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goldfades · 2 days ago

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TROUBLE ─── RAFE CAMERON

request for blurb night! : "ev, hear me out—reader is sarah’s best friend who used to babysit wheezie. she's always thought rafe was just some spoiled rich kid until one night he helps her out of a dangerous situation, and she see a different side of him"

The sound of cicadas swells in the sticky summer air as you maneuver your car into the Camerons’ circular driveway, gravel crunching beneath the tires. The house stands before you, grand and overbearing, like something pulled straight from a Southern Gothic novel. Even after all these years, it still has a way of making you feel out of place, like you’re trespassing on a life far removed from your own.

You killed the engine and take a deep breath, your hands lingering on the steering wheel. Coming here used to feel second nature—a daily part of your routine back when you were just Sarah’s friend who needed extra cash and Wheezie was a chatty eight-year-old who never seemed to run out of energy.

Now, it feels complicated. It’s not like you’re unwelcome here—Rose is always polite in her distant, Stepford kind of way, and Wheezie practically lights up whenever she sees you. Sarah treats you like family, but there’s always been one Cameron who makes you feel like you’re walking on eggshells.

Rafe.

Spoiled, sharp-tongued, entitled Rafe, whose condescending smirk had been a permanent fixture of your teenage years. The golden boy with a black hole of a temper, a trust fund, and an ego that stretched for miles. You’d never understood him, and frankly, you’d never wanted to. He was a hurricane you learned to avoid at all costs, never lingering too long in his orbit.

But life has a funny way of pulling you into places you swore you’d never go.

You grab your bag from the passenger seat and step out into the muggy heat, your sandals crunching against the gravel. Somewhere inside the house, you hear the faint echo of laughter—Wheezie, probably, shouting at Sarah over a card game or some other nonsense. The sound makes you smile despite yourself.

You weren’t always someone the Camerons—or anyone from Figure Eight, for that matter—gave the time of day. Growing up, you were just another Pogue, another kid from the Cut with hand-me-down clothes and a chip on your shoulder. The people from Sarah’s world weren’t interested in you back then. Why would they be? You had nothing they wanted—no yacht, no country club membership, no sprawling waterfront property. You didn’t mind much. You had your own circle, your own rhythm, and you learned to brush off the condescending stares whenever you ventured into their territory.

But everything changed when your dad’s business took off. What started as a small, bare-bones construction company turned into one of the most in-demand firms in the Outer Banks almost overnight. Suddenly, the same people who used to look through you like you were invisible started remembering your name. Invitations to parties you’d never have been considered for started showing up in your mailbox. They weren’t just tolerating you—they wanted you there.

Sarah was one of the first to genuinely befriend you during that whirlwind of change. She wasn’t like the others, who only smiled at you because their parents said it was polite or because they wanted a favor from your dad. She liked you for you—your sarcasm, your groundedness, your tendency to keep it real in a place where everyone else seemed to be faking something. And through Sarah, you met Wheezie.

Wheezie was eight at the time, still caught between childhood and whatever it is that happens when you grow up as a Cameron. She adored you from the start, trailing behind you whenever you came over like a little shadow. You didn’t mind. She was funny, curious, and refreshingly unfiltered—a lot more like the kids from the Cut than anyone wanted to admit.

When Rose offhandedly mentioned they needed someone to look after Wheezie while she was busy managing the house (or hosting one of her endless charity luncheons), Sarah volunteered you without hesitation. “She’s perfect,” Sarah had said with that trademark confidence of hers, as though your schedule had already been cleared.

To your surprise, it worked out. Wheezie loved you, probably because you didn’t treat her like a chore or talk down to her like so many others did. You indulged her weird little interests, let her ramble on about books and whatever new drama she overheard in the house. You made her laugh.

And if the Camerons noticed you weren’t exactly one of their own, they didn’t seem to mind much anymore. After all, in their world, proximity to success was enough to erase just about anything.

Even after a couple years had passed, it’s a little funny how much has stayed the same. Every time you pull into the Camerons’ driveway, you still get the same sinking feeling, like you’re stepping onto foreign soil without a passport. Except now, it’s become a routine. Cameron game nights.

It started as an extension of the babysitting gig—a casual invite from Sarah, insisting you stay for dinner one night after watching Wheezie. Dinner turned into a board game that Sarah claimed was “super quick,” which turned into three hours of family chaos. It was ridiculous, overly competitive, and a little awkward with Rose monitoring everything like a referee, but Wheezie loved having you there, and Sarah was relentless in making sure you felt included.

At some point, it just became normal. Even after Wheezie grew out of needing a babysitter, the tradition stuck. Every week or two, Sarah would text you about game night, and somehow, you always said yes.

“You’re like an honorary Cameron,” Sarah had joked once, and you’d laughed because the idea of that felt ridiculous. But there were moments, like now, when you almost believed her.

Wheezie’s voice echoes from the living room the second you step through the door. “You’re late!”

“I’m literally on time,” you call back, closing the door behind you. The smell of freshly baked something wafts through the air, probably cookies Wheezie convinced Rose to make under the guise of a family bonding activity.

“Technically, Rafe’s late,” Sarah says, popping her head around the corner, already grinning. “You’re just cutting it close. Come on, Wheezie’s already plotting your downfall.”

You laugh and follow her into the living room, where the familiar chaos is already brewing. Wheezie’s sprawled across the couch, a pile of board game pieces spread out in front of her, while Ward sits in his chair, sipping a scotch like it’s all beneath him but still keeping a hawk’s eye on the rules. Rose flits between the kitchen and the table, not-so-casually reminding everyone to keep the snacks on coasters.

And then there’s Rafe.

He’s leaning back in one of the armchairs, his legs stretched out like he owns the place—which, technically, he does. A half-smirk tugs at his lips as he spins a stray game token between his fingers. He barely glances at you when you walk in, but you catch the faintest flicker of recognition.

It’s been years, but Rafe is still Rafe: cocky, restless, and way too pretty for his own good. He’s toned down some of the more obvious brattiness since the early days, but the edge is still there, sharp enough to cut if you’re not careful.

And, as always, you do your best to steer clear.

The quiet hum of the boutique fades behind you as you pull the glass door shut, twisting the key to lock it. The click echoes in the empty street, a sharp sound against the stillness of downtown this late at night. The once-bustling sidewalks are deserted now, the streetlights casting uneven pools of orange on the pavement. Most of the shops had closed hours ago, their dark windows reflecting the faint shimmer of the moon.

You adjust the strap of your bag over your shoulder and glance at your phone. 11:43 p.m. Later than you’d intended. It wasn’t your shift to close, but your coworker had begged you to cover for her last minute, and you couldn’t say no. It’s fine, you tell yourself. You’ve done this before. Downtown isn’t that bad, and your car is parked just a block away. Still, there’s something unnerving about the silence, the way the shadows stretch a little too far when you’re alone.

Reaching your car—a trusty but aging sedan that you inherited from your dad—you fumble with the keys before sliding into the driver’s seat. The interior smells faintly of the vanilla air freshener you keep on the rearview mirror, a comforting contrast to the chilly night air outside. You toss your bag onto the passenger seat, then grip the steering wheel as you turn the key in the ignition.

Nothing.

You pause, frowning. That’s… odd. Your car’s old, sure, but it’s never been completely unresponsive. You twist the key again, harder this time, willing it to come to life.

Still nothing.

A low groan escapes your throat as you lean back against the seat. This can’t be happening. Not tonight. Not here.

You pull out your phone, half-tempted to call Sarah or even your dad, but you hesitate. Sarah’s probably asleep by now, and your dad’s a good thirty minutes away—not to mention, he’d definitely give you a lecture about not keeping up with the car’s maintenance. Sighing, you pop the hood and step out into the cool night air, shivering slightly as a gust of wind cuts through your jacket.

The street around you is unnervingly quiet. A stray cat darts across the road, its shadow flickering under the streetlights. You glance around, trying to shake the uneasy feeling creeping up your spine. It’s just your imagination, you tell yourself. No one’s here.

With a deep breath, you lift the hood and stare down at the engine like it might magically fix itself. You know a grand total of nothing about cars, but you wiggle a few cables anyway, hoping for a miracle. When you try the ignition again, the result is the same—silence, save for the faint hum of a streetlamp overhead.

Panic starts to creep in now, slow and steady. Your phone’s battery is hovering at 10%, and downtown—normally picturesque and charming by day—feels like a completely different place at night. The empty windows of the closed shops look less quaint and more sinister, their dark interiors like gaping mouths.

You lean back against the car, tapping your fingers against the metal as you weigh your options. Call someone? Walk to the gas station a few blocks down? Stay here and wait it out? None of them sound appealing, especially with the growing sensation that you’re being watched. You tell yourself it’s just nerves, but your skin prickles anyway, and you can’t help but glance over your shoulder every few seconds.

“Great,” you mutter under your breath. “This is how horror movies start.”

You huff out a shaky breath and decide to at least look under the hood. Not that you know what you’re doing, but it’s better than standing here like a sitting duck. Popping the latch, you step out into the cool night air again, every sound amplified in the unsettling quiet. Your shoes scrape against the pavement as you walk to the front of the car, lifting the hood and leaning over the engine.

The faint metallic scent of oil hits your nose as you peer into the mess of cables and parts. It all looks like a foreign language to you, but you fiddle with a few wires anyway, hoping for some kind of miracle.

That’s when you hear it—footsteps.

At first, you think maybe it’s nothing, just your imagination running wild, but then you hear them again, deliberate and getting closer. Your stomach clenches, and you straighten up, instinctively glancing over your shoulder.

Two figures are walking toward you from the opposite side of the street, their strides slow and unhurried. The dim streetlights reveal faces you vaguely recognize—Kooks, no doubt, probably from the same parties Sarah used to drag you to back in high school. Their names escape you, but the looks on their faces don’t—grins too wide, eyes too sharp, the kind of predatory energy that sets every nerve in your body on edge.

“Car trouble?” the taller one calls out, his voice carrying an edge of amusement as they stop a few feet away.

You force a tight smile, trying to keep your voice steady. “Yeah, I’ve got it handled. Thanks.”

The shorter one, stockier and wearing a backward baseball cap, steps closer, tilting his head like he doesn’t believe you. “Doesn’t look like it,” he says. His tone is casual, but the way his eyes flick over you makes your skin crawl.

“I’m fine,” you insist, taking a small step back toward the car. Your heart is pounding now, a sick thrum in your chest, but you keep your expression as neutral as possible.

“Hey, we’re just trying to help,” the taller one says, holding up his hands like he’s harmless, but there’s something almost mocking in his tone. “No need to be rude.”

The stocky one smirks, moving to your other side, effectively boxing you in against the car. “Yeah, we’re just being friendly.”

The air feels heavy, oppressive, and the space between you and them feels like it’s shrinking by the second. You can feel the tension in their postures, the way they’re both leaning in slightly, testing how far they can push.

Your throat tightens as you glance around, desperate for someone, anyone to come walking down the street. But there’s no one—just you and these two strangers who clearly don’t care that you’re uncomfortable.

“Look,” you say, trying to sound firm but calm, “I appreciate it, but I’m good. You don’t need to stick around.”

The taller one laughs, a low, unpleasant sound that makes your stomach churn. “Aw, come on. You’re out here all alone. What kind of gentlemen would we be if we just left you like this?”

Your fingers tighten around the edge of the hood, your mind racing for a way out. You consider making a run for it, but they’re too close now, their presence suffocating.

Just as the stockier one steps even closer, his grin widening, a voice cuts through the tension, sharp and commanding.

“What’s going on here?”

The relief is instant and overwhelming, like a lifeline being thrown to you in a raging sea. You turn toward the sound, and there he is—Rafe Cameron, standing just a few feet away, his hands shoved casually into his pockets but his posture rigid, his eyes hard as they lock onto the two guys.

The taller one straightens up immediately, his smirk faltering. “Rafe,” he says, a weak attempt at sounding friendly.

Rafe doesn’t respond, his gaze shifting to you for the briefest moment before snapping back to them. “Didn’t realize we were having a party,” he says, his voice calm but laced with something dangerous. “You two invited?”

The stockier guy takes a step back, muttering something under his breath. “We were just leaving,” he says quickly, his bravado crumbling under Rafe’s glare.

“Yeah, you are,” Rafe says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The two exchange uneasy glances before slinking away, their footsteps echoing down the street until they disappear around the corner.

For a moment, all you can hear is the pounding of your heartbeat and the faint hum of Rafe’s truck idling in the distance.

“You good?” Rafe asks, his voice softer now but still steady, grounding.

You nod, your throat dry as you manage to croak out, “Yeah… I am now.”

Rafe watches the shadows where the two guys disappeared, his expression unreadable, his jaw tight. You half expect him to say something cutting, maybe some sarcastic remark about how you can’t take care of yourself, but when he finally looks at you, there’s no smugness. Only something... softer, almost hesitant.

“You’re lucky I saw you,” he says, his voice low. “That could’ve gone bad. Fast.”

You nod, your throat still tight from the tension of the moment. He’s right. You don’t even want to think about how that could’ve ended if he hadn’t shown up. “Thanks,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

Rafe’s brow furrows like he’s surprised you said it. He leans back slightly, glancing at the car hood still propped open. “What’s wrong with this thing?”

“Won’t start,” you reply, gesturing vaguely at the engine. “Not that I’d know what to look for.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, the corner of his mouth quirking up just slightly. “Yeah, I wouldn’t expect you to.” His tone lacks the usual edge, though—it’s not a dig, just a statement.

For a moment, the two of you just stand there in the quiet. The night air feels less suffocating now, the earlier tension replaced by a strange calm. Despite everything you know—or think you know—about Rafe Cameron, there’s something about his presence right now that makes you feel… safe. It’s unsettling, in its own way.

“You should be more careful,” Rafe says, breaking the silence. His gaze is steady, not mocking or judgmental, just serious. “Downtown this late? Alone? That’s asking for trouble.”

You bristle slightly, your instinct to defend yourself flaring up. “I didn’t exactly plan for my car to break down.”

He raises an eyebrow, but instead of snapping back, he just nods. “Fair.”

The quiet stretches between you again, but this time, it’s not uncomfortable. Rafe steps closer, peering under the hood with a practiced air, and you’re struck by how uncharacteristically gentle he seems. No biting remarks, no smug superiority—just calm focus.

He taps a cable lightly, muttering something under his breath, then steps back, closing the hood with a decisive thud. “Battery’s probably dead,” he says, glancing at you. “You need a jump.”

You nod, your nerves finally starting to settle. “I guess I’ll call someone.”

“Don’t bother,” he says, already walking toward his truck. “I’ve got cables.”

You blink, caught off guard by his matter-of-fact tone. He’s not offering—he’s telling you he’s going to help. And for some reason, you don’t argue.

A few minutes later, Rafe has his truck pulled up nose-to-nose with your car, the cables stretched taut between them. He works in silence, his movements efficient, and you watch from the sidelines, unsure of what to do with yourself.

“You should get in,” he says, nodding toward the driver’s seat.

You do as he says, sliding back into the familiar confines of your car. The moment feels oddly intimate—just the two of you on this empty street, the hum of his truck filling the air.

“Try it now,” he calls out, stepping back.

You turn the key, but instead of the engine sputtering to life, it lets out a defeated whine and falls silent again. You try one more time, your chest tightening with frustration and dread, but it’s no use. The car isn’t going anywhere tonight.

You let your forehead drop against the steering wheel with a groan. Of course. Just your luck.

Rafe’s voice cuts through the night air, low and steady. “It’s not gonna work. Battery’s dead for real.”

You sit up, pressing your lips together as he leans against the open driver’s side door, his arms crossed. His expression is unreadable, somewhere between amusement and mild concern.

“Great,” you mutter. “So, what now? I call a tow truck and wait here till dawn?”

Rafe tilts his head, his gaze flicking over you briefly before landing on your car again. “Or,” he says, “I could just drive you home.”

The offer catches you off guard, and you hesitate, your immediate instinct to say no. Riding home with Rafe Cameron? That’s about as far outside your comfort zone as you can imagine.

But then you glance down at your nearly dead phone, the empty street around you, and the sheer impossibility of getting a tow out here tonight. What other choice do you have?

“Seriously?” you ask, your voice tinged with disbelief.

Rafe shrugs, the motion easy, like it’s no big deal. “You got a better plan?”

You don’t.

“Fine,” you say finally, grabbing your bag from the passenger seat and climbing out of the car. The night air feels colder now, pressing against your skin as you walk toward his truck.

Rafe opens the passenger door for you without a word, and you slide in, the faint scent of leather and cologne filling the cab. It’s clean but lived-in—practical, not flashy, which surprises you.

He climbs in on the driver’s side, pulling the door shut and starting the engine with a smooth turn of the key. The sound is steady, reliable, and for a moment, you envy how effortlessly everything in his life seems to work.

The first few minutes of the drive are quiet, the only sound the low hum of the truck and the occasional creak of the suspension as it rolls over uneven pavement. You glance out the window, watching the darkened storefronts blur past, trying to ignore the strange tension sitting between you.

“You gonna sit there and sulk the whole way?” Rafe asks, his voice breaking the silence.

“I’m not sulking,” you shoot back, turning to glare at him.

He smirks, his eyes still on the road. “Sure you’re not.”

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m just… processing the fact that my car officially hates me. And that I had to be rescued by you of all people.”

His smirk softens into something closer to a smile, and for once, it doesn’t look mocking. “Yeah, well, it’s your lucky night, I guess.”

You roll your eyes but don’t respond, and the quiet settles over the truck again. It’s not entirely uncomfortable this time—just strange, like you’re both trying to figure out how to navigate this unexpected moment.

After a while, Rafe glances over at you, his expression more serious now. “You really shouldn’t be out here alone like that,” he says quietly.

You shift in your seat, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity in his tone. “I didn’t exactly plan for my car to break down,” you mumble.

“Still,” he says, his grip tightening slightly on the steering wheel. “Things could’ve gone bad. You know that, right?”

You do. The memory of those guys, their leering smiles and the way they cornered you, is still fresh in your mind. A shiver runs through you, and you glance at Rafe, his profile sharp in the dim light from the dashboard.

“Thanks,” you say, softer this time. “For stepping in.”

His jaw tenses for a moment before he nods. “Yeah. Don’t mention it.”

The rest of the drive passes in a blur of streetlights and quiet conversation. When he finally pulls up outside your house, you feel an odd sense of disappointment, like the night is ending too soon.

Rafe cuts the engine and looks over at you, his expression unreadable again. “You good?”

You nod, your fingers curling around the strap of your bag. “Yeah. Thanks for the ride.”

He hesitates, his eyes searching yours for a moment, and you swear you see something uncharacteristically soft in his gaze. “Anytime,” he says, his voice low.

You climb out of the truck, turning back as you reach your front door. Rafe is still there, leaning slightly out of the window, watching you with an intensity that sends a strange flutter through your chest.

“Night, Rafe,” you call out, your voice steadier than you feel.

He nods once, his smirk returning, but there’s a warmth to it now that wasn’t there before. “Night.”

You watch as he drives off, the tail lights disappearing down the street, and you can’t shake the feeling that tonight, something shifted. Something you didn’t see coming.

The living room is alive with laughter and the sugary smell of freshly microwaved popcorn. Wheezie is sprawled across the couch, her legs tangled in a blanket as she debates the finer points of the movie you’ve just paused, while Sarah snorts beside her, throwing a handful of popcorn in her sister’s direction.

You sit cross-legged on the floor, sipping from your drink and soaking in the warmth of the moment. It feels good to let your guard down like this—to laugh and tease and forget for a little while.

“Okay, but how does she not realize he’s the bad guy?” Wheezie demands, gesturing dramatically at the screen.

“Because she’s blinded by love,” Sarah says, grinning. “Or maybe she’s just as dumb as you are.”

“Excuse me?” Wheezie gasps, clutching her chest in mock offense.

You laugh, shaking your head. “I don’t know. I feel like if someone was being that obvious about being evil, I’d notice.”

“Would you, though?” Sarah teases, raising an eyebrow.

“Hey!” you protest, chucking a stray pillow at her.

The playful banter continues, the night stretching on in a haze of easy conversation and snack-fueled chaos. You’re halfway through arguing over which movie to watch next when the sound of the front door opening pulls your attention.

You glance toward the entryway just as Rafe steps inside, his hair slightly mussed, his keys jingling in his hand. He pauses when he sees you all, his expression flickering from mild surprise to something unreadable.

“What’s this?” he asks, his voice carrying that familiar mix of curiosity and amusement. “A girls’ night?”

“Yeah,” Sarah says, throwing a popcorn kernel at him. “And you’re not invited.”

“Tragic,” Rafe deadpans, stepping fully into the room. His eyes flick to you for a split second, and your stomach does an unexpected flip.

You tell yourself it’s nothing. Just residual nerves from the other night. Nothing to do with the way his presence seems to fill the space or the way his gaze lingers just long enough to make your cheeks heat.

He smirks, leaning against the doorframe. “Don’t worry, I’m not staying.”

“Good,” Sarah says. “Bye.”

He ignores her, pushing off the frame and heading toward the kitchen instead.

“I’m getting more popcorn,” you announce quickly, needing a reason to escape the sudden heat prickling at your skin. You grab the empty bowl and dart toward the kitchen before anyone can respond.

The kitchen is cooler, quieter, and you exhale a sigh of relief as you cross to the counter. You’re halfway through scooping kernels into a bowl when you hear the low hum of Rafe’s voice behind you.

“Didn’t know you were here tonight.”

You jump slightly, glancing over your shoulder to find him leaning casually against the counter, his arms crossed and that infuriating smirk playing on his lips.

“Yeah, well,” you say, turning back to the task at hand, “I’m kind of a regular around here.”

“I’ve noticed,” he says, his tone light but edged with something that makes your stomach flutter.

You keep your focus on the popcorn, refusing to let him get to you. “Do you always sneak up on people like that?”

“Only when they’re interesting,” he shoots back smoothly.

You roll your eyes, but the flush creeping up your neck betrays you. “Interesting? That’s a stretch.”

Rafe chuckles, the sound low and warm. “I don’t think so.”

His voice is closer now, and you glance up to find him standing beside you, his gaze fixed on your face. You freeze, your fingers tightening slightly around the bowl as you try to think of something—anything—to say.

“Relax,” he says, his lips quirking up into a grin. “You look like you’re about to run out of here.”

“I’m not,” you insist, though your voice comes out shakier than you’d like.

He leans in slightly, his eyes locking onto yours. “Good,” he murmurs. “Because I was starting to think I might scare you.”

“You don’t scare me,” you say quickly, your voice a touch too defensive.

“Hmm.” His smirk deepens, and he leans back, giving you just enough space to breathe again. “If you say so.”

With that, he grabs a water bottle from the fridge and steps away, throwing one last glance over his shoulder as he heads toward the stairs.

“Goodnight, trouble,” he calls out, his tone teasing but soft enough to send a shiver down your spine.

You stand there for a moment, staring after him, your heart racing and your face burning.

By the time you return to the living room with the popcorn, Wheezie and Sarah are too busy laughing at some inside joke to notice how flustered you are. You settle back into your spot on the floor, your mind still replaying the way Rafe’s voice sounded when he called you trouble.

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↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

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frenchkisstheabyss · 2 days ago

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♡ｖｅｒｙｂａｄｔｈｉｎｇｓ♡

♡ Pairing: mafia!wooyoung x chubby!fem!stripper!reader, other members mentioned

♡ Genre: smut

♡ Summary: When your best friend ropes you into working a bachelor party with her on your day off you're positive you know exactly what to expect. A bunch of gross drunk guys trying to put their hands on you. Instead you stumble into the exact opposite situation, finding yourself drawn to one man in particular who has you doing something you never thought you would.

♡ Word Count: 4.1k-ish

♡ Warnings: woo offers you money for sex and you take it, tattooed woo, drinking, partying, this man really likes licking you, low-key body worship, teasing, pentrative sex, unprotected sex, fingering, tit sucking, manhandling, multiple orgasms, orgasm control, a lil dom woo if you squint, a lil pain play, pet names (good girl, pretty, beautiful, cutie, baby), and that's about it babes.

♡ A/N: What can I say? I love Wooyoung. I love mafia boys. I love thicc strippers. Mix all that with a lengthy Megan thee Stallion playlist and this is where I ended up. As always, I hope my chubby hot girls out there enjoy this. Love yeeew ♡

This was supposed to be your night off. You should be bed rotting in your pajamas while you shovel snacks into your mouth and binge your favorite K-drama. Instead you’re half naked in the penthouse suite of some posh high rise straddling the lap of a pretty dark haired boy who just knocked back a shot of tequila and is seconds away from licking the salt from your cleavage.

You let out a giggle at how his tongue tickles as it drags along your skin. Your fingers tangle in his hair, your sparkly pink acrylics swirling in the silky strands as you tilt his head back to let him bite down on the lime wedged between your plush lips. He grins from ear to ear, arms looping around your waist to bring you closer. Your lips are dangerously close to touching. If his cock straining against his pants didn’t give away how badly he’d love for that to happen, that lust filled glimmer in his eyes would.

When he sucks the juice from the lime you pluck it from his mouth, delicately licking the last drop from his bottom lip. He lets out a groan too low for anyone else to hear over the music that fills the penthouse but you hear it. You feel it.

“So, what’s your name again, sugar?” you ask, tugging at his hair a little harder. His eyes nearly roll back at how satisfying the pain is.

“Wooyoung, sugar. What’s yours?” he whispers, sliding his hands down to cup your ass. You’re wearing a thong, leaving almost nothing between the warmth of his palms and the smooth skin of your ass. He gives it a gentle squeeze and you let out an airy moan that falls on his tongue as sweet as candy.

“Mmmm” you hum, grinding down on his clothed cock just enough to make it twitch, “Be a good boy tonight and maybe I’ll tell you.”

Your best friend Anya flicks at one of the silver star charms decorating your hair as she walks by hand in hand with an equally pretty boy you’re sure you heard someone call “Yeosang” earlier.

“She’s not being a tease is she?” she jokes.

You roll your eyes, playfully swatting her hand away, “I’m not a tease.”

Wooyoung only shrugs, “She is a tease but that’s okay. I like it.” He squeezes your ass harder and a little squeak escapes you.

“Hey! I said you had to be good” you scold, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt.

He releases his hold on you, fingertips petting the small of your back, “I’m sorry. I’ll be good.”

“You swear?” you pout, enjoying how easily he’s gotten wrapped around your finger.

Wooyoung raises a pinky and hooks it around yours, “Pinky swear.”

For a fleeting moment you catch yourself falling for his charms. It’s difficult not to when he’s this hot. In fact, every man in this room is drop dead gorgeous. When Anya first asked you to work this bachelor party with her you were dreading it. Bachelor parties are usually filled with drunk, messy men who can barely string a sentence together let alone be charming.

It’s always good money but you weren’t in the mood to be gawked at by a bunch of asshole frat boys or handsy businessmen so you had every intention of telling her no. You much preferred your bed to a second of that but after all the times she’s had your back you couldn’t bring yourself not to do her this favor so you threw on your cutest lingerie, strapped on your stilettos, and got your cute ass over here.

Much to your surprise and relief this is nothing like other bachelor parties you’ve worked. Of course they wanna see you naked. They wanna touch you, watch you dance for them. That’s the same with every man. But this group is so generous, so sweet, so willing to tend to the two of you that you’ve almost forgotten that you were working.

“Could you be a sweetheart and grab me a drink?” you ask, batting your eyelashes, “My throat’s a little dry and someone drank my last shot of tequila.” That someone being him.

Wooyoung laughs, lifting you off of him and placing you carefully at his side, “Of course. Anything for you. What do you want?”

As Wooyoung rises from the couch you swing your feet up and he catches you by the ankles, slowly massaging your legs. You shrug, nibbling at your lip while his hands slip closer to your pillowy thighs, “Surprise me.”

“Surprise you…” he nods, his fingers sinking into your thighs, “Okay. I can do that.” He leans forward, kissing the inside of your knees before he wanders off to get you a drink.

Lying back on the couch you catch an inverted view of Anya chatting up Yeosang and finding any excuse to feel his muscles through his shirt. After a bit another man slips in beside her. You’re able to eavesdrop close enough to hear her say his name. Jongho. You’re sure he’s the youngest of the group. He’s quiet, difficult to read, but such a cutie.

Speaking of cuties, you wonder how the man of the night is doing. Hongjoong—that’s the one name you absolutely had to remember—he’s the one getting married in a few days and you must admit his fiance’s one lucky girl. He was kind when the two of you arrived, offering you drinks and making sure you settled in fine, but he’s acted so innocent all night.

You’re sure he still hasn’t moved from that spot in the corner where he’s been sitting nursing the same drink all night. Every few minutes he checks his phone. You’re sure it’s to text his fiance. Some girls might be offended by that but you can’t bring yourself to care. You find it quite sweet actually and you get paid either way.

“Aaah…” you gasp at the sensation of something cool kissing your skin. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you look up to find Wooyoung standing over you balancing an ice cold glass of something on your belly.

He giggles at the shock on your face, sliding it up your body to watch how your back arches in response. “For you, pretty girl.”

Carefully you take the glass, admiring the electric blue syrup swirling around inside of it. You raise it to your lips, sipping at the sweet liquid. Wooyoung kneels down beside you, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind your ear as you drink. He studies your side profile in silent fascination, admiring all of the finer details of your face. It’s a cliche thought, he knows this, but he can’t help wondering how such a delicately beautiful creature ended up in a line of work like this. Then again, with a face like this and a body like that, why wouldn’t you make men pay to be in your presence?

“How’s it taste?” he asks, only barely breaking himself from his trance.

His voice is low and dripping with need. His breath skims your neck like a trail of kisses and you catch yourself wishing that it were. Your pulse races, the tingling between your thighs growing too intense to ignore. You turning a guy on at work? It happens everyday. A guy turning you on? That’s never happened before, not during a single night on the job, but there’s a first time for everything isn’t there?

“You tell me,” you say, offering him a sip. As you do so your hand trembles enough for some of the alcohol to spill over the brim and onto your fingers.

Wooyoung locks eyes with you, deep pools of brown pulling you into his gaze. Setting the glass down on the floor, he takes you by the wrist, gently stroking it as he presses your fingers to his lips. His tongue darts out, twirling around each and every finger to lick them clean. You never could’ve predicted that something like this would get you wet but here you are. That tingling between your thighs? It’s unbearable now. You squeeze them together, bringing your attention to how wet he’s managed to get you. You hate it and love it all at once.

“You taste delicious” he grins, kissing your inner wrist.

It makes you shiver and you pull your hand back, fighting to get a hold on yourself, “I thought we were talking about the drink, not me.”

Wooyoung shrugs, running his fingers down your side, “I don’t know, were we?”

You should stop him but lust has you locked in place, letting his hand venture below your waist without a word of protest on your part. He squeezes the plush of your thigh, tucking a thumb between them so that it hovers a mere inch away from the wet fabric clinging to your warmth. In this moment everyone else in the room fades away. Even the music seems as if it’s traveled miles to reach your ears. You can only focus on each other. The way your breath hitches the closer he gets to stroking your clit through the lace. The way his eyes seem to twinkle as he watches you grow more and more needy for him as the seconds pass. His thumb’s so close you can almost feel it. Something in you tells you to shift your body down on the couch a little bit, close the distance and give yourself that relief you want so badly.

“You didn’t pay for that” you snap, shooing his hand away, “That’s not on the menu, babe.”

Without missing a beat Wooyoung retrieves his phone from his back pocket, swiping on the screen a few times before handing it over to you. It’s a CashApp screen and the keyboard’s already up for you to type your name into the search bar.

“Can I request something off the menu then?”

You shoot upright on the couch, shocked by what you see on the screen. “You’re joking” you laugh, motioning to hand his phone back.

Wooyoung stops you before you can, his expression more serious than you’ve seen it all night. “I want you.”

“You can’t afford me.”

“Try me…”

You wait for him to give it up but he doesn’t waver, not in the slightest. You huff, finding your account and tapping in an amount triple your fee for dancing. “There. You happy?”

Wooyoung happily takes his phone back, hitting a single button before presenting you with the screen. “As long as you are.”

“Holy shit” you gasp, eyes glued to the screen. He actually did it. He sent you the money. Truth be told if he kept up all the teasing you probably would’ve slept with him before the night was over anyway but the fact that he was willing to pay for it? That’s a twist you didn’t see coming.

“You…you’re crazy” you giggle, cupping that wonderfully defined face of his, “Fucking insane.”

Wooyoung doesn’t seem offended by that in the least. In fact, he takes it as a compliment. “But you like it…” he grins as he stands back up, sweeping your drink up with one hand and extending the other to you, “Don’t you?”

You stare at him defiantly, refusing to respond. Not that you need to. The answer’s written all over your face in that faint smile you couldn’t chase away if you tried. A smile that lingers there as he takes you by the hand, guiding you down the nearby hallway and into the master bedroom of the penthouse.

The rest of the penthouse is gorgeous, the sort of place you only see in design magazines, and the master bedroom’s no different. It’s dimly lit with soft white light emitting from a sleek Swedish lamp in the corner. The pristine white walls are adorned with intricate paintings, all originals. All of the furniture’s designer, most notably the king size bed positioned across the room opposite ceiling to floor windows that overlook the city. You’re up much too high for anyone to see you but it feels like you can see the whole world from here.

Wooyoung quickly takes notice of how charmed you are by the view. “You can check it out if you want,” he says, taking a seat on the edge of the bed, “I’m not in a rush.” He can’t hold back his amusement at how giddy you are rushing over to the window to take in the sights. You’re quite possibly the cutest thing ever.

“Whose place is this anyway?” you ask, unable to peel yourself away from the twinkling lights of the city below. Usually you steer clear of personal questions—it’s better that way—but something about Wooyoung makes you comfortable enough to ask.

Chugging the rest of your drink, he lays back on the bed, glaring up at the spiraling design on the ceiling. “You remember the tall one? Kinda goofy?”

You run down a mental list of the boys at the party and narrow it down to two. “Which one?”

Wooyoung nearly chokes laughing, “Which one? Oh my god.”

“What?” you pout, truly not meaning any harm, “There’s two of them.”

“Mingi, the one with the deep voice. This is his place. He moved in, I don’t know, a month ago. Nice isn’t it?”

“Do you all live like this?” There you go again, asking questions you know you shouldn’t.

Wooyoung turns to look at you, his reflection immediately capturing your attention. “For the most part, yeah.”

You spin around to face him, on the verge of melting under the heat of his gaze, “Are you a drug dealer or something, Woo?”

He lets that question linger in the air, gesturing for you to come to him. “Come here, beautiful. You’re too far away.”

You skip over to the bed, your body jiggling so deliciously that he’s tempted to send you back over to the window just to see you come back again. Hopping onto the bed, you throw one leg across his waist, straddling his lap. “Better?”

He cups your cheek, bringing you in so that you’re face to face, his lips skimming yours once more. “Better.”

“You didn’t answer my question” you whisper, rocking your hips against a bulge that’s even harder for you than before.

Wooyoung loops an arm around your waist, keeping you flush against him, “If I answer your question will you tell me your name?”

“Mmhmm” you whine at the friction between you.

The fabric of your panties is flimsy enough that you can feel the texture of his pants—the pressure of his cock straining against them. It makes your mind go fuzzy. Wooyoung knows this because you’re doing the same to him.

“I’m a very bad man who does very bad things but not that. Not anymore” he confesses, flipping you onto your back in one effortless motion.

Any attempt you could’ve made to respond is silenced when his lips finally crash into yours. You teased him for hours, taking every opportunity to almost kiss him knowing from the start how badly he wanted you. Now that he can finally have you—satisfy the hunger that’s been building inside all night—he’s ravenous, holding nothing back.

“Your turn” he whispers between your lips, flipping you onto your back in one fluid motion, not once breaking the kiss.

The room’s still spinning when you part your lips to answer his question. As a rule you always give a fake name—one of the pretty ones that you and Anya came up with to stop creeps from finding you out in the real world—but for some reason you can’t lie to Wooyoung. With him kissing you like he wants to devour your very soul, the only possible thing you can spill out is the truth.

Wooyoung kisses his way down your neck, inhaling the sugary scent of your perfume as he drags his tongue between your breasts. “Such a pretty name. I like it.”

“I…I like your name too” you stutter, fingers combing through his hair, “Wooyoung’s a pretty name.”

Catching the fabric of your top between his teeth, he tugs harshly, causing the knots holding it together to slip. Your lush breasts fall free from your top, the tiny hairs on your arm standing up at the feeling of your stiff buds brushing the fabric of his shirt.

“Mmm, say it again” he groans, the tip of his tongue swirling around your nipple, “It sounds so fucking good when you say it.”

Taking your bud between his teeth, he sucks harshly at it, treating you to a combination of pain and pleasure that’s nothing short of addictive. Wedging a knee between your legs, he pushes your thighs apart, reaching down to knot your panties in his fist. Your body jerks as he snatches them away, leaving your dripping pussy exposed. Slipping two fingers between your folds, he spreads you open, letting his middle finger slide back and forth across your clit.

“Wooyoung…mmph…” you moan, arching into his touch, “Woo…aah”.

Wooyoung dips his fingers down to your clenching hole, stretching you open enough to give you a taste of what your body’s begging for.

“You want more, baby?” he teases, drooling around your swollen nipple.

“Yes, please” you beg, your breath hitching as his fingers, already slick with your arousal, push into you.

His movements are slow at first. Two fingers sliding in and out of you, gently stroking your pulsing walls. Your walls are so velvety and warm that he could spend all night petting them. No pussy’s ever felt this good wound around his fingers. His cock aches at the thought of how heavenly it must be to be inside of you. But that’s not truly where his head is right now. He’s solely focused on sneaking a third finger into your pussy, quickening his pace to make sure you never stop making all these pretty noises.

Wooyoung’s fingers are like magic and he’s insanely attentive, effortlessly picking up on your sweet spots and hitting them every single time. Wave after wave of pleasure washes over you, pushing you so close to your high that your lips are quivering. Wooyoung may be a very bad man who does very bad things but he’s so so good to you.

You tug at his hair, wanting another kiss but unable to form the words to ask for one. Guessing what you want—he wants it too—he leans up and pulls you into another kiss. Your lips collide right on the edge of your orgasm, his tongue dancing with yours as the euphoria hits and you clench around his fingers.

“Good girl” he praises, “Are you always this gorgeous when you cum or is this just for me?”

His admiration only heightens the intensity of your orgasm. That coupled with the fact that he hasn’t let up on you has you ready to fall apart right here and now. After a couple seconds you figured he’d slow down, give you some time to recover, but no, he just keeps going.

“One more for me” he whispers, bringing his thumb up to rub your clit.

“Woo, I can’t. Too much” you whine, grabbing onto his shirt hard enough to tear it.

He doesn’t care if you do. He meant it when he said you’re gorgeous when you cum. Your faces are perfection and your body’s glowing. When you look like this you could tear up everything he owns and he’d let you get away with it.

“You can do it, baby. Just look at you. You’re already so close again, aren’t you?” he coos, kissing you on the cheek.

A split second. That’s all you get to come down, if you can call it that, before the pressure’s building again and you’re coming so hard it has your ears ringing. This time he shows you mercy, gradually slowing his motions, showering you in the sweetest kisses while you come down. Climbing off of you, he stands at the foot of the bed, licking his drenched fingers.

“I was right. You are delicious.”

You roll your eyes, trying hard not to give away how sickeningly hot you find him. “Are you always like this?”

There it is again. That mischievous grin that he’s been flashing you all night. The one you can blame for getting you into this situation to begin with. He pulls his shirt over his head, revealing a tattooed chest you just can’t wait to dig your nails into.

“Like what?” he asks, undoing his belt.

“Like a menace” is what you want to say but you can’t. Wooyoung’s pants are at his ankles now and he has the nerve to stand there like he doesn’t know how glorious his cock is. You don’t need a fully lit room to see how flawless, how beautifully veined, how totally made for you it is.

“Like what, cutie?” he repeats, grabbing your ankles and dragging you to the edge of the bed. Tucking his hands behind your knees, he pushes your legs back, spreading them open to push the head of his cock up against your twitching pussy.

You moan at the satisfying warmth of his arousal coating your slit, hips pressing down to stretch yourself with the tip.

“I don’t even know anymore. I’m just so…so…”

“So pretty…” he grunts, driving his length into you so deep that you feel it in your chest. Every word he says is accompanied by a thrust that rocks you to your core, little dots of color decorating your vision. “So beautiful. So fucking sexy when you take my cock.”

Your pussy’s unlike anything he’s ever felt before. It’s enough to make his head spin and his knees weak. His cock’s never indulged in something this decadent. It’s so good—maybe too good. When you first walked through the door tonight Wooyoung knew it would be. Something about you said you were sitting on a pussy like gold and he wasn’t wrong. Not even a little bit.

You can’t even pretend that you don’t feel the same way. You’re bouncing back against his cock, clamping down on him like you’ll die if he pulls out. Every stroke of his cock floods your senses with pleasure, worsening the moisture leaking from your needy hole onto the expensive sheets. It’s so overstimulating. The length. The thickness. How he throbs in response to every flutter of your walls, filling you up exactly how you need to be filled.

Shifting angles, he mercilessly drills into your sweet spot, making you lose control of your already weakened limbs. You can’t raise your hips. You can’t bounce back on him. You can’t do anything at all besides lay there and take every inch of cock that he feeds you. It’s only a matter of time before your breath’s hitching again, that airy feeling overtaking your body.

“Look at me” he commands when your head falls back, glossy eyes rolling to the back of your head. Letting one of your legs drop, he slaps a hand down on the softness of your belly and grips it hard enough to sting.

“Mmph, Woo…” you moan, teary eyes finding his gaze as your nails rake across the sheets. There’s a darkness in his expression that intimidates you as much as it turns you on.

A smile tugs at his lips at the sound of your broken voice moaning his name. “You look at me when you cum or I’ll stop. You don’t want me to stop, do you, baby?”

You shake your head, pouting cutely. You make him weaker than you can imagine but that’s not enough for him. He knows you can do better than that.

Slowing down to an agonizingly slow pace, he drags his fingers down your belly to play with your clit. “I don’t believe you. I think you want me to stop.”

“No, don’t stop” you whine, rocking up and down his length, “I won’t look away. I promise. Fuck me, Youngie, please.”

Wooyoung folds for you in an instant, fucking into you hard enough that the headboard’s rocking. You reach out for his hand and he gives it to you, fingers interlacing with yours as your high takes you under.

This is the third time he’s seen you cum—the third time he’s watched you moan and arch and cry out for him—and each time’s more perfect than the last. Good thing this isn’t the last. In fact, it’s far from it. You’re his for the night and by the time he’s done with you he’ll have every face you make, every desperate little moan, committed to memory.

#ateez x reader #ateez x you #ateez x female reader #ateez smut #wooyoung smut #wooyoung x you #wooyoung x reader #chubby reader #plus size reader

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kaneaken · 3 days ago

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author's note; bringing forth my soft capitano agenda with a short drabble

content notes; gn!reader, established relationship (married), you adopt ororon for a bit, mention of having children (as in raising them together), slight hurt/comfort, slight spoilers about capitano's origins

When you hear your husband's been injured in an altercation with the Pyro Archon, you were rushing out of the Fatui camp immediately. Multiple Fatui soldiers chase after you, telling you to return to camp.

"Lord Capitano will have our head if their partner gets injured! Move!" You hear one of the soldiers call out to their comrades. You ignore them. The only thing on your mind is to make sure your husband is alright. You know he's strong, stronger than you know, but it doesn't ease your stress.

In your focused state, you don't notice the man you're worried about approaching. You bump into his chest, almost tumbling over if not for him catching you by the shoulders.

"What are you doing outside of the camp, beloved?" He asks, looking down at you. You don't answer, your hands quickly moving about in search of his wounds.

"I heard what happened. Are you okay? Does it hurt? Where did you get hit?" You sputter out your questions, not bothering to let him answer.

"Excuse me..." A voice interrupts, causing you to turn your head. You make eye contact with a dark-haired male. He definitely wasn't a Fatui soldier, but his clothing reminded you of the locals.

"Who is this?" You ask, turning back to Capitano.

"A child from the Masters of the Night Wind. He assisted with my escape," Capitano answers. He readjusts his hand, leading you back to the camp with his hand on your back.

The male walks beside the two of you, interjecting whenever needed to explain himself.

Ororon is his name. You learn much about him as he spends time at the Fatui encampment. Whenever your husband is out, you find yourself making small talk with Ororon.

You learn about his garden. You smile when he promises to bring you some of his vegetables. He tells you about his family back home. He tells you that his granny will be especially furious with him when he returns home. You wonder what kind of woman his granny is.

As the days go by, you realize Ororon is a very sweet, young boy. You find yourself worrying about him more. When he goes out to search for herbs, you secretly tell the soldiers accompanying him to keep a very close watch of him. You always offer him an extra serving of food despite your husband's insistence that he's eaten enough.

"You're overfeeding him, beloved."

"It's better than underfeeding!"

When Ororon returns home for the first time, your husband notices your faltered state.

"You spoiled that child as if he was your own. I fear you have become too attached, beloved," Captiano remarks as he takes a seat next to you.

"Ah, I suppose so..." You admit. You chuckle soflty, resting your head on his shoulder. "We don't have any of our own, so I suppose I was just projecting."

"Children..."

"It's a silly dream of mine. Don't worry."

Capitano shakes his head. "It isn't silly at all. I suppose... I never believed you'd want children, especially with a man such as I."

That shocks you. You lift your head, facing him. "Why wouldn't I? There isn't anyone else I'd rather have children with."

You understand his hesitating. The curse he bears makes the future he once dreamed of almost impossible. You don't want him to believe that. He deserves a future as much as any other person.

"You'd be a wonderful father," You reassure, placing your head on his shoulder once again.

"You truly believe that?"

"I do."

#genshin x reader #capitano x reader #nene.writes #ororon totally brings you guys veggies as a thank you

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callmecoke · 1 day ago

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Thinking of the first time the 141 discover you on a website for Sugar Babies...p2

CW: mention of sex work (being a sugar baby), SFW much like the last one, but it does deal with adult topics so proceed with caution!

Thinking about the time your friends introduced you to this website, partially as a joke. A place where ‘Sugar babies’ can do live videos for rich guys and galls so they can rack in tons of money just by talking. Honestly, you didn’t even consider it initially. It was all just a fun litle joke.

But, eventually, life caught up to you. Out of a job with bills to pay and school to go to, you were left scrambling to get ahead. Of course, friends were more than happy to lend you some cash for your hard times, but that wasn’t even a temporary solution to your problem. You needed something that could keep you afloat long enough to find a job. Ergo, the website. It was the last idea on your mind and honestly, as you were opening up your laptop you were starting to regret it. Felt kinda embarrassing to put yourself out there and admit you needed money from rich older guys to get by. But your dignity would have to wait for later; you had bills to pay and food to put on your table.

You booted up the livestream and, having no idea where to go from there, just started talking. Eventually A small amount of viewers would pop in and you had questions to entertain. No one really tipped over 10 dollars on the stream. You tried to be energetic, hoping that maybe you would bring in more viewers that way, but it clearly wasn’t working. Nearly an hour goes by, and you’re starting to be disillusioned and a little disappointed. You start considering closing the stream down when a 200 dollar tip lights up your laptop screen, followed by a question from a no name account.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

You hadn’t been paid that much the entire stream, and it got the excitement back rushing in your veins. You answered “No!” a little too quickly for your liking but when the answer was followed up by another 100 dollar tip, you knew you didn’t embarrass yourself too much.

All then you started chatting with this mystery account. They asked you all sorts of questions. They asked about your old job, the course you're studying, what you want to be when you leave school, your hobbies, ect. And you started to actually enjoy talking to this person. Not even for the money (All though, admittedly, still a big part of it), but just because there’s someone on the other side of the world that’s interested in your life.

Eventually the stream did have to end when you looked up and realised how late it had gotten. By the time you were closing the stream and checking your account, you realised you had made around 1,000 dollars already. It felt great to see some actual money in your account for once. Before you finally shut down your laptop for good, you got a private dm request on the website, along with another 500 dollar sent to you.

“Hey, Love. Me and the boys want you to know we appreciate the chat. Hope to hear that sweet voice of yours again soon.

Sincerely,

-Price.”

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marauder-misprint · 16 hours ago

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'You were important'

Sirius Black x Fem!Slytherin!reader

9.5k words

cw: Minor use of y/n, fluff, swearing, mentions of Walburga’s great parenting, hurt/comfort, swearing

You’re not exactly sure when you first met Sirius. You both came from unhappy homes. His was just empty of love in general; his parents, cold and disconnected, held impossible expectations of him. Yours was a broken love; parents that had onced loved each other but only stayed together out of obligation to you. You knew your parents tried to hide their growing distaste for each other from you, but they were bad at it. Their arguments filled the house almost nightly.

Your friendship with Sirius was born out of literal escapism. You had taken to going to the park near your house whenever you couldn’t take being in the house anymore. At one point, the curly haired boy started showing up and you’d sit on the swings together. It wasn’t until a while later that you actually talked to him. And the two of you became friends, disparaging your parents together.

“Some people just shouldn’t be parents,” you had said to him once.

He agreed. The two of you made your own fun as two unsupervised kids did: he liked to break things and you liked to set things on fire. You weren’t always causing trouble, sometimes opting to go exploring down every alley within the surrounding neighborhoods. But at the end of the day, you’d always go back to your own homes. You could easily be described as best friends, despite not knowing his last name and he yours.

Your friendship hit what you thought would be a minor bump at the end of the summer after you both turned eleven. You were hanging out at your usual park, chatting at the swings like you always did. He told you that he had been enrolled in a boarding school. You stared at him, silent for a beat, but then you told him that you had been too.

“So… I’ll see you at Christmas?” he asked.

“Yeah. Don’t go forgetting about me.”

“It’s just school. I won’t forget you.”

Little did you know that you would be going to the same school as him. You had managed to not see him on the platform, on the train nor on the boats. You didn’t see him at all prior to the sorting ceremony.

“Sirius Black.”

The dark curls you were all too familiar with walked up the steps to the tri-legged stool and the sorting hat was placed on his head.

After a few moments, it shouted, “GRYFFINDOR!”

The table of crimson and gold erupted into the cheers while the rest of the hall seemed to fill with whispers of uncertainty. You understood their whispers. You would have to have been a muggle to not know about the Black family. As you waited for your turn to be sorted, your mind spun with questions to ask him when you had the chance. How had he never mentioned his last name? How had there been no accidental magic between the two of you? Was everything he said about his parents true? What about the rumors about him? How come you had never seen his brother?

You were ripped out of your thoughts at the call of your name. You climbed the steps and took a seat on the stool for your sorting. You glanced over at him. He was staring at you with a white face. You were only given a singular moment of eye contact before the hat made its decision.

“SLYTHERIN!”

As you made your way to the green and silver table, you tried to find his eyes again, but he wouldn’t look your way. And it stayed that way. For the whole first week, he wouldn’t look at you and always made a point to not be near you, which wasn’t difficult as he surrounded himself with his fellow Gryffindors. You didn’t speak until he approached you in the library.

“How are you here?” he whispered, pretending to look for a book in the same section as you. His voice made you jump.

“I could ask you the same thing,” you hissed back at him. “Never mentioned you’re a wizard.”

“You didn’t either.”

“Technically, I’m a witch. You never said your last name.”

“Some muggles know my family.”

Silence.

“We’re going to pretend we don’t know each other,” he said.

“What?” you asked, turning to face him despite him still not looking at you.

“You don’t know me. I don’t know you.”

Then he grabbed a random book from the shelf and walked away. You watched him walk away in utter shock. How were you supposed to pretend you didn’t know him?

Sirius took what he said to you very seriously. You were just another Slytherin to him, someone as bad as the rest of his pure-blood-obsessed family. You weren’t friends anymore. Despite making your own friends, the semester felt lonely.

You had hope that over Christmas break he’d come to the park. The promise of seeing each other at Christmas was a spark of hope that lingered in your chest. A spark that was extinguished when he didn’t appear at the park; you were there almost every day for several hours. It was then that you gave up on those years of friendship. You’d have to learn to survive your parents without his company.

---

You wonder if he thought about you as much as you thought about him. You weren’t friends anymore. You hadn’t spoken in years except for minor interactions.

“Excuse me.”

“Can you pass the frog warts?”

“Here.”

“Can I get through?”

“Thanks.”

Yet Sirius still haunted your mind. You weren’t friends. But you cared for him. And caring for him was a distraction from your own home life. You just couldn’t show how much you cared for him in the normal ways, but it seemed as if fate knew that and gave you Regulus. Another boy who lived in the same house as Sirius with the same parents. You made it your mission to befriend him, letting him tell you details about his life and hiding how much you knew from Sirius. He didn’t tell you much, nor did he ask much about you. You had a quiet mutual understanding with Regulus, and that was enough for you. It was that understanding that made you two best friends. His walls slowly came down when he was around you. You were easily the one he trusted the most at Hogwarts and he became yours. It was an easy friendship. You treasured that, even if it sometimes reminded you of what you had had with Sirius.

---

You had gotten used to being at the park by yourself. Sirius was never there anymore. You did a double take when you saw a boy with dark curly hair sitting on the swing. For a moment, you thought it was Sirius, but the hair was too short and not curly enough. His frame was thinner. Then it hit you. Regulus.

You sprinted up to him and stood in front of him. He was silently crying. You had known him long enough to recognize the signs without actually seeing his face; he was an expert at hiding it. You knew he’d rather die than have anyone see him cry.

“Regulus,” you breathe, kneeling down in front of him.

You hear his breath hitch and he looks up from his lap. The expression on his face makes you want to cry. It makes you want to hold him, using your grip to put his broken pieces back together. It hurts your soul to see him like this. The look changes from extreme hurt and sadness to confusion.

“How are… how are you here?” he asks.

You reach out to hold his hands. He doesn’t pull them away.

“Doesn’t matter right now. What’s wrong? What happened?”

“Sirius,” Regulus says, his voice tight. “He ran away. I don’t think he’s coming back.”

You press your lips into a thin line. Even based on what Regulus has told you, which didn’t measure up to everything Sirius had ever told you, you know that him being alone in that house wasn’t a good thing. You give his hands a squeeze, hoping it offers some kind of comfort.

“You’re going to be okay.” Maybe if you speak it into existence, it will be true. “You’re strong. You’re resilient. You’ve done all you can to make your parents proud. They can’t…”

He shakes his head before cutting you off. “They don’t have to be upset with me to be upset at me.”

“Do… do you know where he went?”

“I’m assuming the Potters.”

“Do you have somewhere to go?”

He blinks at you, emotion slowly draining from his face.

“I can’t leave.” It’s a firm statement.

“Regulus,” you say, almost pleading, but he just shakes his head again.

“I have to stay. I can’t leave. I don’t expect you to understand.”

“Regulus.” Your voice is softer, but your grip on his hands is stronger. “What if you had somewhere to go?”

He shakes his head again. “I told you. I have to stay… I should be getting back soon. Mother won’t be happy I’ve been gone so long…”

“Regulus Arcturus Black,” you say, trying to hold his attention. He looks into your eyes and you can see all the pain he’s holding in. “I don’t live far from here. My home’s not much, but it’s better. Safer.”

“Better? Safer?” he scoffs.

“I come here often. I’ll be here if you change your mind,” you say, knowing he won’t. He was too proud and too determined to survive without Sirius.

“I’ll see you at school.”

You watch as he walks away and you just know that you’re going to have to piece him back together when the fall comes. From what you know Sirius endured, you know he’ll need a careful hand.

---

Come the fall, you find you were right. Regulus was numb to the world. He was silent and emotionless as the rest of his friends greeted him, pulling him into the compartment where you were.

“Regulus,” you say as he sits next to you.

His back is pin-straight, like he couldn’t even think about slouching. You reach out to touch his arm when he doesn’t acknowledge you. When your hand touches his bicep, he turns to look at you and you see the sadness creep up into his face. You adjust how you’re sitting so you can pull him into you. He falls into your chest, not bothering to say anything and certainly not attempting to resist your touch.

“I should have listened,” he mumbles into your arm that’s wrapped tightly around him.

“I know,” you whisper.

He stays in your arms for most of the ride to Hogwarts, getting more comfortable as time passes and he shifts to periodically participate in the conversation with Dorcas, Pandora, Evan and Barty. The more time he spends with the group, the more life gets breathed back into him. It’s not much, but it’s something. By the time the train pulls into Hogsmeade Station, he’s laughed once and there’s a hint of a small spark of life in his eyes again. He throws an arm around your shoulder and pulls you into his side as you walk toward the carriages.

“Thank you,” he whispers, his breath hot on your ear.

You turn to look up at him. “Don’t be thanking me just yet, Reg.”

He chuckles softly.

“Love, you were somehow there when he left. That in itself is enough for me to be showering you in gratitude.”

“Going soft on me, are you?” you laugh, leaning more into his side.

He rolls his eyes, a sign his old self is still there.

“I care for you. And I’ll be damned if I ever let you forget that.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “I don’t think I can.”

“Good.”

You stay by his side all through dinner and all evening in the common room. You didn’t let the boy out of your sight until you walked him to his dorm and he bid you goodnight. Once the door closes between you, you let your cheerful mask fall. You had tried to catch Sirius’ eyes during dinner but he seemed to look everywhere but the Slytherin table. It soured your mood, but you wouldn’t let Regulus see that. You had to be strong and gentle for Regulus. For the Black that wouldn’t fully push you out of his life. Not that you would give Regulus the option to do that.

You could feel Dorcas and Pandora’s eyes on you as you stalk across the common room towards your dorm. You had been positively beaming when you walked away with Regulus and now, without him, you were scowling. They corner you in your dorm as you brush your hair, preparing for bed.

“So, you and Black?” Pandora asks, her tone light.

“What do you mean, Dory?” you respond, looking at her in the mirror’s reflection.

“Seemed cozy. Close. Almost like Evan and Junior,” Dorcas says.

You snort a laugh. “God forbid a girl has a male friend. He had a rough summer and you know he trusts me.”

“He put his arm around you after you held him the entire way here,” Dorcas points out and Pandora nods in agreement. “That’s something.”

“I assure you, it’s not.”

---

With each passing day, you and Regulus spend every spare second together, as you had in previous years. Only this time, you’re making sure that he is okay and present. It’s obvious to you every time he disappears into his mind. His eyes gloss over and any expression on his face dissipates into the numb expression he had when his parents dropped him off at Kings Cross. When you see him in passing, he has the look on his face and he’s more rigid than you had ever seen him previously. You know he’s just getting through the day and will relax once he’s back in the common room or library with you.

When he’s with you, you see his old self coming back, but there are still the effects of the summer without Sirius. He’s more jumpy and paranoid. You catch him glancing over his shoulder, and your shoulder, periodically, like someone is going to walk up and attack them. He flinches when people raise their voices or a room gets too loud. You do your best to tell people to quiet down or find a believable excuse for you and Regulus to leave. It works well enough and Regulus always gives you a grateful smile.

You’re not sure what possesses to check on Regulus a month or so into the term. You put on your robe before heading down to the common room. A hunched-over form scribbling away at one of the tables tells you that you don’t need to go to the dorms to find Regulus. He’s already up. You walk over to him, ensuring your steps make noise and going to sit across from him.

“What are you working on?” you whisper.

He still jumps at the sound of your voice.

“Reworking a Charms essay.”

“Didn’t I already proofread that for you? I thought it was done,” you ask, narrowing your eyes at the parchment.

“Uh, yeah. It was finished. But it can be better. It needs to be better. I don’t want to settle for an E. I want an O. Mother wants an O.”

He looks back down at his essay and continues to write until you reach over the table to put your hand on his wrist.

“Regulus, you’re supposed to be sleeping. And the essay you already wrote was O material.”

“I won’t be able to sleep until it’s perfect.”

“It is perfect.”

“Then more than perfect. It has to be better.”

“Regulus, look at me.”

He raises his eyes to look into yours. His grey eyes are bloodshot and his face pale.

“You need to sleep. It’s three in the morning.”

He shakes his head. “I won’t be able to sleep.”

“The essay is-” you start to say.

“It’s not the essay,” he cuts you off and then sighs. “I dream of home when I sleep.”

“Oh.”

There’s silence, except for the occasional crack or pop from the dying fire. Regulus stopped working on his essay. You try to think of a solution.

“What if… I stayed with you until you fell asleep?”

“You should be sleeping too, though.”

“I’ve gotten a few hours already,” you remind him.

“What if I dream of there again?” You can hear the fear in his voice and it breaks your heart.

“I can stay until morning, if you think your dormmates won’t mind,” you suggest. “I don’t think Junior would mind, but I don’t know about the others.”

At your offer, his eyes start pleading for you to do so.

“Please stay.”

You nod, stand up and hold out your hand to him.

“Come on then. Let’s get you to bed.”

He quickly collects his items from the table and takes your hand. You lead him back to his own dorm. Regulus lights a small light before he gets ready for bed. The curtains of the other beds in the room are pulled closed, giving the boys their own privacy. You sat on the edge of the only empty bed, obviously Regulus’ with all of the House of Black monogrammed items. You didn’t crawl under the covers until Regulus did. You let him get comfortable first before wrapping yourself around him.

“Just focus on my breathing, yeah?”

“And you won’t leave?”

“I’m not leaving until morning.”

Your presence in Regulus’ dorm becomes more common. He would let you know when he needed you there. Enchanted notes would fly into your dorm and wake you up if he woke up from a particularly horrid dream. You would be there in an instant, helping lull him back to sleep. Dorcas and Pandora said “I told you so” when rumors of you and Regulus dating circled briefly. You shut them down quickly. Whether anyone actually believed you wasn’t the point; it was that no one was talking about it. You did take pride in being scary when you needed to. You knew you had to split your focus between Regulus and lessons, not silly rumors.

Some days were better than others for Regulus. You knew it wasn’t going to be all sunshine and roses, but it was nice when those days came along. And you made sure to be there when a day just went to shit. Things had been trending upward the further you got into the semester. You had been able to become less attached at the hip with Regulus. He had spent some evenings with Junior and Evan and some others that you didn’t particularly care for. But he was opening up again to his other friends and that was good.

Then one of his enchanted notes flutters into your Potions class. Luckily, you are working in the back near the door so Slughorn doesn’t notice the parchment fly in and land in front of you. You quickly read over the note and raise your hand.

“Professor, may I use the loo?”

Slughorn looks a bit shocked at your interruption.

“Yes. Go. Be quick if you can.”

You nod and hurry out of the room. You find Regulus in the alcove he had described. He’s hugging his knees to his chest and visibility shaking. His face is hidden, but you know he’s been crying. You crouch next to him.

“Hey,” you say softly.

He flinches but then lifts his head. You were right; tears were streaming down his face.

“What happened?”

“I-I don’t kn-know. There was a n-noise a-a-and something hit me. I c-couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t see. I-I just ran.”

You wrap your arms around him. You hold him for a few minutes in silence, except for his ragged breathing and sniffles. You rub circles on his back and arm where your hands rest.

“Thank you for the note,” you whisper.

He nods. He doesn’t know why you’re thanking him for it, but who else was he supposed to send for? Sirius?

After the rest of classes, you decide to skip dinner. While you’re sure that Regulus would’ve benefitted from your presence, you needed to clear your head. You pace around the castle, corridor after corridor, floor after floor. You come across a door you’re unfamiliar with and you peer inside the room. Your face lights up at the piles of old broken crates. The room looked abandoned and you’re fairly certain you’ve never come across this room before. You crack your neck and launch spells at the crates, making them explode and catch fire. There must be some sort of enchantment on the room because the piles of crates never end. You are able to go through what must’ve been hundreds of crates until you are tired. Your system feels momentarily cleared.

---

Regulus sending for you during class set something off in you. While you had been mad at Sirius for leaving Regulus alone, now you are furious. You know part of your anger is fueled by what Sirius did to you, just casually ending a years-old friendship and never truly acknowledging you again. You waited for the right time, rage boiling inside of you. You hid it from Regulus and the girls, but it was there. You knew it was there.

When the moment presented itself, you approached Sirius and his friends. They had claimed a shady area by the Black Lake and were lounging around. It was secluded enough that you felt no shame in the scene you knew you were about to throw. You had decided that Sirius’ decision that you weren’t to acknowledge each other was done.

“What do you want?” Peter asks with a sharp tone. He is the first one to notice you.

At his question, the rest of the boys look up to see who was walking up to them. You notice a brief look of warning cross Sirius’ face.

“You left him alone,” you say, trying to be firm and steady but it comes out accusingly. You’re only looking at Sirius. You don’t care for the rest of them right now.

Sirius blinks at you. His expression is unreadable, not giving you anything to go off of.

“You two know each other?” Remus asks, sensing the tension you’re giving off.

“How could you leave him alone? In that house with them?”

“Padfoot, what’s she on about?” Peter asks. He’s giving you a wary look.

You know Sirius understands exactly what you’re getting at.

“This isn’t the place,” he says coolly.

“You left him behind and went to hide at the Potters,” you continue. You look at James briefly. “Full offense by the way.”

“Oi, what?” James gasps.

“Padfoot, is she talking about-?” Remus starts to ask.

“Regulus? Yeah, I am.” You shoot Remus a soft smile before turning back to Sirius with the anger bubbling up within you. “After everything, I know they were horrible to you, but how could you leave him there alone? Did you see him when they dropped him off?” A dry laugh escapes your lips and your voice rises. “Wait, of course not! You weren’t there for him. I know you stood between them and him for years but suddenly disappearing? That’s so fucking cowardly, you dipshit. He wasn’t prepared. He wasn’t ready.”

“Regulus is an open book, isn’t he?” Peter mumbles. “Airing the Blacks’ dirty laundry?”

You turn to Peter with a much more harsh look on your face. “I forgot that you all don’t know.” You don’t need to see Sirius’ face to know he’s giving you his own furious look of warning. One that says ‘Don’t you dare.’ “Sirius and I go way back. At least we did until he became the family disgrace and I wasn’t in the same house.”

“Sod. Off,” Sirius says. All calmness that had been in his voice previously was gone. “This isn’t about you.”

“It’s fucking about me when I’m the one putting him back together. When I was the one who found him. When I was the one who offered him somewhere safe. All because you left him.”

“He’s their golden boy. How bad could it be?” Peter asks, leaning back on his elbows as he stretches out.

“Wormtail, you stay out of it,” Sirius warns.

“You called him that.”

“Black, you could learn a thing or two about loyalty. You got a wicked case of abandoning people who care for you. Boys,” you cast a glance around the group, “just know it’s only a matter of time before he leaves you for dead because something better for him came up. Consider yourself warned.”

The boys watch as you stalk off toward the castle. You leave a thick silence in your wake. Once you are a safe distance away, the boys turn their glances to Sirius, who is fuming.

“So Sirius?” Remus asks, his words cutting through the silence.

He didn’t say anything, still staring in the direction you had gone.

“Padfoot,” James tries, “care to explain what that was? Or even, who?”

When Sirius still doesn’t say anything, Remus answers part of James’ question. “Y/N. She’s one of Regulus’ friends, I think. I see them around each other a lot. Slytherin, obviously.”

“Okay, but she said she goes ‘way back’ with Pads, not Regulus,” Peter points out.

“Yeah, because we do and they don’t,” Sirius finally speaks up. “We live… lived near each other. Met at a park when we were small. When being at home was too much.”

The others wait for him to say more. He doesn’t, at least not willingly.

“And?” Remus pries. “What was all of that?” He gestures to the space where you had berated him.

“Suppose the result of mixing my moving in with James and her friendship with my brother.”

“Okay, and the bit of about loyalty?” James asks. “Like, what was that?” He lets out an awkward laugh.

“I may or may not have told her we weren’t friends like a week into first year,” Sirius mumbles, not meeting any of their eyes.

The boys exchange confused looks with each other, not fully understanding.

“Why?” James follows up.

“I… don’t know. Some mix of betrayal of not knowing she was going to be here and her being a Slytherin, I guess. It felt like a connection to my family that I was able to separate myself from by being a Gryffindor, you know?”

Remus shakes his head. “But, mate, if you were friends before Hogwarts-”

Sirius cuts him off. “Try my closest confidant.”

“That’s even worse,” Remus continues. “I’d imagine she was pretty pissed when you left her. Coming here and you see a familiar face that tells you to fuck off?”

“I mean, I was pleasant to her. We just aren’t friends anymore! And we didn’t see each other at home anymore either.”

“I’m willing to bet that’s your doing though,” Peter says.

Sirius sighs and nods.

“Padfoot, Padfoot, Padfoot…” Remus breathes.

“Should you be concerned about Regulus though?” Peter asks, his voice small as he knows talking about his family isn’t Sirius’ favorite thing. “She seemed pretty stressed ‘bout it.”

“Mildly,” Sirius says shortly. “He’s stronger than she knows.”

Remus gives Sirius an unsure look. Remus has seen how often you hang around Regulus and assumes you two were probably as close as the Marauders were. Only differences being you didn’t share a dorm and were in different years. Sirius didn’t see Remus’ look. He didn’t want to feel the judgment of his friends right now. Not when he had been yelled at by his oldest friends, one who knew of his home life better than the Marauders did. You had been there when he was subjected to his parents’ moods and opinions year round as compared to only having to survive a few months with them.

Sirius didn’t sleep well that night. He kept tossing and turning but ultimately failed at becoming comfortable and falling asleep. He tried to just rest with his eyes closed. It didn’t help that his mind was endlessly spinning and replaying your words, your concern for Regulus and fury at him for leaving Regulus behind, rather than being happy for him finally escaping his tormentors.

The next day, he makes a point to find you after class. Being exhausted in class wasn’t conducive to paying attention, nor was still having you on his mind. His friends could tell he wasn’t in it; they mostly left him alone and tried to keep the professor’s attention off of him. Remus had made comments to James and Peter about thinking your intrusion had affected Sirius more than he would admit to them. Afterall, Sirius liked to keep his personal emotions close to his chest.

He finds you in the library with Pandora and Dorcas. He looks around nervously for Regulus, or Barty and Evan. He was more nervous about Regulus, but seeing Barty and Evan wasn’t my favorite scenario either. Luckily for him, it was just the girls. Dorcas and Pandora noticed him right away as he started to approach the table. You had continued working, not looking up.

“Uh, hey, Y/N,” he says awkwardly.

Dorcas and Pandora give him annoyed glares. You look up slowly.

“What, Black?” you all but spit at him. Had he not gotten enough of an earful yesterday?

“Can, uh, can we talk?”

Pandora cocks her head to the side as Dorcas glances quickly from Sirius to you and back. You blink at Sirius, as if bored. The girls next to you have never seen Sirius so unsure of himself, except maybe when he was walking up to be sorted, when the possibility of being a Slytherin still hung in the air.

“I guess,” you say with a sigh. “I’ll be back shortly,” you assure the girls as you follow Sirius into the depth of the shelves.

“How bad is he?” Sirius asks once you’re out of earshot of the girls.

You scoff. “Oh, so now you care.”

“I always cared. It’s just not something I talk about with the guys. He’s my brother.”

“He was wrecked when you left. Rightfully so, if you ask me. And he was ruined when he came back to school. You left him alone with them.” You were trying to keep your voice steady and low, not wanting to start a shouting match with him in the library.

Sirius sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

“Is that all you needed?” you ask. “Pretty sure I told you that yesterday.”

“How is he… now?”

You bite the inside of your cheek before answering. “He’s not the same, if that’s what you’re asking. Barely okay some days. It’s hit and miss, but overall, better the longer he isn’t there, I think. I’m worried about when he inevitably goes back. Christmas? Summer? All of our work this semester is going to go down the drain.”

“Our work?”

You roll your eyes. “Me, Dory, Dorcas, Evan, Junior. You know, the people that care about him.”

“I care about him.”

“The people that care about him enough to be around.”

“Being in that house was killing me. You know that. I had to get out.”

“It never would’ve killed you, Sirius. Drive you mad, yes. But not kill. Even on the worst days, you were never as bad as he is.”

“It’s not my fault he doesn’t have the common sense to get out.”

“He feels like he has to stay. I offered-”

“I know. You said yesterday. So he didn’t take you up on it and you still feel the responsibility to fix him?”

“It’s not a responsibility. It’s because he’s important to me. That’s why I helped fix you. You were important to me.”

Were echoes in his brain. Sirius shakes his head in slight disbelief.

“Still. He turned you away and you’re doing more than he’s asking of you. Why?”

You blink at him slowly and take a deep breath. What you wouldn’t give for it to be appropriate to smack him upside the head, but you needed to keep your composure.

“He came back to me. He’s opened up to me. He didn’t lock me out forever. Like you did.”

You feel like you need to scream.

“Excuse me.”

You turn and leave Sirius alone in the shelves. Pandora and Dorcas give you concerned looks as you take your seat again. They only look away from you when Sirius emerges from the shelves where you had left him. Their eyes follow him all the way out of the library before looking back at you and then refocusing on their own homework. You know they want to ask you what Sirius wanted but your demeanor says you aren’t talking about it now, and maybe never.

---

“What did you yell at my brother about?” Regulus asks you as you sit down next to him at dinner.

“Hm?”

“People are saying you yelled at Sirius and his friends yesterday. I think you scared a first year.”

“Reminded him that he’s a piece of shit.”

“What did he do this time?”

You give Regulus an intrigued look. “Why are you so interested?”

“My best friend chewing my own flesh and blood a new one? You’re kidding, right?”

“He came and talked to her in the library earlier,” Pandora adds, leaning forward.

Regulus turns fully toward you.

“First you yell at him and now he’s coming to talk to you? Darling?”

“Toldhimoffforleavingyou.” You have never spoken more quickly and quietly in your life.

“You did what?” Regulus gasps. Of course he understood you.

“He shouldn’t’ve and you know it,” you say, pointing your fork at Regulus before going to stab another piece of food. “Someone had to let him know and you obviously weren’t going to do it.”

“Because it was his choice.”

“Exactly. He chose to leave. He didn’t have to. He should’ve known better.”

“So you told him off. For me.”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t have to…” You see Regulus’ gaze drift over to where Sirius was sitting at the Gryffindor table and he frowns. “Maybe you shouldn’t have.”

You bite the inside of your bottom lip. It was easy to hide behind Regulus being your best friend as the sole reason, but yelling at Sirius had been cathartic. You finally got some sense of revenge for him abandoning you in first year. It felt so good to get that off your chest, at least in front of Sirius’ friends.

“It wasn’t just for you,” you mumble, half hoping that Regulus didn’t hear you.

“Then for who else?” Pandora asks.

Regulus turns back to you. He waits for your answer.

“For me.”

“For you?” Regulus repeats.

“I, uh, I was his friend before I was yours.”

Dorcas snorts from next to Pandora. “Bitch, when? You could barely look at him in first year and then Regulus was here.”

“Before Hogwarts. We live near each other.”

“He never mentioned a friend,” Regulus says softly.

“Okay, but then what happened? You’ve talked more in the past twenty four hours than the past six years,” Dorcas says.

“He said we weren’t friends anymore and yeah, that was that.”

Your friends all stare at you, each with a different expression on their face.

“Excuse me, what?” Dorcas asks.

You shrug. There wasn’t anything more to say; you could’ve mentioned that Sirius told you all about life at home, but you felt that was implied enough for Regulus.

“And you never talk?” Pandora adds.

“Huh,” is all Regulus says.

“So yelling at him was a little for me too. But the purpose was for you, Reg. He knows he shouldn’t’ve left.”

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” Regulus asks.

“I didn’t think it really mattered. The Sirius I was friends with wasn’t Sirius Black. He was just Sirius and I was just Y/N. We weren’t wizards. We were just kids at a park. And then everything changed and the past was the past.”

“Kids at a park…” Regulus mutters, putting two and two together. “The one you said you visit often?”

You nod.

“I suppose… that makes sense…” He’s speaking slowly as he is still processing the fact that you knew Sirius and were friends before he had even met you. “And he was the one who left you?”

You nod again. He hums and puts his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him.

“That’s his loss and my gain, I guess.”

You sigh in relief. Some part of you had thought Regulus would be furious that you hadn’t disclosed your previous friendship with his brother. Although, in your defense, like you had said, the Sirius you knew wasn’t Regulus’ brother. That Sirius had been an only child and a muggle. And if you could have had your way six years ago, you would’ve had both Black brothers as your friends.

---

Once again, what you had said kept Sirius up at night.

Were. Were. Were.

You were important to me.

He knew he was the reason he no longer was important to you. He had been the one to push you away. He had never found himself regretting it until now. As he goes through the next day’s classes, he wonders how he managed six years of ignoring you. You’re in almost every class he has. Your voice and laughter draw his attention. He never realized how much he missed hearing both, and even more so, being the cause of the laugh.

The rest of the Marauders aren’t oblivious to Sirius watching you, but they don’t say anything to him. They don’t understand how close the two of you had been before he ruined it. And they don’t understand that your yelling had really got in his head. That you coming to him, instead of listening to his command, forced him to realize how much he missed you and your friendship. He missed you and needed to fix it. He saw that he made a dire mistake pushing you away.

It takes him time to wrap his head around everything. After a week of trying to dissect your words in his head on his own, he swallows his pride and asks for help.

“What does it mean if someone says you were important to them?” Sirius asks, laying on his bed and staring at the ceiling.

“You need a grammar lesson? Okay.” Remus says. “Were. Used to be. Past tense. No longer important.”

“Is it a lost cause though?”

“Is what a lost cause?”

“Can you re-become important to someone?”

“I suppose it depends on what happened to make you unimportant to them.” Remus pauses, looking over Sirius. “Is this about Y/N?”

Sirius nods. He knows that Remus would be looking at him to see it.

“‘Fraid I don’t know enough about that to really say, Pads. She sounded beyond pissed at you.”

“How do I get her to see that I had to leave and taking Regulus with me wasn’t really an option?”

“You think James’ parents wouldn’t have taken him in too?”

“No, they would have. I don’t think Reg would have come with. Certainly not easily.”

“Did you ask him?”

“No. What if he told Mum what I was going to do? I was able to get out because I had surprise on my side.”

Remus thinks for a moment before responding. “When did y/n say that?”

“Last week, after she yelled at me. I went back to ask about Reg.”

Remus doesn’t say anything. Once again, he needs more information.

“She said Regulus is important to her. And I was.”

“And you want to change that?”

“The part about me, yes. I don’t mind that she cares for Reg. It’s… good he has someone. That he has her, of all people.”

Remus shakes his head and tries to stifle a laugh. Sirius looks over at him when he hears.

“What?”

“Padfoot, it’s really quite simple. I think you need to talk to her. Apologize for being an idiot. Maybe a bit of groveling. See if she has ideas on how you can help Regulus,” he says. “Girls like it when guys admit they were wrong. And you were wrong. Very. Extremely.”

“Shut up, Moony. I know. I know I was wrong.” He takes a breath. “And it’s hit me how much I miss her. I don’t know how I managed six years without her.”

“Tell her that. While you’re groveling on your knees. Begging.”

“Don’t make it sound so pathetic.”

“Can I come with to watch? I think it is going to be pathetic and that’s something I need to witness.”

“So you can tell everyone?”

“So I can tell everyone.”

---

Sirius corners you in the library. Well, not quite corners you. He finds you at a table alone. He sits next to you and turns your chair so you’re facing him.

“I was working,” you hiss at him.

“I need to talk to you.”

“Again?”

“Yes, again.”

“You only have a few minutes. Regulus is meeting me here after Quidditch practice. You need to be gone when he gets here.”

“Actually, I need to talk to him too. But you’re first.”

You narrow your eyes at him and cross your arms. You wait for him to talk.

“Okay. This is long overdue. I’m sorry.”

You scoff. “Sorry for what?”

“I wasn’t finished,” he says. “I’m sorry for pushing you away when we were first years. And for never talking to you. Never going back to the park. I was selfish and stupid. I still am stupid. The biggest idiot you’ve ever met.”

“I could’ve told you that, Black.”

He briefly purses his lips together at his last name.

“Continuing my idiocy, this is going to sound even more stupid. I didn’t realize how much I actually missed you until you yelled at me. I haven’t been able to get you out of my head. I don’t know how I survived the last six years without you. I need you in my life.”

You raise your eyebrows in surprise. “You missed me? Bit too late to be confessing that, don’t you think?”

“Yes, I know it is. That’s how stupid I am! Six years and being called a dipshit to get my head out of my arse.”

Your glare softens ever so slightly.

“So I’m sorry. I’m so, so, so sorry.”

“Okay.”

“Can I try to explain something? Do I have time?”

You sigh and lean backwards to see the clock.

“You have time.”

He smiles before his expression becomes serious again.

“I thought the only way to escape them was to leave on my own. To disappear out of the blue. If they had an inkling that I would actually leave, they might’ve stopped me. That’s why I didn’t say anything to Regulus. I wasn’t sure he’d want to come with, especially to the Potters’. I know I need to talk to Regulus on my own. But I want to try to fix it. I need to work on fixing my relationships with the Slytherins I never should’ve let leave my life.”

“I don’t think he would’ve said anything. Probably wouldn’t’ve gone with you, but he wouldn’t’ve been so goddamn blindsided.” You pause. “I don’t know if you can fix these relationships.”

“I need to try. Please. Let me try.” He got out of his chair and on his knees, as Remus suggested. “Please, Y/N. You were my first friend. The best friend I’ve ever had and I ruined it. Please, let me try to fix it.”

You’re looking down at him with wide eyes as Regulus approaches the table.

“What the actual fuck?” he asks.

Sirius immediately stands up, turning towards his brother.

“Regulus.”

“Sirius.”

“I’m sorry.”

Regulus put his bag down on the table, not breaking eye contact with his brother.

“Are you now?”

“I should have told you.”

“You should have stayed.”

“I couldn’t.”

Regulus sits down and looks away from his brother and at you.

“Regulus, I had to leave. I think for the same reasons you feel you need to stay. I know I was the one who left, but I don’t want to lose my brother.”

“You have James.”

“He’s not blood.” You knew it was hard for Sirius to say that. “You always have a place at the Potters’ if you want to leave. It’s okay to leave.”

“My invitation still stands too,” you say, speaking for the first time since Regulus joined you.

Regulus looks back at his brother and then to you again. He shakes his head.

“What is this?”

“I, uh, I am trying to start mending the bridges I burned with my idiocy,” Sirius says as he slowly sinks back into his chair. He looks at you. “Does he know about us?”

“About what?” Regulus spits.

“We were friends before Hogwarts. When I would disappear, I was usually with Y/N,” Sirius clarifies and Regulus’ face relaxes.

“Oh, that. Yes, I’m aware.”

You laugh, earning a sharp look from the librarian.

“Reg! Do you really think I’d be dating him without telling you?”

You were important. Sirius feels his face grow hot.

“Anyways!” Sirius says. “I want a second chance, even though I probably don’t deserve one from either of you.”

You look at Regulus, trying to read his expression. Sirius’ apology to you certainly felt more heartfelt than his to his own brother. Maybe there was a dynamic you weren’t familiar with between them, but you wanted Regulus to answer first. Your loyalty would be to him first. His face is stoney as he looks his brother up and down.

“Will you be better?” Regulus asks after a few seconds.

“I’m going to try. Whatever you need of me, except moving back in.”

“Of course there’s a caveat,” you sigh.

“No, no,” Regulus says, giving you a soft smile. “I wouldn’t ask you to move back in. But write? Keep me in the loop? Don’t prank me?”

“What about a friendly prank? Like something I would do to James, Peter, them.”

“Maybe.”

“And I will write. Daily, if you want. And even if you don’t stay, you’re welcome to visit the Potters’ or we can spend a day in the city or whatever.”

There is so much desperation in Sirius’ voice as he talks to Regulus that you almost feel bad for him. His apology could have used work, but he seems genuinely wanting to reconnect with Regulus outside of their parents’ grasp.

“And for you?” Sirius asks, turning his attention to you once Regulus seemed satisfied with him.

“What?”

“What will it take for a second chance?”

You look at Regulus, only to find him actively watching you. You can’t tell if he’s encouraging you to give him one or if he’s curious at what you’d require from him. You look back at Sirius with a grim face.

“I don’t know. I was never friends with Sirius Black.”

Sirius gives you a confused and hurt look. “But the park…”

“I was friends with a young boy named Sirius. He didn’t have a last name. He didn’t have a brother at home.” You sigh before continuing. “I suppose if Sirius Black wants to try to be friends, he can try and we’ll go from there.”

“Thank you. Thank you both. I promise I won’t blow it.” A wide smile is adorning his face as he stands up. “I’ll let you two study, but thank you.”

You both watch Sirius leave the library in silence.

“You think you’ll be able to forgive him?” Regulus asks you as he opens his bag and takes out his homework.

“We’ll see. That first year was hard. Guess we’ll see how much effort he really puts in. You?”

“If he keeps his word. We can be pleasant then, I think.”

You smile across the table at the younger boy. “You’re kinder to him than I am.”

“Family, you know.”

You roll your eyes. “You damn well know you don’t have to love family.”

“Then I’m choosing to. He’s Sirius. Something about him is loveable.”

You didn’t want to admit it, but you knew he was right.

---

It’s the little things. Sirius started making a point to say hi to you, and to Regulus. Pranks seemed to avoid you. He would approach you in the corridors and the library to chat. You could tell Sirius watched and cheered Regulus on the Quidditch pitch, when Slytherin wasn’t playing Gryffindor. He was taking the baby steps he needed to.

As much as you tried to hang onto your anger, you couldn’t. It didn’t wash away in one go, but it melted like an ice sculpture without a permafrost enchantment. It probably helped that over Christmas Regulus received the letters he was promised. Both Regulus and Sirius wrote to you, which the latter was more unexpected. They both told you about an adventure into the city that went well, only a few minor tense moments that passed almost as quickly as they appeared. You spent time with Regulus at the park, apparently at Sirius’ suggestion. So when the spring term was starting up and Regulus wasn’t a shell of himself as he had been at the start of the fall term, you really noticed how much effort Sirius had been putting in. He was really trying to not mess up his second chances.

Sirius finds you sitting in a window seat, reading a book you had gotten for Christmas. He leans against the wall and watches you for a moment. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy seeing you so focused and lost in the pages.

“Hey,” he says finally,

You look up. The shock of seeing him evident on your face, but you mark your spot and put the book down.

“Hi.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah. What’s up, Sirius?”

You cross your legs so Sirius can sit at the other end of the window seat.

“If I had invited you to the Potters for a day over break, would you have come?”

You’re taken back by the question. It was unexpected and it felt loaded.

“I just… I almost invited you. I need to know if I should be kicking myself for chickening out,” he adds when you don’t respond.

“Honestly, probably not. I don’t know your friends, especially not the Potters. I don’t think James is too fond of me.”

“He’s come around a bit,” Sirius says. You can tell he’s trying to not look too hurt at your denial. “And how will they learn to love you if you don’t come around?”

“Love? Let’s work on simple friends, or acquaintances at school first.”

“Then Hogsmeade? Next weekend? Would you consider coming with us?”

You hesitate. A full day with Sirius and his friends is daunting. You were just beginning to be friends with Sirius. Jumping into his friend group felt like too much. Again, Sirius talks more when you don’t say anything.

“What if it was just me?”

“I’d consider just you.”

“Then I’ll tell the boys I won’t be going with them!” Sirius exclaims happily, jumping up from the seat.

“I said consider!” you call after him, but he’s sprinting down the corridor.

You did consider it. You thought about it during class and meals. You even talked about it with Regulus, who supported your reformed friendship with Sirius. He said something about the day in London with Sirius was more fun than he’d admit to Sirius so if he has a London day with him, you need a Hogsmeade day. And then you considered it and thought about it more.

You kept doing so until you hadn’t said no and were waiting for Sirius by the ground gates to walk to Hogsmeade. It was cold and snowing and Sirius was a little late. You pull your cloak tighter around your body. You can’t help but smile when you catch a glimpse of Sirius running toward you while attempting to tie his scarf.

“I’m late, I know! Please don’t hold it against me!”

You laugh at him as he huffs.

“Oh, just let me,” you say, grabbing his scarf that wasn’t remotely tied in a way to keep him warm.

You tie it for him and tuck the ends into his cloak so they won’t fly in the wind.

“There. Now let’s go! I’m thinking you owe me a butterbeer for making me wait.”

“If that’s the cost of being late, I can handle that. As much butterbeer as you want.”

Your day with Sirius goes smoothly. Conversations don’t run dry. The camaraderie is just like when you were younger. It’s fun and relaxing. After the Three Broomsticks, he follows you around a bookstore and then you follow him around Zonkos. You end up back in the pub for more butterbeer to warm you up before your walk back to Hogwarts.

“Did your friends even come to Hogsmeade today? I’m surprised we didn’t run into them,” you say, pulling on your coat.

“No. Said something about giving us privacy?”

“Do we need privacy?”

“I mean, I did explain that you weren’t ready to be thrown into a day with the Marauders?”

“Which is true. You have to admit, your group can be a bit much.”

Sirius laughs and holds open the pub door for you as you exit into the cold.

“We can be. I think Zonkos both cringes and celebrates when all four of us walk in. They make sales, but at what cost?”

“That’s the bookstore when I go in with Reg!” you say with a laugh.

“You know his book collection well?”

You nod. “We’re our own little book club, the two of us. And possibly edging on a library. If you ever take up reading, we got you.”

You lightly run into Sirius with your shoulder.

“Maybe I’ll have to. Sure would make Remus’ day to see a book in my hands.”

“If you need recommendations, you know where to find me and Regulus.”

You walk for a little bit without talking. Snow is still falling, flakes getting caught in your hair and on your eyelashes. You’re too busy watching where you’re walking to see Sirius sending sideways glances your way every few steps. You’re about halfway back to the castle when he puts his arm out in front of you to stop you.

“Why we stopping?” you ask, a shiver running up your spine as a gust of wind chills you.

“I’m going to risk my second chance with you.”

It happens before you can process anything. Sirius grabs your face and pulls it closer to his. He presses his lips to yours. He couldn’t help himself. In rekindling your friendship, he realized that something else was caught on fire inside of him. With each letter he sent you, he could only anticipate your response. He had hoped you wouldn’t want to go to Hogsmeade with all of his friends but would accept going with just him. He had been so nervous this morning that it made him late, but you had laughed and fixed his scarf. And then you just looked so beautiful with the white snowflakes in your hair. He couldn’t help himself.

His eyes search yours for a reaction when he pulls away. You don’t seem angry or upset.

“Darling?” he asks softly.

“How long?” you ask.

“A few seconds, maybe?”

“Not the kiss. How long have you liked me?”

“Oh. Sometime after you said you’d give Sirius Black a chance. But I think it would’ve been longer if I had never pushed you away.”

You nod, suddenly unable to form words. Your thoughts are running a hundred miles an hour. Sirius had been one of your first and best friends. Today had been a testament to how easy it was to fall back into the friendship with him. It wasn’t like you had ever truly stopped caring for him, nor that you have never imagined what might’ve happened between you if he had stayed. For Regulus’ sake, you always kept your thoughts about Sirius to yourself. You didn’t dare mention anything to Dorcas or Pandora in case someone overheard or they didn’t keep their mouths shut. Now, here you are, with Sirius in front of you, searching for a proper response after he kissed you. A Sirius who begged for forgiveness after being an idiot for six years. A Sirius who said he was going to risk his second chance.

You lean up and give him a quick peck on the lips. He stares at you.

“We’re lucky I gave you that second chance,” you say with a smile.

“We?” he breathes, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours.

“We.”

Sirius kisses you again and is smiley so widely that you think his jaw must hurt.

“I guess I need to tell Reg,” you sigh as you reach to hold Sirius’ hand.

#marauders fic #marauders #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black fluff #slytherin!reader

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azsazz · 1 day ago

Text

Over Ice (Part 7)

Hockey!Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Anon Req: She’s walking around Campus and BOOM right smack dab into Broody McBrooder!! She THEN finds out he’s the tutor for one of her hardest courses (personally Psych would be a good one) and they become super duper close with him and the team!!!

Warnings: Drinking, playing party games.

Word Count: 2,904

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6)

_________________________________________

Playing a game his cousin made up has never ended well. Not when they were younger, and Rhys knows that it certainly isn’t going to end well tonight, especially when there’s alcohol involved.

He doesn’t know why he agreed. Maybe it was because he was thinking more with his cock than his head, the taste of your skin still buzzing across his lips like a spell you put him under. He wants to move closer, doesn’t like how you’re sitting on the other side of the circle from him, with too many people between the both of you and even more who join when Mor announces the game to anyone around who’s listening.

Of course, Amarantha pushes her way into the circle, taking up position right beside him. He stiffens, and it takes effort for Rhys to unhinge his jaw and slug back some of the amber liquid in his cup that Cassian poured him. It’s pretty much just straight alcohol, which might be exactly what he needs to endure this game if his clingy ex stands beside him all night.

Your eyes latched onto his ex the moment she entered the game. Mor made a face, knowing exactly who she is, but didn’t mention it. You wonder if she thinks that there’s a chance, she thinks Rhys and Amarantha have the possibility of rekindling their relationship, and you want to ask her how she feels about the girl, but you don’t want to seem too interested in her cousin and his ex.

It doesn’t stop you from looking, though. Amarantha’s friend flanks her side, creating a further distance between you and Rhys. You’re on completely opposites of the circle, now, and the smug grin on her red painted lip tell you she knows it, too. The stirs the neon pink straw in her cup. It makes her sharp, crimson nails pop. She gives you an innocent shrug when she catches you staring, and you tear your eyes from hers only to settle them on those familiar violet ones that are widened comically as if to tell you, Help me!

You don’t know how to help him. It’s not like you can move to sit between them; that alone would be enough for Mor to question you, and if Rhys’ ex forced you into doing something more to prove that you’re the couple you’re trying to make her think you are, it’ll be game over before it’s even begun, because your loyalties lie with your best friend.

This night has turned into such a shit show it’s all you can do to sit in your spot while Mor explains the rules.

“The name of the game is TD Bottle.” She plants a glass bottle in the center of the circle, and you already don’t like the looks of this. Peering around the circle, you assess the partygoers. If this is a kissing game, you want to know what you’re getting yourself into. There’s Rhys, who you carefully avoid eye contact with because the thought of his lips anywhere near your body again has shivers skittering up your spine. Amarantha, who hasn’t stopped glancing up at Rhys like he is her God. A few of Rhys’ teammates are scattered around the circle—Cassian, Balthazar, James, and even Azriel seems to be sitting in on the game as well, much to your surprise. The girls heavily outweigh the men, and Gwyn looks like a terrified mouse in the presence of a murder of crows.

You catch her bright blue eyes, silently asking if she’s okay. If she wants to leave, you’ll go with her, no questions asked.

She gives you a smile that you assume is supposed to be reassuring, but is anything but. But she stays. You all stay.

“Like, Touch Down?” James asks, brows bent in confusion.

“No, no, it’s like Touchy Dick,” Cassian throws in easily, eliciting laughter from the boys and eye rolls from the girls. But the mixture of anticipation and tension that hangs over the group disperses, and everyone seems to ease into their seats a little.

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Mor wrinkles her nose, pulling a face of disgust.

“Please, tell us what the hell it means before they keep guessing,” Rhys mutters, bringing his cup to his lips for another swig. You watch the way his throat bobs as he swallows, and he raises a mocking brow when he catches your gaze. Shit. Maybe the few drinks you’ve had are starting to take effect, and this game surely isn’t going to help the case.

He winks, and it’s only then that you’re able to rip your gaze from his violet stare, cheeks burning warmly.

The only good thing is that Amarantha catches the interaction and her lips tighten to a razor thin line that makes her look more of like the snake you think she is.

“It stands for Truth, Dare, Bottle,” Mor says. “It’s a combination of truth and dare and spin the bottle.”

“How…” Rhys trails off, trying to find the word.

“Apropos?” You supply. You and Rhysand share conspiring smiles that feel much too intimate for the near-strangers you’re supposed to be in the presence of his cousin.

Mor whines. “That’s not fair, I can’t have one of my best friends and my cousin ganging up on me like this. I won’t stand for it!”

She means it as a joke, but it shocks you and Rhys, realizing that you should not be acting so friendly for only having met on a few occasions. Hell, Mor doesn’t even know that he’s your psychology tutor yet.

You nurse your drink, trying to ignore the knot that’s wound itself back into your stomach. It’s not mixing well with the tequila. You focus all your attention on your friend. “Sorry, continue.”

“So, one person spins the bottle,” Mor says, giving the empty glass a swing around the circle. Everyone seems to lean in closer, eager to see who it’s going to land on. You aren’t worried about it landing on you because it’s your roommate, but you’re sure this state of somewhat calm won’t last when it’s someone else spinning the bottle. Especially Rhys.

The bottle stops, it’s mouth pointing to Cassian, who beams like he’s won player of the year. “The person it lands on chooses truth or dare, and we all know how that game goes,” Mor waves her hand, gesturing Cassian to answer.

He waggles his brows. “Dare.”

“I dare you to…take off your shirt,” Mor says, and the girls in the circle whistle and cheer.

“I’m not wearing a shirt,” Cassian responds, gesturing to his bare torso hidden beneath his apron. You can see the tan skin of his broad back, the way his muscles ripple as he moves, and damn, that was a good dare.

A throat clearing draws your attention away from where you’re ogling Cassian��s body. Rhys raises an unimpressed brow, his jaw ticking as he stares you down. Amarantha’s red gaze flickers between you and Cassian, brows knitted together as if you’re some equation she’s trying to figure out.

“Sorry,” you mouth across the circle when Amarantha’s attention is diverted when Mor rolls her eyes and commands Cassian to take off his apron instead.

Rhys rolls his eyes, and you stifle the pang of disappointment at missing Cassian stripping off the top of his apron, now sitting completely shirtless in his spot.

“And now it’s Cassian’s turn to spin,” Mor finishes with a beaming smile. “See? Easy.”

“Super easy,” Cassian agrees, spinning the bottle. It lands on Amarantha’s friend, and his grin turns lethal. “Let’s make this more interesting. Alis, truth or dare?”

She crosses her arms over her chest, a move that Cassian does not mind at all, especially when it pushes her breasts up like that. She lifts her chin, staring him down as she answers, “Dare.”

Cassian ponders for a moment, before he breaks out into a mischievous smile. “I dare you to refill my cup with anything I want until the end of the game.”

Alis grimaces, and you so do not envy her, especially when Cassian immediately hands her his cup and asks her to fill it with ice and whiskey. He jokes, turning toward the circle, “Anyone else want anything?”

On and on the game goes until the bottle lands on Amarantha and she answers a truth about how many guys she’s slept with. Then, she taker her turn and spins the bottle. It lands on Rhysand, just like you knew it would somehow. It fills you with a nausea that you try to drown out with your drink, only to find your cup empty. Huh. You don’t remember downing your entire cup. Maybe you can dare someone to get you a refill when it’s your turn.

“Truth or dare, Rhys?” Amarantha says, sickeningly sweet. She even bats her eyelashes for effect, but Rhys doesn’t even glance her way, much more interested in trying to shatter the glass bottle pointing in his direction with his fiery glare.

“Truth,” he grits, bracing himself for whatever imploring question is going to fall from her lips.

“Do you miss that thing I did with my hands? When I would—”

“No,” he growls, cutting her off. Wherever she was trying to go with that question, it backfires, because Rhys reaches into the circle and spins the bottle with a flick that means business.

“Awe, I wanted to hear what she was going to say,” her friend pouts, though the glance she shares with her friend tells you she already knows.

“Well, Alis, maybe if you ask nicely, she’ll do it to you, too.” Rhys is undeterred by their gaping looks, and a few of his players can’t hold back their snickers. Amarantha and Alis’ cheeks turn red, and you think they might leave the game in the midst of their humiliation, but they stubbornly stay put.

He spins, and the bottle lands on one Cassian again, who seems to really be the only one enjoying the game. Rhys dares him to take a shot of alcohol. Lame, but Rhysand doesn’t want to play, knows that he’s only doing it because you are and he wants to bear witness to your truths and dares.

“(Y/N)? Truth or dare?”

“Um, dare.” You hadn’t meant to choose that option, but you were so distracted by the way that Rhys keeps leaning away from Amarantha every time she tries to slant against him. It yields a fire in your belly at the sight, one so consuming that you don’t realize what you’ve said until it’s too late.

Cassian grins like the cat that got the cream, and you don’t like it one fucking bit.

Rhys looks just as surprised as you do, even more so when Cassian dares you to kiss him. It’s then that he’s able to remove his gaze from you to glare at his roommate, though it does sting when your first reaction to the dare is to frown.

Mor groans, slapping Cassian’s side. “Dude, seriously?”

“Seriously,” he nods in confirmation. He’s clearly not reading the room. “What?” He asks, “Are you going to back out, (Y/N)?”

You shake your head. No, you can’t back out. Not when Amarantha thinks that you and Rhys are already together. She’d absolutely question why the two of you wouldn’t kiss, which would cause questions from Mor to unravel the plan you and Rhys have just agreed to.

“Mor,” you call, all but crawling across the large circle to reach Rhys. He catches on, something sparking in his violet eyes as he leans forward to meet you halfway. “Close your eyes.”

You hear an indignant huff, and then nothing because the pounding of your heart drowns out the noise of the party around you. There’s a question in Rhysand’s eyes and you shake your head softly, watching as he swallows harshly when you show that you’re doing this for the both of your sakes. You are not going to back down.

And then his mouth is on yours, and fucking stars explode.

You lose your surroundings completely: where you are, who you’re with, what fucking day it is. Rhys’s mouth is much softer than you imagined with all of the coarse language you know he spits on the ice.

You can taste the warmth of whiskey on his lips and you want to drown in it. He’s addicting, even more so when shivers rattle down your spine in pleasure when his tongue traces the seam of your mouth.

When you’re about to part your lips for him, a loud, forced cough steals your attention. You pull away and everything slams back into your full-force: the party, the people watching you, cheering for you, and your roommate and best friend, who looks less than impressed with your display of affection with her cousin.

Your heart that’s pounding in your chest because of the feeling of Rhys on your mouth turns into a pounding of guilt. You break Rhys’ heady gaze, quickly finding your spot back in the circle. You have the urge to straighten your shirt and fix your hair, like you’ve been caught doing something much worse than sharing an innocent kiss.

Except, that there was nothing about that kiss that felt innocent at all.

You keep your eyes averted, trying not to squeeze your legs shut to stifle the need for pleasure that aches between them. Fuck.

“(Y/N)?” Cassian sing-songs. Rhys shoots daggers at his friend. He doesn’t give a fuck about the game anymore, more worried about you and how you won’t meet his gaze. That kiss was fucking something, that’s for sure, and he can’t help but to run his tongue across his lips, chasing the taste of you. “It’s your turn.”

“Right,” you agree, pressing forward to reach for the bottle. You try not to remember the image of you doing the same only moments ago when you were reaching the distance to kiss Rhys, but the memory flashes in your head anyway, your cheeks going red hot.

The bottle spins and spins and your shoulders drop when it lands on Balthazar. You don’t know him all that well, and when he picks truth, you give him something easy.

“Have you ever cheated on a test?” You ask, lamely. All you want to do is get out of this circle, down another drink, and go home. The feeling of Rhysand’s lips still buzzes against yours, and it reverberates between your legs. If you could go home, you could…

“Yeah,” he admits, like it’s something everyone does. He reaches forward and spins the bottle, and freezes when it lands on Gwyn.

Her eyes are as wide as saucers. Her bottom lip is tucked between her teeth as she nervously thinks over her options. You and Mor share a look, both noticing how flighty she looks. Gwyn looks like she might just spring up from the circle and bolt out of here, and you can’t say that you wouldn’t be right behind her. You’re more than ready to be in the privacy of your own room.

“Truth or dare, Gwyn?”

“Dare,” she says softly, barely able to be heard over the music and chatter of the party. Balthazar hears, though, or perhaps he reads her lips because he’s staring at her so intently that you feel like you’re intruding on something.

You wonder what made her choose dare, like doing whatever he comes up with is the lesser of two evils. It’s clear that something is going on between the two of them, but you’ve never heard a peep about either of them knowing each other. Maybe they share a class?

Whatever it is, you’re entirely intrigued.

“I dare you to tell me why you won’t look at me.”

The circle goes deathly silent, which isn’t all that silent at all with the music shaking the walls of the house. But the small circle…when she finally raises her eyes to meet his, it’s like walls have shot up around all of you, like you’re on the field of the colosseum and Gwyn and Balth are the warriors ready to fight for to the death.

You’ve never been surer that you’re intruding on something you shouldn’t be in your entire life. From across the circle, Rhys shoots you a look just as confused as you feel. You shrug, you have no idea what’s going on, and it’s all you can do to watch.

Gwyn doesn’t respond. It’s a stare off between the two of them, with her icy blue eyes glaring at him and him staring right back, brows furrowed in a hurt confusion.

She doesn’t answer. Gwyn climbs to her feet and threads her way into the crowd without a second glance, like Balthazar should know exactly why she finds it difficult to look at him. You can’t help it, you watch his face as soon as Gwyn’s red hair leaves your sight, watching the hurt flash across his eyes before he sits back in his spot in defeat.

“What?” He asks, lamely. “It’s not like I asked her to kiss me or anything.” Balthazar laughs drily, more than done with this game.

And neither do you. Whatever just happened, you’re more concerned about your roommate. You get to your feet, gauge how you feel with the few tequila pineapple juices you’ve had, before you follow after your roommate.

_________________________________________

Over Ice Taglist:

@saltedcoffeescotch @acourtofbatboydreams @mrsjna @velarisdusk @bionic-donut @tenshis-cake @eleganttravelercloud @lilah-asteria @serena05 @bwormie @soph1644 @house-husband-of-castlemurdock @tothestarsandwhateverend @topaz125 @judig92 @se7enteen--black-blog @thecraziestcrayon @cherry-cin @itsinherited @justafictionalnerd @bookishbroadwaybish @405rry @itsinherited @w0nderw0manly

#rhys acotar #rhysand/reader #acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #rhysand x reader #acotar hockey au #over ice #hockey!bat boys #hockey!rhysand

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shuenkio · 2 days ago

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Moonstruck | 성훈 🖤 엔.하.이.픈 (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧

Paring: idol!Sunghoon X M!reader

Genre: Fluff. Synopsis: Taken a week vacation in the UK that Jay suggests to find out that, he's not the only child, he had another little brother?

Non proof read English is not my 1st.

This is a work of fanfiction, do not throw unnecessary tantrums on this nsfw/sfw blog. ©Shuenkio

A/N: Forget to mention m/n have the punk/hip-hop style in dressing, black from head to toe you can imagine ;) btw English here is a bit cheeky, hope you don't mind.

The World Tour comes to an end, the boy band group "ENHYPEN" gets a chance to take their own break, vacations and personal doing. It is a blessing and relief that they all get time to rest, after doing concerts non-stop, they're gonna spend time in their own way.

On the other hand, in the dorm, Jay, one of the members chit chatted with his teammates if they wanted to go on vacation in the UK. Positivity, they are all immediately drawn and agree to the suggestion idea. The boys had never stepped foot in the UK before, so why not ? Even better, Jay would pay half of the tickets too, isn't that Great? Only idiots can decline this offer.

After flying a few hours from Korea to the UK, it finally arrived. The land of the united kingdom, known as the British country. It's like entering another side of the world, people have their own unique remarkable, people speak British English, chaos and busy days, with the high technology here. This is gonna make one of the best memories ever.

Moving on to Jay's place. Actually it was one of his parents places here. After hearing Jay would bring his teammates in, his parents happily flying over the moon, quicker than the speed of light, arrive in the UK to prepare and welcome them, not to mention they have a private jet that's why.

Knocking on the tall well-built traditional door, all 7 guys greetings by Jay's parents, with a warm hug and kiss. While taking a peek inside, it is like taking a vacation in a damn golden castle. Everything is decorated in luxurious furniture, the light, the floor, and it's hella large, just imagine a mansion like.

Settled down inside, Both of Jay's parents went through the kitchen to prepare a lot of meals for the family, and the guests but that's not the case, they're all family too. Admire in the surroundings, Jay would be given them and show them their guest bedroom, and what to do and don't until most of them are in their own guest room, left Sunghoon who was there, standing alone like a lost puppy in his mate's house.

"Uh Jay-ah, where can I sleep for tonight?"

"...hmmm.. all the guest rooms are full now for them so maybe my brother's room, come on let me show you, I hope he won't be mad"

Sunghoon blinks, furrow his brows confused as Jay mentioned he just has a brother knowing all along he is the only one, when he said that, it makes no sense.

"brother? ... You had a brother? I thought you were the only child?" Said while walking, as Jay guided him to M/N room.

"it's a long story, I didn't tell you all for a reason, haha now now we're here" Knocking on the door, Jay speaks calling, for M/N name. Later, the door opened, revealing a boy who was dressed, in a very... Different style, that quickly grabs Sunghoon's attention.

"JAY?" You happily shout, knowing Jay home after waiting for him for days, greeting him with a hug, which is soon returned by him.

"M/N! How I miss you. How are you? Are you doing great?"

"well yeah I am, I'm very good and I hope you're doing okay too" You respond, crossing your hands in. Then your eyes land on a taller pale guy, behind Jay. You might know him, but he probably doesn't.

"oh, is he Sunghoon hyung?" Mutter, you peeking behind your brother's back, to see clearly. Sunghoon who was an introvert guy, feeling and surprised that you know his name, mixed with awkwardness in this kind of situation, especially with strangers, but does he have to get used to it? It's Jay's brother after all.

"you know a lot don't you? Yeah He's the Park Sunghoon that you like the most" like the most? Sunghoon's face turning tomatoes, as he is puzzling. feeling like his heart Sprint away from his own beat, so you do like him? Well when fans confess they like Sunghoon, it's just a normal reaction but when He knows you like him, it's weird, different feel from those fans. or maybe he is just shy ? Or super shy?

"Hi! Sunghoon hyung it was nice to meet you, I'm M/N" bowing down in a respectful way, you suddenly switch language once you greet him, which once again makes Sunghoon feel dumb like a lost sheep. There's so much information going on here.

"O-oh yes... M/n... Good to see you. Your Korean is nice I'm Impressed" Sunghoon greet back, feeling more used to and ease once you speak to him in Korean. After all those greetings, Sunghoon just stood there, didn't know what to do next as he watched Jay and You, asking about their days.

"oh right, Sunghoon you must be wondering. Actually he was my adopted brother. We had him when I was pre-teen. But I understand most of you guys don't know about him because we like to gatekeeping him Haha well today all the members would know, don't worry—

He is half asian and europe also, that is why he has a unique style, from his head to toe isn't it cool haha. Punk style but you'll get used to it, I know ni-ki is gonna love him—

Okay I talk too much, so M/n mind if I borrow your room for a few days? For Sunghoon? All the guest rooms are full, can he stay with you" Jay state, after the small talk. Meanwhile, M/n agree to his brother request, not that he was a creep, it because of the situation, also who wouldn't? It was the Park Sunghoon.

"Sure, hyung can sleep in my room. I'm all good"

"Thanks bud, now Sunghoon? You can settle in here— oh right... Sunghoon?" Jay called, Sunghoon catches himself zooming out to your appearance, it not everyday to see someone looking good in such style, black from head to toes. Seeing such reactions makes you chuckle, as Sunghoon snapped out, ashamed with a blushing red face before getting inside to load away his stuff.

"Right, Right I hope you don't mind me M/n"

"I should say that, hehe since you're the guest, just asked me don't be shy, I'll do it"

"Thank you ha" seeing the two of you getting along well, Jay's warm smile appears as he leaves the room, and gone downstairs.

-///-

In the rest of the evening all the boys and family, get to know you better, as you introduce yourself as Jay's adopted little brother. Jay was right when he said You'd be ni-ki favorite, because once he saw you, he imma befriended you. Exchange the number, ask about your Style, and talk for hours about stuff ni-ki wanted to know. While the other member was also surprised when they realized that Jay was keeping you well in the basement for the whole time and none of them knew about it. It can also be reasonable because of that gorgeous handsome face you got there, that catches every member's attention.

Jake would ask you to chat with him in English as he wanted to learn how to talk in British too, and so is Heeseung. Your accent makes their knee weaken with that soft tone of yours.

Jungwon would also be talking to you too, asking this or that and often joking about your brother why he is a comedian in the group. Sunoo would compliment your skin tone, the skin you got on your face stunned him in a way that he can't help, but to ask what's your skin care routine.

But for Sunghoon, He just laughed and giggled along, when the members asked or talked to you. He was so shy and afraid to make conversation with, and he had nothing to talk about. He was devastated to get to know you well just like the other but then it clicks when he learns that he'll spend every night sleeping on the same bed with you.

Yet that's fine. On the first night, you asked him if he wanted to sleep on the bed alone, if he was a light sleeper you can move to the couch but Sunghoon insisted, both of them should be on the bed. He was the guest anyway he didn't want to burden anybody.

And so on, Sunghoon got a more private chance than others when it comes to talking, especially at night when it's just the two of you. Most of the time, all night he would ask this and that, and do you have a girlfriend or boyfriend, about your life and personal thing which you happily respond to. Sunghoon was your bias of course, you would tell him everything, admire his million dollar face while you talk so, people would fight for him.

As the days passed on about a week. It's time for all the 7 members to go back to Korea. You help them pack their stuff, and so do your parents and Jay. The past few days, they are spending time with you by talking, going out, shopping and the Disney land date, it was such a good snapshot in time to get to know them all better. Before they leave you give each of them a promising and memories gift to remember this precious time together, the boys happily satisfied accepted and their heart melting to the gesture. You were so sweet.

However, for Sunghoon it was different. Even though it's just a simple gift he clearly enjoys more than the rest, and he promised he will cherish this gift for a long time.

"Thank you m/n letting me stay in your room, you're so... Cool and nice, sweet, like Jay. Here, I have my PC card haha I know it's not much but I hope you like it" gasp, you feel like you're about to ascend up to heaven as Sunghoon gives you back a gift, a rare PC card that you wised to have.

"oh my GOSH thank you hyung, I love it so much thank you woah it's sighed? I'm going to be crazy!!"

Laughing. Everyone finds the moment cute and adorable as you express yourself as a fan. Soon the time will come, you wave goodbye to the seven guys as you watch them disappear in the plane.

"Good luck hyung!! See you sometime later"

"yess" they all said in unison, enter the aircraft with a warming heart. On the way, Sunghoon can't help but to say it out loud.

"I like him, Jay"

"ehhh"

"No Sunghoon hyung, I like him first he was my buddy!" Ni-ki argue.

"ey ey ey he was my British guy before all of you guys, he was my first" Jake burst in playfully.

"but I do really like him, in a way"

"...."

"well— what "

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eunhyuung · 2 days ago

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𖦹. “𝐈 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐂𝐀𝐍’𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐌 𝐓𝐎 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇, 𝐘’𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖?” — (𝐊𝐘𝐋𝐀𝐑)

𖦹. — 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬. honestly, he’s never intended for things to turn out this way because as they say—curiosity killed the cat, didn’t it? too bad, he likes what he’s seeing too much, huh? 6.2k words.

𖦹. — 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐩𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞, 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 . . . bitch boy kylar’s pervasive ways of being an absolute freak, jerking off, scent kink as in the loser disgustingly sniffs at his own pre-cum stained underwear, voyeurism through a screen, unsuspecting camboy! reader (amab) using his favourite fan’s flesh-light, massive parasocial relationship, kylar purely getting off to the mere fantasy of you so lovingly fucking his mouth full and slobbering all over your cock. wow. shit, that’s gross.

𖦹. — 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬, 𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐠? “I think he’s cute, but he’s fucking pathetic. adds to the charm though.”

Undoubtedly, he’s intricately aware of the baseless rumours currently circulating throughout the school due to him. Not that he pays it much mind, as a loner himself—there’s not much that comes forth from uselessly dwelling on ushered statements whispered amongst each nosy student attending the worn establishment.

Especially when he’s grown accustomed to the unfair treatment sent his way, preferring to concentrate on the positive aspects of his measly day-to-day life instead, no matter how minor those details may be. Practically nonexistent in comparison to the absolutely negatives—if anything, but. . . unwavering optimism is a virtue, correct? More or less.

“Did you see him? You’d think he won the goddamn lottery or somethin’—“ One would randomly perk up out of the blue as the other’s words seamlessly tumbled forth from between their lips. “Stop shitting with me. Think that freak has anything to smile about?” And as predictably expected on their part, doubtful silence filled the daunting atmosphere before the overly harsh cackling of laughter soon followed after.

“No way!!”

Right. Hurtful as it may be, wasn’t any less further from the truth to confidently proclaim that Kylar’s life was utter shit from start to finish. From an accumulation of numerous events that notably stemmed from mere bad luck or perhaps, as he so effortlessly believed so himself—a dreadful curse one had so cruelly placed upon him and the rest of his beloved family for. . . God knows what, how would he know anyway? Maybe it was due to an unforgivable sin he’s unknowingly committed in his distant past life or, from sheer, utter hatred on a stranger’s bitter end.

Solemnly beginning with the inexplicable loss of a treasured, cherished childhood friend of, he’d rather not utter the name itself—only to bitterly finish with the concerning changes in his parents questionable behaviour, not to mention the physical morphs in their formerly human appearances. That is, if they’ve managed to retain any semblance of consciousness from their lives previously shared as a family.

And to be honest, it’s a miracle he hasn’t suddenly dropped dead from the sheer amount of stress the outside world brings him. Hurt after hurt, mindless insult after another ruthlessly hurled towards his retreating figure in the school’s stuffy courtyard by snickering classmates.

At times like these, wordlessly thinking back to the gleaming knife occupying the depths of his baggy pocket does somewhat soothe the dull pain aching within his chest.

Somewhat.

Regardless, seething with misery and tainted despair is what he should’ve rightfully remained so, for the entirety of his pathetic life. Least, that was the intended plan on his end. Fortunately, most things don’t ever go as planned in life, do they? And neither was the accidental discovery of your surprising existence, too. One which he repeatedly thanks the divined heavens from above for so generously gracing him with your perfect being—even if not physically there, as you’re merely hidden away behind the greasy, smudged surface of his unprotected, cum-stained screen.

Yeah, he does periodically forget to neatly wipe those unceremonious accidents of his away. . . Mostly the embarrassing bit where the freak is unpredictably shooting forth his fat load all over his tousled bedsheets and of course, his dimly lit, previously discarded phone screen that merely happens to be consequently lying nearby—at the edge of the loner’s unmade bed. Somehow neglecting to absently clean his disorganized room, rotting for none to see due to his inborn laziness or better put, sheer lack of motivation to truly do something about the grimy mess irritably found at his feet.

Crummy wrappers from whatever unhealthy, overly sweetened snack he’s ingested for the day, used socks filled with. . . well, you’d know the typical stereotype of what lonely, unloved boys do in the desolate tranquility of their bedrooms anyway, unwashed clothes laid askew; you name it.

Although, it’s partially your fault for purposefully making your streams so very tempting—practically impossible to stubbornly last till the bitter end if he’s so much as given the slightest glimpse of your pretty cock, mere sound of your wistful sighs and voice carefully articulating his username amongst the hoard of just as eager viewers.

What a shame, he’d just about care more for the dire state of his dirtied room if it meant somehow impressing you in the process. Like the loser would ever be so graciously given the exquisite chance to timidly invite you to his sore excuse of a room, lest he found you for real and, y’know—committed a few illegal acts or two to drag you towards that desired place of his choice. Selfishly kept you to himself for an undetermined amount of time, preferably forever and ever actually. . . !

Oh, he does dearly promise he’d take good care of you. That’s for sure.

Speaking of, he’s always possessed the annoyingly obsessive tendency to easily fall for a fictional character on the other end of a layered screen, but. . . Certainly not like this, no. Since you’re a real, existing person, are you not? A living, breathing human with his own life he’s blissfully unaware of—foreign details and such, are wholly unnecessary to him, because your self is solely what he’s truthfully interested in, really! Sorely convicted no one could ever hope to pitifully understand the true reason as to why he’s been recently sporting that idiotic grin plastered amongst his usually aloof features.

Distractingly sketching more and more admittedly good, yet messy drawings in the private remnants of his notebook’s torn pages. Immediately squeaking at the sudden presence of his english teacher’s. . . what’s-his-name, mister Doren(?) hovering over his hunched shoulders to questioningly quip up as to what may be so important for him to childishly doodle during learning time, huh?

Well, you see—fairly, it’s quite simple, if not entirely self-explanatory when thoroughly observing his recently odd mannerisms and gestures.

Y’see, most would reasonably laugh dead in his face at the sickeningly sweet answer, though what need is there to hide it? It’s evident what the local school’s favourite punching bag has been shockingly struck with. As cheesy as it may be to discreetly gossip amongst one another, the sole undeniable fact that—

“The freak’s obviously in love and crushing on someone or somethin’, no doubt about it. I mean, look at him! He looks like he’s just about ready to float off the earth!!”

“Fuck, don’t word it that way. That’s so fuckin’ gross. Y’a think he actually likes someone—? Like, here? In this school?? Stands no chance. What’s the use of liking ‘em if they’ll run at the sight of you anyway?” Seldomly wrong on that part, there’s no way to precisely tell that identity of yours if your face is disappointingly out of view in each of your films! Therefore, he’d like to take note of it someday, y’know. . . Instead of, ah—humiliatingly jerking off alone to the hazy thought of your faceless body. Not to say, that isn’t disgustingly hot enough on its own. Fucking pervert that he is, plenty to get him off on.

“Hey, now don’t be so mean. He could hear us over there. . . Didn’t you hear what he did to that one girl in class cuz’ she tried to take his shitty sketchbook? Heard she’s stuck in the hospital for a month because of him. Crazy stuff.”

Unsurprisingly so, a scornful pout would’ve expectantly found itself upon his chapped lips at those stray comments if it were any other day of the week. Frustratingly clutching at the worn edges of his school bag hanging limply from his small figure from the seething urge to impulsively retort back. However, what use is there to miserably wallow when your favourite show is bound to showcase itself on screen soon enough? And what he so innocently refers to as some ‘show’ are those naughty streams of yours he’s been regularly keeping up to date with, without missing a single one for that matter—you should be proud of him, really. Is starting soon, as per usual—in about. . . ?

Oh, luckily he’s got plenty of time to wordlessly settle himself in his spacious bedroom before your precious recordings commence. Methodically checking the numbers displayed on his cellphone to indicate the countdown till the sole thing he’s been excitedly looking forward to for the past few, dwindling months, does eventually begin.

Since today is a special day, indeed—is it not?Thoughtlessly humming to himself at the expectant treat patiently awaiting his arrival at home, much to other passerby’s apparent discontent at the rather. . . horrible sound being sung throughout the pathway to his forgotten, desolate manor. Singing melodic notes, especially at the Temple’s choir never was much of his forte for that matter. That’s alright, though! Fortunately enough, he’s confident he can painfully endure anything that this insane town throws at him today. And ‘course, that stupidly includes the dirty looks shot in his direction, too.

Because today. . . today is a special day, yes—he gleefully repeats so, to himself. Y’know, like some maniac.

And akin to how a mechanical key automatically turns itself within the depths of a narrow lock, routine settles in thickly at the back of his mind as his feet instinctively shuffle themselves through the doorway of his beloved house. Less beloved in the sense that it isn’t exactly properly maintained, as obviously proven by the multitude of stains abandoned about upon every wooden surface, it seems. Uneasy floorboards bound to eventually collapse underneath the meager weight of his lanky body, which is a miracle that it hasn’t already by now, actually.

Not to mention, disgraceful cobwebs precariously hanging from below each cornered ceiling, but there still retains a semblance of charm to the place, a little—he thinks. Personally. Majorly due to the familiarity it instills within his boyish brain and it being his lone sanctuary where he feels remotely at peace, unperturbed from outsiders prying eyes.

“I-I’m home.” Timidly calling out to the single place that’d welcome him so, in a hushed, open embrace. But, as per expected, no pleased response comes forth to counter that shrill, little voice of his—having progressively grown accustomed to announce his eventual arrival to what he still sheepishly refers to as his parents, at least, even if they might not outwardly reply with a normal chime of their own. Perhaps he’ll be met occasionally with a hiss or two, yet he doesn’t really dare to enter any further into their territory without loads of garlic necklaces clumsily hooked along his delicate neck. Coward, he is—even in the face of his own mother and father, although it does possess its perks when it comes to avoiding trouble at school or notably, that filthy blonde’s presence.

That is to say, there’s no point in uselessly ruminating any further about an establishment that bores his bare unhappiness, right? Briefly stealing a glimpse to where his parent’s doorway restlessly lies partially accessible, surely aware of his newfound return—judging by the bored clatter of their glinting, metallic fangs concealed below the extended bed. Oh, they’re waving at him, clearly! Least, he positively thinks so if he hasn’t been ruthlessly attacked yet, so far. Unlike certain intruders skittering ‘round the mansion, that being rats. Ah, merely envisioning the little creatures draws a shuddered breath out of his wrinkling nose, jolting shivers coursing throughout the curved length of his spine.

There are far more important matters presently tending to his current attention, however. You, you, you—your upcoming stream. You, you, you . . . Obviously. Occupying the vast majority of his brain and, as for the last remainder—it being the sheer embarrassment of his progressively growing hard-on straining against the rough material of his ripped jeans. Oh, and now he’s popping boners purely from thinking about you?? Like he hasn’t done so before in class either, bitterly reminiscing over the painful memory of skittering away to the boys bathroom for a quick. . . tending to, as in pervertedly pumping his cock full in the tight confines of an unkempt stall. Shakily whining out your name (more like username, really) between muffled whimpers as sweet release mercilessly found the loner and he, ungracefully so, spilled the entirety of his sticky seed along the rest of his rumpled school uniform.

. . .Yeah, he’s definitely got a vast amount of issues to deal with. But, he can helplessly worry about that unimportant part later.

The continuous pitter patter of his feet carefully made up to the balanced stairwell—where his meticulously made shrine of you remains still, by the way—endlessly carries on. Opposite to how the insistent, rhythmic pumping of his discomposed heart feverishly beats with each huff drawn forth of the outcast’s hitched sighs. Creaking floorboards noisily squeaking beneath each incessant footsteps made towards his own private room before finally. . . finally, soundlessly shutting the oaky door with a resounding click and an exhaled breath of relief.

And so, it begins.

Familiar, shrouded darkness envelops his figure whole all at once within the restrictive bounds of his exclusive chamber. Movements seamlessly acted out on an automatic everyday-thing as he so thoughtlessly—to his mattress’s strained annoyance—flings his worn bag containing practically nothing, save for his sketchbook and a singular, used pencil—upon the squeaking, cushiony surface with an audible thud! Well, he’s always been somewhat irresponsible when it came to his possessions in hand lest they held some semblance of emotional attachment to him in some shape or form. Fortunately, he withholds an acceptable excuse for his hasty behaviour this time, yeah, swears it’s an adequate one! Of course it’d perpetually be when it comes to you, his esteemed beloved, his one and only. (To what he’s thoroughly deluded himself to blindly believe so.)

Ah, how unbridled excitement quells within his chest with each shaky step forward to his unattended, cluttered desk. Smiling gleefully to himself in absent thought at the six, available monitors at his disposal—who’re poorly reflecting the sight of his eager expression at the moment, too. Oh, he doesn’t mean to appear like a frantic puppy in heat right off the bat without having even received his sweetened treat.

Though, can he be possibly faulted for it when he’s hardly a few seconds away from being so lovingly graced with your company on the other side of a limited screen? Helplessly devoted in the woeful sense that simply a single snippet of your soothing voice renders him blissfully breathless, weak in the knees bound to soon buckle beneath your honeyed words? Has him torturously aching downwards to where his dripping wet cock tents against the layered fabric of his pants?? Perfection couldn’t even begin to accurately describe your being devoid of any flaws.

So idiotically hooked that the perverted freak is already slumping himself atop the accommodating, swivelling seat of his chair—instinctually placing his connected headset onto the unkempt strands of hair naturally curling around the indented shape with a pleased hum. Y’know, just to be safe. Potentially due to the considerable awkwardness of if he were to accidentally play a pornographic stream aloud, beyond the confidential walls of his room.

Last thing he’d like to bashfully admit outwardly to his parents is how hopelessly infatuated their son is for another boy who isn’t even remotely aware of his flickering existence. Besides the frantic amounts of fanboy comments the loner usually leaves behind, majority of it containing the sheer euphoria of witnessing such a pretty boy as yourself—so boldly displaying himself for thousands upon thousands, possibly more granted the frustratingly recent spike in your growing popularity, to see. Solely perceived as an overly enthusiastic fan that consequently happens to be attending each and every stream of yours, in a vain attempt to someday, be supposedly noticed by his dearest idol.

Undeniable trepidation restlessly courses through his veins, jittery fingertips grazing amongst the crumb stained keys—which, he never thoughtfully bothers to sanitize, exactly—before ultimately typing in the uh. . . ah, it’s still considerably embarrassing to be navigating through a raunchy, naughty site filled to the brim with erotic content. Not to say, he hasn’t especially skimmed through some. . . exceptionally questionable ones in the distant past, but none seemed to wholly satisfy him nor brought him such disgustingly heated interest like your live recordings either. Hah, he’s just so utterly down bad for you—it’s mildly flustering.

Another which he’ll soon be given the meticulous chance to joyfully witness in the gloomy atmosphere of his bedchamber, if anything else. Arrow pointed key impatiently hovering over the strikingly red button labeled for newcomers to ‘join on in’ to where your stream is bound to usually begin. Yes—he’s memorized your neatly made schedule of commencing your tapes every Thursday afternoon, around thirty minutes after he’s finally released from the sorrowful imprisonment of school. And. . . the gleaming ‘live’ signal should be surfacing any second now. Precisely in five—four, three, two. . . and, one.

Click.

[Now recording.]

“Oh— ahah, god. 200 viewers already? No, it’s climbing up to 254 now. . . You guys are already that happy to see me, huh?? I’m flattered.” Whether to necessarily fixate upon your rosy, moving lips deeply articulating each syllable with a musing grin of your own, albeit a shame that’s about as much as he’ll be able to savour and see of your concealed face positioned above the reserved range of your quality camera. Or, the seamless lull within your effortlessly attractive voice reaching the depths of his attentive ears is beyond the dark haired boy’s enraptured attention, truly—because, hah. . . there’s something else, something else much more special eventually coming up, isn’t there?

Chipped nail upon his thumb being subconsciously chewed at in faux thought, that. . . you look stupidly good today (not that you usually don’t) with that casual wear— yes, even something apparently simple as some loose jeans, not all that much different from his own too, and an onyx black turtleneck compatibly added to the mix—looks pleasantly nice on you, enough so to hurriedly draw all breath from him.

Light conversation ensuing as if you aren’t thoroughly conscious of what the viewers unabashedly desire within this very moment. Him included, to be frank. “What have I planned for today? Well, now—you know, it won’t be any fun if I reveal it immediately, but you’re right, I do have something particularly special planned for today’s stream.” And he can tell, with how the influx of notes rapidly increase at the mere mention of a tell-tale surprise, no doubt brimming with utter curiosity and excitement at the sheer, mind numbing prospect of a carefully thought out present from you, that it indeed works. Sweetened chuckle naturally tumbling forth from your parted lips drawn up in a lighthearted smile in return. “Oh, you wanna know so bad? Fine, fine. Bunch of perverts already pressuring me right into it— haah, but I guess I’m no better for getting off of the attention like this either. . . Alright then, I’ll bite.”

Right, estimating the passing time he’s suggested it beforehand, it should’ve certainly arrived in the mail by now. Peering curiously towards the endlessly flowing stream of enthusiastic comments filling up the area at the bottom right of his dimly lit screen.

“Just so happens I’ve got a new one to test out here. Courtesy of a subscriber’s recommendation, y’know. See how much I actually listen to you guys? You degenerates should be grateful I’m even showing you anything, really— oh, c’mon. It was just a joke. Lighten up, will you?” Musing delightfully in response before promptly presenting a faintly rose coloured—oh, oh! it really is his that you chose!—pussy pocket into view, or generally known as a squishy flesh-light solely made to dutifully suck at awaiting eager cocks. Crimson flush coming forth to deeply stain his cheeks so, gasping momentarily to himself at the shocking outcome and maybe just, the idiotic yearning of intricately wanting to be that toy instead.

Ah— god, what he’d inevitably give to be the one you’re sensually sinking your flushed, oozing tip into, breathlessly groaning at the dizzying tightness swallowing your twitching length whole.

On one hand, he’s tried out quite a few, negligently forgotten in some stash hidden within his creaking closet, although ever since he’s been given a minor glimpse of your fat cock since day one—well, he’s come to long a certain. . . other type of treatment altogether. Notably, the disastrously sickening urge to be fucked full to the brim within an inch of his life, filthy masochist that he deceptively is, nothing could potentially compare to your pretty looking cock truthfully.

“Well, then,” Instinctually following forth with the passages of your hands—those too are pretty, actually. Like every inch of you isn’t, physically drooling at the slightest sliver of your exposed skin being gradually bared to his heated, emerald gaze. The edged curvature of your delicate knuckles down to where your slim fingertips connect to your leathered belt, smoothly unbuckling its constraints with a distinct jingle before it ultimately, drops downwards to the floor with a muted thud. His own loosened pants shortly accompanying your gestures soon after in a clumsy haste.

“Why don’t you sick fucks just sit back—“ A tug of your elastic boxers and he’s being suddenly greeted by the addictively sinful sight of it. Flushed cock weeping glistening beads of pre-cum, immediately springing forth from its confine to then, audibly smack against your bare tummy. “relax, and enjoy the show, yeah?”

Ahah, there it is—there’s your admittedly. . . tasty looking cock he’d waste no effort in slinking down to his knees to suckle upon, coat in slippery wet saliva and gratefully swallow down in nigh worship like a mutt starving for a treat. If you sensibly possessed any sort of idea, how well he’d treat you, the boy of his dreams. Hungrily lap the slicked surface of his warm, moist tongue along your balls heavy with seed in an intimate display of unending devotion—obsession, damnation to be gleefully chained and bound to your feet. Or so, he’s steadily scattering the remnants of his needy mind to those nonsensical blurry daydreams of his again.

Along with that artistic mark the loner meekly recognizes as a tattoo permanently etched into the tender flesh of your left hip, inked encryption slithering upwards, beyond the portion that your jeans can possibly conceal if shown on the spot.

“See this?— haah, fuck.” Hitched breath suddenly interrupted with a muted curse at how you merely hover the toy’s softened hole above the leaking tip of your heavy cock, wordlessly pulsing in the camera’s direction—his direction, to be more precise. Silently affirmed as nothing more but a wistful yearning on his part. “The way it just. . .” Oh, he’d so hopelessly, truly never tire to repeatedly listen upon your angelic voice again and again, how it subtly trembles and delves further into a series of rapidly made huffs along with a mix of heaving groans. Beautifully falls apart, tearfully breaks in an instant from the sweet suckle of the makeshift pussy heat steadily sucking in the veiny girth of your aching length. “. . .Effortlessly sucks me inside? So fuckin’—shit, tight. Like I’m fucking a real cunt actually.”

And yeah. . . Yeah, it really is—god, instinctively yearning for the insatiable need that those were his pouty lips instead, thoroughly enveloped around the sheer thickness of your perfect cock. Depthless, expanding pupils deliberately following the trailing path of pearly droplets profusely dribbling out messy pre-cum. Past the stuffed flesh-light’s warm folds—down the curved edge of your neatly swallowed cock to where it ultimately, descends and lands atop your balls with a startling drop.

Seemingly, the slight twitch in his pants at the dizzying demonstration is explanation enough on its own probably.

Quite pitifully so, it’s natural instinct, it’s all, he promises! Stealing a glance downwards to where his own excited cock stands upright and throbbing in the stretchy material of his chosen underwear for tonight’s occasion—one which he can easily slip off at a moments notice, impatiently strip down to his spread knees like an unashamed whore practically begging for it.

Guess it wouldn’t hurt to just. . . rub one out quickly, right? It’s what you’ve so generously taken the effort and time to do so, right?? So the freak—amongst many others delightfully viewing, how annoying—can disgustingly get themselves off to the addled sighs, sickeningly wet smacks! from the teasingly slow roll of your hips upwards, easily tumbling out from his monitors screens.

Timid palm tentatively reaching towards the overly evident, straining hard-on tented underneath the seams of his boxers, earnestly palming himself—or better put, the outlined length bulging through the fairly thin fabric—with a shaky gasp. So embarrassing, how minimal stimulation on his end renders him utterly breathless, silently stunned at the sheer amount of pre endlessly leaking out from his swollen, red hot slit. Inconveniently stains the greying colour in a deeper shade to mindlessly gawk at for future notice. Because currently, he’s unfairly too busy from solely grinding the heel of his softened palm against his cock’s dripping wet head, isn’t he?

Although, it’s not enough. Not enough, just yet—

Certainly, it wouldn’t truly be sinful to shyly go further, bring himself to the very brink of his teetering limit, huh? Fluttering lashes discreetly shutting close maybe due to the dizzyingly hot embarrassment accumulating within his tensed tummy. There, yes there; that’s the spot. . . Ah. Shuddering gasps uncontrollably spilling out of his beautifully open, wanton mouth shaped into a perfect ‘o’ at the clumsy passage of his inexperienced hand downwards, below. Hah—‘inexperienced’ , he sullenly thinks as if the dark haired boy doesn’t steadily fist his cock raw to the mere, increasingly blurring thought of you like a daily routine set into stone, never meant to be carelessly missed.

An unrestrained addict is what he fairly is, for all its worth. Amused grin simultaneously cracking upon his features at the unsurprising realization, insistently tugging at the corner of his now moist lips—disgustingly shiny in his own spit too, now—as scarred fingertips momentarily caress along the curved outline of his twitching cock before impatiently sliding off the sticky undergarment down the length of his perched legs.

Shit, shit. . . Chilly, cooling air mercilessly kissing at the warm, trickling tip of his flushed cock head now openly free from the boxers helplessly limiting bounds. Outwardly hissing at the sudden rush of temperature surrounding the surface of his readily exposed, quivering length. And here he is, already subconsciously humping, desperately bucking at the air—hips spontaneously settling into a rapid pace to fuck into his fist, but oh—your soft skin would be so much warmer to the bare touch, y’know?

Irrefutably better if it were your skillful hands indecently pumping his slippery cock, though you’d only need a single hand to do that, wouldn’t you? Ultimately bigger than his pitifully smaller ones in size, unable to fully wrap around the pulsing thickness of his cock unlike yours who’d effortlessly encompass him whole. Tease at the whorish slit ceaselessly dripping translucent, sloppy pre-cum with a press of your thumb atop the puckered opening all the while fisting himself.

Ah—ah, damn it. “Mmngh. . .”

Invasive, needy hands struggling to grasp for something—anything, will surely do to dull the burning, aching throb of velvety blood rushing south to his taut balls and unsurprisingly so, the pretty flush that comes to visibly stain the surface of his cheeks. Similar to a picture perfect portrait professionally painted by an eccentric artist, that is, if he had any semblance of self-esteem somehow hidden in there.

Predictably so, like some unjust pervert, the experimental tip of his jagged nails curiously grazes against the stretchy texture of his underwear now awkwardly slung down to the freak’s knees. Forgot those were still loosely hanging there, admittedly. Pearly, shiny patch of staining pre boldly glinting back towards his half-lidded gaze as if to elicit an enticing. . . no, the definitely worst idea he’s potentially had.

But, something to just get the ball rolling sometimes, you know? That’s all. Nothing more, nothing any further than his lone tendencies to uselessly clutch at something in a placid need for comfort—for it could be a worn pillow that’s unfortunately out of reach, sweaty used hoodie meant to wholly fill his scrunched nose with the strong lingering musk or even, his pre-cum stained boxers. However else that can be reasonably judged, as no normal person would be feebly bringing their underwear up to their heated face. Deeply inhaling his own stupidly salty scent, crudely burying the tip of his curved nose within fisted briefs restlessly held in the cup of his palm.

Shiiiiitt, it stinks like hell. So, shouldn’t be so devastatingly erotic and spur him on further—shouldn’t have his aching cock incessantly yearning for some form of release, albeit in a fucking pervasive manner.

“So perfect. . . hah, y-you’re so—pretty.” Incessantly drawling forth from his bitten lips, crimson stained flesh absently chewed upon as the searing metallic taste fills his every muddled senses. Like a fallen mantra that’s bound to greedily consume his very being—and frankly, he’d be nothing more than earnestly grateful if he was so selflessly granted the lucky chance to have his useless, good-for-nothing, pliable body thoroughly used and ruined by you. Ah, idly wondering in the discreet back of his mind, how you’d harshly fold his slim figure in half.

Would it be fast and rough, possibly? Indecently cruel in each of your instinctual thrusts, sudden snap of your hips to fuck him within an inch of his life? Or perhaps, no—undeniably the opposite, considering your usual style Kylar familiarly knows all too well. Slow, methodical and torturous marks progressively imprinted along the curved surface of his arched back. Smooth, chilly fingertips gliding downwards till he’s greeted with the slight grip of your locked palms upon his hips. A trembling plea here and there, only to be coldly met with a sneered chuckle at the pitiful sight—heated tip barely grazing against the puffy entrance of his puckered hole as you’d utter out a singular insult.

“You fucking pervert.”

In a mere instant, as it should come as no shocking surprise, surely—that single, fleeting thought precariously tips him towards the edge before the perverted freak’s has remotely registered the immediate slackening of his open jaw. Furrowing of his brows with a petulantly long whine as sickeningly thick, white strings of seed uncontrollably spurt forth from his swollen tip, splattering amongst the previously untainted surface of his keys, bare and unclenched tummy in the cooling air and of course, the monitored screen itself.

“H-hah—I’m sorry, I’m s-so sorry. I’m nothing. . . but, a nasty p-pervert. . . ! Please—hngh, forgive me. . . !” Salaciously muttering to himself as though you’d possibly hear his ushered mewls for forgiveness, reassuringly cleanse him of his rushed and impulsive actions. Adoringly nosing along the creeping edge of his torn sleeve, pouty lips lewdly suckling upon its cotton material in an absent habit meant to momentarily soothe himself from the ongoing orgasm wracking throughout the entirety of his quivering, slackening figure—sluggishly resting atop the leathered, rolling chair.

Ah. . . Hah, doesn’t even register the all too heavy weight of his sleepy eyelids inevitably fluttering shut in a dazed slumber, head comfortably leaned back against the cushioned pillow. Carelessly forgetful of the accumulated, dripping mess now irritably found at his feet which he supposes, he’ll reluctantly clean later when he’s somehow received the faithful chance to.

Although, speaking of—isn’t he foolishly forgetting something residing in the shrouded depths of his mind. . . ? That can be, potentially dealt with. . . later, though. Maybe.

Didn’t even bother to aimlessly recall as to what it is regardless.

It wholly slipped from his drowsy mind, anyway.

— . . .

Alright, well—understandably enough, shouldn’t have tediously overslept past the overly distracting ringing of his stubborn alarm, but still. . . ! It’s not like it’s necessarily the loner’s fault for having this annoyingly irreparable tendency to listlessly pass out the second he’s satisfyingly gotten his fill. Probably, should get that checked out, however. Who effortlessly shifts to the realm of sparkling dream land after having hurriedly, finished in one fell swoop?? As in, helplessly shooting forth a fat load and considering it done and over with. Him, apparently.

‘Course, that reasonably draws its fair share of invasive consequences. Utterly lost in the bewilderment of his racing thoughts during his languid sprint towards class in the dead middle of the somewhat. . . spacious hallway, yet—not so much so that he isn’t incidentally slamming against a poor student in a troublesome haste, unintentionally tripping himself over his own loose, untied shoelaces. Oh, can’t be any more blind, can you??

Having fully expected to have painfully hit the dull, heartless ground by now—but, but. . . unfamiliar softness tentatively tugs at his blurry senses instead, confusingly warm firmness of someone else’s secure arms embracing the dark haired boy’s lanky figure in return. “Ugh, fuck—“

“. . .Sorry, are you alright? I didn’t mean to bump into you there. I should look where I’m going next time—stupid of me, really. You’re not hurt or anything, right?” Despite being sorrowfully accustomed to the normally discriminating tone most students expectantly would’ve adopted at the mere sight of him, nothing particularly prepared Kylar for that vaguely recognizable, dulcet voice faintly ringing within his stinging ears as he, so dumbly, peers from below the mopped mess of his unruly tufts of hair. One day, he’s got to take care of that nasty habit of his to be neglecting his unfairly important needs.

Strikingly stiff as a stoned, wobbling statue at the nearest temple from the intimately tender worry currently occupying your gaze—ah, what is he specifically meant to respond with in such an uncouth situation again?? Somehow missing the loosely held grasp your smooth palms have atop his hunched shoulders because, oh, he’s never been willingly touched before either—has he?

“Um, y-yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.” My god, haven’t you received nothing but excellent marks in English, idiot?? Further elaborate on that meaninglessly empty statement! Inwardly cringing at the slight squeak unjustly found amidst his slurred speech and albeit, apologetic struggle not to seemingly appear like some ditzy moron right now instead of y’know—excessively nodding along to the point that, you’re questioningly tilting your head to the side.

“That’s good to know. Make sure not to run like that in the hallways again yourself, next time. Could’ve ended worse and I wouldn’t want someone getting hurt on my behalf, would I?” Momentarily stunned by that sugary sweet smile and maybe, the all too good-natured pat naturally placed upon his left shoulder that his heated breath is promptly caught in his bobbing throat.

He meant to reply back, truthfully desired nothing more than to sheepishly inquire further for. . . what? Nothing, perhaps. Anything to have your presence possibly linger longer next to his, but before he’s consciously notices—your retreating silhouette is already swiftly stepping past his dumbfounded, stranded self. Stifled curses accompanied by faintly echoing footsteps thudding against the now desolate, school hallway.

“Goddammit, where’s that blonde bastard—told me to wait for him and he doesn’t even fucking show up. Is he still pissed at me for yesterday’s shit?? I swear I should. . .”

Ah.

And, he didn’t even get to catch your name.

Guess he’ll find out through his own personal means. Stealing a rushed glimpse towards the headmaster’s shut door where they privately keep any student’s confidential files—that is, including properly listed grades too, which he’s gotten no interest for, to begin with.

Name.

Your name.

Well, he’ll find out one way or another because he always possesses a way to, doesn’t he?

#this may be ass but so is kylar when trying to beat his shit #bucking your hips into your fist for your cock to fuck into is another kind of desperate #which I haven’t done before hahah what #nah who would do that #here comes the rest #dol #degrees of lewdity #kylar the loner #dol kylar #kylar dol #degrees of lewdity kylar #kylar degrees of lewdity #top male reader #dom male reader #x male reader #male reader #character x male reader #saehan’s hmmm shitty drafts?

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brynn-lear · 6 hours ago

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for those who are looking which of these games have yandere endings, allow me to kindly add them in a read more :D

Cupid Parasite: Gill Lovecraft

The most consistent yandere-vibes from Lock's recommendations. Gill's I would say leans so much on pathetic sad dog yandere and irl stalker that the otome game community is very divided on him (and a majority of us are yandere/trash husbando fans lol).

You'll spend most of his routes looking at how much he's a loser (/aff) who simps for his former roommate. I mean, he's trying to get over you but the heavens might quite literally be playing with him— cause how can he move on when you're his matchmaker???????

Cupid Parasite is so silly and so fun, highly recommend for those who love romcoms.

Piofiore: Nicola (Bad End)

Note: don't search his name on google images cause one of the first things you'll see is his CG for the bad end. Do not spool yourself lol.

Oooh how I love this man. Him and Dante are my faves [and Roberto. Lord. I love Roberto so much why isn't he a love interest?!?!?]

I won't spoil much, but his bad ending is 🥰. Plus Piofiore is such a good game anyways, it's worth trying out. If you like mafia men that are trash and would definitely kill you in other routes (sometimes their own too aHEM MISTER CHINESE KEBAB)— this game is for you.

Olympia Soiree: Kuroba (Bad End)

Ngl I remember the yandere end for this one being relatively short, but Kuroba along with Byakuya are my faves so I didn't really mind. If you like your fics with some sort of "chosen one" flair to it, OS is for you <3.

Don't get it twisted though, the game makes it a point to show time and time again how much their color system destroys the people [definitely feels like a metaphor for racism-]

Even if Tempest: Crius Castlerock (Bad End)

TW: childhood abuse/neglect, cannibalism, straight up every route has murder since this is literally a Phoenix Wright fantasy otome game, blood, unending angst you can't escape from if you want to see a single good ending, etc. For the amount of girlbossing and (justifyable?) crimes the heroine had done [and lord she's such a pretty androgynous girlie], the game is very refreshing.

LOOK AT MY BABIIIIESSS 😭😭😭😭😭😭

If you love suffering, I highly recommend this game because the plot is amazing. It does not hold back as much. It's not like Black Wolves Saga's level of "dead dove: do not eat" but man will it surprise you.

Crius definitely feels overprotective even in routes outside his. As an older brother figure-esque, he has this tendency to help you out without question [this fact will hurt you later.] His bad end? I'm a simp. And I like the hurt it gives. 10/10. Also him in the fandisk is 🤌🤌🤌🤌. Everyone in that game is so loveable.

I play a whole lot of localized switch otome games and let me just say, he's gotta be part of my top 5— and some people on that list are there for nostalgia's sake (Hi Tokimeki Memorial). Crius is great. Much love.

Bonus route: Steam Prison - Fin Euclase

I shit you not, bro is a yandere in every route but his. I am not joking. The amount of Love Interests that had fallen from his hands— meanwhile in his route he's a struggling wholesome puppy just trying to survibe the underworld. I love him but I cannot be with him simply because I'm not content with just seeing him happy, I wanna see that broken side again /silly

I forgot to mention: I wouldn't say CxM has a yandere route [I say that as someone whose faves are Okazaki and Shiraishi, who keeps being typed as yanderes when they're deranged at best /j]

... Buuut there is a bad end where it feels like Hoshino/the MC is a yandere for our poster boy :)

lock's otome game recs

i received some asks indicating an interest in a compilation of my favorite otome games, so i decided to go for it!! i've played about fourteen otome games, but of those fourteen, only these six left a lasting impression on me. there are still some that i intend to check out, so the rankings may update in the future. i'll give a very general overview of each game and how i'd score the categories that i find the most important in an otome game — the heroine, story, art, enjoyability, along with the characters i liked the most.

number 6 - piofiore fated memories.

heroine: 6/10 story: 6.5/10 characters: 7/10 art: 10/10 enjoyability: 8/10 favorite characters: dante (ishikawa kaito), nicola (kimura ryouhei) and yang (okamoto nobuhiko)

this game centers around the heroine, with the default name liliana adornato, who finds herself entangled in the politics of the region's three most prominent crime organizations. the game has an italian backdrop and iirc, takes place in the 1930s.

the overarching narrative, while it has its fair share of intrigue, isn't the game's strongest point. it's the interactions with the characters themselves that made the game feel worthwhile. each love interest has more to them than what meets the eye, so it's satisfying to watch the relationship between them and the heroine develop.

the heroine takes a passive role throughout much of the game, events sorta just happen to her. still, she has a kind disposition that makes her likable and doesn't make stupid decisions that has you wanting to fling your console across the room. her characterization changes slightly depending on the route. for instance, without getting into spoilers, she's more assertive throughout yang's route. the resulting dynamic made yang's route the most memorable, even if he's my third favorite character from the bunch.

what feels unique to this game is the effort put into the bad endings. in most visual novels, bad endings can feel like gimmicks. you make one or two wrong decisions and you're rewarded with a few paragraphs. the downward spiral of the characters in the bad endings are decently fleshed out and you can see how they arrived at this 'worst' version of themselves. they're suitably dark and it shouldn't come as a surprise that i enjoyed them because of that 😭

then there's the art. it's stunning, the details in each CG are mindboggling. the heroine gets to wear a variety of pretty outfits which is something i like to see. even in the story's weaker moments, a stunning CG would pop up that had me forgiving everything. i still glance through the gallery to this day.

number five - cupid parasite.

heroine: 9.5/10 story: 7/10 characters: 7/10 art: 9/10 enjoyability: 9/10 favorite characters: ryuki keisaiin (junya enoki) & gill lovecraft (kimura ryouhei)

iconic. showstopping. a little bit camp.

cupid parasite stars one of my favorite heroines, lynette. she works as a bridal advisor whose ambition is to ensure everyone finds their soulmate. in actuality, she's the goddess cupid, who left her post in celestia to better understand humanity and create lasting pairs. she's a delight to play as.

this game's presentation and overall aesthetic is the most distinct from any otome game i've played. aside from the presentation, the story itself is unlike any of the others on this list. when it comes to romance, i typically prefer them to be dark and mature. this game opts for a more lighthearted approach. it vacillates between being a romcom and dipping into the absurdist genre. there were times i was literally left speechless (glances at gill's route)... but it makes for an entertaining experience. the game's plenty funny as well.

personally, i enjoyed the more grounded moments when the mythological elements remained in the background. because of this, the true ending doesn't do it for me as much as they do in other games. as with anything, this is a personal preference though. i liked all of the routes and found the game handles the development of each love interest well. we're introduced to these men at their most pathetic and get to help them become a little more well-adjusted. lowering the cringe meter, if you will. it makes their growth all the most satisfying as the narrative progresses.

number four - even if tempest.

heroine: 9/10 story: 8.5/10 characters: 8/10 art: 6/10 enjoyability: 9/10 favorite characters: the heroine herself, tyril i lister (noriaki sugiyama), crius castlerock (makoto furukawa) and lucien neuschburn (kaito ishikawa)

right from the get-go, this game's premise had me hooked. it features the heroine, anastasia (<3!), who leads an incredibly tragic life. she's bestowed the ability to reverse time following each of her deaths and uses this to unravel a mess of mysteries the world's setting is tangled in.

this game is absolutely anastasia's story. without spoiling anything, i loved the approach they took with the time rewinding ability. how it's incorporated is unique to an otome game, which they take full advantage of to amplify the tragic romances. on that note, the romance itself occasionally takes a backseat to the narrative as a whole. personally, i didn't mind this in the moment, since i found the story so interesting. in retrospect, i do wish that we got more moments between the heroine and each love interest, especially in the true ending.

there are more gameplay elements here as well. you have to conduct investigations, gather evidence, and apply what you've learned during these trial segments. when i first read about this, i thought it'd be a gimmick, but i liked playing through them. it incentivizes you to pay extra close attention to the world.

while i liked the narrative as a whole, i do wish we got more worldbuilding. there are hints of political subterfuge and religious oligarchy that, while touched upon, could've been leaned into more to give the setting a distinct feeling.

number three - olympia soiree

heroine: 8/10 story: 8/10 characters: 8/10 art: 10/10 enjoyability: 10/10 favorite characters: akaza (yoshitsugu matsuoka), himuka (shun horie), and yosuga (yuma uchida)

in olympia soirée, the eponymous heroine, olympia, lives in a society divided into castes based on colors. she is the last surviving member of a clan that can perform rituals to keep the sun aglow. this game is a lengthier title, i believe i clocked in around 25 ish hours (i don't use auto-play so that sheds some time). the story benefits from this, as olympia has rich worldbuilding and lore that's revealed throughout the route's progression.

we get to see the consequences of this caste system and olympia's growth as she becomes determined to realize a better future for the islands. this makes the heroine someone that you want to root for. personally, i'm a sucker for stories that center around a sheltered individual being forced to face the harsh realities of the world and maturing in their own way. this, paired with the struggles specific to this setting, make for a gripping backdrop for the character's routes. all the love interests have problems of their own that they need to address.

this is certainly a mature title, there's plenty of steamy scenes featuring gorgeous artwork. seriously... all the pretty CGs are absolute eye candy. i enjoyed the balance between the main narrative and the development of the romantic relationships, i don't remember ever feeling bored.

ironically enough, i think this is the darkest game from the bunch listed here, surpassing the game with actual horror elements. there's a whole litany of trigger warnings to be mindful of when going through the game's bad ends. they are, as the term suggests, Bad. not light or humorous in the slightest. the poor heroine goes through it. please be mindful of these more touchy subjects.

number two - 9 r.i.p

heroine: 8/10 story: 8/10 characters: 9/10 art: 10/10 enjoyability: 10/10 favorite characters: minami (nobuhiko okamoto), hibiki (shunichi toki), kureha (toshiki masuda), and koyo (ryota suzuki)

i was looking forward to the english localization of this game before it was even announced ... i'd been wanting an otome game with this vibe for ages. and it didn't disappoint! there are four different overarching story sections, with two characters each having their routes fall under them. this makes it difficult to give a summary since each route has a vastly different feel. some routes lean heavy into supernatural horror (such as hibiki and kureha), whereas others are just... supernatural (like with yukimaro and koharu).

the basic premise is that the main character, misa, is a high school girl burdened with her career survey. she's uncertain what she wants for the future and is being pressured by his mother to pursue a career in medicine. in one way or another, depending on the story section, she comes into contact with the afterlife and those who inhabit it.

i loved this game, i couldn't put it down. the routes that leaned heavy into horror were my favorites, which shouldn't be a surprise lol. i do feel some love interests were given preferential treatment of others, i wanted more from sena's storyline in particular, since he's voiced by one of my favorite VAs (tetsuya kakihara, the voice of scaramouche) 😭... apparently this game is receiving a fandisc, so hopefully they'll remedy that in the future.

minami stole the show for me. from what i've gauged online, he's a divisive character, you either find him grating or love him (like i do). i'm biased but i do think he has the most interesting and well-written story out of the love interests, i've played through it three times already. i just adored the dynamic between him and the heroine. he's petulant, selfish, and a bit immature, yet he goes to extremes for her as he realizes his unhinged feelings.

hibiki is a close second. the most yandere-coded of the bunch, he's soft-spoken and polite, but that exterior hides a creepy personality. like all of the characters in this game, there's a tragic element to him. i was worried about the role the heroine would play in helping him 'overcome' this, but i think they handled it well. it doesn't feel like the heroine's fixing him so much as she's helping him have a different perspective on certain events.

yeah i'm not normal about this game, i cannot recommend it enough. it would've taken the top slot if some of the routes were a bit more polished. i didn't care for yukimaro's at all, for example. routes like minami's, hibiki's, and koyo's more than make up for it though.

number one - collar x malice

heroine: 10/10 story: 10/10 characters: 10/10 art: 10/10 enjoyability: 10/10 favorite characters: takeru sasazuka (daisuke namikawa), kei okazaki (yuki kaji), and aiji yanagi (masakazu morita)

the holy grail. the otome games that died for our sins. this isn't just a good otome game, it's an excellent story, with a very human cast, commentary on issues like the nature of crime, and you're left wanting to solve the various mysterious as much as the heroine does. speaking of the heroine, miss hoshino ichika is my all-time favorite heroine. she's clever, resolute, compassionate, and you can't help but fall in love with her a little yourself 😭😭

i'm not sure if this makes sense, but the world feels very... full? you get this sense that ichika exists outside just interacting with the love interests. she has her career, friends, and her younger brother that act as more than passing NPCs. the writers ensured all the characters with portraits are given some level of depth. i left caring about more characters than the heroine and love interests.

each route is dedicated to working through a certain case, which keeps the story intriguing as you progress. finally, all of the little hints that have been littered throughout coalesce into the 'true' route, where questions you've had since the first chapter are given satisfactory conclusions. at the same time, you're left wondering about a few things, such as the complete philosophy of the main antagonist.

ichika's relationship with each of the love interests develops alongside the case they're investigating, which almost always have connections or parallels to the LI's past. this helped ground them in reality and flesh them out into dynamic characters. you come to care deeply about them alongside ichika. the romance feels earned and doesn't come on too fast, which some otome games suffer from.

if you like otome games and haven't played collar x malice yet, i fully recommend it!!!!!!!! it's the strongest title from what i've played so far.

#CxM my goat 👑#it's my first switch otome lol #EiT is definitely my fave of all of these ngl #I haven't played 9RIP yet since it's new but I can't wait :)

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saveyourblood · 2 days ago

Text

Pretty Boy - Ch 4 (Buddie x Reader)

Summary: You can feel Buck staring. When your eyes meet his, you realize he’s staring at your hand, which is still on Eddie’s knee. You slowly retreat, which makes Buck turn his attention to your face. You smile softly. He just looks out the window. The one where you’re an advanced paramedic, Buck and Eddie are firefighters, and you think you might be in love with both of them.

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3

A/N: You know what would be cool? If you left a comment :) Word Count: 3.9k Warnings: mentions of trauma/injury

“Alright, speed-round: if you weren’t doing this, what would you be doing?” Bobby asks as he cooks breakfast.

You’re sitting at the kitchen island, nursing your second cup of coffee. Everyone’s shift started two and a half hours ago, right at 5 am. There hasn’t been a call for the 118 yet, so Bobby’s taking advantage of the opportunity.

“Fighter pilot: Topgun. Call sign: shogun,” Chim answers as he digs into his omelet.

Hen laughs.

“What about you, Hen?” You smile.

“Editorial cartoonist, The New Yorker. I have a lot to say,” she says as she sits down.

You raise your eyebrows as the men share a look.

“You draw?” Bobby asks, surprised.

“No, it's a dream. It's not supposed to be attainable,” Hen argues. She looks at you. “What would you be?”

“You know, ever since I was a kid, I loved helicopters,” you remark. “During paramedic training, I learned about flight nursing and thought that was super cool. I guess I would be a flight nurse.”

You go back to drinking your coffee, but everyone stays silent. You look up to find them staring at you.

You chuckle in confusion. “What?”

“Girl, you could go do that now if you wanted to,” Hen says.

“I can’t just decide to be a nurse,” you argue.

“You could go be a flight paramedic if you wanted to,” Bobby says. “And since you’re an advanced paramedic, you can become a nurse in like, half the normal time.”

You frown. “Seriously?”

He nods. “There are a lot of paramedic-to-RN bridge programs out there. California prefers nurses with bachelor’s degrees, but you could get your associate’s degree and go from there. You might need some hospital experience to beef up your resume, but otherwise, you’d be a shoo-in.”

Chim looks at Bobby in disbelief. “Why would you tell her all of that?”

He laughs. “What?”

“You’re gonna make her leave!” Hen exclaims. She sets her head on your shoulder. “We don’t want her to leave—we love her.”

You smile and pat Hen’s shoulder. “I’m not leaving. I love what I do right now, and I love the people I do it with. That’s why it’s just a dream.”

It’s true: you love what you do… most of the time. When you don’t love it, you really fucking hate it. But that’s anywhere. You should just count your blessings, cut your losses, or whatever the expression is.

Buck joins you all, grabbing an apple from the bowl between you and Hen.

“Buckaroo, If you were not a member of the LAFD, what would you be doing?” Chim asks.

“Uh, I don’t know,” Buck frowns as he sits beside you. “I’m not getting fired, am I?”

Bobby gives him a look of contemplation that makes you snort.

Chim casually takes another bite. “That’s inevitable.”

“He’d be a golden retriever,” Hen chimes in.

“No, a bartender,” Chim says. “No, no, a bouncer at a bar.”

“A bouncer at a strip club,” you correct him.

Chim and Hen high-five each other, then you. You turn to your side. Buck has a small smile on his face, but you can tell something is eating at him.

“What’s going on, Pretty Boy?” you ask. When he meets your gaze, you offer (what you hope is) an encouraging smile.

“Traffic sucks in this town unless you're driving ten tons of engine with sirens,” Buck says. “It took me almost two hours to get from my place to the call center downtown, then back over here. I told Maddie she needs to start Ubering.”

You frown at the mention of ‘Maddie,’ a name you haven’t heard before. Does Buck have a girlfriend? And they’re already living together? Something about that doesn’t sit right with you. It feels like a piece of lead took residence in your stomach, and the space between your lungs and ribs got slightly smaller.

“Maddie?” You ask, trying to sound neutral.

“My sister,” Buck clarifies.

The lead in your stomach evaporates. “Oh. I didn’t know you had a sister. She’s living with you?”

“For now, until she finds a place of her own,” Buck nods.

You nod as well. “How are things going?”

“Well, she’s a Buckley, so she’s practically running the place,” Buck says.

Bobby offers him a plate, which he accepts. He stands up to go to the table, and on his way over, he pats your shoulder twice. When he’s out of sight, Hen cocks her head and raises an eyebrow.

“What?” You ask her, deadpan.

“‘Maddie’?” she repeats, mocking how you said her name.

“It was a question.”

“You sounded like a jealous girlfriend,” Hen laughs.

“I’m not jealous, and I’m definitely not his girlfriend.”

“Doesn’t mean you couldn’t be,” Hen says in a sing-song voice as she stands.

“Yeah, you better run,” you threaten playfully as she approaches the table.

She flips you the bird, and you laugh loudly.

The first call of the shift is to a building affected by an earthquake. It sounds like the scene already has plenty of paramedics, so for the first time in a long time, you’re in firefighter gear and will be helping pull victims from the site. It’s not your favorite thing to do all the time—that’s what the rescue team is for. Every once in a while isn’t bad, though. It gets your blood pumping like paramedicine does; you only tend to use your muscles more than your brain. It’s also fun to sit in an engine instead of the rig for a change.

Eddie is next to you, and since getting on, he hasn’t looked up from his phone. His brow is furrowed, and his forehead is already shining with sweat.

You lean over, knowing you’ll still have to yell for him to hear you over the engine and sirens. “Everything okay?”

He looks at you, then back at his phone. “Yeah, no service. Texts won’t even get through.”

He’s pissed, and you have no clue why.

“Okay,” you say slowly. “Who are you trying to get a hold of?”

Eddie stares at you momentarily, then looks around the engine at the other passengers.

“My son,” he eventually explains. “I’m trying to reach my son.”

“Woah, you got a kid?!” Buck exclaims.

“Christopher,” Eddie says, pulling up a picture on his phone. He shows you, then Buck. “He’s seven.”

“He looks like a sweet kid,” you say.

“Yeah, he’s super adorable,” Buck agrees. “I uh, I love kids.”

“I love this one,” Eddie says quietly. “I’m all he’s got. His mother’s not in the picture.”

“He’s at school right now?” You ask, tilting your head.

Eddie nods.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” you say, patting his knee reassuringly.

Eddie glances from your hand to your face. He nods slightly and gives you a closed-mouth smile. He wants to believe you, but his parental instincts tell him not to. You get it. No one but Chris can quell that anxiety.

You can feel Buck staring. When your eyes meet his, you realize he’s staring at your hand, which is still on Eddie’s knee. You slowly retreat, which makes Buck turn his attention to your face. You smile softly. He just looks out the window.

The damaged building is one of the craziest things you’ve seen in a long time. It’s on the corner, leaning out over the street below. All of the buildings around it look fine on the outside. It truly looks like something from an apocalyptic movie.

“You guys ever deal with anything like this before?” Eddie asks once you’re all standing on the sidewalk.

Bobby shakes his head, still staring up at the building. “Nope.”

A cop is escorting a couple down the sidewalk. They’re fighting her to go back.

“You have to let me back in there, my baby is in there!” The woman screams.

“Please, our daughter is still inside!” The man protests as an officer pushes him back. “She’s eight years old! Her name is Kat!”

Your stomach is in knots. This is why you don’t like working rescue. As a paramedic, you don’t know what you’re walking into. When you work search and rescue, you know what you’ll find; you just might not like it.

You follow your team as Bobby looks for the Incident Commander. You begin walking through a makeshift medical bay, and you can see that they’ve already implemented disaster protocol triage. Each patient is wearing a tag with their assigned triage color. Green means stable, yellow means a serious injury but not an emergency, red means an immediate threat to life, and black indicates death or injuries incompatible with life. You mostly see green and yellow, which is a good sign.

You overhear some of what Chief Williams, the Incident Commander, and Bobby are discussing. Essentially, the building is on a fault line, and the only thing keeping it upright is some steel, so one aftershock and the whole thing could come down.

Bobby faces you all. “Okay, listen up: Here's how you make it to the end of the day. You don't worry about the things that you can't do anything about. Focus on one task at a time. I can't order you guys to go inside that building, and I'm not gonna judge you if you decide not to.”

“Where do you want us?” Is the first thing Eddie asks.

Bobby is pulled to help with triage, while Chim and Hen see a woman on the 11th floor needing rescue. This left you with Eddie and Buck by default, who are tasked with sweeping the ground floor in search of any survivors or rescue teams that may need additional assistance.

You find some bodies that you leave black tags on and spray paint an ‘x’ on a landmark near them. You aren’t entirely sure you believe in god, but just in case, you also send a prayer.

“How does it feel to be in on the action for once?” Buck asks with a grin. “Ya know, instead of standing outside waiting like you normally do.”

“So far? I’m not loving it,” you retort, ducking under a massive piece of concrete.

A firefighter from a different crew approaches you, a victim in tow.

“Need any help?” Eddie asks.

“All good,” The firefighter replies. “There’s a kid maybe 50 feet back, he needs EMTs. Bad.”

“Is it a little girl?” you ask, thinking of Kat. Honestly, you aren’t sure what you want the answer to be.

“No, an African American teenager,” he clarifies.

“Fire and Rescue, hello?!” Buck shouts.

“Right here!” A voice shouts back. “Thank god, man, he’s stuck!”

The three of you have to crawl across a beam to get to him. You’re the last one to make it across, and Buck hands you your bag once you do. You give him a single nod, which he returns.

“What’s your name, kiddo?” You ask with a smile as you approach the victim.

A man is holding one of his hands, and the other is cradling his head. He doesn’t appear to be his father, but you can tell they know each other somehow. You can see why: his injury is brutal. His left leg is trapped under a massive concrete support beam, one that normally goes from the ceiling to the floor.

“Jeff,” he answers shakily.

“You already try and move some debris, see if you can pull him free?” Eddie asks as he gets a set of vitals.

“The second we touched the beam, everything above started shifting,” the man responds.

Buck stares up. “Yeah, that’s what I was afraid of. It looks like this debris is holding up this section of the ceiling. If we try to pull it out of the way, this whole area could cave in.”

“My friend Eddie and I are gonna stablize your neck, okay Jeff?” You say as you get the c-collar out of your pack.

Eddie holds C-spine as you slide the collar around Jeff’s neck.

“I-I can’t move it, coach,” Jeff says. “How bad is it?”

“Hey, bones heal, alright?” His coach replies.

“Sir, this firefighter is gonna lead you out of here,” Buck interrupts.

“No, screw that, I’m staying, alright? This kid is a son to me.”

“Okay, we need to focus all of our attention on Jeff right now. We can't be worried about your safety, too,” Buck insists. “Now go.”

A sense of pride swells in your heart. Buck is taking charge of the situation, similar to how Bobby would. Sometimes, you can hardly believe this is the same guy who got fired for not respecting the job.

Buck approaches you. “What’ve we got?”

“Crushed tibia and fibula,” you answer. “Looks like it missed any major arteries.”

“Alright, Pretty Boy, what do you think?”

Both Buck and Eddie begin talking. They frown and glance at each other, then at you.

Your cheeks burn a little. “Um, Buck is Pretty Boy.”

Buck gives a little shit-eating grin.

“Huh, sounds like there’s a story there,” Eddie notes.

The three of you are standing in a small circle, out of earshot from Jeff. You’re trying to decide what the next step is, and the boys have considered every option… except yours.

“What if we try chipping away at the debris, try to make headway,” Eddie suggests.

“Are you crazy? The entire goddamn building could come crashing down us,” you argue. “I don’t know why we’re even discussing this. There’s one option: we get a trauma surgeon in here, and Jeff loses his leg instead of his life.”

“Basketball is his life,” Buck says. His arms are folded across his chest, and he sways back and forth a little as he thinks.

“Yeah, Well, it isn’t just his life at stake,” you retort. “We’re here too, and call me selfish, but I don’t want to die so a kid can play with a ball. That’s also assuming, by the way, that his leg is even salvageable when all is said and done. And it might not be.”

“You don’t know that it isn’t,” Eddie shrugged. “We have to at least try, right?”

“Okay, I know you boys are super into the whole ‘badass, lifesaving, run-into-danger’ firefighter thing, but we have to be realistic. This isn’t just Jeff we’re talking about. Hell, this isn’t just about the four of us. It’s about everyone above us, too: Hen, Chim, and god knows how many other firefighters and survivors. Risking all of their lives for one person isn’t heroic—it’s stupid.”

“What about an airbag?” Buck says to Eddie. “We shore up this pocket we're in. get an air bag to lift up the beam that’s pinning him down.”

Eddie nods thoughtfully. “Yeah, that could work.”

You tap your mouth like it’s a microphone. “Is this thing on?”

Buck sighs. “Look, we can’t just—”

“I can hear you, you know,” Jeff interrupts your conversation. “Shouldn’t I get a vote?”

You look at Jeff, then back at your coworkers. Without saying anything, you all move back over to Jeff, surrounding him in a formation similar to before.

“Jeff, what do you want to to do?” You ask, gently taking his hand.

He squeezes your hand. “I may be able to live without my leg, but I don’t know if I can live knowing I could have saved it, but didn’t.”

You smile and nod. You look to Buck and Eddie. “Then we try the airbags.”

“Alright, Jeff, you ready?” Buck asks.

Buck is at Jeff’s shoulders, Eddie is at his hip, and you’re crouched at his feet. Buck and Eddie will move Jeff once the airbag deploys, and it’s your job to make sure he’s clear.

Jeff nods. “Yeah, but if things go wrong, leave me and save yourselves. This is my choice to try this.”

“Eh, I kind of like you, so now you’re stuck with me,” you joke. You get at least a chuckle out of everyone. “All four of us are getting out of here.”

“That’s right,” Eddie agrees, “with all 8 legs.”

Buck leans in a little closer to Jeff. “Now, Jeff, she gave you some morphine, but once we move you, it’s gonna hurt like hell. You ready?”

Jeff agrees, quietly at first but then loudly. “Yeah. Yeah, Yeah. Yeah, come on, we’re the champs.”

You smile and can almost taste how bittersweet the expression is. Buck and Eddie quickly catch on and begin agreeing.

“Yeah, we’re the champions!” Buck shouts.

“We got this! Yeah, we got this!” Eddie yells.

Eventually, the three of them just yell in similar octaves. They sound like a bunch of little boys excited to play a game. You have to blink a few times, holding back tears.

Buck counts down, then turns a nozzle to deploy the airbag. You can hear some cracking sounds but feel no slack on Jeff’s leg.

“Anything?!” Buck shouts.

“A little more!” Eddie shouts back.

Debris begins to fall on your shoulders, and you can feel the surface below you shaking.

“Come, come on, come on—”

Jeff’s leg is suddenly free enough, and you and Eddie pull him to the side.

In seconds, the three of you have him on the backboard, splinted, and ready for transport. Each of you is singing your praises to Jeff, encouraging him, and assuring him he did a good job. The boys get him onto the platform your team crawled in on. The boys are doing the heavy lifting, so you let them go first.

As you start to slide across the beam, you catch something in the corner of your eye. It’s a pink and purple sneaker, likely a child’s.

“Kat?” you shout, digging for your flashlight. “Kat?!”

After getting Jeff out, you confirm that Kat was wearing pink and purple shoes, which means she’s stuck somewhere in the building. The three of you return to the building with additional firefighters, all calling out Kat’s name.

An aftershock begins. Everything around you begins shaking, and you can feel the ground start to give. It makes your stomach do a few backflips. There’s a massive shift below you, and before you even realize it’s happening, you’re falling between two segments. For a moment, you hear Eddie and Buck call your name. Then, all you can hear is the world falling on top of you.

Eventually, everything becomes still. You reach for your radio, trying to get unpinned from whatever came crashing down on you. “Buck?! Eddie?!”

You can’t explain it, but you can feel you’re in a different spot. The air didn’t just get colder; it’s like the actual pressure of the atmosphere shifted.

You find there’s some slack above your legs, so you begin kicking. “Is anyone down here?!”

“Hey,” a gravely voice calls out.

You grunt a few times as you pry and pull yourself from the rubble. When you break free, you see a trapped firefighter a few feet away. His legs are completely obstructed, and he’s pressed flat on his back.

“Hey, 221, right?” you say, opening your medi bag. “We ran into some of your boys earlier. I’m 118.”

“Russ, 221,” he confirms.

“Russ, where’s your radio?” You ask as you look around. “Mine’s toast.”

“I don’t have one,” he rasps out, “all radios were issued out. It’s not my shift?”

You feel a pull on your heartstrings. “ Oh my god, you came in on your day off, Russ?”

“Eh, I had nothing better to do,” He jokes with a weak laugh.

You begin looking around and think of various ways to free Russ. You first try pushing the debris away, which proves unsuccessful. You then try pulling Russ out, and when that doesn’t work, you try using your fire axe as a jack.

“There’s gotta be an actual jack in one of these cars,” you say, swinging your head around as you try to locate the nearest vehicle.

“Don’t waste your strength or your time,” Russ protests.

“Enough of that, Russ,” you gently scold. “We’re both getting out of here, okay?”

“I’m not. Fractured pelvis, flail chest... Even I couldn't save me, and... you don't know me, but I'm good.”

“Yeah? Well maybe I’m better,” You argue, finding a nearby car door. You open it. “Hang in there.”

“I’m not gonna make it,” Russ coughs. You rush to his side, and it looks like he’s spitting up blood. “Help's not coming. Not in time, anyway. So, please, my kit. The morphine. Give me a bolus.” He coughs and moans a little. “Oh, make it three.”

“I'll give you one, just to keep you comfortable, but we're not giving up, okay?” You say as you begin rifling through your bag.

“Are you married?” Russ asks.

You shake your head. “Haven’t gotten around to it.”

“Well, I was,” Russ explains. “She was always worrying that I wouldn't... make it back home to see her. Decided maybe it's better if I just stopped coming home altogether. I think maybe she was... onto something.”

You’re drawing up the last little bit of morphine when Russ goes quiet. You drop the syringe and shake his shoulders. “Russ?! Russ!”

You put your fingers to his neck, but you know you aren’t going to find a pulse. His eyes are already glazed over, his face totally relaxed.

You throw the syringe of morphine as hard as you can, curling up into a ball. “Dammit.”

You stay like that for a while, probably longer than you should. A few silent tears stream down your face. You eventually wipe away your tears, close Russ’s eyes, and continue forward.

You go for as long as you can, but the air gets so thin that it becomes hard to breathe. At some point, you stumble to your feet, leaning back against some rubble behind you. You take in a few deep breaths, and you exhale them as sobs.

Wiping at your eyes again, you reach for your phone. It’s something you never wanted to do, but it feels like the right decision. When you find your phone, you click into the voice memo app.

“Hey, Bobby,” you say, letting out a cough. “I’m sorry you have to hear them this way, but you deserve some last words from me, so here I go: working with you has been the greatest pleasure of my life.”

You record one for each of your co-workers, your family members.

“Chim, I always thought of you as a mentor…”

“Hen, your friendship has meant the absolute world to me…”

“Eddie, I haven’t known you for long, but I’m glad I got to meet you…”

“Pretty Boy,” you laugh, then cough again. “Evan Buckley… where do I even start with you? I’m not gonna lie: I really didn’t like you when we first met. And that’s funny, because now, you’re probably one of the most important people in my life. You definitely proved me wrong, man: you were good. You are good. And you have to keep being good, okay? I might not be there to see it anymore, but you should still do it. Do it for the both of us, will ya?”

A few tears fall from your face as you end the recording. You take a few deep breaths before marching onward.

Ch 5

#911 abc #evan buckley #evan buckley x reader #911 show #911 on abc #911 reader insert #evan buckley/reader #eddie diaz x reader #eddie diaz #evan buckley x eddie diaz x reader #Buddie x reader #buddie x reader #i can write

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willowed-wisp · 1 day ago

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RELATIONSHIP HEADCANONs [ johnny ‘soap’ mactavish ]

Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish x f!reader/you

SFW

- When you guys met, you thought he was an airhead, blue eyed meat head. Still is but he was also a deeply caring and affectionate person

- Probably met on his way back from the gym or in the gym- depends if you workout or not.

- Johnny isn’t the type to restrain his thoughts- immediately asked for you out and the rest is history.

- Now to the dating- he is 100% Rottweiler energy… a mix of golden retriever boyfriend that can flip his switch. He’ll protect you- no second thoughts.

- You meet his parents after a week of officially dating, his mum loves you and tells him to get on one knee then and there. Spoilers he’s already planned out the rest of your lives together… not in a creepy way.

- Back hugs are his thing, he’s like a backpack out and about. Just to let everyone know you’re his.

- Looks at you like you’re the only thing he’s ever known… the air he breathes. Deep blue eyes filled with adoration, you couldn’t put it into words. Only that your heart flutters whenever he’s looking your way.

- Makes stupid dad jokes, especially when hanging out with Ghost

- Ghost is definitely the best man at your wedding, whether he likes it or not.

- You’re well acquainted with the boys from 141. Price feels like a father figure, Gaz the relentless older brother and Ghost like a protective cat.

- Takes you to the local pub every time Aberdeen F.C. play and watch it at the bar. It’s amusing to see him a few pints in and saying, “Goal keeper, pfftt, I could keep be’er in primary school…”

- Let’s just say, you’d crack up and nearly drag him off the stool beside you.

- Not to mention when you buy him season tickets for Aberdeen… he’d be the loudest in the stadium if not for you. The look of pride when you repeat what he said in the pub… Christ, he was a lucky man.

- If you had told him you wanted him to retire from the military, he probably would have. He even spoke to you about it.

- You nearly slapped him in the face, calling him an ‘eejit’ (picking up Scottish slang). Thats probably when he knew he’d spend the rest of his life with you.

- It may have broken your heart when he was away, no way to contact you on covert missions. You didn’t even know where he was… but you couldn’t watch him lose himself, knowing that he was born to be in the SAS.

- You noticed a new tattoo on his hip, “why the hell is my name tattooed on your body?” And he would reply, “You’re my lady, enough said.”

- He pops the question somewhere lowkey like your house, just plops down on one knee with a ring in a box. You thought he’d fallen over and instantly told him to get up. So taken aback, you have a ring on your finger and Johnny’s arms around you.

- The wedding was a riot, his family are Roman Catholic raised and you were okay with the ceremony is the local Catholic parish.

- You can’t remember who walks you down the aisle, but at the end of it is Johnny MacTavish in a kilt with his family tartan. You didn’t focus on his military formals adorned with various badges, or that kilt. It was the tears in his sapphire eyes, with Price and Ghost behind him as well as his cousin, the one who inspired him to join the forces.

- The Scottish knew how to party… you danced the night away. Ghost was Johnny’s best man. His speech entailed how, “Johnny wouldn’t stop talkin’ abou’ Y/N. An’ meetin’ her I could see why, she winds your neck in, mate.”

NSFW under cut….

NSFW

- Johnny waited until you were ready to do anything. He’s a gentleman, unlike popular belief.

- But after he coaxed you into working out with him… watching him pump not only the weights but you… you were a gonna, you got back to your place and your lips were crushed against his own.

- Stripping his arms of the hoodie, revealing those thick, rippling arms and the tattoos. His look drove you insane, never been so wet in your life.

- He struggled to keep at your pace, wanting to amp it up because you’d been driving him insane since he met you. Johnny was at his wits end when he hiked you into his arms. So steady and unyielding, lips indenting lilac across the span of your neck before ravaging your lips.

- Hips bucking into your spread legs, straight to the middle. Where you needed him.

- That first time, no time was wasted and no foreplay required. You marvelled slightly at all of him. This was the first time seeing him topless let alone butt naked… he knew he struck the jackpot with you when he could barely fit the tip in.

- Clawing at his numerous scars and moaning effervescence. His name so sweetly rolled off your tongue- the only thing she could muster. And the soldier couldn’t help that drop dead gorgeous smile play on his lips, you shuddered beneath him on the couch you normally watched movies on.

- Maybe that’s when you knew he’d be the man you’d spend the rest of your life with.

- Sex feels like slow motion with Johnny MacTavish, something about his starlight kissed eyes makes time feel like it stopped. Even in a non-sexual sense, you swear you see the dust shine in sunbeams when sharing eye contact.

- Johnny loves watching you ride him, getting tired out because he’s not easy to break. Meeting your bounces, fingers scarring your hips as he thrusts into you.

- Don’t let this man catch you in one of his tight fit t-shirts, if you don’t wanna be around his cock in ten seconds flat.

- Yes, he’s that fast.

- The aftercare KING. Want hot chocolate and a Christmas on in the middle of July- he’ll do it.

- Need a stonking hot bubble bath, he’s getting the rubber ducky and carrying there bridal style. Washing your hair and your body.

- He just loves you and cannot get over how lucky he is to be such a beauty- inside and out

- If you want round two, three or four during the aftercare… he’s got stamina for days soooo it’s really your pick of Johnny special

————

masterlist

#johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #soap cod #soap x reader #soap call of duty #cod smut #smut #soap smut #johnny mactavish #headcanon #call of duty #cod modern warfare

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anonymousewrites · 9 hours ago

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A Not-So-Disastrous Romance (Book 2) Chapter Twenty-One

Saiki Kusuo x Reader

Chapter Twenty-One: Culture Festival

Summary: Saiki's class has to put together an event, and, sure enough, he gets dragged in. By Teruhashi. Yare yare.

“Today, we need to choose two representatives to be our class organizers for the culture festival,” said the teacher of Saiki and (Y/N)’s class.

“What?” said everyone, pretending like they were shocked they still had to choose reps (when none of them had wanted to do it or volunteered). To be fair, Hairo and a girl named Kasai had volunteered the previous year, and it was thought they’d do so again.

“Oh, by the way,” continued their teacher. “Hairo and Kasai did it last year, so two people besides them.”

Everyone fell silent and refused to move. If they weren’t doing it again, it fell to the rest of the class that didn’t want to volunteer. If they spoke or moved or did anything to draw attention to themselves, they could accidentally be chosen as an organizer.

“Any volunteers?” said the teacher.

No one moved.

She sighed. “Class Rep, I leave it to you.” She walked out of the room, and Hairo stepped up to address his classmates.

“As class representative, I’ll lead the discussion,” he said, smiling. “I’ll ask again, is no one willing to volunteer? In that case, we will draw straws.”

“Sure, whatever,” said Miko. She was the first to speak, but, after all, this was strategic. If it was drawing straws, her abilities gave her an edge.

Saiki also approved of this strategy for the same reason—he could get out of work.

“I’m opposed.” Mera raised her hand and spoke firmly. “I won’t draw straws. Is that okay?” Everyone had the same thought, but none of them could voice it. Not to mention, Mera had a trump card. “My family is very poor, and I work six part-time jobs. I drew the short straw of life. You can’t ask me to do that again.”

What a blow, thought (Y/N). No one could ask her to volunteer after that.

And thus began the excuses. Everyone had to one-up the other to create scenarios and reasons they absolutely couldn’t be asked to volunteer and organize the culture festival. Saiki glanced at (Y/N). They were still quiet, watching the events unfold with a little smile. No one was even paying attention to them.

They might have the best strategy of all, thought Saiki.

“What about you, Saiko?” sighed Hairo.

“I’m included in this ridiculous fight as well?” scoffed Saiko.

“If you don’t have plans, we will ask you to draw a straw,” said Hairo.

“Is that so? Then I refuse,” said Saiko coldly. “I’m not organizing a festival for these plebes. There must be a ton of you who want to do it, right?” He placed a bundle of cash—his solution to everything—on his desk. “Here’s one million yen. I’ll give this to someone who volunteers.”

Accepting this money means abandoning one’s pride, thought Saiki.

Which, of course, half the class did, clamoring and yelling for the money.

“I’ll do it.” Kuboyasu faced Saiko. Everyone backed off from Kuboyasu, still an intimidating, if nice, boy.

“You’re after money, too?” said Saiko, smirking as Kuboyasu took the money.

“No.” Kuboyasu tossed the money to the side. “Things won’t go your way just because you’re rich. Hairo, I’ll do it.”

(Y/N) smiled to himself. So far, the most honorable had been Kuboyasu.

Kuboyasu is so totally cool! Most of the class had just fallen head-over-heels for him.

Less of a chance of me being picked now, thought Saiki with satisfaction.

“Alright, that’s one representative. We still need a second,” said Hairo.

Silence.

“I’ll do it if it’s alright.” Teruhashi rose from her seat in her golden glory. Volunteering would earn everyone’s respect, and she had been waiting for the opportunity to say she would do it when it gained the most respect.

Why do I feel like she has more up her sleeve? Saiki searched her thoughts, but it was too late.

“That’s Kuboyasu and Teruhashi. Are there any objections?” said Hairo.

Instantly, most of the boys in the class began shouting—there were most certainly objections. Due to Teruhashi being so loved, everyone wanted to be the one to work with her—and if not decided well, it would become an all-out war.

“Everyone, settle down!” said Hairo. He tore up a piece of paper and wrote down words on it. “We’ll decide randomly.” He tossed the names into a box. “Here are all the other names in the class. Teruhashi, you pick.”

Yare yare. Here is the problem: she has the Heavens on her side.

Teruhashi pulled out a name. “Saiki,” she announced.

I always draw the shortest straw.

(Y/N) cast him a sympathetic smile.

Saiki sighed and got up from his desk. This was going to be a big ball of trouble, he just knew it.

“Alright,” said Teruhashi, standing at the board with Saiki. “Please raise your hand if you have any ideas.”

“How about a maze?” suggested one person.

“Oh, a maze?” Teruhashi kept her smile on, but she didn’t have a large reaction. She was waiting for the right idea.

“A coffee shop!” said another classmate.

“A coffee shop.”

“Fifty thousand paper cranes!” said Hairo.

“Others?” said Teruhashi.

“How about a play?” said a nervous boy.

“Idiot, we couldn’t—” began other boys.

“Wow, a play!” Teruhashi’s smile grew wider. “Sounds fun!” Precisely what she’d been waiting for.

“Let’s do a play!” cheered everyone.

She won again, thought Saiki.

I’m curious to see what they’ll decide on, thought (Y/N). Hopefully nothing too romance-based—like Romeo and Juliet (even if a tragedy)—because Teruhashi would make poor Saiki star with her.

And so, Saiki was stuck in the library with Teruhashi going through the scripts the school had to decide on a play. She was excited for all the time they’d have to spend together working on the play and all the chances to get Saiki to say “oh, wow” she’d have.

“Hey, I bought this earlier,” said Teruhashi, holding up a notebook. “It will be useful to write down our ideas.”

Yare yare, thought Saiki, sitting down. He’d have to intervene somehow.

“Do you think our classmates will want to see a drama, a musical, or a romance?” said Teruhashi.

Definitely not a musical. Most of them can’t sing. Saiki just shrugged.

“I think an exciting drama would be good,” said Teruhashi. I can’t seem too eager for romance. But we will have romance.

No thank you unless it’s with (Y/N).

“Oh, there’s Romeo and Juliet,” said Teruhashi, writing it down. “Everyone loves Shakespeare, and it’s a dramatic tragedy.”

“Overdone,” said Saiki. way too cliché even for his show.

“They would be expecting it,” said Teruhashi, deflating. Then, she brightened. “Much Ado About Nothing is a comedy and very underrated.”

“(Y/N) likes that play,” said Saiki before he could stop himself.

Teruhashi paused. “They do?” He brought them up? I mean, they’re friends, but—

Oh, no. Saiki had no choice but to respond and nod.

Teruhashi frowned inwardly and tried to plaster on a pleased face. “Saiki, do you, um…” She panicked. “If we do Much Ado About Nothing, who should be Benedick and Beatrice?” If he had to suggest someone, would that mean he likes them? Or would he choose a friend for it be easier? Would he choose (Y/N)? Would that mean he likes them? She deflated slightly. She was torn in her feelings—she was used to boys liking her, and she was still interested in Saiki and the way he treated her so normally, but if Saiki liked (Y/N), her friend, how would she feel? She had noticed them, how close they were, how Saiki was so…natural around them and actually seemed to enjoy himself with them.

I don’t want to lose (Y/N) as a friend.

Saiki glanced at Teruhashi in surprise at the thought. For so long, Teruhashi had only thought about herself and her own feelings, so for her thought to be about losing her friendship and not about losing Saiki was new.

Actually…it weas a good thought. (Y/N) had been worrying about losing a friendship when their relationship with Saiki came out, but this was promising. It wasn’t perfect yet, Teruhashi was still interested in Saiki and hadn’t really gotten into the thought that Saiki could like someone else, but at least it was there and wasn’t followed with anger towards (Y/N).

Who would have thought something good would come of this? thought Saiki.

“Hey, Kokomi, hey, Kusuo.”

Before Saiki had to respond to the question, Saiki and Teruhashi looked over to find (Y/N), Nendou, Kuboyasu, and Kaidou standing in the library.

“Why are you here?” asked Teruhashi in surprise (also embarrassment since she had been about to ask questions about Saiki and relationships).

“We wanted to help out so you two don’t have to do everything on your own,” said (Y/N), smiling. They were being honest—they didn’t want to leave everything on the shoulders of two people. However, they also had an ulterior motive—they didn’t want Saiki to feel stuck with Teruhashi flirting with him for too long.

Saiki smiled as he saw them. (Y/N) was the best. I love them.

“The more the merrier, right?” said Kaidou.

“Can we help decide roles?” said Kuboyasu.

“Wow, thanks,” said Teruhashi, putting on her perfect smile. Why did you have to come?! She cleared her throat and sat down with everyone around the table. “I was thinking the best choice is a Grimm’s fairy tale or Shakespeare, something classic.”

“I heard another class is doing a play, too,” said Kuboyasu. “The Wizard of Oz.”

“Really? Then we have to avoid that,” said Teruhashi.

“Shakespeare would be difficult in so short a time,” said (Y/N). “Even if I do love it.”

“How about Momotaro?” said Nendou.

“That’s for little kids,” said Kuboyasu.

“By the way, isn’t Urashima Taro a terrible story?” said Kaidou, frowning. “Urashima Taro saves a turtle and is welcome at the castle. This part is fine. But he realizes that the days he spends at the castle were actually centuries in the real world. And he opens the souvenir and instantly becomes an old man! That’s too much! What a horrible fate!”

“Well, they did tell him not to open the box,” pointed out Kuboyasu.

“Anyone would open it!” argued Kaidou. “That’s the only thing he could think of. Why didn’t the princess or turtle explain anything?”

“That’s true,” said Teruhashi. “That reminds me of other fairy tales. There are so many that I wonder why they couldn’t have gone differently.”

Kuboyasu nodded. “People don’t explain anything and make weird decisions.”

“Yes, there are a lot of stories that need fixing,” said Kaidou.

“Well, historically, people believe fairy tales came from two places: adults telling one another stories and then people writing them and trying to give them lessons,” said (Y/N). “So a lot were just dramas told to make life more interesting when working or to teach people lessons about life—they served a purpose as entertainment or teaching instead of just being stories.”

Everyone stared at them.

“Where did you learn that?” said Saiki. He hadn’t expected that.

“I took a class on fairy tales,” said (Y/N), smiling. “We read different versions of stories and learned where they came from and how they changed.”

“That’s it!” said Kaidou excitedly. “We can change the stories! We can take the stories and rewrite them how we want to. Then, we can perform it at the cultural festival.”

That’s a surprisingly normal idea for us, thought Saiki.

“What a brilliant idea!” shouted Kuboyasu and Teruhashi.

It’s not a brilliant idea, everyone does that. As Kuboyasu, Teruhashi, Kaidou, and Nendou began to talk, Saiki rose and took (Y/N)’s arm. He turned himself and them invisible as he backed away from the table, no one noticing their leave.

“How about a modern Momotaro?” said Kuboyasu.

“That’s been done,” observed Saiki quietly to (Y/N), and they smothered a little laugh.

“Or writing it from the villain’s perspective?” said Teruhashi.

“That’s also been done.”

“Among the ones we talked about, the most flawed—” said Kaidou.

“Yes, it’s got to be,” agreed Kuboyasu.

“It’s famous, too!’ said Teruhashi.

All three and Nendou pointed at a single book. “Alright, our play will be a remake of Urashima Taro!”

“It’s been done.”

The door of the library shut, and (Y/N) almost started laughing as they returned to visibility with Saiki. “At least they’re having fun.”

“At least it has minimal romance,” sighed Saiki.

“It’s not like Kokomi would choose you for the romance,” said (Y/N).

“Are we talking about the same girl?”

“She’d figure that if she asked you she’d cause a riot among the other boys,” said (Y/N). “She has to choose someone the other boys won’t mess with.”

“…Huh. Good point,” said Saiki.

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takemetomyfragiledreams · 3 days ago

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This is a wip about banshee!Tim gradually adopting all the bats and keeping them alive. It has the possibility to be an eventual Robin pile but I haven't fully decided on where it'll go. The original intention was to eventually have it be damitim but honestly it could go jaytim, dicktim or just robin pile. If you have a preference I'm all ears.

Talia becomes aware of her father’s shadow at the age of five. A boy with skin so white she half expects him to be translucent and eyes so frigid they put the winter sky to shame. He lingers in shadows and darkened corners, ever silent and ever watching. Her father never mentions him, not even when he perches on the arm of his throne or steals bits of meat from his plate. She half thinks she’s crazy for the first thirteen years of her life but doesn’t once dare to ask. Secrets get you killed in this world and this is one she’s not willing to die for.

He never speaks to her. Never seems to speak to anyone. He’d be an afterthought if his presence wasn’t so alien.

At the age of thirteen, the night before her first solo mission, she wakes to find him sitting on the edge of her bed. No scream comes; she’s learned the only one she can depend on is herself.

He touches a finger to his lips and she remains silent as the guards outside walk past. When the lights from under the door fade, he speaks for the first time.

“Tomorrow, you’re going to die.”

Talia’s hand curls around the blade beneath her pillow. “Is this a threat?”

“A fact.” His face is cold, emotionless. It’s like looking into the depths of a still pool; all she sees is herself staring back. “You will die many times in this world and you will pay dearly for your return.”

“The pit,” she understands.

“If you’re smart, you’ll start saving what pieces of yourself you have left. You’ll need them one day.” He stands. Instead of opening the door, she watches as he finds tiny handholds in the stone of her wall and begins to climb to the ceiling. There’s a small hole six meters up, where the smoke of her fires can escape. It’s barely big enough for his head.

“Who are you?” She calls as loud as she dares.

“When the time comes, I will scream for you. Follow the sound back.”

He vanishes out the hole like smoke, body contorted into impossible shapes. Talia lays down and stares up at that dark maw of space until her eyes blur and droop.

Three days later she can’t stop the sword from cutting through her chest. She slices through her enemy but it’s too late. Her knees fall out from under her as her mouth opens in a silent cry.

Across the room, she sees a boy’s eyes turn from icy blue to black as his mouth contorts into the shape of a horrific scream; the sound rings in her ears long after it’s over.

It’s the last thing she hears as she dies and the first she hears as she comes gasping from the Pit, naked and shaking as her heart restarts in her chest.

He stands in the shadows when her father holds a hand out. Always watching. Waiting.

This repeats twenty times in the span of a hundred years. Twenty times in which she dies to a scream and returns to one. And then it stops.

He’s sitting in front of a machine, eyes big as he presses his palms to the glass. She feels something sick in her stomach but cannot place just what it means. Motherly instinct? The desire to whisk her growing child out of sight and away from this creature no one ever seems to talk about.

“His name,” he says, “what will you call him?”

The last thing she wants to do is tell him. Still, she cannot stop herself.

“His name is Damian.”

“Damian,” he sighs, croons, growls. “Damian Wayne-al Ghul.”

She never told him who the father was.

The day Damian is born is the day she loses him, if she ever had him in the first place. It’s in the way he looks past her to stare into the shadows; the way his nose scrunches and his lips curl in delight; the way he waves his grasping hands and the way she cannot stop him from leaving her arms.

“Tim,” he babbles up at the monster that has dogged her life and death. She didn't even know he had a name to give.

Damian giggles and pats at a pale cheek with his own colored fingers. “Tim!”

Tim smiles a ghastly, jagged sort of smile down at him. It’s like watching someone learn how to feel for the first time; unnatural, yet impossible to look away from. There’s color in his face for the first time, a light in his eyes like the first thaw of spring.

“Damian,” he says like it’s something reverent, something holy. It’s the level of devotion a prince deserves but she cannot find it in herself to be pleased.

It’s then that she acknowledges the bitter truth: Tim scares her in a world where she is not meant to be afraid of anything. He’s the only being she fears save perhaps her father and he’s looking at her son like he hung the stars.

What bitter irony.

For the first time, she comes to him. He’s standing just outside Damian’s room, looking in like there’s nothing he wants more and less than to go inside.

“Normally you’re inseparable. What is it?”

He’s silent for so long that she half convinces herself he’s an illusion.

“I’m leaving.”

Talia blinks. He’s never left once; not that she’s aware of. “Leaving?”

“If I stay, he won’t turn into the boy he needs to be to survive what’s coming.” Tim turns almost human eyes on her. He looks drawn and tired. “I won’t be able to let you hurt him.”

“I would not—"

“You would. You know nothing else.”

They stand together, staring at the closed door in mutual contemplation. Finally, Tim sighs.

“You’ll do your best to kill the good in him, but remember death is never permanent. Not for an al Ghul. Do more than that and I’ll come for you. I don’t care what destiny says.”

Talia’s hands itch for her knives, but she does not reach. She knows better. “When will you return?”

“When I’m needed.” He turns to meet her eyes, small but oh so fierce. “Teach him well, Talia. Show him what he needs to know to survive.”

He’s gone before she can respond. They both know she will do nothing less.

(Still, he scares her; Talia al Ghul is not meant to be afraid of anything.)

#jaytim #dicktim #damitim #robin pile #wip talk #i really love this verse and honestly I'm tempted to do each pairing regardless #it has the potential to be a longer fic as well #fic: death becomes #banshee!tim drake #kayla talks #my writing

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lizzybeeee · 2 days ago

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The Lucanis vs Illario story would have had greater emotional depth/intrigue if the writers didn't water down how fucked up the Crows are as an organization.

Just some thoughts about how, out of all the side villains, Illario had some great potential to be a really interesting/tragic character in my opinion.

TL;DR: Zevran Aranai has a knife with Caterina's name on it for good reason and Lucanis/Illario need therapy...or whatever the Thedas equivalent is called...talking to Rook, I dunno

Going into DATV as a new player, or even as a returning one, the whitewashing of the Crows has a lot of the potential complexities of that life simply ignored or barely touched upon. The entire 'Illario vs Lucanis' boils down to: Illario seething in the shadows about Lucanis being the 'best boy'™ of the family while Illario is an after thought - which he is.

Let's be real, Illario is not subtle and immediately comes across as the Scar to Lucanis' 'Mufasa'. It's a questline with a very straightforward villain who has pretty lackluster motivations from what info we're provided - being 'I want power and to be the First Talon'. The game does very little explore what motivations he may have beyond being jealous of Lucanis/wanting more power.

However, if you play the quest line knowing what previous games have set up about the Crows - about how cutthroat and brutal the life is behind the glamour - then you can see that the entire Lucanis vs Illario conflict has amazing potential to be a dramatic tragedy.

We've seen how the life of Crow can affect Zevran - someone who was sold into the life through child-slavery. How interesting would it be to see how the life of a Crow can affect someone who was born into it? It's pretty clear in-game that Caterina intends for her grandchildren to carry on the family tradition - despite the fact that this 'family tradition' has likely led to the deaths of most of her grandchildren and however many children she had.

If there's banter about how Illario's/Lucanis' parents/cousins died specifically I haven't heard it, but the impression I got in-game was that it was likely linked to the Crows/politics in some way? Feel free to correct me! Still majorly fucked up that she pushes her grandsons into this life regardless!

Lucanis/Illario's situation was not like Zevran's - who was sold into the Crow's through slavery, with no one to speak up for him. Caterina was a woman who had power, who knew what the life of a Crow meant, and who still pushed those she 'loved' into it because is consolidated her place in the system. For all the Crows talk of 'family' Caterina doesn't seem to give a shit about them unless if they're contributing to the family business in some way - not to mention the whole 'you fail and we kill you' clause of being a Crow in the first place.

In the 'Wigmaker Job' from Tevinter Nights Lucanis talks about how Caterina hit him [also Illario] with her cane for mistakes and had him spend days without food/water. How he used to hate her but now 'realizes' that it was her way of ensuring he survived the life of being an Antivan Crow. Did it end up protecting them? It likely pushed them both to refine their skills out of fear. It's likely that simply by association with her they would be targets and thus needed to know how to take care of themselves and fight.

But why have him as a Crow in the first place? Why not simply train them well to defend themselves? You can't deny that she doesn't benefit from having her grandchildren in the family business - intentionally wanting Lucanis to take over her position as First Talon. The Antivan Crows are a force to be reckoned with and being one brings a whole lot of power in Antiva - being part of the elite of that group even more so.

If the game showed us the ugly reality of the Crows - the brutality of the lifestyle and how cutthroat the organization is, it could have really added some depth to Illario's betrayal - having it be more than "I want more power/respect" to "this is the result of what you taught me was valuable in life."

Warden: "Do you actually enjoy being an assassin?" Zevran: "And why not? There are many things to enjoy about being a Crow in Antiva. You are respected. You are feared. The authorities go out of their way to overlook your trespasses. Even the rewards are nothing to turn your nose up at."

Illario, bitter about Caterina favoring Lucanis - resentful of the fact that she has already decided that Lucanis will be her successor, being offered power by the Venatori (at the expense of the Crows) and accepting because why not? How different is it from what the Crows do? Isn't power and status the whole point of working yourself up in the Crows? Getting into a relationship with Zara because why not? Isn't sex part of the allure of being a Crow? Why can't he have this? Why shouldn't he have this?

Rook: "When we met, it didn't seem like Illario and Caterina were close." Lucanis: "It was hard to be close to her. Even for me. And...I was her favorite."

Why would he have connections to his family? Why should he? Caterina certainly never seemed to value 'family' beyond what they could do for her and their family legacy. Most of his family is already dead, and of those that remain the only parental figure he has obviously favors Lucanis. We don't have a lot of evidence in-game to show that Illario ever really cared for Lucanis, but the prequel story 'The Wake' and Lucanis' own banter imply that they were practically brothers, best friends. Perhaps he did care and then ceased to at some point, perhaps he didn't at all, or perhaps he accepted that an early death for them both was inevitable like everyone else in their family. Dead now or later - what was the difference? At least if Illario sells him out now to the Venatori then he'll get something from it instead of another dead family member to bury.

It's the tragic result of raising a child in an environment where he was taught and experienced the need for self-preservation at all costs. Constantly threatened, punished, and made well aware of that fact that his life was an expendable commodity. Then, when things in the world went to shit he picked the only option that made sense to him. To save himself.

The irony of the potential fall of the Crows, the fall of House Dellamorte, coming at the hands of one of their own - not because he had a change of heart but because he was taught too well by them. The Crows view those that fail them as disposable, someone to be discarded - if the Crows fail Illario, what is to stop him from applying that mindset to them?

But this would require the writers to acknowledge how messed up the Crows are and we can't do that to our 'Noble Freedom Fighters'™. They'll also need to address Zevran's existence and what lore was established in past games...and we can't have that either lmao.

#the moment he opened his snake mouth I knew lmao #having played the first three games I can see it as a tragedy #but without playing those games? with what information datv provides us? he's just a 'power-hungry cousin'#which is kind of boring? all the side villains in this game are really goofy tbh #really could have been such a cool story if they added more depth to it - otherwise Illario is just 'villain of the week'#Lucanis blink twice if you need help #so upset my Rook toasted to him becoming First Talon - ew gross #and Jacobus becoming a crow? being a 'good' thing? gtfo #i know Caterina didn't know where he was until recently - but the way she talks about it is so casual? “here's where he is - go get him”#it took Rook one boat ride to get there and break him out! you're one of the heads of an assassin guild!#have your assassins assassin!!!#this game is afraid of moral complexity in the same way that Cullen was afraid of female mages in DAO #Just fucking running away at the first sign of something deeper lmao #thanks to thewardenisonthecase for filling my 'for you' page with stuff about Lucanis and making me think about this all lmao #datv spoilers #datv critical #dragon age the veilguard

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ashlynnfall · 3 days ago

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group project with jayce and vi - arcane x reader

summary: blurb about you being stuck with vi and jayce for a group project

tags: arcane fluff (because we deserve it after this show), no spoilers (but mentions of s2 scenes and characters), silly, stupid, reader insert, school au, no trauma au, hextech exists in this world, somewhat ooc vi and jayce

warnings: cussing

word count: about 2.4k

a/n: this is inspired by the current vi and jayce accomplishing nothing memes. i love that joke so much, so i decided to write a little story about it! also jinx remains as powder in this since no tragedy has happened. this is my first fic ever, so any advice on how to be a better writer would be greatly appreciated! thanks for reading, and i hope you enjoy <3

------------------------------------------------------------------------------it's your favorite class about your favorite subject full of your favorite people, so what could go wrong?

literally everything, apparently.

your teacher, mr. heimerdinger, announces a group project to the class. soon after, everyone chatters in excitement because you all like each other, so no matter what, you'll all end up with a good group. he starts calling names and organizing people into groups of three. as the options for your group narrow down, you look around to see who hasn't been called yet.

vi...ekko...ooh mel would be great for this, you think to yourself as you survey the crowd.

"mel, ekko, and caitlyn! you're a group," heimerdinger calls out, causing you and the class to frown.

"ugh, talk about unfair," one student murmurs.

"viktor, skylar, and elora, you're a group."

the options keep getting smaller, and as you look to see who hasn't been grouped yet, a horrible realization hits you. all that's left is you, vi, and...

no.

"jayce," heimerdinger says.

stop it now.

"vi."

this isn't happening.

to your dismay, heimerdinger calls your name. you turn to look at vi and jayce who are sitting next to each other, currently celebrating the pair up.

"hell yeah!" vi exclaims, raising a hand up to high five jayce. jayce enthusiastically moves his hand to hers-

and misses her hand.

seriously, how do you miss an unmoving target?

you watch as these bumbling fools try two more times before they can actually hit the high five.

you've got to be fucking kidding me.

jayce talis, the golden boy of the grade. he's a genius inventor with incredible ideas that will take him far in life. known to be smart and charismatic, most people would love to be grouped up with him for any assignment. as one of heimerdinger's star pupils, being his partner should be good news right?

wrong.

vi, the cool girl of the grade. she's not the most academically gifted person, but she does all of her work and tries her hardest to contribute to the group. she's known to be an amazing fighter and has a gift for making people feel better. rumor has it that caitlyn kiramman once went on a total rampage after losing her mother's expensive necklace. she was a raging asshole for a week, spewing mean things to anyone who stood in her way. vi was out sick for that week, so there was no one to console caitlyn.

when vi returned to school, she called caitlyn "cupcake" one time, causing her to switch sides immediately, reverting back to the sweet girl she's known to be. oh, and vi found the necklace too!

so a team up between a boy genius and a girl with a big heart should be amazing news. however, despite all of their incredible traits, when jayce and vi work together, all of that shit disappears.

they've been paired up together for projects before, and they're the only ones who love this match up. everyone else reacts in horror.

they're always onto absolutely nothing, cooking up plans and ideas that fail so miserably, it's almost impressive. during a lesson on hextech, they had the simple task of using a comically large hammer to aim and hit a target. the hammer was too big for vi to hold alone, so they used the power of friendship to hold it up together. they aimed for the target, and shot a blast.

it completely missed.

in fact, they missed so bad, that it ended up shooting through a window, resulting in it completely shattering. students had to dive for cover from flying glass shards. this prompted a severe tongue lashing from a very angry heimerdinger, who now had to pay for window repairs and do paperwork.

there was another time where they were sparring with some older classmates, got way too into the fight. they were in the middle of hyping each other up when a kid accidentally got in the way of their brawl. they totally knocked him on his ass, the poor thing got sent straight to the ground.

he recovered soon after, but he went home with a bloody nose the day of the impact. jayce was the one who dealt the punch, so he was wracked with guilt for the child he just injured. he sent the family some flowers as an apology, to which the mom responded with dead roses and a note saying: "eat shit".

he is not popular in that family.

knowing you're in for a disaster, you accept your fate, and walk over to a beaming jayce and vi. they are so excited to be partnered up with you, and it would be sweet sight if they weren't, well, them.

"this project is due next class, so please decide on a time outside of school to complete this. we have a lecture to finish," heimerdinger instructs.

vi offers her house, to which you and jayce agree. you're supposed to meet there about four hours from now, which isn't nearly enough time for you to prepare for the bullshit.

here we go.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

four hours later, you're knocking on vi's door, trying to calm your already spiked nerves. it swings open to reveal a small girl with two blue braids.

"hi!" powder exclaims as she wraps you into a tight hug. it's been a while since you've seen vi's little sister, and you're relieved to know that at least one person in this house has sanity.

the two of you catch up for a bit while you wait for vi to bring you upstairs. powder tells you about her little crush on ekko, rambling happily about their adventures while you laugh at their antics.

ten minutes pass and vi still hasn't come down to get you, so now you're annoyed. that annoyance quickly turns into concern as a loud bang from upstairs shakes the entire house.

what the hell?

you and powder rush upstairs to see what the commotion is about. nearly ripping vi's bedroom door off its hinges in fear, you two run inside to make sure everyone's alright.

you look at the scene with disappointment as you see dumb and dumber standing in shock, eyes directed to the damage they just created. there's a giant dent in the floor, no doubt made by the hammer in jayce's hand. vi's giant gauntlets are at her side, which leads you to infer that they were sparring before the impact.

jayce is always doing some type of extreme damage with that hammer, you facepalm as you take in the scene.

you give them both a withering glare then yell at their foolishness.

"you idiots do realize that we're supposed to improve the hextech, not destroy buildings with it, right?"

powder runs downstairs to tell uncle vander what happened, and you sigh in frustration while the other two carefully set their weapons onto the ground.

"sooo...we should get started on the project now, yeah?" jayce offers as his hand rubs the back of his neck, clearly trying to fix the mood.

you let out an exasperated sigh.

"yeah, let's get started."

vi and jayce add another disastrous duo moment to their record. you've lost count of all their failures at this point.

during the entire project, they say stupid ideas or do reckless things. jayce swings the hammer around with zero regard for his surroundings, and laughs whenever vi sticks up her middle finger in the gauntlets. whenever one of them says something that sounds remotely smart, the other one says, "EXACTLYYYYY."

"do you think if we wrap the hammer in foam, we can prevent it from breaking things?" vi asks jayce, who shoots her a look of disbelief.

"you can't be serious," he responds in a critical tone.

you nearly jump for joy as you watch their interaction. for the first time ever, there's hope that one of them will finally be smart in the other one's presence.

"we should wrap it in air pillows, not foam. regardless, that's a great idea! we should test it out," jayce enthuses as he reaches for the hammer.

your hope shatters into a million pieces, just like that window they destroyed.

"no, no, no, no, no!" you interject as you swat his hand away, preventing them from causing more destruction.

"what crawled up your ass today?" jayce asks, offended by your behavior.

"heimerdinger's foot definitely did because you keep screwing up on his exams. don't hate on us because you have a D in this class," vi insults as she completely airs out your business in front of jayce.

jayce yells "OHHHHH" in response, then goes to dap up vi for flaming you. putting your head in your hands, you practice deep breathing so you don't completely lose your shit. it's not your fault that runes and hex crystals are so confusing!

uncle vander stops by shortly after the argument to inspect the damage, loses his mind, then goes to call uncle silco for assistance. you, vi, and jayce continue the project and pretend like vander isn't infuriated with all of you. you didn't even do anything but you still get wrapped up in this mess.

halfway through the project, vi gets a facetime call from caitlyn, to which she immediately responds. if you had a dime for every time vi called her "cupcake", you'd be a millionaire.

things get even more annoying when jayce gets a facetime call from mel, who he also immediately responds to. your friends yap to their girlfriends while you continue working on the project, silently reflecting on how terrible your luck is.

despite their annoying tendencies and horrific performance as a duo, they're somewhat helpful during the project. jayce uses his hextech knowledge to create solid ideas for improving the weapons. the secret to getting him to be his genius self? tell vi she isn't allowed to speak or be in the room while he works. you gave the same rule to jayce when it was vi's turn to contribute, and she actually came up with solid ideas for weapon functionality and protection.

turns out, separating them is a brilliant idea. you mentally pat yourself on the back for your effective plan.

the three of you finish the project and decide to do a movie night in celebration. jayce and vi miraculously land a high five first try, which makes you smile. they then take turns giving you a high five, making your smile wider. the pair gets too confident and tries to do a complicated handshake, which per usual, goes terribly.

jayce accidentally smacks vi (how does this even happen?), and vi punches his arm in return. the two playfully duke it out while you pull out your phone to record them for your private story. you caption the video "mfs when they horrifically fumble a situationship".

when they finish the fight, you realize you can't be their babysitter anymore. desperate to not be stuck with the moron brigade, you ask to invite the rest of the friend group, and vi agrees, complimenting you for coming up with a great idea.

"it's pretty easy to have great ideas when you two are full of terrible ones," powder shouts from the kitchen.

even though vi is taller, older, and arguably stronger, she is always getting destroyed by powder in a verbal battle. it's what makes their dynamic so amazing. vi opens her mouth to shout something back, but you put your hand on her shoulder and shake your head, letting her know it's no use arguing back.

about thirty minutes later, you're sitting in the living room with vi, jayce, mel, caitlyn, ekko, viktor, skylar, elora, powder and her new friend isha, claggor, and milo. you all watch a comedy movie to unwind from the stress of the day, and soon become thoroughly entertained by the movie's ridiculous humor. jayce and vi throw popcorn at each other, which annoys everyone. knowing there was no stopping them, you and mel make a bet on who will win. you choose vi and she chooses jayce like a supportive girlfriend.

mel slides you a crisp five dollar bill halfway through the movie.

as you sit and watch, surrounded by your friends who are full of the happiness and light that they deserve, you decide that maybe a group project with vi and jayce didn't turn out to be such a bad thing after all.

the hangout is full of jokes, silly arguments, laughs, and unbridled joy. even vander and silco stop by to check in on everyone from time to time, smiling at each other as they reminisce about their days as students. whenever those two enter the room, vi and jayce's bodies go rigid with stillness, trying to attract as little attention as possible from the angry set of uncles.

it was an amazing night of bonding with your friends and basking in the comfort of good company. you make a mental note to plan more of these, hoping to give your friends the enjoyment they deserve. when the movie ends, everyone gets off the couches to clean up as they discuss their thoughts on the movie. vi approaches you with a big grin on her face, then has the audacity to deliver the following line:

"this was so fun, the three of us should totally be partners again!"

since you're in such high spirits, you consider giving jayce and vi another chance. maybe they aren't all that disastrous, and maybe, just maybe, they can prove to be a competent duo-

"totally! for our next project we should try seeing how powerful a hextech blast can get! maybe we should go to the park and shoot it into the sky?" jayce schemes while vi's face lights up in excitement at the prospect of another hextech hangout.

never mind, you roll your eyes and mentally chastise yourself for even thinking of giving this another shot. these morons couldn't find a way out of their own asses if they were handed a map.

you fervently shut down their plan before they try making any more.

"absolutely not."

jayce and vi are definitely going down in history as one of the worst duos of all time.

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