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p1psqueaks · 22 days ago

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LOVE AND DEEPSPACE — WHEN HE SNAPS AND REGRETS IT

a/n: this was an old work for a prev fandom that i found while looking through my google doc, so i spruced it up a little to make it fit the lads boys a little more, but most of it is the same! also unpopular opinion, i love the pipsqueak nickname and i love it even more when fic authors shorten it to "pips" IT'S SO CUTE

ZAYNE

The door slams.

That’s your first warning.

You freeze mid-step in the hallway, holding a freshly folded blanket you meant to toss on the couch. Zayne’s keys hit the bowl on the entryway table with more force than usual, his shoes kicked off without care. You can hear his breathing — sharp, uneven — as he moves around the apartment like he doesn’t want to be in it.

You peek around the corner.

He’s still in scrubs, half-wrinkled, stained near the cuffs. His hair’s a mess, and his eyes are dark hollows. There’s something about the way his shoulders are hunched — coiled, like a spring on the verge of snapping.

You swallow your instinct to step back.

Instead, you try your voice.

“Hey,” you say gently, quietly, like a test. “Long day?”

Zayne exhales through his nose, rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand. “Long doesn't begin to cover it.”

You take a slow step forward. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” His tone is curt. Abrupt. You flinch — but stay where you are.

“I made dinner,” you offer, softer this time. “Something light. You haven’t eaten since—”

“God, can you just stop?”

The words are a gunshot. You freeze.

He’s facing you now, eyes sharp and wild with stress.

“Zayne…” you whisper, but your throat’s already tight.

“I walk into this apartment needing one second to breathe, and you’re already asking questions, hovering — offering food, talking about feelings — can you just give me space?”

It hits you harder than it should. Not the words — but the way he says them.

The volume. The edge.

The way your father used to sound just before slamming a door and making you feel smaller than the silence he left behind.

Your hands tremble. The blanket slips from your fingers and lands on the floor with a soft thud. You take a step back, but the walls feel too close, your ribs locked tight around the breath you can’t seem to find.

Zayne notices the shift in you immediately.

Your eyes go glassy. You’re not saying anything. Just… blinking. Holding yourself like your own body might break if you don’t.

He sees the tears before you feel them fall.

“Wait — wait, no,” he says suddenly, voice cracking. “Don’t — no, I didn’t mean—”

But you’re already backing away, hands rising halfway in that half-hearted gesture of surrender.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice shaking. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I just wanted to help.”

His face falls apart.

“No, no, please don’t apologize,” Zayne says, stepping toward you — but gentler now. He reaches out, and when you flinch ever so slightly, he freezes. “God, I didn’t mean to yell. I never want to raise my voice at you. I didn’t think — I wasn’t thinking.”

You press a sleeve against your cheek, wiping away the tears that won’t stop. “I don’t like yelling. It — messes with my head.”

He breathes out a sound that’s half a sob. “You were just trying to care for me. And I treated you like — like everyone else treats me when I’m tired. Dismissive. Angry. Cold. And you’re not everyone else. You’re you.”

He’s in front of you now, his voice shaking as badly as your hands.

“I’m so sorry I hurt you,” he whispers. “You didn’t deserve that.”

You look up at him, unsure — like any sudden movement might trigger another wave. But he’s nothing but stillness now. Open palms. Broken regret.

“I don’t want to be afraid of you,” you say softly.

“You shouldn’t be.” His voice cracks. “You never should be.”

And then he sinks to his knees in front of you, arms slowly wrapping around your waist, head pressed gently to your stomach like he needs to ground himself in the shape of you. Not demanding forgiveness — just asking to stay.

You don’t speak. You just run your fingers through his hair, slowly, over and over. And when your breathing starts to slow, he holds on tighter.

“You’re my home,” he says into your shirt. “And I hurt it. I’ll never forgive myself for that — not unless you tell me I can try again.”

You look down at him, cheeks tear-streaked. “I want to forgive you.”

His eyes lift, red-rimmed and desperate. “I’ll earn it. Every second. Just — don’t shut me out. Please.”

You sink down beside him on the floor, into the warmth of his arms, into the messy, painful truth of loving someone who sometimes breaks under the weight of his own heart.

“I won’t,” you whisper. “Just don’t forget — I break too.”

He nods, holding you tighter.

“I’ll remember. From now on, I’ll remember.”

XAVIER

The silence in the shuttle feels heavier than it should.

Not the usual quiet that follows the adrenaline of a completed mission, but something strained. Too sharp at the edges. Like neither of you can catch your breath, even though you’re technically safe now.

You sit across from Xavier, hands clasped in your lap, trying not to tremble. The mission was a success — on paper. No casualties. Objective completed. But it was too close. Too close when you were separated. Too close when you lost contact. Too close when you thought for a split second that he might not come back.

You’re trying to hold it together, but the tension inside you is unraveling, thread by thread.

“Xavier…” you say softly, hoping your voice won’t crack. “Can we just— talk? Or just… sit close? I—” You hesitate, then admit, “I still feel like I’m back there.”

He doesn’t even look up from the holo-screen he’s reviewing. His jaw is tight. His fingers tap too fast on the interface. “Now’s not the time.”

Your chest tightens.

“I’m trying to be okay,” you say, more fragile now, barely above a whisper. “I just need you to — be here.”

Xavier sighs. Not tired. Frustrated.

“Why do you need something from me every time things get hard?” His voice comes out sharp, unfiltered. “Can’t you see I’m trying to deal with my own mess right now?”

The words hit harder than they should. They’re not cruel, not really—but they come from him, and that makes them a knife.

You shrink back, eyes widening. “I didn’t mean to burden you. I just… I thought you’d understand.”

“I’m not your emotional anchor,” he snaps, then freezes — because he knows. He sees the exact moment your expression fractures. The flicker of hurt that flashes across your face like a dying star.

You stare at him, lips parting slightly, the burn of rejection rising in your throat before you can swallow it down. “Right. Of course.”

Your hands shake as you unbuckle yourself from the seat, turning away. “Forget I said anything.”

“Wait—” he starts, standing, but you’re already moving down the corridor, desperate for some distance. You need air. You need quiet. You need not to cry in front of him.

But you don’t make it far.

Your knees buckle against the wall just around the corner of the cabin, breath catching, the memory of the mission replaying behind your eyes. The chaos. The gunfire. The feeling of helplessness when the comms went dead. And now this — him — pulling away when all you wanted was him.

You don’t hear him follow, but you feel it.

You don’t answer. You hug your knees tighter to your chest and keep your gaze locked on the floor.

“I didn’t mean that,” he murmurs. “I didn’t mean any of it.”

You blink hard. “You said it anyway.”

He crouches beside you, hands trembling just slightly as he reaches out — hesitates — and finally settles one hand on your arm.

“I was scared too,” he confesses. “I didn’t let it show, because I can’t. Not out there. But when we lost contact, when I didn’t know if you were alive… I went into survival mode. And when you needed me just now — I pushed instead of pulled. Because that’s what I’ve always done. But it’s not what you deserve.”

You finally glance at him, eyes damp. “I only ever wanted you to be someone I could lean on. Just for a moment.”

His face crumples. “You can. I was wrong. I was… tired and scared and I took it out on the last person I ever should.”

You breathe shakily, letting your head fall against his shoulder. “You scared me, Xavier.”

“I scare myself sometimes,” he murmurs into your hair. “But I’d never forgive myself if I let you believe that your feelings don’t matter to me. You matter. So much it terrifies me.”

His arms come around you then, warm and firm and anchoring you in a way no mission report ever could. You sit there on the floor of the shuttle, hearts thudding too fast, breaths slowly syncing as the panic begins to fade.

“I need you, too,” he whispers against your temple. “Not just in the fight. Not just in the mission. Here. With me.”

You nod, quietly pressing your forehead into his chest. “Then just… hold me. Don’t let go.”

“Never,” he says, holding you tighter. “Not even if the universe tears apart.”

RAFAYEL

The studio smells like paint and tension.

There’s a new canvas on the easel — half-finished, colors chaotic, brushstrokes angrier than they used to be. Rafayel stands in front of it with his back to you, arms crossed, jaw tight. His palette lies abandoned on the table, streaked with smeared reds and grays.

You hesitate in the doorway, watching him. He's been like this for days — restless, snappish, too quiet until he isn’t. His upcoming solo exhibition has devoured every inch of his attention, leaving little room for anything or anyone else.

Still, you try.

You always try.

“I brought you something to eat,” you say softly, holding up the tray with the kind of food he forgets to want when he’s deep in creation. “It’s not much, just — something warm.”

He doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t even shift.

You approach carefully, setting the tray down on the side table with a quiet clink. “You’ve been standing there for hours. I thought maybe —”

“Don’t,” he says, voice sharp like shattered glass.

You blink. “I just—”

“I said don’t,” Rafayel snaps, finally turning toward you with a look that doesn’t belong to him. Not the real him — the one who paints stars in your eyes and kisses laughter into your skin. This version is cold. Fractured. Exhausted. “I don’t need food. I don’t need conversation. I don’t need you hovering over me like I’m some broken thing you’re trying to fix.”

The air goes out of your lungs.

“I wasn’t—” Your voice wavers. “I wasn’t trying to fix anything. I just thought you needed someone.”

“I need space,” he says flatly, wiping his hands on a paint-stained cloth. “Not pity. Not babysitting. Space.”

The word space lodges in your chest like a splinter.

You stare at him, stunned, unsure if you should be angry or just… heartbroken. But the tears are already stinging at the corners of your eyes, traitorous and quiet.

“You think I’m here out of pity?” you whisper.

Rafayel opens his mouth to say something — another line, another deflection — but he sees the tears. And everything in him stops.

“Wait — Cutie, no,” he says quickly, voice cracking. “That’s not what I meant—”

But you’re already backing up, trying to blink the tears away, trying not to let your voice break the way your heart just did.

“I know you’re under pressure. I know this matters to you. But you don’t get to make me feel like I don’t.”

He’s silent.

And then, quietly — brokenly — he says, “You do.”

You turn your head, not trusting yourself to look at him.

“I don’t want space,” you whisper. “I want you. But maybe I was wrong about how much room I take up.”

That’s when you hear the scrape of his stool, the soft thud of his footsteps crossing the room. He stops just behind you, close enough that you can feel the warmth of him, but he doesn’t reach out yet. Doesn’t touch.

“I’m scared,” Rafayel says finally, his voice a hushed confession. “This exhibition… It’s the first time I’ve shown the real things. Not what people expect from me. Not the masks. Just — me. And I’m terrified they’ll look at it and see nothing worth keeping.”

You say nothing for a long beat, letting his words sink in. And then, gently, quietly: “That’s how I feel right now.”

He flinches.

And then his arms are around you, pulling you in with more tenderness than you thought he had left. He buries his face in your shoulder like he’s trying to disappear into you, like maybe if he presses hard enough, he can paint over the pain with love.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, voice hoarse. “I lashed out because I couldn’t control the fear. But I never wanted to hurt you. You’re the only thing that keeps me from getting swallowed whole.”

You don’t answer with words. You just wrap your arms around him and hold tight, letting his heartbeat thump against your own. Letting the silence stretch until it’s no longer a punishment — but a place of peace.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper eventually. “Even when it’s hard. Even when you forget how to let me in.”

His arms tighten, and this time, the tremble in his shoulders isn’t from anger or stress — but relief.

“Then stay,” he says. “Stay. And I’ll learn how to deserve it.”

SYLUS

The storm never shows in Sylus’s voice. It’s in the way his gloves come off more slowly than usual. In the way his coat remains folded across the back of the armchair, untouched. In the way he stands by the window of the apartment, staring into the city’s electric dusk, spine straight, but shoulders taut with the kind of restraint that always precedes a fracture.

You’ve seen Sylus under pressure before. He thrives on control. But tonight, he’s less conductor, more fault line — beautifully composed, dangerously close to collapse.

“They’re probing again,” he says at last, eyes still fixed on the glass. “Tapping surveillance threads, watching Onychinus operatives, cross-referencing movements that were never meant to leave shadows. Someone at Elysium is leaking information — and they’re becoming increasingly adept at masquerading as allies.”

You hesitate in the doorway, hands wringing slightly. “Is there anything I can do?”

That question — your question — snaps something subtle but sharp in him.

“You can stop asking me that,” Sylus says, voice low but laced with something volatile. “Every time something threatens to rupture, you offer comfort as though that alone might cauterize the wound.”

You blink, the sting immediate. “I was just trying to help—”

“And in doing so, you make it abundantly clear how little you understand what’s truly at stake.” He turns toward you now, eyes dark with restrained fury. “This isn’t one of your dreams where hearts and hopes rearrange the world. This is war in whispers. A battle fought in silence. Every misstep is a death sentence waiting for a signature.”

You recoil as if struck.

The words aren’t loud — but they cut with surgical precision.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” you say quietly, voice already trembling. “I thought you’d want someone beside you… even if it’s just to listen.”

He doesn’t speak. And the silence feels like exile.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, taking a step back. “I didn’t come here to be in your way.”

And then you feel it: the burn behind your eyes. The ache in your throat. The slow, awful realization that your presence — the thing you thought might ground him — is only another variable he can’t afford.

You try to turn away before the tears fall, but one escapes anyway, sliding hot down your cheek.

That’s when he moves.

Not a sudden rush — Sylus never does anything without precision — but something in him shifts, like glass catching the light before it shatters.

“Wait,” he says, his voice no longer laced with steel, but smoke.

You stop, barely daring to breathe.

“I didn’t mean…” He trails off, then approaches with the solemnity of someone approaching sacred ground. “What I said was unconscionable.”

You don’t meet his gaze. “Then why did you say it?”

“Because I’m afraid,” he says simply. “And I hate being afraid.”

You finally glance at him. His mask has cracked — not the one he wears for Onychinus, not the one he wears in Elysium—but the one he wears when he thinks he must carry the weight alone.

“I don’t know how to shield you from me — from the fate we are forced to carry out,” he continues, quieter now. “And the thought of you being entangled in it — of you having to enact such an impossible decision again — terrifies me more than any enemy ever could.”

You wipe at your cheeks, still shaking a little. “Then don’t push me away. You've never had any qualms about me forging my own path. Let me choose to stay. "

Sylus exhales like the confession has hollowed him out. And then, finally, he closes the distance and gathers you into his arms — not fiercely, but reverently. Like you're something rare. Breakable. Too precious to risk, and too loved to let go.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into your hair. “For weaponizing my fear and calling it logic. You are not a burden. You are the only calm I’ve ever known.”

You bury your face into his chest, breathing in the scent of ink and wind and home.

“I want to be here. Even if it’s hard,” you murmur. “Especially then.”

Sylus kisses the crown of your head, and something in him settles. Not the storm. But the eye of it.

CALEB

You find Caleb alone in his office, bent over a glowing tactical display. His gloves are discarded on the table, jacket unfastened at the collar. He hasn’t shaved, and the circles beneath his eyes are darker than the shadows cast by the ceiling lights.

He doesn’t look up when you step in. He probably heard you. He always does.

You take a breath. “You haven’t slept.”

“I don’t have the luxury,” he replies curtly, fingers flicking through holograms of ship placements and intel logs. “One mistake and we lose an entire outpost.”

“I’m not saying to ignore it,” you murmur, moving a little closer. “I’m saying maybe you could just — rest. Even for an hour.”

“I can’t.”

“Caleb, please—”

He slams his palm onto the console, startling you. The holo-map flickers. “Don’t you think I know what I need?!”

You freeze, breath catching in your throat. His voice wasn’t loud, but it burned. Sharp. Rigid. The kind of pain that’s been simmering too long.

He turns, eyes wide with anger — but the moment he sees your face, your stunned expression, your trembling hands, the fire drains from him.

You’re already backing away. “I was just trying to help,” you whisper, voice cracking. “I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he blurts out, stepping forward. “Wait — Pips, please—”

But you can’t. Not right now. Your vision blurs, and you blink hard, but the tears come anyway.

He looks stricken.

“I didn’t mean to raise my voice,” he says, quieter now, like the guilt is caving in around him. “I didn’t mean to say any of that to you.”

You try to compose yourself, biting down hard on the inside of your cheek, but it only makes the tears sting more. “Why would you yell at me like that?”

“Because I’m falling apart,” he says, barely above a whisper. “And I didn’t want you to see it.”

You look at him — this man who commands fleets and soldiers, who leads without hesitation — and you see the truth. His hands are steady in battle, but they’re shaking now. Not from fear. From pressure. From everything he carries and never lets himself set down.

“I always thought,” you say slowly, “that when things got hard, we’d face it together. That you wouldn’t shut me out.”

“I didn’t mean to,” he says, voice thick. “But the moment you came in, the part of me that was trying to stay composed… cracked. And instead of reaching for you, I lashed out. I’m so sorry.”

You watch him — his guarded posture crumbling, his eyes pleading, his voice no longer the Colonel’s, but Caleb’s. Just Caleb.

“You don’t have to be perfect with me,” you say, stepping close again, even though your cheeks are still wet. “I don’t need the soldier. I need you. And I need to know you won’t hurt me when you’re hurting.”

He closes his eyes, regret etched deep in every line of his face.

“I will never — never — forgive myself if I make you feel like that again,” he says. “You mean more to me than any title, any ship, any war. You’re my compass. My peace.”

When he opens his arms, you hesitate — just for a moment. But then you fall into them, and he holds you like he’s scared you’ll slip through his fingers. His breath is shaky against your hair. His embrace tighter than it's ever been.

“I love you,” he murmurs. “Even when I forget how to show it. Even when the weight makes me forget how to breathe.”

You don’t speak. You just hold him back, one hand curling in the fabric of his shirt, grounding you both.

#love and deepspace #lads #l&ds #zayne #xavier #rafayel #sylus #caleb #zayne x reader #xavier x reader #rafayel x reader #sylus x reader #caleb x reader #lads zayne #lads xavier #lads rafayel #lads sylus #lads caleb

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webism · 9 months ago

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satoru who keeps proposing to you in the most unconventional moments—namely when he's got you dizzy from your fourth or fifth orgasm of the night.

satoru who knows some people get emotional when they climax, some get animalistic and rough, some get overwhelmed by pleasure. and maybe he's a mixture of them all, he absolutely has his nights, but for the most part: he gets sentimental.

satoru who has to deal with the roll of your eyes when he's knuckles deep inside of you, lips only millimetres from yours when he's whispering, begging, "c'mon, let me marry you. you don't wanna feel a ring on these fingers baby? tell me you don't."

satoru who knows you want to be proposed to properly. and he's planning on it, he really is, but he can't help but get caught up in his feels when you just look so pretty laid out for him. who can't bear not recognising you as his through every means necessary. he wants it to be lawful, recognised in the system that you wholly belong to him. maybe knock you up for good measure, attach a birth certificate to the proof that you're his.

satoru who has you shaking on his cock, fucked near-senseless for the second time that night. you're a babbling mess, galaxies away from earth in that pretty little mind of yours. he's not sure you even remember your own name at this point, all you're managing is a string of 'yesyesyesyesyes' that has his balls aching to empty inside of you again and again. 'marry me' he says in response, and rolls his eyes when you purse your lips shut in protest.

satoru who has even brought a ring. one you'd hit him for buying if you ever saw the price tag on it, but he knows you're worth the paycheck or six that it took.

satoru who keeps that ring on his person at all times; he never knows when the perfect sunset might happen and he'll be forced to a knee.

satoru who also can't help but slip the ring onto your finger while he's got your hands pinned above your head and his cock seated deeper inside of you than its ever been. who cums immediately at the sight of such a pretty set of jewels on your wedding finger, who almost regrets his orgasm because it blinds him for a few moments and he's trying to savour the sight of that ring on your finger.

satoru who knows you're getting sick of the lust-driven proposals. who plans on proposing one night, he's got everything planned, he's even made sure you've had your nails done for the upcoming ring photos you're sure to share. who is actually sick with nerves despite knowing what you'll say.

satoru who sits on your shared bed and is gently urging you to get ready quicker, lest you miss the sunset he's planning on proposing in front of. but you have other plans, climbing over him to straddle his lap, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of his nose. and you lean in, whisper the filthiest thing you've ever said to him~

satoru gojo, who cums in his pants at the words 'I'll marry you.'

#jjk smut #satoru gojo #satoru gojo smut #gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo x reader #gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #satoru gojo x you #jjk gojo

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solxamber · 4 months ago

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You Try to Sleep on the Couch after an Argument with: Vice-Housewardens + Ruggie

Other Parts: Housewardens; First Years ; Cater, Floyd, Silver, Rollo

Trey Clover

The argument wasn’t a loud one—no shouting, no slamming doors—just tense words exchanged with too much weight behind them. Trey’s voice had been steady, but his usual patience was stretched thin.

You, equally frustrated, had decided that the best course of action was to remove yourself before either of you said something you’d regret.

So, with a sigh, you grabbed a blanket and made your way to the couch, settling in with your back turned toward the bedroom.

Trey let out a heavy exhale behind you, but he didn’t stop you.

You shifted, adjusting the blanket, willing yourself to fall asleep. It didn’t work. The room was too quiet, too heavy with the remnants of unspoken words. You half-expected Trey to leave you there and go to bed, but then—soft footsteps. A rustle of fabric.

Kneeling beside the couch, Trey placed a hand on the cushion near your arm. His voice was quiet, steady in a way that made something in your chest ache.

“Come back to bed.”

You closed your eyes. “Not yet.”

A pause. Then, a soft sigh. Trey stood. For a moment, you thought he was giving up, finally going to bed without you. The thought left an unexpected hollowness in your chest.

But then, after a few minutes, he returned. You smelled the milk before you saw it—the faint scent of vanilla and honey curling through the air. When you cracked an eye open, there he was, sitting on the floor near the couch, a mug in his hands. He held it out to you.

“Here,” he said. “I know you have trouble sleeping when you’re upset.”

You blinked at him, heart squeezing against your ribs. “Trey…”

He didn’t push, didn’t insist. He just waited, his eyes gentle, patient in the way only he could be.

And just like that, your frustration melted. You took the mug, letting the warmth seep into your fingers. Trey didn’t move, just watched you with that quiet steadiness. Then, softly, he asked again,

“Come back to bed?”

This time, you didn’t hesitate.

You set the mug aside and sat up, only for Trey to immediately wrap his arms around you. His hold was firm, grounding. He buried his face in your shoulder and murmured, “I’m sorry.”

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, holding him just as tightly. “I’m sorry too.”

Neither of you moved for a long moment, staying there in the quiet. Eventually, Trey pulled back just enough to press a kiss to your forehead.

“C’mon,” he said, voice low, warm. “Let’s go to sleep.”

And this time, when he led you back to bed, you followed without hesitation.

Ruggie Bucchi

The couch wasn’t comfortable. You knew it, and Ruggie knew it. But right now, your stubbornness outweighed your need for a good night’s sleep. You yanked the blanket over yourself, muttering under your breath as you tried to arrange the cushions into something remotely acceptable.

Across the room, Ruggie watched you with wide, calculating eyes. He hadn’t said anything since you stormed off, but you could feel him thinking. And then—

“You remember when you ate my last donut?” he started, voice small.

You froze, narrowing your eyes. “…What?”

“My last donut. You ate it, and you said—” He changed his voice in a mocking impression of you. “‘I owe you one, Ruggie, I swear. Anything you want.’”

You groaned, burying your face in the pillow. “Oh my —”

“But it’s fine,” he continued, so dramatically forlorn you almost threw the pillow at him. “I guess I’ll just be all alone in that big, cold bed. No warmth. No love. Just me. Shivering.”

You lifted your head, ready to tell him off, but then—oh, no.

He hit you with the look.

Ears drooping. Tail flicking. Wide, guilt-inducing eyes that shimmered just enough to make your resolve crack.

You exhaled sharply, dropping your head back down. “You’re the worst.”

He didn’t respond. Just fidgeted. Shuffled his feet like he was actually nervous you’d say no.

And that? That got you.

With a groan of defeat, you sighed and opened your arms. That was all he needed. Ruggie practically launched himself onto the couch, slotting himself beside you in a space absolutely not designed for two people. His weight pressed against you, his tail flicking lazily as he tucked his head under your chin.

“…Knew you couldn’t resist me,” he mumbled, voice muffled by your shirt.

“Shut up.”

His arms tightened around you. A quiet beat passed, then—

“Sorry.”

Your hand found its way into his hair, carding through the strands. “Yeah,” you murmured. “Me too.”

Ruggie hummed, content. Within minutes, his breathing evened out, and despite the ridiculousness of it all, sleep found you too.

Jade Leech

The couch was lumpy. Or maybe you were just too angry to get comfortable. Either way, you buried your face into the pillow, inhaling deeply through your nose to keep yourself from snapping again. You just needed some space. Needed to not be in the same room as Jade and his infuriating, calmly amused expression.

“I can’t be around you right now,” you had told him before marching off, voice tight with frustration. And for once, he didn’t push. Didn’t smirk or throw another veiled comment your way. He simply inclined his head, watching as you all but collapsed onto the couch.

Now, wrapped in a too-thin blanket, you willed yourself to sleep. You were almost there—drifting, fading—when fingers ghosted over your hair.

Your breath caught, but you kept still.

Soft strokes. Careful, reverent, as if he thought you might break. It was so unlike him, so gentle, that you almost cracked your eyes open to confirm it was really happening. Then—

“…I’m so sorry.”

The whisper was barely there. But it wasn’t the words that made your heart lurch—it was the way his voice shook.

Jade Leech, ever unflappable, sounded unsteady.

He pulled back, and you knew he was about to leave. That should have been fine. You should have let him go.

But your bleeding heart had other plans.

Your hand shot out, grabbing his wrist before he could slip away.

He barely had time to react before you yanked him back—maybe a little too hard, because the next thing you knew, he was crashing onto the couch with you. A rare, wide-eyed look of surprise flashed across his face, so fleeting you almost thought you imagined it.

And then you pressed a kiss to his forehead.

Jade froze.

“I’m sorry too,” you murmured. “We can talk in the morning.”

For a long moment, he just looked at you, something unreadable in his expression. Then, slow and deliberate, he dipped down and pressed a lingering kiss to your cheek.

“…Very well,” he whispered.

His weight settled beside you, and this time, when you drifted off, it was to the sound of his steady breathing, warm and close beside you.

The couch standoff had been going on for way too long.

“I’m sleeping here,” you declared, arms crossed as you planted yourself firmly onto the cushions.

“No, you’re not,” Jamil shot back, equally stubborn. “I am.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I’m not taking the bed while you sleep out here.”

“And I’m not letting you sleep out here while I take the bed.” His arms were crossed now too, mirroring your posture, his sharp gaze unwavering.

For a moment, the tension held. Then, something about the sheer ridiculousness of it all hit you—both of you too annoyed to back down but too caring to let the other suffer the discomfort of the couch.

A laugh bubbled up in your chest before you could stop it. You covered your mouth, but the moment you let out even the smallest chuckle, Jamil’s eyes flickered with reluctant amusement. He exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head.

“This is stupid,” you admitted between giggles.

He sighed, running a hand down his face. “Yeah. It is.”

You grinned. “Bed?”

Jamil didn’t hesitate. “Bed.”

The moment you both settled under the blankets, the last traces of tension melted away. His arms instinctively curled around you, pulling you close, and you let yourself relax into his warmth.

“Sorry,” you whispered, pressing your forehead against his shoulder.

His grip tightened, lips brushing against your hair. “Me too.”

Neither of you said anything else. You didn’t need to. The steady rhythm of his breathing and the way he held you just a little closer said enough.

Rook arguing with you was already unexpected. That he let you march off to the couch without a poetic declaration or dramatic plea? Unheard of.

You cocooned yourself in the blanket, stubbornly facing the back of the couch. The silence felt unnatural—too quiet for someone like Rook. A part of you expected him to suddenly recite a Shakespearean sonnet about lovers quarreling.

Instead, something even more ridiculous happened.

You shifted slightly, just enough to glance toward the floor—and there he was.

Laying down right beside the couch on a thin blanket, arms crossed behind his head as though he had chosen the most luxurious sleeping arrangement in the world. His golden hair fanned out on the hardwood floor, and despite the clear insanity of the situation, he looked perfectly content.

You stared. Blinked. “Rook.”

“Oui, mon amour?”

“You’re on the floor.”

“Indeed.”

“You’re going to get sick.”

“Then I shall suffer beautifully, just as you do now, exiled from the comfort of our bed.” His eyes twinkled, completely unrepentant. “If my beloved must endure the cruel fate of sleeping alone, then I shall share in their hardship.”

You pressed your fingers to your temples. “Rook, go to bed.”

“I am in bed.”

“No, you’re on the floor, being dramatic.”

“Dramatic? Ah, ma chérie, I am simply a devoted man.”

You groaned, throwing your arm over your face, but the warmth in your chest betrayed you. It was impossible to stay mad when he was like this. Ridiculous. Completely, helplessly devoted.

Sighing, you reached out and flicked his forehead. He gasped theatrically, touching the spot as though you had struck him with Cupid’s arrow. Before he could say something absurd, you leaned down and kissed the spot gently.

“Come to bed, you idiot.”

His eyes widened slightly before his lips stretched into a dazzling smile. Without hesitation, he stood—and then immediately scooped you into his arms.

“Rook—?!?”

“Ah, mon amour, such sweet mercy! Allow me to carry you away from this exile!” He spun dramatically, pressing an exaggerated kiss to your forehead before striding toward the bedroom.

You should have expected nothing less.

You sighed against his shoulder, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you adore me.”

You couldn’t argue with that.

Lilia Vanrouge

You had firmly decided that you weren’t going to sleep in the same bed as Lilia tonight.

You needed space. You needed time to cool off. You needed—

Blink.

One second, you were wrapped in your blanket on the couch. The next? You were in bed.

You shot up, heart pounding. Lilia stood at the bedside, arms crossed, looking far too pleased with himself.

“Lilia.” Your voice was dangerously even.

“Yes, my dear?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Did you teleport me?”

A smug smile. “Would you rather I carried you?”

Oh, you were about to start another argument—

But then you noticed something. In his hands: a pillow and his own blanket.

You frowned. “What are you doing?”

Lilia hummed, casual as anything. “If my beloved insists on sleeping elsewhere, then I shall take the couch in their place. I have endured far worse in my lifetime—” his eyes twinkled mischievously “—but I’d hate for you to wake up with an aching back.”

You groaned, flopping back onto the mattress. “That’s so unfair.”

“To be this thoughtful and charming? I know.”

You shot him a look, but he simply smiled. You hated how sweet he could be even when you were still irritated.

With an exasperated sigh, you sat up and grabbed his wrist, tugging him toward you. He followed easily, his blanket forgotten as he slipped into bed. Without hesitation, he wrapped himself around you, chin resting atop your head.

His voice softened. “I’m sorry, dear.”

You exhaled, tension leaving your body as you relaxed into his hold. “…I’m sorry too.”

His lips brushed against your temple, and with that, the night’s quarrel was put to rest.

Masterlist

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jellofish-plant · 4 months ago

Text

Proof of Existence

Pairing: Jason Todd (Red Hood) x Reader Summary: You were used to waiting up for Jason after patrol, but you weren’t expecting Robin to be the one to climb through your window instead. Damian Wayne is determined to prove that Jason was lying about having a girlfriend, and unfortunately, that means invading your apartment at an ungodly hour. Things only escalate when he calls in reinforcements, and by the time Jason actually arrives, he finds you in the middle of a full-blown Wayne family interrogation.

Warnings: Fluff, sleep deprivation, Batfamily chaos, Jason being grumpy but soft

[Masterlist]

You sighed, rubbing your eyes as you glanced at the clock. 2:37 AM.

Jason was late. Again.

You weren’t exactly worried he was Red Hood, after all but you hated waiting up for him, exhaustion pulling at your limbs while the city lights flickered outside your window.

You barely had time to close your eyes before you heard a rustling noise near the fire escape. Immediately alert, you tensed, but before you could reach for your phone, the window slid open.

A small, caped figure landed silently in your living room.

You blinked. “You’re not Jason.”

Damian Wayne Robin, Gotham’s tiniest menace straightened up, arms crossed over his chest as he scrutinized you with a critical gaze.

“So you are real,” he muttered.

You stared at him, still half-asleep. “Excuse me?”

Damian narrowed his eyes. “Todd claims he has a girlfriend. I assumed it was a delusion. But…” He took a step closer, inspecting you like a rare specimen. “You exist.”

“Uh… yeah?” you said slowly, watching as he started pacing around the apartment.

“This is unfortunate,” he muttered to himself.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “It’s almost three in the morning, Damian. Did you break in just to confirm I’m not imaginary?”

“I could have waited for Todd to bring you to the Manor, but that would’ve taken forever.” Damian wandered over to the bookshelf, tilting his head as he scanned the titles. “Hmph. Your taste in literature is acceptable.”

“Oh, thank God, I was really losing sleep over that one,” you deadpanned.

Damian ignored you, already moving to your kitchen. He opened the fridge, scowled, then closed it again. “You don’t eat enough protein.”

You groaned, flopping onto the couch. “Jason is going to kill you when he finds out you’re here.”

“Tt. I doubt it.”

Unfortunately, before you could kick him out, he pulled a communicator from his belt.

“You’re not—”

Too late.

“Drake, come in. I have urgent news,” Damian said, voice completely serious.

There was a brief static crackle before a groggy voice responded. “Damian, it’s late. What could possibly—”

“She’s real.”

Silence.

Then—“No f**ing way.”*

You groaned loudly, covering your face with a pillow.

A few minutes later, your front door actually opened, this time with a key Tim Drake, still in his Red Robin suit but looking like he regretted every decision that led him here.

“Oh my God,” Tim breathed, staring at you like he’d just seen a ghost. “Jason actually has a girlfriend.”

“Why does everyone think I’m fake?” you demanded.

Tim grinned. “Because Jason refuses to let us meet you. Honestly, I thought you were just an excuse for him to leave family dinners early.”

Damian huffed. “As if Todd would be clever enough for that.”

You sighed. “Okay. Great. Mystery solved. You guys can leave now—”

Knock knock.

Oh, come on.

The door opened again, and in strolled none other than Dick Grayson—Nightwing himself—looking far too excited for this hour.

“Ohhhh, this is fantastic,” he said, beaming as he took in the scene. “We finally have proof! Jason’s not making it up!”

“I hate all of you,” you grumbled, pulling Jason’s discarded hoodie over your head as if that could make them all disappear.

“Are you being held against your will?” Dick asked, only half-joking.

“No, but I will commit a crime if you don’t let me sleep.”

Before Dick could respond, the window slammed open again.

“What the hell is going on?”

Jason stood on the fire escape, mask half-off, hair a mess, and murder in his eyes.

“Oh, hey, Jason,” Tim greeted casually. “Nice place.”

Jason’s eye twitched. “Are you—why—” He ran a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. “It is three in the goddamn morning.”

“Yes, I noticed,” you said dryly.

Jason turned to you, taking in the way you looked tired, wrapped in his hoodie, blanket half-falling off the couch. His jaw tightened. “Baby, why are you still up?”

You gestured vaguely to the three idiots in your apartment. “Ask them.”

Jason’s glare could’ve set the building on fire. “What the hell are you all doing here?”

“Confirming she’s real,” Damian said simply.

Jason groaned. “Are you kidding me? You—” He pointed at Damian. “Go home. You—” Now at Tim. “Stop enabling this. And you—” Dick raised his hands before Jason could finish.

“Relax, Jaybird,” Dick said, smirking. “We’re just excited to meet the girl you’ve been hiding.”

Jason pinched the bridge of his nose. “I hate all of you.”

“Are you two really dating?” a new voice cut through.

Stephanie Brown Batgirl was standing by the window now, her blonde hair messy from a night’s patrol. She crossed her arms, raising a brow at you. “I’m sorry, but I had to see for myself. I really thought it was just some weird ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ thing.”

“Oh my God,” you muttered, but you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips.

“I’m just here for the popcorn,” Duke Thomas The Signal grinned from the doorway, joining the chaos with his own brand of enthusiasm.

Jason stood frozen, arms crossed, looking like he was about to explode. “This is not happening.”

“Oh, it’s happening,” Dick teased, leaning in and nudging Jason. “You can’t hide her anymore.”

Jason groaned, rubbing his face. “I swear to God…”

“Jason, relax,” you said, trying to calm him down, but your voice still laced with amusement. “Your family’s just a little... excited.”

Jason turned to you, his expression softening just a little. “I’m sorry, baby.” He pulled you close, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I didn’t expect them to turn up like this, but…” He shot his family one last glare before pulling you closer. “I think I need some alone time with my girlfriend now.”

Everyone groaned in unison.

“You know what, fine,” Tim sighed, pushing himself off the wall. “We’ve gotten the proof we need. No more interruptions. You two have a good night.”

“You guys are the worst,” you muttered, laughing as Jason huffed beside you.

And when they finally filed out, leaving you alone with Jason, you sank back into his arms, letting the chaos of the Batfamily fade into the background.

Jason chuckled softly, kissing the top of your head. “Well, at least they like you.”

You smirked. “Yeah, I think I’ve officially been inducted into the Batfamily now.”

Jason snorted. “They’ll never leave us alone again, will they?”

“Not unless we’re really convincing at family dinners,” you teased.

Jason sighed, but there was a fond look in his eyes. “Maybe we’ll make a run for it next time.”

You laughed softly. “Sounds like a plan.”

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mostly-imagines · 7 months ago

Text

Motion Sickness

jason todd x fem!reader

aka jason makes you cry after a fight

warnings: angst with comfort

“Jason—”

He waves you off immediately, “No, I’m not your problem, okay?”

Your arms drop, “You’re not a problem at all, that’s not what I’m saying—”

“Then what are you saying?” he challenges.

You almost bite your tongue but then decide against it, “I’m saying you’re being an asshole right now just because I tried to help.”

He’s angry and you’re someplace in between desperate and tired, but you push on, hoping you’ll be able to solve this without an extended argument. To little avail though, apparently.

A tense exhale from him, “I don’t need your help, I don’t know how I can make it any clearer.”

“It’s not about needing it—”

“No, it’s about wanting it. I don’t want your fucking help,” he snaps. “I’m grown, I can handle my problems myself.”

You drop your hands to your sides, “Then what am I doing here, Jason?”

“I don’t know!” You can literally see the regret sweep over his face but he lets the moment consume him and the words linger anyways.

You know he doesn’t always think before he talks, especially when he’s mad. You’ve seen it plenty when he’s fighting with his family. This is the first time it’s shown up with you though, and while you know it’s not coming from a place of genuinity—it still really fucking stung.

Far from being in your control, tears slip out, more at his tone than his words, and you remove your gaze in favor of the linoleum tiles. He says nothing as you start to cry, which only makes the heat of the moment worsen.

“Okay,” You take a deep breath, pursing your lips. “You need to go away.”

There’s a long, hard moment of silence, but ultimately he doesn’t fight you on it, only exhales harshly and slams the door on his way out.

The resulting reverberation of the apartment has your shoulders shaking, tears falling onto your shirt.

You and Jason don’t fight often but when you do it’s usually about insecurities and fears coming forward. He’d been having a bad night to start with and all you wanted to do was make him feel better but he wasn’t willing to talk to you or let you do anything for him. He gets selfishly selfless like that, but you know why.

You know him, in and out. You could’ve anticipated this—you should’ve. You should’ve approached the topic more sensitively. And it’s not his fault, his life has taught him that it’s safer to believe that other people don’t have his best interest. You know that.

Yeah, you know him in and out, but he knows you in and out, too. He knows you’ve shown him nothing but kindness and generosity since the day you met and you’ve reinforced a thousand times how safe you are for him. But if he still can’t trust you to care about him, then what are you doing here?

You let yourself fall back onto the arm of the couch, huffing in defeat.

It’s nearing two in the morning when Dick awakens, the bandages across his abdomen digging into his skin uncomfortably. He sits up, bedsheet pooling around his waist. The ache of the bruising pushes him towards his old bedroom door before he’s even fully coherent, narrowly missing shouldering the door frame as he passes through.

He’s still half asleep as he thumps down the staircase, cold hands stuffed in the pocket of his sweatshirt. He’s so out of it in his blind search for painkillers, that he nearly misses the large shadowed figure huddled up on the couch.

Dick stills, blinking warily.

“What’re you doing here?”

His younger brother says nothing, only continues to stew in the shadows, staring at the rug.

As his eyes adjust, Dick takes in his appearance: messy hair, tired eyes, only clad in a t-shirt and sweatpants.

He rubs his eyes, approaching with measured steps, “What happened?”

Jason remains silent for a long minute before grunting out, “Got in a fight.”

Dick nods slowly, shuffling forward a little more to sit on the far end of the couch.

“What’d you do?”

Jason doesn’t have it in him to comment on how his brother immediately knew he was the issue. It just makes the entire thing hurt even worse. Instead, he tells the truth.

“Be myself.”

Dick says nothing.

When the silence persists, Jason elaborates, even though it’s the last thing he wants to admit to.

“I made her cry,” he says, voice below even a whisper. He hates it and he hates himself for leaving you when he knew he’d hurt you.

Dick nods, not saying anything. He’s definitely been there before, though he’s not nearly as volatile as Jason can be, so he can imagine how this likely played out. In any case, Jason has never responded well to being pushed to talk about his feelings so Dick lets him get there in his own time.

He’s half expecting to end up with no results at all, but Jason pipes up after a minute, voice broken.

“I don’t know what she wants me to do,” he rasps.

Dick takes a deep breath, adjusting his posture. “When girls are mad you give them space but when they’re sad you definitely don’t. Is she sad or mad?”

Jason exhales desperately.

“Both, I think.”

Dick nods, understanding.

“Then go home.”

Jason shakes his head, defeated. “She told me to leave. She doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“What did you say?”

He huffs, not wanting to bring the memory back up. “I basically told her to fuck off.”

“Yeah,” Dick drawls. “I wouldn’t let that simmer.”

Jason’s head snaps over to him. “She’ll break up with me?”

“No, I don’t—” Dick pauses, thinking over his words. “It’ll be fine. Just go home.”

Despite taking the long route on the way to the manor, Jason sped back home on his bike, now unwilling to leave you alone for another second longer than he had to.

He creeps through the front door of your apartment, proud and only a little hurt that you’d remembered to lock it.

The apartment’s mostly quiet, nothing but a lamp lighting up the front half. He can hear the shower running from where he stands, the waterfall noise awfully muffled from behind the closed bathroom door.

He bolts the door behind him, pushing forward towards the hallway. He approaches the bathroom door, noticing how there’s no light flooding out from underneath.

“Baby?” Jason calls it out quietly, like he’s scared to commit to alerting you of his presence.

He hears no response, but he knows you heard him. He knows you heard him in the same way that he knows you’re sitting on the shower floor, curled in on yourself under the sensory relief that the pouring water brings. He doesn’t know how, he just does.

So he leans against the door, listening closely, and calls out again, “Can I come in?”

There’s a solid ten seconds of silence before you respond, just barely audible over the cascade of water.

“Not right now.”

Your volume has him wincing, saddened and embarrassed that he’s the one that made you feel like this.

He reluctantly walks back to the bedroom with heavy shoulders, thudding his weight down on the mattress. He sits half folded over himself for the next ten minutes, thinking only of you, sitting alone in the shower with your thoughts.

He perks up considerably when he hears the water shut off, and after several long minutes, you emerge from the bathroom, towel wrapped around your middle.

He stands up when you enter the bedroom, hands stiff and awkward at his sides. You barely look at him, having trouble willing yourself to do more than glance.

Your eyes fall downward, your lips pursing. You instinctually move to clutching the towel tighter around you, more than anything because you don’t know what to do with your hands.

It makes his heart break to see you so out of comfort around him—because of him—so he gives you the benefit of privacy, turning around so you can get dressed. It kills him to do it, makes him feel like he’s just some stranger in your life rather than him. But he supposes that he deserves to feel like that right now.

Whether or not you wanted him to turn around goes unsaid, he can only hear the quiet shuffling of you putting clothes on.

He waits until the movement stops, after he hears the squeak of the bed springs and the faint sound of the sheets being pulled up.

He turns around again with a silent sigh, taking in the sight of you laying in bed, back turned to him.

He approaches slowly, stopping just before his knees hit the mattress. He notices quickly that the t-shirt you’d chosen was one of your own. He frowns.

“Sweetheart. Can I touch you?” His voice is soft and low, like he’s trying to coax you back out to him.

It takes a long few moments, but you nod.

He sits down on the bed, still hesitant to go through with it.

“Will you turn over?”

An even longer pause and you’re flipping over to face him. You don’t make eye contact, only look blankly past him. Your blinks are heavy, and even in the dark, he can see that your eyes are still bloodshot.

He brushes your hair back, his fingers feather-light against you, like he’s scared to touch you too harshly. Like he’s touching porcelain.

He lets you hold the silence for a while, reasoning with himself that you’ll talk when you’re ready.

You let it go on longer than he’d hoped, past the point of him knowing what to do with it. He’d hoped you’d yell at him. He can take that, he knows he can. He can see plainly that you’re thinking deeply and wants more than anything for you to say it, scream it if you have to.

He knows he deserves it and he frankly would take anything over the silence. But then again, he doesn’t deserve the reprieve, does he? No, but he’s not strong enough to deny himself the chance to hear your voice.

“Say it,” he urges. “Please.”

Your fingers tap against the bed sheets for a moment before you sit up, almost defeated.

You face him, taking a breath and relenting. “I don’t like that you said that to me.”

He nods, brow deep. “Me neither.”

Your shoulders sag at that, and you feel stuck in the moment. You feel guilty too but you don’t know if you should. He didn’t mean it, you know that, and they weren’t his words, really. But the snap of his voice when he’d said it and the look on his face—it made you feel terrible. It still does.

You look awkwardly to the left, feeling heavily spectated by him and so hyper-conscious of all of your movements. The downturn of your lips gives way to burning in your eyes and before you can do anything about it, tears are spilling out.

Jason sees it immediately, his head lulling helplessly.

“Oh, baby. Please don’t cry, please.”

But that only makes it worse, the tears falling faster and heavier at his soft tone.

He forgoes asking permission and pulls you directly into his chest, a firm hand on the back of your head. It’s what you needed though, to be close to him right now.

“I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry, baby—” he murmurs against your hair, pressing a rough kiss as he holds you tighter.

You shake your head, sniffling. “It’s okay, Jay.”

“No, it’s not.”

That sentiment lingers for several minutes, as he holds you cheek to chest and rubs soothing patterns into your hair.

It’s not long before you’re able to fully relax against him, his touch feeling nothing short of therapeutic. Your breathing eventually levels out back to baseline and your thoughts start to find peace amongst themselves.

When you’re ready, you sit back from him, letting him see your face again.

He visibly winces as he scans over the tears on your cheeks, how they’re starting to stain.

You’re still upset, a little, but not nearly as much as you’re sure your face is conveying.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, wiping your eyes with your sleeve.

He shakes his head, “If I ever say something like that to you again, hit me. I’m serious.”

You drop your hand onto your lap, tilting your head at him with a serious look. “I’m not going to hit you—”

“Then break up with me. Don’t ever let somebody talk to you like that, especially not me.”

His voice is hard and you can tell the impact of his words have every bit of weight intended.

Your mouth closes and you waver unsure of where to go with that. Your gaze falls down to where your hands lie discarded on your lap and there’s a palpable shift to the air in the room.

“Hey.” He pushes your chin up to make you look at him, “Listen to me. You’re the love of my life. You hear me? I’m supposed to take care of you, make you happy. I don’t…I can’t talk to you like that. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

Your eyes flicker back and forth across each others and you can see the genuine sincerity etched plainly across his face.

He processes the comprehension across your own before his jaw tenses for a moment and he adds, “Nobody’s gonna talk to you like that, much less me. Yes?”

You start to nod slowly and he mirrors you until he’s convinced of your belief in the statement.

He rubs calm circles into your thighs as you both sit with the conversation, the light sounds of each others breaths the only sound heard. This silence isn’t the same as it was before though, it’s safer, more comfortable. It’s familiar, if not weighted.

“I love you,” you tell him quietly.

His eyebrows furrow like his heart was just shattered.

“I love you too, baby. So much.”

🦟 if you don't reblog things i'm actively sending bad vibes your way 🦟 and maybe also a plague

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kalims · 2 months ago

Text

⭒ㅤwhose (not) random kid

premise. crash landing from the future is apparently your kid, not that you know that anyway... in the form of a mixture between you, and your... supposed counterpart, clues are bound to pile up as to whose child this is.

parts. rosehearts, kingscholar, ashengrotto, al asim, schoenheit, shroud, draconia

cont. gender neutral reader, use of 'mada' which is just 'mama' and 'dada' cut in half for our resident shrimp (aka yuu), a yummy 5.8k words that I did not expect to get this long lol

note. I only have a rough outline of what's going to be included with the others parts after the names of the kids lol. I'll probably write leona's as usual after this but I can't promise I'll release one more part after his this month, the rest will probably come next month considering I'm bombarded sadge. paper defense, then final exams next month save me

also hello! my unnofficial: I'll try to post more

late edit: comment if you want to get tagged <3

riddle

when you slid a foot over the portal to heartslabyul there’s some sort of a strange–inexplicable air that surrounds it. usually the dimension is light to be in, unlike the tingling feelings of being in octavinelle or the eeriness of ignihyde. all dormitories had their own particular sensation that weighs on you depending on where you were.

you squinted, deciding to shrug it off. there was no way you had a sixth sense for feeling in the literal air!

barely a foot in though, was something you could only explain as an army of card… soldiers trudging from the other end of the sidewalk to the next. dumbly, you stopped right in front the shimmering portal that settles into a smooth sheen of silver behind you as they just kept coming.

they seemed to be looking for something–or whatever but you don’t really want to know what so you slowly inched to the side, hoping to sneak past them even if you had to go into one of the confusing mazes (which was a struggle considering you’re trying not to laugh as one of them trips).

must be ace’s wretchedness rubbing off of you.

the real question was, where in the seven were your resident idiots? you’d already sent a text over for your impromptu visit to the chat consisting of you three and figured they had seen it like they usually do then waited for you with feigned begrudging-ness that does not fit well with them showing up in the first place.

you fish for your sad excuse for a phone in your pocket, cater’s words not yours. you’re more busy trying to merge your backside as you shuffle and pull up the chat to notice the ever nearing edge of the hedge wall that makes you stand out in comparison to the lighter shade of green brushing against your uniform.

not deuce: you guys ever notice the card soldiers infestation near ur mirror portal…?

not ace: you nedea to RNR RUN RN!!

not yuu: what???

there’s not much time to ponder about the cryptic, seemingly panicked expression of deuce’s message as you looked up from your phone, feeling a slight chill crawl up to your spine like you attracted some sort of unwarranted trouble that is also unwanted.

disclaimer: you (uu) did

“over here!” an unfamiliar voice yells, freezing you in your tracks just when you were about to make the sneak of the century. without a moment’s hesitation you darted deeper into the maze and shoved your device within the confines of your pockets as you held in a mortified scream at the sudden mob upon your tail as you ran.

WHY WAS THERE SO MANY? you yelled in your mind. number one rule in horror games don’t look back. don’t look back. don’t look back–

oh sevens you’re looking back.

the decision immediately fills you with regret when you spot the diabolical amount of card soldiers trailing after you like you just slaughtered their queen in front of whatever kingdom they came from! was this someone’s unique magic? there was no way riddle would let this sort of thing go rampant on his dorm!

you almost keel over in shock when the pointy end of a heart on the end of a pole sticks right on the patch of grass you just barely managed to trudge across with increasingly heavier steps. maybe you should actually take jack’s offer to join track and field–your stamina is horrible–you’re gonna get stabbed.

goodbye world. you thought warmly with a chorus of pants.

a deeper voice bellowed from the crowd from your behind. “three of hearts! are you thin-headed? do not harm the majesty!” the steps behind you stop almost abruptly, and you don’t stop running even as the voices fade. idiots for choosing to chastise their idiotic comrade but you’re not complaining as long as you get away from this horrid situation.

your majesty what now?

you don’t know how far you ran by sticking to all left turns until you flop down on the entrance of the maze, the archway barely offering you any relief as you took deep breaths and fought the urge to lay down on the grass and hope it camouflages your grey uniform.

that won’t work but you’re coping at this point.

not deuce: HELLO I ALMOST GOT SKEWERED BY LITERAL CARDS?

not yuu: that’s a humiliating way to go down from

not ace: don’t be insensitive ace! are you ok?!

not deuce: NO? WHAT IS GOING ON

not yuu: riddle got dethroned and i'm not even happy

not yuu: it's the absolute WORST AT THE DORM!

not yuu: you better turn back rn and get away from ‘labyul coz it’s getting run by a kid

not deuce: BACK INTO THAT DEATH MOB? no thanks

not ace: yuu brace up, cater texted that the new boss is on his way to you

not yuu: F for yuu

not ace: F

not deuce: F u

what you expect to be the final boss of your life, you guess from the approaching pairs of footsteps nearing your defeated form sprawled across the flecks of grass and still heaving comes in a surprising form of softness, and youth.

“mada.”

the blueness of the sky is shadowed by a tiny little head peering over your head. you’re startled by the tuff of red hair, and familiar pair of eyes which was strange, considering you have never seen this kid in your life. this was the new queen of heartlsabyul? you thought incredulously, since when were kids allowed in nrc…?

the thought was a breeding ground to raise the most evil person on the planet, considering the equally as evil people in night raven.

out of habit from the familiar chubby, round face you blurted: “riddle?”

the child blinked before they shook your head. “I am not papa.” their lips twitched into a small smile directed to you. if taken a closure look, this child’s resemblance with riddle really is uncanny. from the hair, even to a small golden crown sitting primly on the middle of their head. “mada, I am glad I found you. I have not seen papa yet.”

was this season 5 of stranger things?

they straightened. attention straying from you as you glanced to the other pairs of legs, whom you put a face to quickly. trey and cater both cast you a look of exasperation and pity.

then done like a true riddle–their face does a complete 360 and curls into anger as they stared off inside the maze. “all of you!” the tiny child rages with a concerning… change of color around their cute face, fingers pointed accusingly. how can a child be so horrifyingly scary?

the two third years do not mirror your confusion as you sat up, following the kid’s gaze to the archway where a myriad of thundering footsteps almost have you scampering away if not for them laying a small hand on your shoulder and somehow managing to ground you to stay still.

whose kid is this? you looked to cater who shakes his head uselessly

then to trey who wore a resigned smile.

the child’s brow twitches when the card soldiers lined up obediently. “I thought I had made it clear you not hurt mada.” they seethed, voice tilting in clear threat and a I demand you! sort of way. the card solider, three of hearts who had scared the living soul out of you trembled less subtle compared to the other guards.

of course this child had to get more terrifying by being observant, they caught the shiver of one soldier and narrowed their eyes. “ah, found the culprit. three of–”

trey shuffles forward with an awkward laugh that belies his usual laid back with–on his face is a twinge of concern as he raises his palms in a placating gesture. he steps forward three more times, sliding between the child and the line of soldiers but keeping the distance warily. “hey, kid. maybe we can discuss this with some tarts, and some tea?” he tries. children love sweets, right?

they keep their head level despite the astounding height difference. “I told you, uncle trey! being called ‘kid’ is disorderly! It's alice!” still, despite the brief protest their eyes sparkled with interest at the notion, even if they seemed a bit embarrassed to admit it. “i’m not supposed to eat sweets on mondays.”

“huh.” cater mumbled before the thin line of his lips rose into a familiar grin. “as in, rule 102 of the queen?” he queries with a nervous slide of his fingers through his hair. he’s not so obvious to directly state that he’s tiptoeing around… alice but a bit of months knowing him, you can tell.

alice nods along. they no longer look as bothered as before, the card soldiers all slump their tense shoulders a little when alice shifts their piercing gaze from the three of hearts before settling onto cater, who they offer a brief nod of agreement before returning back to trey.

well, a kid is a kid.

“but i can eat sweets on tuesdays.” they added hastily. like they don’t want the notion of trey’s treats slipping from their fingers but that would be strange, if the look of confusion you three share with each other you would have thought trey had initially baked for alice based off the tone of wistfulness in their tone.

trey smiles at them. “tomorrow it is.” reassured by their sheepish innocence he stops in front of them and grasps their shoulders, turning them away from the stiff soldiers. alice spares a brief glance at them. “what about these rule breakers?”

you stood up fully. “uh, don’t worry, they didn’t do anything wrong. i ran for too long.” you supplied in defense. if anything , a resemblance to riddle of all people meant that they could have the head offing in their blood. you did not want to stick around to find out, neither did cater.

alice considers you for a moment with a small sparkle in their eyes, with a wave of the small wand that maternalized in their hand, the soldiers fade into glittering spots of gold. only then do they let trey lead them back to the main pathway towards the dormitory of heartslabyul.

you fall into step behind cater who probably sees the question in your eyes so he lowers his voice discreetly, glancing at the back of trey who keeps the child’s bay attention so they don’t notice you two slowing down a little. nonetheless, still walking.

“that was little alice’s unique magic.” he says to you with a shrug, sighing after a glance at the former’s small, regal form. “pretty overpowered… kind of like my split card but less cute, and more dangerous.”

he winked, you frowned.

in front of you two, alice seems tame in comparison to the subtle bribing of trey questioning about their favorite sweets as you all finally reached the nearing entrance of the main dormitory

“where’s riddle?” you questioned.

he pursed his lips, navigating though the fountain in front of the dorm. “last i know, he went out early to campus cause of a meeting with his club for the upcoming NRC tour festival…”

oh, right. I have not found papa. alice’s voice echoes in your mind, so you echo the question that appears in your mind right after the memory. “alice called riddle ‘papa’ which i’m pretty sure is a term for a parent…” you trailed off. riddle seemed to be the least likely person to have a secret love child of some sorts, he seemed like he had most of his life planned out.

if riddle bent over backwards for his rules then he wouldn’t stray from the path he had set.

there’s a flash of interest in cater’s eyes, it was already there before, just dwindled. you watch it spark to life. akin to lighting some sort of fire within the guy, a gossipmonger at heart as he leaned in eagerly just as you both trudged up the stairs to the front doors who opened politely, and closed behind you as you walked in the main hall of heartslabyul.

“they look, and act like riddle!” he chuckles. “imagine our shock when alice popped up straight out of nowhere with an army at their beck and call.” cater clutched onto his arms, and shivered. you leaned away when he reaches his arms out to you in a teasing manner.

he adds. not at all offended by the way you scrunch your face at his ‘affections’. “they seem to listen to you though. like someone.”

you only regard him with an impassive raise of your brows. “i don't think so. riddle doesn’t listen to anyone. much less me.” befuddled by the mere idea, you scoffed. in all your magic-less glory, the best thing you might have achieved here in this other dimension was having the ability to wake leona kingscholar up from one of his power naps.

cater doesn’t seem to agree. only sighing at you from what it seems to be an of course. “only you can be so oblivious to the chaos you leave behind.” he says in response, making an exaggerated show of peering behind your shoulder and widening his eyes in feigned shock.

you humor him as you turned your head. the scene of the main entrance of the dormitory was the only answer to your eyes as you both walked into the living room–where little alice sits alone. you caught a glimpse of trey’s dark hair as he disappeared into the kitchen, most likely going off to make her a treat.

vaguely unsure if the male had heard him, cater calls out a “make us some too!”

“not my fault the students here are so… unstable.” you remarked with a roll of your eyes. remembering the overblots to be the most plausible reference to the chaos cater was talking about as you begrudgingly sat down on the couch and reeled in any other remarks for the child in the room.

who was now shuffling closer to your seated frame even if they thought they were being subtle in the movement.

what was two seats in the space between you and alice eventually became none at all, as they settled beside you and peered up with innocent eyes.

you tilted your head at them, alice copies the movement.

then to the other side.

they mirror the lull of your head.

“besides those.” cater cleared his throat after a bewildered glance at the child. “what’s more impressive is that you’re still here, yuu-yuu. night raven is like… a pack of wolves trying to run you off crying, and you? you’re a very weird sheep.”

still a bit enraptured on this child, you replied without your stare wavering from the roundness of alice’s cheek as you reached up to pinch it. to yours, and cater’s surprise. their previous cute ferociousness is not present at all as they leaned against the warmth as though instinctive. “i didn’t do anything.”

you don’t entertain the accusing look in cater’s eyes.

“if that was you not trying to beast tame the school then i don’t know what’ll happen if you put in the effort.”

you both lapse into silence as cater–who seemed to sense the finality of the conversation lets it slip fully and instead, busies himself with the entertainments his phone provided. you redirect your full attention onto the elusive red-headed alice.

“so,” you started. “how did you end up here? must be a great feat if you were able to go past the barriers.”

alice curls their fingers within the fabric of your blazer, inspecting it as they reply softly. “i’m not sure, mada. i was just sleeping, and woke up in a garden. the hedgehogs showed me the way after i offered them a caterpillar.” they do not mention a bleary moment in their sleep where they curiously wondered how you and riddle came to be as they drifted off. “as pertaining by rule 210… if you are lost in a maze, give the hedgehogs an offering and they shall show you the way.”

you can’t help but let your mind drift over to riddle, who echoes the rules to be followed when mentioned.

your lips twitch into a smile, much to the delight of alice. “strange indeed. must have been scary.”

their eyes squinted. “i’m not scared.”

you chuckled and pinched their cheek. they pout.

“where are you from?” you ask instead, wanting to know more about the.. figurative alice from nowhere.

alice looks at you strangely.

“from the queendom of roses…” could they simply be a relative of riddle’s? you thought mindlessly. drawing your fingers through the surprising soft red locks who seemingly part eagerly for your touch. “with my mada, and my papa. sometimes my uncles visit.”

unsure of how to reply, you merely nod along. parting their hair by half and twisting it into a braid. “you called me mada.” you hummed.

“because you are my mada.”

she says like it’s the only thing that makes sense in her small world, not relinquishing her grip on your blazer but instead tugging at the wrists to expose the small slither of skin and hold onto it. clingy. you thought, deciding not to question it.

… was this your freaking kid?

the smell of strawberries wafts over the space of the living room alongside the ticking of the oven–momentarily taking both alice, and cater’s attention. the latter stretches before standing to stride over to the source of the smell, no doubt requesting trey to change the taste once more.

alice’s eyes, like yours slid to your own. a bit shy in their demeanor as they clutched onto the skin of your wrist. “can i eat some of uncle’s tarts?” they queried under your breath, only meant for you alone. you felt a bit confused but nodded nonetheless.

their lips twitched into an eager smile before it settles into a more controlled look of impassiveness.

that was adorable. you thought, unable to resist leaning down to scoop them into your arms as you stood. alice makes a sound of brief surprise before their arms loop around your neck. they sat pliantly still as you walked over to follow cater inside the kitchen, catching a glimpse of your scent that they sought for, so alice nuzzles their face into the warm pulse on your neck.

trey glances up from the animated retelling of cater about the crazy day. “new responsibility?” he wore a humored smile, apron long discarded and folded over the handle of the oven for the meantime.

if riddle saw this, he would not believe it no matter how intelligent he was. trey deduced.

he gestures to the tray set on the counter. “there’s frosted strawberries, blueberry cornmeal, and the good old mont blanc since i got left over ingredients from the last unbirthday party.”

alice feels the shift of your head as you glanced down at them, they don’t remove their head from the crevice of your neck for a moment and meets your eyes with a raise of their own. “frosted strawberries, please.”

“good choice, little alice.” cater comments.

“careful, it’s hot.” trey chided gently as he watched you pick up one of them, drawing it near alice’s waiting hunger as they tilted their head up from your shoulder. they took a small bite at the corners of the tart, smiling at the taste and only wider when you wiped remnants of crumbs around the edges of their mouth.

alice chews, and swallows before they spoke again. their eyes gleaming with admiration as they stared at trey. “it’s always the yummiest when it’s fresh out the oven.” they recited.

trey blinks.

“you’re a bright one.” he remarked, ruffling their hair when he drew near. “don’t tell anyone about the wicked secret ‘round the kitchen, all right?”

they nodded vigorously. “thank you, uncle..” they spewed politely, but evidently genuine.

cater munches from the other end of the counter. “we gotta protect alice,” he chuckled, eyes crinkling as he pointed his phone to you, tapping to snap a picture of the scene despite your warning stare. “too nice for the vultures we call students here.”

“you might be right.” trey shook his head, and you nodded mutely. more absorbed into letting them take bite by bite into the tart until it was about finished halfway. only then do you lay it back on the tray. how much sweets was ideal for a child to take anyway? regardless of you deeming it as enough, alice stays quiet and does not complain.

if they wanted more, you wouldn’t know.

“later.” you promised, leaning back when you were satisfied with their prim appearance. a pat of their hair to smooth down trey’s earlier disruption.

“later..” alice echoed.

a resident third year enters the kitchen. only to pause in their tracks and back away.

“domesticity is really the enemy of the students here.” cater sniffed, earning a chuckle from trey who found the comment funny. “imagine being happy, being broody and emotional are the real requirements to get admitted.”

cater finishes his snack with a pleased hum, and a grateful nod to trey. “by the way i messaged adeuce, sent them to stall dorm leader from going back as long as the dorm was… kind of in a wre–predicament.” he cleared his throat, casting a brief glance at alice to spot if they had taken offence to his almost uttered word.

“so now they’re en-route?” trey guessed, transferring the leftover tarts to a glass bowl. leaving the tray in the sink to wash for later. cater nods in response, typing on his phone with one hand. likely in cahoots with the two right now. “told them the coast was clear! no more trampling soldiers scampering around.”

trey eyed him. “what about the–”

just then, whatever trey was going to comment in rebuttal of cater’s easy reassurance was promptly interrupted by new individuals peeking inside. ace, and deuce poked their heads from the corner. as if trying to ascertain the danger level of whatever may be inside.

ace rougly nudges deuce when he spots you with a child in arms. for two people insisting on their unique, varying selfs. they mirror each other’s look of bewilderment as though their brain cells crackled and connected into a singular one. “what the seven?” ace mouthed.

you all do not notice the look of familiarity on alice’s face.

nor the brightening when riddle strides in with a petulant huff,

if riddle thought strangely, or disapproved of the two’s behavior then he wouldn’t have had the chance to comment on it before he was leveling trey with a sharp, inquisitive stare. “i would like a very good explanation as to why my hedges have been mangled to the ground.” his eye twitches with the effort of containing irritation. “three hours i’ve been gone. three! and when i enter heartslabyul the first thing i see is devastation upon my gardens!”

perhaps emotionally, riddle cried out in the last sentence.

even though such an expression should have frightened a child to some degree, alice relaxes in your arms but their face clouds in shame at his voice.

riddle whirls back to the other two lingering by the doorway who both flinches imperceptibly–cater tries to intercept with a nervous chuckle but is only met with a steely don’t even start! “ace, and deuce have me running around the school. saying something about yuu getting kidnapped by those.. vermin excuses of… students from octavinelle!" riddle seethed, breathing still a bit labored as favor of his statement about running around.

“dorm leader!” ace stood straight stiffly.

oh, did he just come from a frantic search in octavinelle?

“i even had to threaten collaring azul who i thought was lying about yuu.” with a deep intake of air, riddle breathes out and pinches the bridge of his nose, collecting his temper. much to the chagrin of deuce.

“we apologize.” deuce added sadly.

cater feigns ignorance by looking away but it’s trey’s look that has him adding to the defense of the two, rather than using the opportunity to scamper away with his head in tact. “ahem… we had these two keep you busy. so don’t be too harsh on them, riddle. us upperclassmen will take responsibility.”

a nod of agreement from trey gets riddle quiet.

the former tilts his chin to you. “yuu is fine, they’re right here.”

like he hadn’t even noticed before (he really didn’t), riddle’s head snaps to you immediately. his eyes would have been stuck to you, prodding for a valid explanation to your ignorance to his angry calls but instead, settles on the bundle in your arms.

“who…” a blink. “why in the world do you have a child! they are not welcome on school grounds! especially this time in the school year–.” riddle sputtered, instinctively sauntering over to take a closer look at alice who only stared without an inch of fear.

“papa.” they mumbled, voice measured but still echoing in the now quiet kitchen.

ace leapt up to your side. “that’s not right!” he gasped, squinting dangerously at riddle. any traces of earlier mortification gave way to whatever emotion he’s got on his face. “how could you sully yuu! they’re not a babysitter for your kid!”

“what?” riddle seethed, head flicking from ace, to you, then to alice.

despite a look of great reluctance, deuce nods from the doorway still. mumbling to himself. “dorm… dorm leader has a child…”

you vaguely remember trey offering the dazed guy a glass of water.

“unconfirmed earlier, confirmed now.” cater adds unhelpfully to the blazing fire of riddle’s rising anger.

riddle’s teeth grind together, jaw clenching as his fingers tightened into a fist. it was more of one his attempts at calming down rather than preparation for a physical alteration. “I did no such–!”

“don’t be mad at mada.” alice reaches for him, tugging at his blazer which surprisingly, quells the reddening of his face. now, he just looks a bit confused.

alice turns their head slightly. “mada, you can calm down papa.”

deuce paused before dropping to the ground.

“AH! he’s dead. this is why you don’t betray us by keeping secrets, yuu!”

“uh oh… trey help me with deuce… wait, should we just leave him? i mean, he’ll be just fine here, right?”

“... just take the other arm, cater.”

all the way back to the living room, riddle’s face remained tinged with warmth. alice, while reluctant to part with your embrace, seemed wholly pleased to stay by the other red-heads' side. insisting you sit next to him when you moved to sit by your two friends.

you obliged them despite riddle’s interest with the carpet.

the couch dipped at the weight of another. even so, the non-verbal conversation between alice, and riddle continued. the former pressed their lips together thinly, seemingly assessing the… youthfulness of the latter. they aren’t so used to this kind of look from him.

cater flinched, and look away from the flash of his phone. he elbows a dazed deuce.

“so,” ace cleared his throat, blinking his still wide eyes. “who the heck is this kid?!”

“language.” riddle chided sharply. though softened from its usual end even he isn’t so sure why it is from the mere presence of alice alone.

“rule 13, always present yourself with appropriate language.”

“always present yourself with appropriate language.” alice repeated.

riddle squinted at a relaxed alice, who tilts their head as if to ask ‘what?’.

“genetics is crazy. what’s next, the kid beheads us too?” ace points between the two.

alice shrugged. “only if you break the rules.”

“i do not have a child!” riddle protested.

“i am your child.” replied alice.

“apparently this one’s our kid.” you agreed begrudgingly.

riddle stares at you with a mixture of disbelief, and confusion.

darting between you and the kid like they're gonna start collating him in all his glory! sure, alice had red hair like him but quite a lot of people in the island have it too besides his relatives. the idea of… of him and you is just so out of this world that he can't wrap his head around it.

you? you who he hadn't paid attention to when you arrived at the ceremony? the very first person in that event that broke the rules? you, the very fading into the background student whom he believed to be a bad influence to his students ace, and deuce?

you he had almost hurt beyond repair at the bursting of his control so tightly held in his hands?

the brief skip of his heart when your eyes meet over the head of alice is enough to send blood rushing to his head, coloring it with his signature red whose warmth doesn't feel like the usual simmering anger he struggles to keep submerged. if anything, this feeling is practically leaping out the water and baring his face to everyone.

riddle does not look away. managing a look of what he tries to name as conviction but easily crumbles to fluster.

then the idea wasn't so bad considering this young child has proved to be raised dutifully, correctly without any worries of what he used to be burdened with as a child.

it gives way to curiosity.

despite his incredulously, riddle queries. “the gardens.” he starts with a measured narrow to his eyes, not too intense to possibly upset this.. future child of his whose eyes are strikingly familiar enough to halt the normal circulation of his heart once more for half a second. “were you responsible for the destruction of some hedges I've come across?”

alice shrinks into themselves. “i'm sorry papa.” they pursed their lips, voice genuine by the lower tilt. “i thought i could use my card soldiers to look for you, and mada. you told me about this place called heartslabyul before?”

“i have?” riddle blinks. the idea isn't too bizarre, it's only natural to think back on such things.

they nodded. “yes, papa. you talk about it a lot on our friday’s. about how it looked, how you were as it's dorm leader…” alice peeks a glance at you. “and your parties with mada.”

“unbirthday parties.” trey corrects. “sometimes birthday parties if it really is someone's birthday.”

ace perks up. “let me tell you then! from first hand experience!” he blanched. like opening light about his own struggles in heartlsabyul magically meant the truth to riddle’s own kid. “labyul is really strict on rules. you know on my first day, I ate a tart and—”

deuce stirred slightly.

at riddle’s glare, ace visibly wilts to which cater snaps a picture with snickers. “I mean… the tart was really good, made by riddle and all…” he sweatdropped.

“you shouldn't eat a tart that is not made by you.” alice replied thoughtfully. riddle can't resist a light smile at her words, feeling a sense of accomplishment as he nodded along. his hand hovers for a moment before it pats down on their hair. “that's right. I must have taught you well.”

you absentmindedly patted their head, taking turns with riddle to do so while expertly avoiding his gaze. “you said friday though, why?”

“on friday’s we don’t go out.” alice says.

“that isn’t a rule by the queen of hearts.” riddle points out.

“you made that rule papa.” they replied innocently. “in our home, so we get to spend time together as a family.”

silence reigns.

“wow.” you cough. sparing riddle an approving glance. that… sounded nice… domestic, and nice. you supposed even as an adult riddle would still have some sort of grip on rules, considering he grew up with them, it helped him live.

and now rules he shaped helped him live with alice, and you apparently.

tick.

tock.

tick.

tock.

alice peers down at the watch they pull out from under their little adorable coat, oblivious to the stunned silence they left behind. hesitantly, they place a hand on your knee, legs swinging as they rest the other on riddle’s. “mada.” they smiled, this time widely. “papa. I gotta go.”

“what?” riddle's eyes widened. “you haven't finished your tart yet.”

“it's okay. I already ate a tart earlier, papa.”

“you can eat another, just this time. if you want.” he insisted, strangely worried.

cater raises his hand. “can I?”

riddle disagrees immediately. “no.”

muttering something about favoritism, cater looked away with a long sigh.

riddle's eyes lingered on the roundness of alice's face. from the shape, to the more detailed parts of their features. eyes, your eyes. the lushness of their hair, the soft curve of their lips tilted with innocence sends an unexpected grip in his heart, like it's heart stopping.

gosh. his heart just stopped. would he really have his own alice? his eyes darted to you. with you?

alice huffed lightly, skin glimmering lightly as their shade slowly grew transculent and faded with each blink of your eyes. “I can always eat papa's tarts. they're so delicious.”

“don't use too much magic.” riddle scolded with a crease in his brows.

you add. “don't anger riddle too much.”

“please eat his tarts.” ace encouraged.

trey shot him a look. “don't teach alice bad things.” he sighed, glancing at said child with a smile. “I'll teach you how to make your own tarts, ask uh… future me?”

cater, not wanting to be outdone quickly perked up. “as a future magicam star, I'll make you one too. little alice!” he added, self assured of his future fame.

when it all settles, all that remains is a space between you and riddle that feels too little than vast. and a remainder of your future.

“atleast we know what name we'll choose.” you can't resist but tease. riddle does not blow up like you would have thought from your remark, only sparing you a look of feigned annoyance with warming ears that doesn't support the idea of his irritation.

he resigns to a small nod. “I am assured they are taught well.”

ace glances between you, and riddle. “I miss alice already. riddle seemed a lot more lenient with them around. you think they got embarrassing stories from the future?” he comments off-handedly, leaning back against the couch and blowing on the fringe over his forehead. “when are you guys gonna make an alice? please make one now.”

cater whistles out of there.

trey shakes his head.

deuce–still passed out is thankfully considered by trey, who dragged his limp body with a nod of goodluck to ace.

you waved at ace. F indeed.

wait! don't leave me, upperclassman! ace cried in his mind, feeling the panic splinter his state of mind.

“ACE!” riddle gritted his teeth. “i'll hand down my sentence, the verdict comes afterwards–”

ace paled.

“off with your head–!”

trivia

alice’s name is very much inspired by alice from the one and only: “alice in wonderland”.

their unique magic is called: under my decree which is simply being able to summon card soldiers, and command them at their will! (in this case, after being sent to a maze and finding their way out thanks to the hedgehog. alice was able to discern that this was heartlsabyul, and figured they might be able to find their parents here, hence, why they used their magic.)

alice is written to be a well-behaved 8 year old.

the watch is a nod to my previous commissioned work who also dealt with the concept of time travelling and related to going back (ha, ha).

alice woke up by the sound of a clock ticking, and knew that hearing it again meant that their time was up.

the entire thing happened due to alice helping untangle a fae who happened to get stuck in their gardens at the backyard while they were looking for a hedgehog that had not yet eaten (spoiler: hedgehog was hiding in a small crack under the tree) the same fae visited them at night whilst sleeping and granted them a dream of whatever they wanted to wish. alice, feeling swayed by the magic despite being not aware made a wish to fulfill it.

boom! baby rosehearts in your faces!

alice woke up and immediately said young riddle was funnily shy to yuu. much to the confusion of actual current riddle!

their favorite tart is: anything with strawberries, like riddle.

rule 13, and rule 102 are entirely fictional and made up by me… for plot purposes…

not deuce = is actually yuu

not yuu = is actually ace

not ace = is actually deuce

deuce been sleeping for the entire time lol.

ace got roped into fixing the gardens with the collar on #thatswhatyouget

riddle invites you to study for the nearing quiz season the following day.

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tallochar · 2 years ago

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@zahri-melitor 's very excellent and exquisitely on point tags.

Tim and JPV could absolutely bond about computers.

A helpfull step by step guid on how to turn your EtC jason & tim fics into Etc Jean-Paul Valley & tim fics

for people who have never read a comic <3

i made a power point

#unlike the neck wound by Jason #Azbats strangling Tim came with immediate regret and wild personality swings by JPV in the aftermath and sobbingly calling Tim's name #it was glorious and the stuff EtC Jason + Tim wishes it could have #I say as someone who has read and will keep reading any and all Jason + Tim EtC I can get my hands on #I cheerfully deal with the fanon by reminding myself all focs are Elseworlds at heart #dc #tim drake #jean paul valley #jason todd #tumblr glorious slideshow tradition #and remember folks #Dick will hate in JPV in the pettiest of ways and unrelentingly #Dick loathes JPV guts #anything JPV does will make Dick loathe him more #especially if he is anywhere near Tim #any brotherly or caretaker behaviour there will drive Dick up the wall #and to be his pettiest and snidest while insisting that no no This Is Fine #now I am thinking of an idea I discussed with Zahri about JPV still being around for BruceQuest rather than dead #it is glorious #sighs happily

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graciescott27 · 1 month ago

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Boyfriend! Megumi who acts mad anytime you play with his hair, but he actually kind of likes it. (Which he will never admit)

Boyfriend! Megumi who “subconsciously memorized what you get from practically every restaurant and now orders for you.

Boyfriend! Megumi who looks at where you are on Life360 every 30 minutes even though he’s “not worried”.

Boyfriend! Megumi who is nowhere near above fighting someone if they’re bothering you.

Boyfriend! Megumi who gives thoughtful gifts. Mostly random things you mentioned liking in passing that he made sure to remember. Occasionally he’ll make you something even though he knows it’s going to come out looking like it just survived a paper shredder.

Boyfriend! Megumi who refuses to let you name his Shikigami for months before giving up. He regrets it immediately.

Boyfriend! Megumi who loves mundane things. He would much rather make food with you at home than go to a five-star restaurant.

Boyfriend! Megumi who has never been good with words, but he still lets you know that he loves you in his own weird ways.

Boyfriend! Megumi who gives you his stuff knowing that he’ll never get it back. He’ll still act annoyed by it, though.

Boyfriend! Megumi who is always the quiet one between you two. If someone starts a conversation with him, you’re the one to answer.

Boyfriend! Megumi who lets you ramble about anything and everything. He’ll just sit there staring into your eyes while you do.

Boyfriend! Megumi who worries about you talking to other people. Not because he’s jealous, necessarily. He just never knows what another guy might try to do to you.

Boyfriend! Megumi who will never stop getting flustered after you compliment him.

Boyfriend! Megumi who has a playlist dedicated to you.

Boyfriend! Megumi who loves taking awkward candid photos of you. One of them is his lock screen on his phone.

Boyfriend! Megumi who will never admit just how much he loves hearing about your day.

Boyfriend! Megumi who always texts “good morning” and “good night.”

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abbotsanatomy · 2 months ago

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Can I request a Jack x reader where reader gets hurt while working and Abbot goes insane trying to make sure she’s okay 🤭

⨳ HEART IN YOUR THROAT

pairing: jack abbot x wife!doc!reader warnings: workplace romance, descriptions of injury, depiction of an erratic patient, assault of a healthcare provider. author's note: y'all i wrote this man stressed! (reasonably) he CANNOT lose another wife...

There's a tune stuck in your head, from the drive to work. You're humming it as you look over your most recent patient's labs. But you can't hear yourself anymore when someone yells from somewhere near the ER's ambulance entrance.

'Yell' isn't really the right word, it's more of a shrill screaming that chills you to the core. You're still leaning on the station counter, when you spot Jack running towards the screaming, followed by Ellis.

The computer's immediately abandoned, as you make your way through the ER in a sprint. You pick up a paper gown on the way out, and pull it on, tying it in the back. The emergency entrance's glass doors open automatically, as you make your way through them and onto the road.

It's chilly outside, as can be expected on a winter night in Pittsburgh. You can feel cold air making its way deep into your bones, but you know you have to move quick when you see the patient thrashing violently on a hospital gurney. You can tell Ellis and Jack have already gotten a few kicks to the face, trying to steady the patient's legs, where the blood is making it difficult to asses his injury.

You make for his arms, which are free and way too close to grasping Ellis by the hair. You're pulling him back onto the gurney as gently as possible, pulling both of his arms into yours. There's no way to be reassuring in this kind of situation, but you try anyway. He isn't taking any of it, though. His screaming directly at your face makes you flinch a few times. His wife shouting in the background isn't so comforting either.

Somewhere throughout the struggle, the patient gains on you. You can slowly feel your grip over him slip. With a rough shove from him, you're down on the floor, face planted directly onto the pavement. You can hear a sickening crack when you try to move your face across the concrete. An intense pain shoots up from your nose, and you swear you can feel it in your brain.

"Fuck!" you shout into the ground, and even that hurts.

You can hear John make his way out of the emergency entrance, he almost leans down to check on you, but you give him a thumbs up. You just want this idiot on the gurney out of your sight, then you might get up. He makes his way to help restrain the patient.

Jack's voice is distantly shouting a question at Shen that you can't quite make out. Then, he's right in front of you, pulling you up by your arms before you can protest. There's an almost alarming amount of blood on the pavement where your face was. When he pulls your face up to get a good look, you can taste your own blood making its way down your throat.

You wipe away the blood from your top lip. Any expression you make is so painful you regret ever even having a face. Jack's eyes are going back and forth, analyzing every part of you to make sure there's nothing else besides the glaringly obvious broken nose.

"I think it's..." you take a deep breath in through your mouth, "broken."

The gurney passes you two, crouched on the side of the road. Jack shoots the patient the nastiest glare you've ever seen. He looks ready to kill the man. You're pretty sure he would've at least put him in the hospital if he wasn't already here.

The moment he looks back into your eyes, his face twists into a more comforting expression.

"Yeah?" he smiles, but it barely reaches his eyes, "I think so too, honey. Let's get you up. I'll take care of it."

You let him pull you up to stand. He's still observing you for any signs there might be something else wrong.

"You hurt anywhere else?" he asks, his tone soft.

You shake your head.

Even if you were, you're pretty sure the burning sensation in your face is clouding your judgement. "Nope. Legs just a lil' sore."

"Alright. We'll get 'em looked at."

By that, he means he's going to move you into the ER and damn-near yell at anyone who even suggests he go assist with the patient and let someone else take care of you. You always knew Jack had a protective streak, but seeing it in action is entirely different. You're sure you'd be laughing and making fun of him for it, if speaking and smiling and breathing didn't hurt so bad.

He guides you to one of the ER chairs, and pulls the cubicle curtain closed. The first victim of his very thorough physical examination is your nose, which he packs to stop the bleeding and then gives you a local anesthetic injection in. It dulls the pain and makes the manual realignment feel like barely a gentle pull.

When he's done, he checks you everywhere else. He does a million tests you both know are incredibly excessive. You let him turn your limbs every which way, check your breathing a hundred times, and perform a neuro exam more than ten times, probably.

"I'm fine, Jack," you kindly inform him, for the fifth time since you've sat down, as he flashes a light into your eyes.

He puts the flashlight away and nods, finally acknowledging you. His arms come to rest on your shoulders, his thumbs stroking the skin there. Your eyes meet. When you smile at him, he grimaces.

"Oh my god. Am I really that deformed?" you joke.

He shakes his head slowly, "You could never be anything short of gorgeous in my eyes."

You're about to make another joke, when you realize his eyes hold an intensity in them that's usually reserved for those terribly intimate moments you share, almost exclusively, at your apartment. He looks really fucking scared, too. It’s a proper notch down from how afraid he looked outside, so you’ll take it.

"Where doesn't hurt?" he asks.

You point to your cheek. It isn’t completely pain-free, but it's the only place you can tolerate any kind of pressure and actually feel it. He leans down and presses his lips gently there. It makes your eyes flutter shut instantly. Your hand comes to rest on the back of his neck, keeping him there.

"I think you'll need to perform an even more thorough examination. At home. In bed," you whisper into his ear.

When he laughs against your skin, you turn your face to the side, so you can press your mouth to the side of his jaw. You instantly regret it, though, because your freshly split lip burns.

"Ouch," you complain.

Jack presses one last kiss to your temple, before he pulls away. He grabs his phone out of his front pocket.

"We leave in an hour," he confirms.

"You can nap here. I'll make sure no one wakes you up until it's time to go," his voice is soothing, but you know he's not really asking.

Luckily, you can already feel your eyes droop, so you’re barely arguing anyway. Jack's footsteps are heavy, and when he pulls the curtain open you can tell he hesitates for a moment.

It sounds like he has a smug grin on his face, "And, uh, you're only slightly deformed."

Your eyes shoot open, but before you can grab something to throw at him he's already out of eyeshot.

"You can't say that to your patients, Doctor Abbot!" you yell after him.

The last thing you hear before passing out is his distant laugh.

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