I always know where you are and who you are with, and that guy is trouble. He's been borrowing your sugar more often than you fall asleep in my arms while we're watching a movie. He's into you, and I won't let him have you. And you'll no longer want him once I'm done with you."

"I never did!" you cried out, absolutely baffled at Xavier's words. You never knew he thought about you like this! He never let on that he was any more than your friend and mission partner! Sure, you two were close, but that's how it was supposed to be! All of his actions now felt like a betrayal of the worst kind.

If betrayal felt this good.

"Fuck, Xavier," you moaned. There was nothing left of the drowsy friend you knew as his fingers hammered into you relentlessly. You heard the squelching of your own juices through the fabric of your pants, paired with the pleasurable jolts wrecking your body.

"That's right, say my name. It's the only one you should be calling."

"Xavier, please—! I—!"

Your hand finally released its death grip on his hair, sinking down to the side of his body. As the edge closed in, you held on to his clothes, and he finally released your still-pinned hand to wrap his free arm around your body. Pulling you securely against him, he hit just the right spot with his ever-moving fingers that made your toes curl, your voice rejoicing as you cramped up, the bittersweet release washing over you.

For a moment, you could forget about the betrayal and heartbreak you felt, the tears in your eyes from pained relief as your orgasm shook through you. It didn't justify what he did, and you hated that it felt so good, but it was like he knew all the little buttons he needed to push inside you to scramble your brain into pieces. Despite it all, you felt more seen than you had in a long time, the pleasure releasing so much tension and stress that had built up over the weeks. It was that good.

But everything that could be considered good in that situation had to end eventually, and it did, slowly, as you regained your senses and realized what Xavier had done to you. What you let him do to you. It wasn't your fault, and yet it felt like it.

If only you had fought harder and made your disapproval clearer, maybe he wouldn't have...

Looking up, you hadn't even realized that Xavier made sure to lay you down safely on the floor, squatting above you with an intense stare raking over your body. You watched breathlessly as he lifted a wet hand to his mouth, tongue lapping at the slick from your pussy clinging to his fingers, without breaking his eye contact.

"I thought we were friends," you choked out, the floodgates of your eyes opening as tears blurred your vision. "How could you do this to me?"

"It was time, was it not?" he asked in this eerily calm voice of his. Never before had his demeanor frightened you so, but in front of you wasn't your "friend" Xavier, but the hunter. The cold-blooded, jealous hunter that you must have ignored for so long since you never saw him outside of work. Or perhaps he had just hidden it, like a wolf in sheep's clothing.

"Time for what?" you sobbed.

His features softened a little as Xavier reached down to wipe away some of the tears that had escaped from your eyes. But just as quickly, his expression grew emotionless again, unfeeling and factual.

"That you learn your place."

It didn't make sense. Who was this guy? Why was he in your home in the first place, and why did he know how often the neighbor borrowed your sugar jar? Why was all of this relevant, and why did you have to find out this way what kind of person Xavier really was?

Reaching down, Xavier picked you up, effortlessly it seemed, not concerned with your orgasm-pleased, heartbroken, and slack body weight as he heaved you into his arms before moving towards the bedroom.

"Learn what?" you asked, desperate to get at least some answers. Make some sense of this situation. Explain it, however possible.

"Learn that there's no one who loves you like I do," he replied. With a yelp rattling from your throat, you were thrown on top of your bed, your body aching as you propped yourself onto your forearms reflexively, too scared to look away. Reaching underneath his shirt, he pulled it off in one swift motion, exposing his chest before reaching for the waistband of his own pants. Only then did realization dawn on you as to what he was doing, your pulse rising as you quickly began to crawl away until your body hit the headboard of your bed.

"And that no one gets to touch what is mine without consequences."

#xavier #lads xavier #xavier lads #xavier love and deepspace #love and deepspace #lads #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere tw #yandere fanfiction #yandere scenarios #yandere headcanons #yandere drabbles #yandere oneshot #yandere stories #yandere writing #yandere imagines

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