#not even joking this just pulled me off the ledge

[stevie-baby]

IT’S HAPPENING

THIS IS NOT A FUCKING DRILL

[e-nonsense]

TELL ME YOU SEE ME

pairing. jason todd x reader

warnings. reader is a little pathetic, character death and revival, eventual smut, sub!jason, soft dom!reader, virgin!jason, lots and lots of consent

request. here

a/n. thank you both for this ask, not sure if this is what you wanted exactly, i couldn’t really fit it all in with what i had going

you giggled as dick grumbled about the piece of gum stuck in his hair, your legs swinging over the ledge of the building he’d cornered you on.

the former robin had followed you after you’d ‘stolen’ jewels. turns out selina had taken off with hem and you were just the distraction. but that didn’t stop you from playing your usual pranks.

like that time you superglued bruce’s utility belt closed, or put little animal stickers on the cowl of his suit.

all that had changed so quickly. the lightheartedness and awkwardness you emitted had disappeared.

everyone saw how losing him changed you. you weren’t loud and weird anymore, you’d stick to yourself, keeping your weird thoughts to yourself. actually now that you think about it you didn’t have many weird thoughts anymore.

maybe they died with jason too.

“oh come on. i haven’t done anything wrong, have i?” you grinned at the robin in front of you. there was a hint of a smile on his lips, head tilted at you.

“i guess not, but i am gonna need gordon’s glasses back.”

“buzzkill, birdy.” you pout before pulling the glasses off your face and handing them over to him with a grumble.

“thanks kitty cat,” jason grins, before leaving to go back on patrol.

you were half asleep, dreams of him haunted you every night. you’d see his face all the time, flashes of his brutal state would come over you, you remember his funeral too, well the one you and dick had for him because bruce buried him without everyone.

“hey kid,” dick muttered, his hand on your shoulder as he looked down at his brother’s grave. this was the last thing the first robin thought would happen when he got back from space.

you don’t say anything, no jokes or pranks. you just stand there like a peace of you was in that grave with him.

you spun in your chair waiting for the computer to finish decrypting the information dick had brought to you. you’d broken through the locks and safety measured on the drive easily.

apparently it belonged to some new criminal mob boss, red hood, he called himself. you hadn’t encountered him yet, you assumed your turn to meet this lunatic was soon or never, seeing as nobody new about your whereabouts these days, except dick.

and there. you were in. you grabbed your phone to make the call to dick.

you heard it before you felt it, the soft click of a gun and then the cold nozzle pressed up against your neck. “i wouldn’t.”

the voice was distorted, your fingers stilled against your key board.

“you’re a hard person to find, kitty cat. very hard, i leave for six years and then you’re off the grid too. but i finally found you.”

“excuse me?” stupid, you scold yourself in you mind, what idiot snarks when— oh yeah, you would.

he laughed, a cold, creepy sound coming from what you assumed to be a voice modulator. then you heard a soft hiss of air and a thud, his helmet placed on the desk in front of you.

“c’mon kitty cat. you don’t remember me?” he uses the gun to tip your head back.

“what..?” your eyes widen as you stare up at him.

“ah, there you go. you’ve changed, not as much spunk and crazy anymore.”

you snatched the purse of some mugger, knocking him out before handing it back to the lady he stole it from. the woman smiles before going on her way. you hummed softly as jason landed in the alley in front of you, “nice work, kitty.”

you couldn’t help the smile on your face, grinning proudly at his praise, you were sure if you had a real tail it’d be wagging happily right now. “really?”

“oh yeah,” he nods, even at sixteen jason wasn’t completely a fool, he could tell how much his words meant to you.

he stared down at you. “c’mon kitty cat, i’m gonna need those files back. can you do that f’me?” was it mean to use your feelings against you like this? yes, definitely but jason was also trying to determine whether or not you still had those feeling for him too.

your shake your head, dick needs these files to stop red hood. but jason is red hood, so you’d be hurting him— no you have to help dick.

“i can’t.”

“sure you can, just take it out and give it here.”

“no.”

he pressed the gun harder into your neck, reminding you that it was an option, but he wouldn’t pull the trigger, it’d be useless to anyways. the gun was unloaded, not a single bullet inside, he couldn’t risk accidentally shooting you.

“fine,” you scoff, unplugging the hard drive and handing it over.

“i’ll see you soon kitty cat.” he leaves, leaving his helmet behind with you, the camera in it would keep an eye on you and you most definitely wouldn’t give the helmet up, he knew that.

it wasn’t long later until you saw him next. he didn’t intend to stay away anymore. this time when he came to you, it had properly registered in your mind. this was jason, jason was back.

so when you hugged him so suddenly, words tumbling out of your mouth messily. “i missed you so much.” you whisper, arms tight around him.

you sniffled and his heart broke, fingers gently running through your hair as he held you. his body tensing when the words ‘i love you’ escaped your lips. you hadn’t seem to realised because you kept going on, soft rambling, refusing to let him go.

he tried to speak, only to be cut off by you once more.

“i didn’t know how to say it, but you always got me.” you whisper, looking up at him. “tell me you see me.”

“i see you, doll.”

—

you didn’t expect him to be a virgin.

not with the looks of a god and the voice of an angel.

but you embraced the fact, you loved it even that he wanted you as his first. even though you were the one begging, on your knees in front of him, he couldn’t tear his eyes from you.

“can i touch you?” your fingers hover over his undressed body, he nodded.

“words, jay.”

“y-yeah.” he shivers under your touch, a soft groan leaving him.

“you’re so pretty,” you murmur, meeting his eyes as you lick a strip up his cock, swirling your tongue around his head. “taste so sweet too.”

his hand grips the sheets, staring at the arch of your back and the way your ass sticks up. you take his hand, leading towards your hair, “can i?”

“yeah, yeah go ahead, kitty.”

your lashes flutter as i pushes your head down towards his cock, you mouth falling open immediately to suck him up. you hum softly, as if you were gaining more pleasure from this than he was.

he holds your hair out of your face while you gag on the sheer length of him, his cock so thick it stretches your mouth open so far that you know your jaw will ache this time tomorrow.

he groans out your name, shameless with his noises. he pulls you off him, you whine trying to go down on him again, he thinks he could cum at the sight. “i wanna feel you, please.”

you can’t deny him, not when his big icy blue eyes stare down at you.

jason todd does not fuck like a virgin. you learn that when he can’t seem to stop fucking you into the bed. gasping into your ear while you babble on about how good he is.

how pretty he is.

how nobody could understand you like him.

how much you love him.

he can barely hold himself in but he doesn’t wanna stop right now.

“oh— oh jay.” you whimper softly, “so so good.”

he’ll wait, just to hear your little praises and whines, to hear that you love him.

“i know, i know baby. i love you too.”

© e-nonsense. do no copy/steal/translate. do it and I’ll bite your toes off

[kimberly-spirits13]

I'm Too Pretty For This

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Word Count: 1995

Summary: After endless flirting while burning some bones of a disgruntled store clerk, you and Dean come to the realization that his flirting isn't a joke

Warnings: Unedited work, a tad bit of strong language, burning a body in it's grave

                  “Why did we agree to dig out the rotting store clerk?” You groaned, digging your shovel into more dirt. 

                  “Because we’re idjits.” Dean answered while popping his knuckles.

                  “Next time someone has to burn a body, it’s going to be Sam.” You started stomping down on the spot you reckoned would be a head, hoping to break into something, “This has got to be six feet.” 

                  “It’s getting to my head, so I’m gonna say we’re getting close.” Dean looked up, gauging how low you two had dug now.

                  “I love that you’re the human measuring stick for graves.” You laughed, “Only we would need someone for that purpose.” 

                  “What can I say sweetheart, I’m a useful guy.” 

                  You blushed seeing the lopsided smirk he gave you. Luckily it was too dark for him to see the flush on your cheeks. A dull crack sounded loudly after you started digging again in the pit and you sighed in relief.

                  “Finally!” You threw your head back, “I’m so fucking tired. Let’s light this bastard up.” 

                  Dean started digging out the lid of the coffin so that you could access the body inside. After making sure that there was plenty of space, the two of you threw your shovels out of the pit and started working to climb up. 

                  “You first.” He said, “I’ll hoist you up.”

                  “Why thank you.” You smiled, placing your foot on his hand and grabbing the ledge of the pit.

                  “Anything up there?” Dean looked up at you, locking eyes with you when you looked down and shook your head.

                  “All clear.” You answered.

                  You groaned pulling yourself up, crawling against the ground to leverage yourself. There was dirt all over you and grass stains on your jeans. The ground was wet with evening mist, and you were tired and uncomfortable. Usually, you’d be able to climb out of these holes with little effort, but tonight your muscles were tense and bruised, and you just wanted to sleep. With all your effort, you dug your hand into the ground and lifted yourself fully out. 

                  “Shit!” you flinched.

                  “Y/N, what’s wrong?” Dean yelled up in a panicked voice, “Y/N!”

                  “I broke my nail.” You looked down back into the pit, shaking your hand like you were trying to shake the pain off. 

You pouted and kicked some dirt back into the pit away from Dean, “I’m too pretty for this.” 

“Can’t argue with that sweetheart.” Dean pulled himself out of the pit and reached for your hand. With a bit too much effort, you hauled him up and he came crashing into you. 

The soft ground cushioned your fall and you landed with a thud. Dean was laying on top of you, quickly pushing himself up on his elbows.

“This is not how I imagined you being under me Y/N/N.” He grinned at you; bright green eyes somehow not being dimmed by the dark night. 

You stuttered a response before shifting to get up, “Get off me doofus” 

Your skin felt prickly when you stood up and a chill ran down your spine despite how hot your cheeks were. It was just now that you registered what he said before he fell on you on top of what he just said. Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t hear Dean calling for you from a few feet away.

“Earth to Y/N.” You heard.

“Oh, yeah, sorry. Whatcha need?” You headed over and started digging through the duffel bag, pulling out the lighter fluid and matches.

“Besides you sweetheart, the lighter fluid.” 

You tossed him the lighter fluid and held the matches in your hand. The sound of running liquid splashing on the ground gurgled into the pit as you watched Dean spill the contents of it around the casket. 

“M’lady. Would you like to do the honors?” He gestured towards the hole in the ground as you stepped up with matches in hand.

“Why of course.” You swiped the match over the lightning strip of the matchbox and watched it ignite. 

A loud “woosh” swept through the dark, lighting the surrounding area in flickering orange light. Heat emanated from the fire, warming up your cold face. You looked into the deep pit and watched as the wood of the casket charred and burned away into ash. Wordlessly, you put your hands out in front of you and started warming them over the fire.

“That’s pretty metal.” Dean jokingly chided.

“Don’t act like you haven’t done it before.” You laughed.

“Warm my hands over a human barbeque?” “Yea, I totally have.”

“It’s effective isn’t it!” You laughed harder, dropping your hands back to your sides when you were satisfied.

“You’re not wrong.” “Alright, I’m famished.” 

“I appreciate that even though we just unearthed and burned a corpse to a crisp, you still want food.” The two of you packed up and started walking towards Baby.

“I’m always hungry.” Dean said honestly.

You threw the duffle into the trunk climbed into the passenger seat as Dean shut the trunk door and slid into the driver’s seat. 

“Should we call Sam and ask what he wants?” You asked, stretching against the seat.

“No, he said he wanted to grab some protein shake from that hippie store next to the motel. Food’s on us.” “I say we just go to that diner we passed on the way here.” Dean yawned, starting the engine and turning his head to look at you.

Suddenly, a burst of bravery came over you, “Sure. If it’s a date.”

You saw Dean ride through the emotions of the comment and begin to process what you had suggested.

“A date?” He said, a red strain spreading across his cheeks.

“Don’t get dumb with me, Winchester. Was all that flirting a joke?” Fear replaced the boldness you previously had, and you sank back into the seat, waiting for him to uncomfortable say that it was all just his sense of humor.

“No, no! It wasn’t a joke.” Dean noticed the change in your demeanor and grabbed your hand, causing you to sit back up, “I thought you didn’t feel any way about it.” “Seriously, you’re confusing me, woman. Every time I got close to flirting you brushed it off.”

“I thought you were kidding!” You exclaimed, “You do that to everyone!” 

“I don’t mean it with them though! I only mean it with you.” Dean answered with the same level of astonishment.

“You’re so stupid Dean Winchester.” You started laughing at him, “You know when you’re flirting with everyone, you aren’t very clear on any sort of signals, right?” 

“I mean I guess.” He scratched the back of his head and looked forward awkwardly, “I didn’t think about that.”

“You’re probably the smoothest guy I’ve ever met, and you didn’t know?” You started laughing harder.

“Hey, I’m not the one who warms their hands up over a fire!” 

“That has nothing to do with this!”

“Fine! Fine!” Dean turned away and wiped a hand over his face before turning back around in all seriousness, “Y/N. Do you want to go on a date with me?”

You threw your hand over your mouth and stifled a laugh at his sudden seriousness.

“Come on Y/N, you’re making this difficult.” he whined.

“Yes, yes, I’ll go on a date with you.” 

Dean smiled, his eyes lighting up at the same time, “Well then, we should be off.”

You arrived at the diner and became consumed in conversation and greasy food. The older waitress joked about your obviously budding romance, causing not only you, but Dean to openly blush bright red. After a few friendly quick remarks about your relationship to the friendly waitress and a good tip, you grabbed a pie to go and started the drive back to the motel. 

A small beam of light glistened through the window, indicating that Sam was still awake. 

“Thanks for dinner.” You said, giving Dean a quick kiss on the cheek and starting to walk towards the door.

“Uh uh.” Dean grabbed your hand and pulled you towards him before wrapping his arm around you and pulling you to his chest, “You missed.” 

Dean leaned in for a kiss and your knees went weak. Your eyes fluttered closed and you felt your heart rate spike. You were pretty sure that this was the moment you’d die, but you’d die happy knowing you got to kiss Dean Winchester. When it became too much and you needed to breathe, you pulled away and looked up to see Dean staring back down at you. His eyes shined in the parking lot light and his gaze was intense.

“You’re beautiful.” He whispered sincerely.

“You’re pretty good to look at yourself.” 

Dean laughed through his nose quietly, “Wanna head inside?” 

You nodded and he pulled you alongside him, opening the door and walking inside.

Sam was sitting on his bed, reading something on his laptop. He looked up and raised a brow, “You two look suspicious.”

“No, we don’t.” You and Dean shot back at the same time before awkwardly looking in different directions, realizing what you just did.

“Sure.” Sam said exasperatedly, “Did you burn the bones?” 

“Yep. The bastard’s toast.” Dean answered, sitting down on his bed. 

You sat down next to him, leaving enough space to seem inconspicuous in your mind.

“Next time, you’re digging the pit.” You groaned, trying to rub the exhaustion away. You stood up and sighed, “Okay. I’m going to go back to my room and shower. I’ll see you two in the morning.” 

“See ya.” Sam said, throwing up his hand in a wave.

You looked at Dean before leaving the room and caught the wink he gave you, rolling your eyes as you closed the door behind you.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The door shut and Sam closed his laptop loudly, snapping Dean out of the trance he was in, staring at the door you just closed.

“You kissed or something, didn’t you.” Sam said, giving Dean a look.

“That’s none of your business.” Dean answered standing up and heading for the bathroom, “I’m going to drown myself. When I get out, we’re hitting the sack.” 

“Dean. I’ve known you this long. Did you finally tell her?” Sam crossed his arms, watching Dean come back out of the room.

“Yea.” He gave Sam a lopsided toothy grin.

“And she feels the same?” 

“Yea.” 

Sam rolled his eyes, “Took you long enough.”

“You can’t rush perfection Sammy!” 

“No, but you can kill the rest of us with suspense.” 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

                  After your shower, you got out and changed into your pajamas. It was cold in your room, but the motel came equipped with extra blankets. You walked over towards the bed and started to climb in when you heard a knock at the door.

                  “Y/N/N!” You heard Dean from the other side.

                  Swiftly, you walked over and swung the door open. Dean was standing there in his night clothes with a sheepish grin on his face.

                  “What’re you doing?” You asked, rubbing your eyes again from the exhaustion you felt.

                  “Sammy kicked me out. Can I bunk with you?” He asked earnestly.

                  “I mean, I guess so.” You stood aside for Dean to walk in.

                  “Why’d you get exiled?” You asked after shutting and locking the door.

                  “Um-“ Dean paused, “Couldn’t stop talking about’cha.”

                  You stared at him before laughing softly, “You’re ridiculous.” 

                  “Only for you sweetheart.” He shot back.

                  You climbed into the bed and waited for him to get in and turn his bedside lamp off.

                  “If you talk too much, I’ll kick you out too.” You said.

                  “You wouldn’t!” 

                  “I would.” “Now go to bed.” 

                  “Not without one more of these.” Dean dipped his head to yours and kissed you once again, causing your heart to flutter.

                  With a strong embrace, he pulled you tightly to him and nuzzled his head into your neck. You sighed and closed your eyes again, beginning to fall into sleep.

                  “gd’night.” He whispered.

                  “night.”

[creweemmaeec11]

Just a Sense

This is my secret santa snippet I wrote for @chaoticgoodthief. Their Prompt was:  "how about the joke villain going ballistic when someone hurts their designated hero?"

I really hope you like it!!!

"Alright, party's over," Hero's voice echoed through the empty halls of the museum.

Villain didn't bother turning around immediately, continuing to admire the painting they were looking at before casually turning to face their guest, "I'd have to disagree," They mused, hopping down from the ledge, "Now that you're here, the party can finally start,"

The Hero grinned, pulling their dagger out and twirling it between their fingers, "Alright, if you're looking for a dance partner-"

"Awe, come on!" The criminal interrupted, "We haven't even gotten to enjoy the museum yet!" they twirled with their arms out to gesture to everything around them, "We have the place to ourselves tonight! We can even go past the guard ropes, don't worry, I won't tell,"

The Hero raised an amused eyebrow, "You don't think I have better things to do?"

The Villain shot them a cheshire, all too knowing smile, "I think we both know you do, and we both know that's exactly why you're here in the first place,"

It was a distraction, for both of them. A game of cat and mouse that repeated like clockwork, comforting in its predictability. They were both safe here, in a weird way. They knew each other, knew the stakes, knew it wasn't actually a fight to the death, that no matter what, Villain would slip away at the end of the night, so they could do it all over again.

The Hero blushed, but rolled their eyes, failing to keep the slight smile off their face, "Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night,"

"Put that butter knife away; we both know you're not actually going to stab me with it,"

"Oh yeah? I do have an actual job to do here, you know?" The Hero countered, crossing their arms.

"Oh my god, are you two done flirting yet?" A new voice cut in mockingly,  as a figure came out from behind one of the museum's pillar supports.

"Supervillain?!" both parties cried in unison.

Hero instinctively reached for their communicator, but Supervillain flicked a hand. The device shot out of Hero's grasp, shattering against the far wall.

"Now, now," Supervillain drawled, their voice cool and condescending, almost like disciplining a misbehaving child, "Calling for backup would ruin the whole point of me going through the effort of getting you alone, wouldn't it?"

"Supervillain, what are you doing here?" Villain asked, a cautious edge creeping into their usually carefree tone.

Supervillain glanced over to them, surprise flashing in their eyes, like they were shocked the Villain had even dared to speak to them.

"Leave." They commanded, "This doesn't concern you anymore," turning back toward the Hero, who was slowly backing away.

Villain saw the Hero glance at them, the fear, the silent plea for help in their eyes. They clenched their fists at their sides.

"Back off, I was here first,"

The Supervillain spun around at that, eyebrows fully raised, shock morphing into an almost... impressed expression.

"Oh, you're cute," they replied, lips curling into a smirk. "I don't believe we've met face to face, have we? Small fries don't usually cause much of a blip on my radar I'm afraid. But don't worry, tonight I'm actually doing you a favour,"

"A favour?" The Villain replied skeptically, narrowing their eyes.

"Well, I'm about to take this little nuisance behind us out of the way for you-"

Suddenly, the Hero behind them made a dash for it, but it was no use, as they were immediately flung backwards, crashing through a wall and an expensive painting along with it.

"Seriously, Hero? Running? You should know better by now."

"Get away from them!" Villain shot back, running toward the Hero who was struggling in the rubble.

"All right, your entertainment value has expired. I needed them without their backup, which they never need with you. You've served your purpose, now get out of my way," the Supervillain gestured at the Villain, as if to send them flying, but to their surprise, nothing happened, "what-"

Suddenly the Supervillain's world seemed to be spinning, running laps around their skull as they could no longer tell up from down. It was like vertigo from all directions at once. It was only then the horrifying realization hit them that their vision was fading.

"What the hell are you-!"

"Sensory manipulation," Villain said calmly, striding toward them, watching as the Supervillain came crashing down to the floor. "A little something I haven't had to use in a long time."

"You insolent little-!"

"Sense of sight, balance, motion... kind of hard to function when they suddenly get thrown into a blender huh? Proprioception really is a wonderful thing."

Supervillain was very quickly beginning to feel sick.

"Certain senses are more fun than others..." the Villain mused, crouching down next to them, "Nociception... the sense of pain... for example"

A gut-wrenching, blood-curdling, animalistic scream suddenly erupted from the Supervillain on the floor.

The pain only lasted for a second, but that was one second too long.

They were flailing, trying desperately to get away, to get a sense of anything. They couldn't tell where they were. Were they on the ground? Were they stuck to the ceiling? Were they floating in water? Even worse, they felt like they were losing a sense of not only where they were, but what and even who they were.

Supervillain didn't even realize they were shaking. They could feel panic flooding their system.

"Interoception is probably my favourite, though," Villain mused, their voice almost playful. "The sense of internal body states. Hunger, thirst.... panic... fear...." The Villain mused, tilting their head in thought, "How high do you think your heart rate can get before it gives out? Shall we find out?"

The Supervillain tried to speak, they really did, but it felt like the couldn't get enough oxygen into their lungs. They couldn't- hyperventilating- their body was-

It was like their body couldn't tell how fast their heart was already beating, yet it felt in desperate need to beat faster.

Then, like a sudden plunge into icy water, everything in their body seemed to balance. Their head was spinning, but they could see their vision beginning to come back. They could make out a blurry figure standing above them that was starting to move away.

"If I ever see you anywhere close to my hero again, I'll get the answer to my question," they warned as they went back over to the Hero in question.

There was a flash behind them, and the Supervillain vanished as they crouched down, "Are you okay?"

"What-.... what the hell was-..."

"Where does it hurt?" the Villain asked instead.

"Everywhere?" The hero huffed, dropping their head to the marble floor below.

The Villain closed their eyes for a moment, and suddenly, the hero could feel the pain melting away.

"Better?"

"How the hell did you-"

"Let's just say I always go easy on my favourite hero," they stood up, extending a hand down to the Hero, "Come on, I'll stop the heist if I get to take you out to dinner, on me,"

"Only if it comes with a side of explanations." The Hero rebuked.

"Deal,"

With that, the Villain helped the hero to their feet. They may have had a lot of explaining to do. But they also had a steak to order, and they had their priorities in order.

[earthtooz]

x : DON'T GO :*+ﾟ

in which: blade has always felt cold, but even more so without you.

warnings: 1.9k words, HURT/COMFORT with a sprinkle of angst, gn!reader who calls blade 'ren' once, mention of blood, ooc!vulnerable!blade, he's like a kicked puppy in this one

a/n: perhaps the most intimate piece i've wrote to date, this is nothing but pure yearning and longing on blade's behalf, and a nice fix-it fic with the most vulnerable i think blade could ever be. enjoy!!

in his new life, blade has always felt cold.

he is not spared from the constant feeling of goosebumps prickling his skin, not even for a second as the cold bites the tip of his fingers and sink their teeth into him to send shivers up his spine. but he has never felt colder than he does right now. 

your side of the bed is untouched, perfectly made, and devoid of any indication that you had been there. the blankets and mattress are cool to touch, with hardly any wrinkles in the sheets, and an ache declares itself home in blade’s chest.

the sun spills on his bare skin when he kicks the covers off, illuminating his scar-ridden chest as he gazes around the room, as if waiting for an sign that you were still here, and that he wasn’t too late. however, an immediate soreness tickles his throat that causes him to wince, serving as a reminder of the unpleasant discourse you had last night. 

it was hardly over anything of importance, but blade, a man of pride and relentlessness, had refused to back down, and you went to bed angry that night. he did too but woke regretful and cold under the covers, your warmth taken with you.

today was the day you had to leave for a mission, and although he knows you have a strict schedule to follow, he just wonders why you couldn’t have woken him up to say goodbye, especially after everything. 

he didn’t even get to say sorry or try to at least make amends. the swordsman only hopes you didn’t leave furious with him, and that you at least had something to eat before leaving.

to distract himself from the heartache, blade forgoes lying around and decides to start his day before the absence you left overwhelms him and the only thing his mind can do is think about you. 

not that he’s successful, because despite dedicating a monotonous afternoon of drilling sword techniques, the rampant thoughts about you did not decrease. rather, with each swing and sway of the cracked blade, his mind finds more and more to think about, with you at the epicentre of all of them.

it’s sometime around sunset when blade receives update on your status.

the swordsman is sat on a stone ledge, gold rays from the sun spilling on his skin as he waits for the sweat and fatigue to roll off. blade thinks of how you’d normally be seated nearby, watching him train to supply water and energy bars. although he never used to like the company or the doting, it doesn’t feel the same without you beside him, he misses you and wonders when you’ll return. 

“how long have you been here?” a raspy, female voice asks, breaking blade’s train of thoughts.

“since noon,” he responds merely. he doesn’t need to look up to see that it’s kafka talking to him.

“right. makes sense. i thought you’d be lonely since y/n’s gone.”

“need you remind me?” he huffs, voice teetering a threatening gruffness that would make ordinary people shudder, but does nothing to kafka.

“oh, spicy today, aren’t we?” she coos, ignoring the immense pressure radiating off blade effortlessly before taking a seat beside him. “what’s up? is there trouble in paradise?” a scoff comes from the swordsman. “i was only joking, did something really happen between you two?”

“none of your business.” 

kafka shrugs before her phone begins vibrating violently. when she reads the notifications, her face pulls the closest expression to concern that blade has ever seen her wear. 

“y/n got ambushed.”

his world freezes over.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

the sunlight is gentle in blade’s eyes when he wakes up.

clothes are strewn on the floor, bedsheets are half off the bed, ceramics lie in pieces along the cracks of the planks, and despite the mess blade has made of your shared space, he is the most crumpled of them all. a kaleidoscope of volcanic anger, tsunamic worry, and mountainous yearning, the only place that has remained untouched by blade’s destructive touch is your side of the bed, lest your scent disappears. 

it’s been five days since anyone has received a live update from you, only hanging on to tracking notifications of your spaceship as any indication that you were fine. for the duration of it, nothing has been able to calm him, with kafka and silver wolf needing to stun him before he could do anything brash, like running off into the infinite cosmos to find you.

elio’s promises had never felt emptier, his constant claims of how you’d return very soon turning into dust in blade’s ears because how could he hold on to hope when you are alone amongst the stars? 

his texts are left delivered, but never read. in fact, it has been five days since your contact displayed to be online, and he finds himself staring at it in case that the circle will illuminate green, that you’ll give him some sort of update on your liveliness. 

so that you’ll see how sorry he is and all he wants for you is to return home. 

he doesn’t remember when he became so dependent, but perhaps this is another cruel punishment from fate with another inconceivable price of repentance.

for someone as unforgivable and despicable as blade to love means to mutilate the universe with aftershocks that tear through boundaries of what’s possible. for a man like blade to rebel, it means that the consequences will return tenfold.

and there is no crueller damnation than tearing you away from him. 

he turns on his side, arms reaching over to where you would normally lie, and dozes off again, feeling colder than ever.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

blade wakes up a second time. the sun is no longer the thing that awakens him, but rather, the sound of footsteps that echo outside the bedroom. disgruntled and still trying to gather his bearings, he shoots awake at the sound of your door opening.

you stand on the other side.

is this a dream?

“oh,” you breathe. you sound winded, caught off guard by the sight of your lover who stares at you like a bewildered deer. “i’m sorry, i didn’t think you would be here.”

he doesn’t say anything, just merely looks at you, unnervingly unresponsive.

you look miserable. fatigue clings to your skin like a second skin, your eyes lack the brightness they usually have, and you are, evidently, very battered and bruised, blood staining your ruined clothes. 

but you are like sunlight, and blade thinks he can breathe again. 

“i guess i’ll leave,” you murmur, interrupting blade’s momentary assessment.

“don’t.”

turning back around, the swordsman is now slowly stalking towards you, seemingly teleported from the bed to halfway across the room in the blink of an eye. 

“is something wrong?” you ask and he holds back a scoff from the irony of your question. he’s the one that should be asking that, not you. 

but yes, there is something wrong; you left him alone. you went somewhere he couldn’t and then made him feel helpless because he didn’t know whether or not you were going to come back, stranded in the cosmos forever. 

stopping before you, his hands gravitate upwards with the magnetic need to touch you, to ensure that you were real and not some figment of his hazy imagination. blade raises a hesitant hand to sit on the back of your neck and the frostiness of his fingertips causes a shiver to run up your spine. gently, he presses you for a pulse and visibly gulps when he finds it, suffocating you in the tense silence that has occupied the air (you’re real, and you’re okay, delivered back to him in one piece).

then, he looks at you with the saddest expression you have ever seen him wear before engulfing you in his embrace. the stellaron hunter is hesitant with his touch, hovering around you in fear of overstepping, for blade would never forgive himself if he were to scare you off again. 

because you’re finally back where he can reach, and he never wants you to leave. 

“ren?” you pause, gently wrapping your arms around his waist and closing the gap he left, meeting him halfway. the little action floods him with endless relief. “what’s the matter?”

he shakes his head against you and his hold tightens mercilessly, squeezing all air out of your lungs. 

“you had me worried,” he confesses, no louder than a whisper because otherwise he would crack under the weight of his own words. the constant fear that has plagued him for the last few days would finally break him and he’d be in shambles in your arms, making a mess of something gorgeous with something hideous. 

so instead, he will continue simply holding onto you where you are safe. in his arms, you cannot leave, you cannot go places that danger you, and you cannot break his heart and choke him with the emptiness of your presence.

“i’m sorry,” you say, rubbing his back and he tugs you closer. “i didn’t mean to worry you, everything jus-”

“-you left without saying goodbye.”

you’re silent and guilty, but so beautiful. “i thought you didn’t want to see me. we were pretty mean to each other before i left,” you say after a second of contemplation. “i didn’t know where we stood, i wasn’t sure if you still wanted me.”

whatever is left of his heart breaks, crumbling into shambles that ring at your feet. there are a multitude of things that blade wants to say, yet no words come to fruition, to his dismay. he wants to offer you the comfort and promises you want to hear, and he wants to express the overwhelming relief he feels, but he can’t, and he curses his own inability to be heartfelt. 

instead, his grip around you tightens, like you’ll slip away otherwise and have him search for you throughout the cosmos. 

“don’t do any of that again,” he pleads instead, hoping that you’ll understand. “i beg of you.”

“okay,” you breathe. “i won’t.”

“don’t leave like that,” he tugs at your ruined shirt, grasp gentle and careful in fear of scaring you away with the intensity of his emotions that are hanging on by a thread

“i wont.” 

“please don’t go.”

“i’m here, aren’t i?”

blade sighs, nodding. you smile at him and it feels like a warmth powerful enough to drive the cold away. 

“but first, i need a bath,” you murmur, placing your hands on his chest to push him away. “please, keep your distance, i’m pretty sure i reek.”

he doesn’t say anything and clearly doesn’t listen, because instead of letting go, he simply leads you to the bathroom without ever unwrapping his arms. soon, the bath begins to run, and the sound of water streaming down ceramic echoes off the tiles, but the warmth of your laughter and tired words overpower it. blade sits at the edge, nothing but an oversized shadow that watches as you relax in the water, frowning when he catches the frequent bruise or fresh scar. 

afterwards, you both stumble onto the bed (careful to avoid the mess that blade as made, which you scolded him for, and he listened dejectedly before promising to clean it all up), and blade reaches over to your side, chest warming when he finds your figure to tug close. 

you fall asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow. your lover, on the other hand, stays awake for a few moments longer, simply trying to commit you to memory. 

“don’t go,” he repeats, tugging at your shirt as the evenness of your heartbeat lulls him to sleep.

he doesn’t feel cold anymore. 

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[opultea]

Reasons to Keep a Spare Hairtie

Gaming x Gender Neutral Reader

No pronouns - Romantic - Drabble - Fluff

Word Count: 550

“Aw, man!”

You turn, curious and surprised. Gaming hardly ever acted so down. As you turn on your heel, you can’t help the puff of laughter that escapes your lips at the sight of his usually neatly tied hair covering his face.

“Trying something new?” You tease, approaching to inspect the issue. Gaming blows air through his lips, lifting a brown tuft from his face momentarily.

“Ha ha,” He laughs dryly, before giggling sincerely. “My hair tie broke. And of course I left my headband at home today, so I guess I’ll just have to make do,”

You hum in consideration, secretly taking a moment to admire the way his hair drapes over his shoulders and forehead when down. Although, you did miss seeing the red undertone that was made visible by his usual style.

Watching Gaming try to tuck the fluffy hair behind his ears felt like watching a puppy try to find its way out of a big blanket. Cute, but very much making you feel obligated to help. Each time he managed to clear his face, the fluffy stands would pop back in front of him within seconds.

“Turn around,” you say warmly, tracing a loop with your forefinger to indicate the motion. Gaming stares at you for a moment, evidently wondering what for. However, it doesn’t take another second before he relinquishes control, turning so his back is to you.

You push his shoulder lightly until he sits down on the stone ledge under him. Gently, you scoop the soft brown hair from around his neck and face and pull it back into a ponytail.

Your fingers don’t linger long enough to feel the heat that erupts from his cheeks.

“You’re lucky I have a spare hair tie on me. With how fluffy your hair is, you’d look like a lion by the end of the day,”

“Yeah, lucky,” the dreamy quality in his voice catches you off guard. Promptly, you distract yourself from the skip of your heart with the task at hand.

You find your hands slowing more than necessary, and you take your time brushing your fingers through the fine strands of his hair. Briefly, you wonder what his hair might smell like. You scold the thought before you bury it.

You step around to face him once you let yourself finish, smiling as you admire your handiwork.

"There, now you can see, and you don't look like a mop," Gaming chuckles and rubs the back of his neck bashfully at your joking.

"Wow, thanks! It feels pretty good, and I bet it looks way better than what I do for my day-to-day," He carefully feels around his head to appreciate your work. "Hey, let me treat you to dim sum! As payment for your expert styling skills,"

"Gaming, you've paid for my dim sum the last three times, just let me pay already!" You try to argue as you follow him but know it's practically useless.

"Nope! You worked hard and you deserve a reward!" He's started into a light jog now, and you know that if you let him get ahead, he'll order and pay before you even arrive at the restaurant.

Speeding up, you feel a smile lift with the butterflies in your stomach, and as you run after the beaming lion boy, you can't help but wonder if he feels the same.

[xrenjunniesx]

BOYFRIEND HEADCANONS OF DREAMIES 🙏🙏🙏 it can be 0T7 or just chenle!! (maybe jeno). please make it delicious thanks wookie. i hope you're doing well with everything.

nct dream boyfriend headcannons

a/n : Hii, I’m doing well other than the fact that school is after me. I’m sorry this took so long for me to do :( enjoy the silly little headcannons :D

mark

there was snowman, sitting perfectly made and constructed on a ledge, and along with marks enthusiasm, created the perfect spot to take photos together. you and mark had just finished dinner and decided to go for a walk, just to enjoy each others company a little more in this cool environment and to talk about what’s been on your mind. the two of you start doing silly little poses for your camera, blowing snow at each other and getting amazing shots of the snow in action. it wasn’t until you tried to go up closer to the snowman that you realised - oh it’s slippery. very slippery. you fell over, kicking into mark by accident making him falling over as well. people walked past, laughing at the two of you as you both practically screamed out your own laughters. and oh? you accidentally recorded the whole thing? even better.


renjun

you loved going to the photo booths with your friends, so when your boyfriend wanted to take you to one during a day out you agreed in an instant. before it started you took a seat, looking into the camera and fixing your hair to fix it up. renjun watched you in awe, simply admiring you. when it started you led the way, telling him how to pose quickly before the photo was taken each time. you got the cute set of photos but renjun wanted another set, this time without any accessories. you agree, placing the accessories back and joining him in the photo booth. you are all over each other in the best possible way in this set of photos. hugs, loving stares, kisses, brightest and most genuine smiles. he loved you more than you could ever guess.

jeno

“it was just a joke” you scream, running down the road towards the playground. jeno was hot on your tail, having the time of his lip chasing after you as you fear for what he will do what he catches you - hug you to death? who knows. despite the playground clearly not being for people above the age of ten, you were running up those stairs and sprinting towards the slide. he was below the slide, simply waiting for you to slide down.

“Leave me alone you psycho”

“take it back and it’s all okay”

“okay…. um…”

“you can’t even be genuine” he cried out before making his way up the slide. you wanted to laugh at the silly action but you chose to run instead, giggling as you jumped off the playground. however, you failed to notice that jeno was already back on the ground.

he wraps his arms tightly around you, squeezing you against him as you giggle and push at him to get free.

“apologise.” “no.” he kisses your lips and then looks at your with a forced angry expression. “apologise now.” “another kiss and then maybe.”

haechan

you were exhausted at this point. It was 4 am and this trip was supposed to be a time to rest. but instead haechan had you at the karaoke room making you sing all the songs possible together. you weren’t expecting him to go on for this long, usually it was only a couple of songs before he got sick of the karaoke, but tonight he just kept making you both sing.

you were sure your voices were giving out, you were out of breath from the failed rap attempts and you had somehow made a choreography to a song that he sung twice in a row.

“babe, I need a break please.” you huffed out, placing a microphone down and breathing out heavily.

he sat down beside you, also breathing heavily. he looked at you for a full minute. just looking as you breathed and tried to ignore his stare. he then brought his hand up to your chin and turned your face to look at him, moving forward to place a gentle kiss on your lips and then pulling away.

“let’s go back and sleep, I’m exhausted.”

jaemin

you laid in bed, unable to sleep from the pure excitement of what jaemin had planned for you tomorrow. he had booked a hotel in another city and brought the flight tickets. this was to the exact city you had wanted to visit for ages. you needed to wake up in a few hours for the airport, but you just couldn’t fall asleep. jaemin woke up due to your constant moving around.

“why are you awake?” “I’m too excited I can’t sleep..”

it brought a smile to his face, but he knew you would really need to sleep at least a little bit now.

he pulled you towards him, wrapping his arms around you and bringing your face towards his neck. you inhaled his scent and tried to relax yourself. “try to sleep, you will regret it if you don’t.”

“I am trying.” you said trying to move back and look at him but he kept your head there, not letting you move. “go to sleep.” he said, half asleep himself. you did fall asleep shortly after, thanks to his comforting hold on you.

chenle

you wanted to be FREE. he was feeling like a menace. he was cuddled up to your arm, not letting go of it for the past hour. you tried to free yourself multiple times but it didn’t work. he kept finding excuses to bother you. it was all because he liked your reactions. you scoffed and laughed in annoyance at his behaviour and that was enough to make him laugh at you and continue. it wasn’t until you started actually trying to free yourself from his grip that you both ended literally wrestling each other.

you were sat on the couch, chenle clinging onto you with his arms wrapped around one of your arms and his leg placed on top of you. he laughed at your expression, not caring that you were annoyed.

“It’s not like you are doing anything important.” he claimed, and you just closed your eyes and leaned your head back.

“why are you doing this?”

“honest answer or the lie.” “honest.” you say with a sigh.

“haechan bet me that I wouldn’t be able to stick to you for one hour straight and I said I could do two hours.”

“lele… it’s been like almost three hours now.”

“he will triple the money if I make it to three hours baby please just 20 more minutes.”

“spilt the money and sure.”

“the money is all yours baby. I’m doing this to prove a point.”

jisung

you and Jisung were growing impatient with the food. It was in the oven, cooking away, but you wanted it now. you stood in the kitchen, tapping your feet on the ground and fingers on the counter, creating a beat by pure accident. Jisung noticed the beat and started dancing to it, not seriously of course but just a silly little dance move for pure entertainment. you giggled and stopped the beat and he whined at you.

“aye keep the beat going.”

“I’ll get the kitchen beat going hold on.”

the pots and pants and spoons all came out and before you knew it, you and jisung were a two person band creating the worst music alive with the goofiest dances possible BUT you were having fun. so much fun that time just went on and on until you realised oh shit the food will be ready and turns out you almost burnt the food. it’s just a little bit extra crispy.

[justagalwhowrites]

The Savage and the Sanctuary - Ch. 4: Past and Present

Being in Los Angeles is a challenge - and an opportunity - for you and Joel. A continuation of The Savage and the Sanctuary, a no outbreak TLOU story, from the prologue through chapter 3 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

CW: Depiction of someone experiencing a trigger. Remembered child death. No use of Y/N. Whole fic will be explicit so minors DNI, 18+ only.

Length: 12.6k

Fic Masterlist | Masterlist | AO3 | Prologue | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

September 26, 2019

“Joel.”

The sound of his brother’s voice pulled him out of his own head. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been there, half sitting, half leaning against the window ledge, staring at his daughter’s body. The blood on his skin was drying now, starting to flake off in some places and get caught on the hair of his arms and chest in others. It pulled slightly when he moved, an odd sensation that tied him to his body in a way he could hardly stand.

It was still dark outside, which made sense. He wasn’t sure the sun was going to rise. Such a thing seemed impossible now, that the earth would still be turning at a time like this.

“Did you hear me?” Tommy asked, coming and standing next to him.

It took him a moment to process that question. Tommy sounded so far away, like he was speaking to him above water while Joel was deep below it.

That would be a welcome change, he thought. Then he could just open his mouth and pull all that water into his lungs and never have to breathe or think or be ever again.

He couldn’t do that here. The window behind him couldn’t even open – he’d tried. Just to see if he could get some fresh air, he told himself. The fact that he was 10 stories up, that the fall would almost certainly kill him, was just a fringe benefit.

He couldn’t keep going like this, he knew that already. He kept picturing it in his head, over and over and over again.

Him and Tommy leaving the bar. Tommy driving him home. Stopping a few blocks away from his house, finding the car a tangled mass of metal in the street.

He’d just frowned at first, things not quite clicking. There was something familiar about the car, something that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“Jesus,” Tommy said, pulling over and getting out his cell phone, already moving to call 9-1-1. “Be a miracle if anyone survived that…”

Joel saw it then, the bumper sticker on the back of the sedan. Red with white lettering, “Blow it hard & finger it fast” with a clarinet in the middle. He remembered it because, the first time he saw it, he told Sarah he didn’t think that kind of bumper sticker was appropriate for a teenaged girl’s car.

“Dad,” she’d rolled her eyes. “It’s just a joke. Emma plays clarinet, don’t be so lame.”

He’d just sighed and dropped it. It’s not like he could tell the girl to take it off, she wasn’t his daughter. Besides, what trouble was one bumper sticker?

He knew that bumper sticker. Sarah had gotten in the car with that bumper sticker this morning. The car with that bumper sticker was supposed to be taking her home.

Joel was out of the truck before he really knew what he was doing, running toward the accident as fast as he could, praying that Sarah was already safely at the house, that Emma had dropped her off and was going home herself when she was hit.

“Joel!” Tommy yelled after him, getting out of the car, too. “What…”

“That’s Sarah’s friend’s car!” He yelled back to his brother, making it to the passenger side door – the side with the worst of the damage – swearing up and down to every god he’d ever known that he would do anything – anything they asked, anything at all – if that seat was empty, if Sarah was safely at home waiting for him.

His prayers went unanswered.

“No,” Joel breathed, his heart pounding. He pulled at the door but it wouldn’t move, locked shut. He went to the back seat and threw himself against the window until the spidering glass caved. He thrust his arm inside, ignoring the cuts from the glass on his skin, fumbling for the handle until he forced the warped door open. He wasn’t sure where to touch her, a bloody splotch on her stomach that seemed to be spreading. One of her arms was at an odd angle, one of her legs too. But she was breathing, almost hyperventilating, her eyes closed, one hand tight to her stomach. “You’re OK baby girl, you’re OK, just move your hand for me, just…”  

“Dad?” She opened her eyes, wide and afraid. “Dad, I…”

“I know,” he said quickly, fighting to keep his voice calm. “I know, I know, just move your hand baby girl, just…”

She pulled her trembling palm away from her stomach and he saw the wound, a chunk of metal embedded into her skin so deep he could barely see it. She reached for him, the blood on her hand soaking into his shirt so he could feel it on his skin.

“You’re gonna be OK,” he said, looking from her stomach to her face. “It’s OK, you’re gonna be OK.”

He had to stop the bleeding. He unbuckled her seatbelt so he could get clearer access to her and pressed his hand into her stomach, making her cry out.

“I know,” he said. “I know it hurts, I know baby, I know. Just gotta hang on for me, OK? Just hang on, you’re gonna be OK.”

Her fingers twisted in the collar of his shirt and she pulled herself against him. He could smell the blood and gasoline and smoke. He had to move her, before a fire started and made this worse he had to get her away from here.

“Just hold on,” he said. “I gotta move you…” He pulled her tight against his body and she screamed, her shallow breaths coming quicker. “I know baby girl, I know, I know, it hurts, I know, I just…”

He looked behind him to find Tommy, hoping to have some idea of when help was coming. But his brother was just standing there, watching Joel, a broken look on his face.

“Tommy,” Joel looked at him, holding Sarah as tight as he could to his chest. Her blood was warm on his skin. “Tommy, help me!”

“Joel,” he said softly. “I… I can’t, I’m sorry, there’s nothing…”

His eyes were on Sarah and Joel realized, suddenly, that she was quiet.

He looked down to her and she had gone still in his arms, her head lolling back lifelessly. Her fingers weren’t clutching his shirt anymore, she wasn’t crying. She wasn’t even breathing.

“No,” he said, his grip on her tightening. “No, no, no, no, no! C’mon baby girl, you’re OK, you’re gonna be OK, you’re…”

He looked back to his brother, Tommy crying silently. There had to be something he could do, something one of them could do.

But there wasn’t. Joel just clung to his daughter’s body until the police and EMTs came, a paramedic pulling her body from his arms before trying to revive her. 

It was no use. 

Joel stayed with her on the ambulance ride to the hospital. No lights, no sirens, no racing through the streets. There was just quiet as he looked at the sheet that covered his only child, the little girl he’d held when she first came into the world, the one who had wrapped one tiny, perfect hand around his finger when she was just hours old. 

She was still there, just a few feet away from him. He’d refused to let them take her to the morgue, the outline of her visible through the sheet. He needed to be next to her as long as possible, he couldn’t let them just take her away and put her somewhere cold and dark. He needed to be next to her, take care of her. 

They left him alone with her when he made it clear he wasn’t going to just let them take her away from him. Tommy took over then, talking with police and people at the hospital. Joel wasn’t sure why he bothered. 

What did any of this matter without her? 

Joel cleared his throat, Tommy still watching him cautiously.

“No,” he said. “M’sorry. What’s happenin’?”

“Said I got some news,” he said. “Some good. Sounds like Emma’s gonna make it, her parents are here…” 

Joel nodded. Part of him knew he should feel good about that but he was having a hard time doing it. Of course it was good that another child hadn’t died but fuck, he hated how much he’d do anything - including sacrifice that other child - to bring his own back. 

“What else,” Joel said when Tommy didn’t continue. 

“Well,” he said before he sighed and crossed his arms. “Sounds like we know the car that hit ‘em…” 

Joel stood up straight then, suddenly alert, ready to take care of it. Whoever it was had been in good enough shape to drive away from the scene which meant they were probably still alive. He’d change that. He’d like changing that. 

“They got some video from security cameras and shit nearby,” he said. “Some SUV just barreling through, swervin’ all over the road, probably drunk but…” 

He trailed off. 

“But?” Joel asked, his voice dark. 

“But,” Tommy said again. “The plate they pulled was reported stolen three days ago, they got no idea who’s driving it. That asshole ditches the car, they got no way of finding ‘em.” 

“What’s that mean?” Joel asked, looking toward where Sarah lay, still and cold under the sheet. “Are they not gonna even fuckin’ look?” 

“No, they’re lookin’,” Tommy said, putting his hand on Joel’s shoulder. “Just… not sure what they’ll be able to actually find.” 

Joel clenched his jaw, his arms crossed, fingers digging almost painfully into his biceps, his eyes never leaving the place where is daughter lay. 

If the police wouldn’t get justice, fine, he would. He’d find it and he’d take it. He’d find it and he’d take it from anyone who deserved it. As long as it protected someone who needed it, he didn’t care if it killed him. 

October, 2024

There was an Oscar in his closet. 

He stood there, the t-shirts from his duffle dangling from his hand, staring at the smudged and dusty but still glimmering gold of the statuette sitting in the middle of a high shelf at the back. 

There was a fucking Oscar in his closet. 

Was this your idea of a joke? Were you trying to be fucking funny, leaving it here for him to find? 

He went to it, setting the shirts on top of the chest of drawers before getting the statue down. It was high enough that he had to stretch to reach it, and he was almost surprised when his fingers closed around cool metal. He’d half expected it to be fake, some plastic bullshit you’d put there to try to taunt him in some way, but if it was a fake, it was a damn good one. It was metal and far heavier than he was expecting as he pulled it down to examine it. You’d set it so it was facing the wall and he turned it over to see the front of it, a plaque on the base. 

Your name was engraved on it, as well as “Academy Award” and “Best Performance by an Actress in a Leading Role” and “The District.”

It’s not like he knew a goddamn thing about things like Oscars but this seemed real. And as much pleasure as you seemed to take in annoying - or even just puzzling - him, Joel couldn’t come up with a reason why you’d go through the trouble of making a fake one to stick in his closet for whatever reason. 

You’d just… left your Oscar in his closet. 

A while ago, from the look of the damn thing. Upon closer inspection, it was obvious it had been sitting there for awhile. It was tarnished in places and dust had settled heavily into the crevices. It didn’t seem like someone had moved it here recently. It seemed like you’d just put it here one day and left it for him to find years later. 

He just shook his head a little, going and dropping the statuette on the bed - the thing bouncing heavily before settling into the mattress - before unpacking the rest of his bag. 

He’d only been in LA a few hours and he already missed Texas. 

You’d been mobbed at the airport, swarms of photographers descending on you as you left the secured area. 

Here, at least, security and police seemed to expect this behavior. Celebrities flew in and out all the time, and it didn’t take much for Joel to usher you through the crowd, your chin tucked into your chest, your carryon bag over your arm. 

A car with a driver was waiting for you and the two of you went straight for it, you climbing in first and Joel sliding it next to you, snapping the door shut as quickly as he could. But, as badly as he wanted to get away from the chaos of this place, he was surprised when the car started moving almost immediately. 

“They’ll deliver the luggage to the house,” you said, apparently reading his mind. “Not exactly smart to just stand there at baggage claim and wait for it as I’m sure you can imagine.” 

He scoffed at that, crossing his arms and settling into his corner of the back seat of whatever fucking luxury SUV this was. 

“Someone just takes care of everything for you, don’t they?” He asked, probably sharper than he should have. 

You laughed once, derisively. 

“Something like that.” 

In truth, this whole thing made him uncomfortable. He was in a place he didn’t know, one full of people who were obsessed with his charge - not just whoever was stalking you but the whole of the world, it seemed - and he didn’t even have his fucking gun. 

He planted his feet more firmly on the floor of the car before texting Tommy that the two of you had made it to LA and were en route to your house. 

You relaxed more, now that it was just you, Joel, and an oddly silent driver. You just watched out the window, the streetlights casting a glow on your skin as the car made its way slowly through the gridlock of Los Angeles. Joel ground his teeth, his whole body drawn tight and tense, waiting for some release after the chaos of the airport set him on edge. 

But none came, the driver eventually pulling up to a surprisingly modest house in nice neighborhood. 

He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting but it was more than this - a house that looked not much bigger than his own back in Austin. Unlike your place back in Texas that sat on several acres and had no immediate neighbors, there were other houses close to yours on this quiet street. It wasn’t a gated community, there was no full fence around the place, it was just a suburban house on a suburban street. 

Joel followed you inside, the lights on and jazz playing somewhere. He frowned, looking around, half expecting someone to come out and greet you. 

No one did, though, and he just hovered in the entry way, watching as you set down your bag and lit candles. 

“Can I help you?” You asked after a moment, your brows raised. 

“No,” he said, a little defensive. But you didn’t move, just raised your brows further and he sighed. “This place just… ain’t what I was expecting.” 

“Oh,” you said, relaxing a little. “Before I had Ellie, it was just me, I didn’t need anything insane. When I moved to Texas, I just wanted a place where Ellie would have plenty of space and want to invite her friends to.” 

Joel nodded slowly. 

“That’s… nice.” 

You shrugged. 

“Your room is down the hall,” you said. “There are only three bedrooms here, I’m not sure which of the spares they set up for you but one should be made up. They stocked the kitchen, too, but there’s no one here all the time like Esmo is so you’ll have to look after yourself. Just… make yourself at home.” 

The luggage was delivered not long after - his gun safely inside - and Joel went to get settled in when he found the damn Oscar. 

It stared him down as he talked with Tommy about logistics, about exactly what the hell he was getting into out here. 

“There’s fuckin’ nothing here infrastructure wise,” Joel said, his foot bouncing impatiently. The statuette rolled into his side as he sat on the bed and he glared at it before moving it to a bookshelf covered in impersonal knick knacks that sat opposite the bed. “Not even a goddamn chain link fence between the front door and the street, Tommy.” 

“Yeah, well, I told you it was a different set up,” he said, at least having the dignity to sound sheepish as he did.

“Different,” Joel said. “Not a security risk.” 

“She’s kept where she lives pretty private and you have the resources you need to handle it. You’ve got the driver,” Tommy said. “And the auxiliary guards outside. And you know what you’re doing. You’ll be fine.” 

Once they were off the phone, Tommy sent Joel a roundup of tabloid coverage about your arrival to LA and, once he got past the surreal moment of seeing pictures of himself online like that, he tried to analyze what he was seeing. Speculation was rampant about where you’d been, screenshots of tweets sharing photos of you - or someone people thought was you - scattered throughout the coverage. 

People seemed to have pinpointed the reason you were back in LA but no one seemed to know why you’d left or where, exactly, you’d been. He sighed, staring at the picture of him walking behind you, trying to shield you from camera flashes as much as possible. 

What the hell was he getting into? 

He was exhausted but it took him a while to fall asleep in the too comfortable bed, your Oscar watching him from the shelf nearby. 

So it was a rude awakening when he was jerked back into consciousness by a twangy guitar. It took him a moment to realize where he was, still dark outside, but the music loud enough that he heard the rattle of the lightbulb in the lamp by his bed. 

“What the…” he forced himself up, grabbing is gun and loading it before moving quickly but cautiously toward the main part of the house, the music growing louder as he went.

“And it didn’t take ‘em long to decide, that Earl had to die!” 

You were more yelling the lyrics than actually singing them and Joel found you in the kitchen with a blonde woman who was also singing, the two of you jumping around like you were at a fucking concert at six in the goddamn morning. 

“You’re feelin’ weak?” The two of you sang at each other, you using the handle of a spatula as a microphone. “Why don’t you lay down and sleep, Earl?” 

He rolled his eyes, lowering the gun. 

“Hey!” He yelled over the music. 

The two of you stopped and turned to face him, both of you in skintight athletic wear and covered in a sheen of sweat. You laughed and winced and reached out and tapped some touch screen, making the music stop. 

“The hell are you doin’?” He asked, looking you over and trying to ignore how fucking good you looked right then. 

“Babe,” the woman - who Joel suddenly realized he knew, a singer that Sarah had been obsessed with - leaned over and half whispered, half said to you. “There’s a shirtless man with a gun in your kitchen.” 

“Yeah, that’d be Big Miller,” you said, looking him up and down. “Shirtless but pajama pants? Interesting, totally thought you’d be a boxers and nothing else guy…” 

He narrowed his eyes. 

“What’s a Big Miller?” The woman asked, her blonde ponytail reaching almost to her waist. 

“My bodyguard,” you said. “He’s a bit over the top, though because, really? A gun? Come on.” 

“You’re the one who’s got some psycho writin’ her letters,” he snapped. “The hell was I supposed to know it was you acting like a fucking teenager?” 

“This isn’t a teenager thing,” you said. “This is a ‘your friend just go dumped so you sing about murdering him and then running away to start a small business’ thing. Which you wouldn’t understand because you have no friends.” 

“Jesus,” he muttered. “Why are you up this early? I got your itinerary, you don’t have anywhere to be until ten.” 

“Well actually, we have a pap walk in about,” you looked at your smart watch. “Forty-five minutes. Which is why Tanya is here. By the way, Tanya, that’s Big Miller but you can call him Joel if you really want.” 

She looked at him from head to toe and then shrugged before looking at you. 

“I’m single again,” she said. “I’d be down to find out just how big Miller is…” 

He looked quickly between the two of you and then the two of you laughed, practically falling over, hanging on each other to stay upright. 

“The look on your face!” You were still laughing, gasping for breath. “Oh my God!” 

“That’s not funny,” he scowled. 

“No, it’s hilarious,” Tanya said, straightening up. “Who knew we were such a threat?” 

“Oh, shit,” you said, turning to the stove and doing something Joel couldn’t see with a pan. “Almost burned it… Want some egg whites, Big Miller?” 

“What?” He asked. “No, I…” He looked between the two of you again. “Did you work out?” 

“Oh, yeah,” you said, looking back over your shoulder toward him. “We went for a run.” 

“Went?” He asked. “Went where.” 

“Just a few miles around the neighborhood,” Tanya waved him off. “Nothing crazy.” 

He put the gun down on the counter with a little too much force. 

“You went out without me?” He stalked over to you. “The hell were you thinking!” 

“That I needed to go for a run,” you said, brows raised, incredulous. “And it’s best to go before the sun is up because then it’s too hot.” 

“Do you really think you’re safe here?” He asked. “That the guy who’s been sending shit to your house just ain’t gonna come by when everyone on the fuckin’ planet knows you got here last night?” 

“I think this whole thing is overblown and that there isn’t a threat,” you said. “And Ellie isn’t here so it doesn’t really matter, does it?” 

“It’s really not bad,” Tanya said, looking between the two of you. “It’s a quiet neighborhood, no paparazzi or fans or anything…” 

“But we do have that pap walk in a few,” you said, pulling the egg whites off the burner and tipping them onto plates. “And we still need to drive there.” 

“The fuck is a pap walk,” Joel asked, looking between the two of you. 

“Oh, it’s where we tell the paparazzi where we’ll be and when we’ll be there so they can grab their photos,” Tanya said. “In exchange, they don’t follow us all the time. With the two of us there, there’s going to be a lot of them.” 

“And were you planning to say anything about this?” Joel asked, incredulous. “Or were you just gonna take off without telling your fuckin’ security team?” 

“You seem mad,” you said, spearing some eggs on the end of your fork. 

“I seem mad,” Joel said, grinding his teeth, his eyes narrowing.  

“You seem mad,” you again, eating the eggs. “You should work on that.” 

He clenched his jaw, trying to resist the urge to yell before stalking off to his room to get dressed. Because if he was going with you on this fucking pap walk or whatever the fuck it was called, he’d need to be dressed. 

The whole thing was a surprisingly simple affair. He followed behind you and Tanya with one of the auxiliary guards, a man named Nick who’d been camped in front of your house, to some smoothie place in the city. 

He watched as the two of you got out of Tanya’s car, laughing and touching each other as you angled your bodies toward the flashing cameras while pretending like they weren’t there. It was a strange dance, Joel sitting in the car with his nails digging into his palm, his jaw clenched tight, the sense that he should be between you and the photographers you were putting on some strange performance for all but taking over. His heart raced, his chest getting tight. He was so out of control in this situation, you were so far away from him that there was very little he could do to reach you if he needed to. 

Yes, the whole thing was - relatively - safe. It was early, there was almost no one here but you, the paparazzi and a few other overly dedicated men and women in workout gear. He’d texted Tommy while he got dressed and Tommy assured him that he’d gone over this with your manager, that this was fairly typical and that, no, Joel shouldn’t go inside with you but it didn’t make him any less uneasy.

What if something happened, right now? What if the man who’d been sending you letters found you here? What if something else happened like a shooting or a robbery or any number of other, mundane evils that happened every day? He’d be too far away to get to you in time, too far away to save you and, for some reason, that terrified him. 

He’d just decided to ignore you and his brother and your damn manager and go after you, anyway, when you and Tanya came outside again, clear plastic cups filled with green shit in your hands. Joel took a deep breath then, trying to calm himself down. 

But then, a paparazzo darted forward, camera raised, getting in your face, making you flinch back. A thrill of fear shot through him, the feeling shocking and foreign now. He was too far from you, he couldn’t get to you fast enough from here. He was supposed to be keeping you safe, he didn’t have much left he felt like he had to do in this life but that was one of them and, right here, right now, he could fail. 

Joel moved quickly, throwing open the door and starting for you, but your eyes met his and you gave a subtle shake of your head, navigating around the photographer and moving quickly for the car, the illusion of you ignoring them shattered. 

Tanya drove quickly and Joel’s car followed, the only thing keeping him from beating the shit out of that photographer the fact that you were only getting further away from him. 

Joel slammed the door behind him as he stalked into your house to find you, standing in the kitchen, scrolling through your phone. 

“I got you a smoothie,” you said, glancing up for a second and looking back at your phone before you frowned and actually looked at him. “Are you OK?” 

“You are not doing that shit again, understand?” He snapped. 

“Not… getting you a smoothie?” You asked. 

“You know what the hell I mean,” he said. “You can’t just go off on your own like that, I don’t give a shit what your manager says, I don’t care how fuckin’ typical it is, you’re staying close to me. End of story.” 

You watched him for a moment before you smiled, looking like you were trying not to laugh. 

“What.” 

“You were worried,” you said. “Big Miller, afraid! Who knew it was possible…” 

“I was not afraid,” he said, probably too quickly. “I just don’t want you dying on my damn watch. If you’re outside, I’m next to you. Deal with it.” 

He stalked off to his bedroom, your stupid Oscar there in his face when got there. He grabbed it and went back to the kitchen, smacking it down on the counter, making you jump. 

“I don’t need you to remind me how fuckin’ great you are,” he said. “Put that in your damn trophy case. And don’t leave this house without me.” 

He retreated to his room and heard your shower start a few minutes later and he felt like he could relax then. He wouldn’t put it past you to try and sneak out of your own fucking house, just to spite him. If you weren’t careful, your obsession with being right and being in control was going to get you fucking killed. 

He tried not to think about how uneasy that thought made him. 

Joel stayed in his room, listening for you as you moved through the house, until it was almost time to leave for your first appointment of the day, some lunch with your agent. He found you in the kitchen again, the Oscar nowhere to be seen. 

Your hair and makeup were done and you were wearing jeans and some shirt that looked more like a corset or some kind of lingerie and it forced Joel to notice just how fucking beautiful you were. 

It still caught him off guard, these moments where he couldn’t avoid that cold fact. You were beautiful, unquestionably so, but he’d grown blind to it in certain ways. He was around you all the time now so it was a fact that faded to the background more often than not. Especially since, most of the time he saw you, you weren’t trying to be beautiful, you were just existing in the form you had. 

Now, though, you were clearly trying and it hit him hard. The sculpture of your face, the glow of your skin, the curve of your body was right there, impossible to ignore. 

“Am I allowed to leave the house now?” You asked, an almost smug look on your face. 

“No,” Joel said, more to be an asshole than anything else. 

“You’re insufferable,” you said, ignoring him and stalking toward the door, the spikes of your heels loud on the hardwood floor, throwing a leather jacket on over your all too exposing top. “The driver’s here, are you coming or not.” 

You were silent beside him until the pair of you got into the gridlock of the city. 

“You’ll have to wait in the car,” you began but he cut you off. 

“Absolutely not,” he said. 

You looked at him, a stern expression on your face. 

“There are going to be photographers there,” you said. “I’ve already been seen with you at the airport, I really don’t need someone making up some bullshit story about why you’re with me if we’re trying to keep the extra security bit quiet.” 

“Too bad,” he shrugged. “Your optics aren’t my concern. Your safety is.” 

“Because I’m sure people at the fucking Ivy are such a threat,” you snapped.  

“We either do this the easy way or the hard way,” he said. “The easy way is I come inside with you and you can say I’m a friend or some asshole on your team, I don’t really care. The other way is I put you over my shoulder and haul your ass back to the car because you don’t listen. Don’t make much difference to me.” 

“Why do you hate me so much?” You twisted to face him now, your painfully beautiful face tight in anger. “What did I ever do to you?” 

“I’m just trying to do my job,” he replied. “Don’t make it difficult and we won’t have a problem.” 

“Fine,” you sat back in your seat forcefully. “Come inside then, just don’t come crying to me when the press starts to bother you.” 

He resisted the urge to smirk. He might be in your territory but that didn’t mean he was just going to let you win every damn conflict. 

The car dropped you off in front of the restaurant and the photographers were waiting for you. Joel watched as your expression went blank for a moment and then you painted a carefree smile on your face before you opened the door, smiling and waving with Joel following close behind. 

Of course, the hostess led you directly to your table without needing to ask anything because everyone was always just ready to do exactly what you needed, all the time. Joel wondered what that must be like, to be so beautiful and so rich and so famous that the entire world shifted just to please you. 

There was a man already seated there, watching as the waiter set up an ice bucket and showed him the bottle of wine. He nodded and then noticed you there, looking you up and down in a way that set Joel’s teeth on edge before standing up and calling your name in an almost sing song voice that grated on him. 

“Hey Leo,” you smiled and he reached to hug you. You hugged him back, kissing his cheek as you did, the man seeming to notice Joel then, his face falling a little as he did. 

“And who is this you’ve brought me?” He asked. “I’m sure he’s not some hopeful…” 

“I’m sure Quinn mentioned some additional…” you trailed off. 

“Ah,” he said, seeming to understand but then frowning. “I didn’t think they’d be quite so… hands on.” 

“Neither did I,” you smiled, a little self satisfied. “But, Joel, this is my agent, Leo Musgrave. Leo, this is Joel, my shadow for the last few weeks.” 

“Good to meet you,” Leo said, offering Joel his hand. He took it, an odd satisfaction settling over him at the way his palm dwarfed Leo’s and the way the other man had to tilt his chin up to meet Joel’s gaze. “But I can assure you, she’s perfectly safe with me.” 

“Ain’t you I’m worried about,” Joel said, gripping the man’s hand a little too tightly, looking him up and down in a pointed way. An odd expression flitted over the man’s face, one Joel couldn’t place, but it passed quickly. 

“Good,” he said, smiling again before going to pull your chair out for you. “Because I know we both just want what’s best for our girl here. Speaking of which, I got that rosé you like…”

“Thank God,” you smiled, taking your seat. Joel sat beside you, surveying the area quickly, noting the points of entry and egress, where people could be concealed. “I’ve got media at one, I could use a drink.” 

The two of you talked and you ordered a salad and Joel got a steak just to spite the asshole sitting across from him. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t like him but he didn’t. Something about this man rubbed him the wrong way. Maybe it was the way his eyes lingered on your breasts when you were talking to the waiter, maybe it was the way he sat back in his seat, lounging like he owned the place, Joel didn’t like him. 

“Oh,” Leo said, just as the waiter turned to leave. “We’ve got one more joining, if you could bring an old fashioned when you can, whatever’s top shelf.” 

Joel watched your face fall for a fraction of a second, the moment so fast he probably wouldn’t have noticed it at all if he wasn’t so used to you now. 

“Who’s joining us?” You asked once the waiter was out of earshot. 

“Remember how I said I was working on bringing in another producer for Savage Starlight?” He asked. “Someone who can make sure it doesn’t turn into the typical superhero bullshit and keeps its strong narrative structure, doesn’t ditch the character development in favor of big set pieces?” 

“Right,” you said slowly, your hand clenching around the stem of your wine glass. 

“Well, we’re bringing in the best man for the job,” he smiled, proud. “And you were a big selling point, he’s been dying to work with you again… Henry!” 

Joel didn’t turn to see who was making his way toward the table, Leo standing up to greet him. Instead, his eyes were on you. Your eyes were wide, your hands in your lap, fingers pressed tight into your thighs, breaths coming in fearful little pants. 

“Leo!” A booming voice at Joel’s shoulder said. “It’s been too long.” 

“We really should do this more,” Leo hugged the new arrival, clapping him on the back. “Everything you touch is magic, swear to God.” 

“Could say the same thing about you,” the man said, stepping back from Leo and turning to face you and Joel, though he didn’t seem to be paying Joel any mind at all. It didn’t make a difference. Joel immediately disliked him, too. He was older, in his 50s at least, wearing a sport coat and an ostentatious ring, his bald head shining and he was looking at you like you were something he could consume. “You’ve got the best talent in the industry right here. How’ve you been, sweetheart?”

“Oh, you know me,” you said, a casual and cool smile on your face, almost no sign of your momentary discomfort from just a second earlier. You got up and went to greet him, keeping your hands at his biceps but kissing both his cheeks all the same. His hand went around your back, spreading over you, his pinky slipping inside the waist of your jeans before you pulled back from him. Joel’s hands tightened into fists. “Same as ever.” 

“So, causing trouble,” he said, taking his seat. 

You laughed. 

“Something like that,” you said, sitting down and relaxing back into your chair. But the hand closest to Joel went back in your lap, clenched into a fist so tight he could see the strain of your skin over your knuckles. 

The man seemed to actually notice Joel then, looking him up and down. 

“And who’s this?” He asked, directing the question at you and Leo, not Joel. 

“Just a little added security,” your smile shifted to something almost daring and triumphant, the hand in your lap still drawn tight. “Never can be too careful anymore. Don’t worry, he’s got a very thorough NDA.” 

“Not worried about anything in particular, are you?” He asked, brows raised. “Because you could always come stay with me, my security is very good and my door is always open for you, you know that.” 

“Oh, I’m sure it is,” you said. “But let’s not bog things down. Tell me, Henry, what brings you into this project? It doesn’t seem like your area of expertise.” 

“Not cerebral enough for me?” He asked, an almost teasing edge to his voice. 

“I’d say not up its own ass, but…” you said in a winking tone but something told Joel you meant it differently than that. 

Henry laughed all the same, as though he was in on the joke. 

“You always knew my taste,” he said. “But, truth is, I’ve been seeking out some projects that look to have the prospect of greater commercial success without sacrificing the art of storytelling. This seemed like the perfect project, especially once I knew you were attached.” 

You hummed, nodding slowly, and Joel just sat there and watched as you and your agent and this new asshole discussed creative choices and shit like points on the back end, the whole time some part of you stiff and strained. Something was off. He wasn’t sure if it was fear or irritation or that you were just caught off guard by someone else being added to the mix but something about this was bothering you. He just wasn’t sure what it was. 

Regardless, it set him on edge. He tried to focus on the potential threats from around you as you picked at your salad, more moving the food around than eating it, until it was time to go. 

Henry moved around Joel to you as you draped your jacket over your bare shoulders and Joel wanted to fucking punch him, the way he pressed into your space as you shifted away, your fingers tight on the back of your chair. 

“Now we can’t go almost 20 years without working together again, sweetheart,” he said, his hand at your waist as he held you to his side, his thick fingers pressing into the sheer parts of your top. “What we make together is too beautiful to let a little history get in the way.” 

“Let’s see if we still have it,” you smiled politely. “Then we’ll talk.” 

Henry pulled you out front with him, something Joel was cursing as the flashes started going off again, the paparazzi screaming your name. Had these assholes just camped out here for the last hour? Doing fuck all besides waiting for you to come outside again? 

“This is me,” Henry said as a car pulled up to the curb. “We’ll chat soon, yeah?” 

“Oh I have no doubt that you’ll make sure we will,” you said, a sour smile on your face. 

An odd expression passed over Henry then and he leaned in to kiss you on the cheek but Joel caught him whisper something in your ear, something that made you freeze against him, your hands on his arms to force some distance. You stayed like that as he got in the car, the flashes still going like crazy. Joel looked around for a moment, your driver nowhere to be seen in the immediate traffic, and you were out here - exposed. 

Shit. 

“C’mon,” Joel said, tucking you below his arm and steering you back in the restaurant, putting you out of sight of the windows. You were breathing fast and shallow again, your eyes wide as you stared into space. “Hey, look at me.” 

You obeyed, those wide eyes meeting his. 

“You OK?” He asked. “He hurt you?” 

“No,” you shook your head and swallowed. “No, I’m fine, just… I’m fine.” 

He wasn’t sure he believed that. 

“Can you sit tight for one minute?” Joel asked. “I’m going to find your driver, get you out of here, OK?” 

You just nodded quickly and Joel reluctantly stepped away from you to a place he could see outside, calling the driver. It took a moment for the call to connect but he reached him and stayed on until he was close enough that Joel could see him out the window before he went back to find you, his chest oddly tight at the distance, a strange relief in him knowing that you’d be where he could properly protect you again in just a second. 

But he couldn’t. 

You were gone. 

***

You weren’t really thinking when you left The Ivy. At least, not consciously.

Something else had taken over your mind, something animalistic and protective, and it only had one thought: Go.

So you went. You found a back way out, dodging servers and cooks who did doubletakes as you wove your way through kitchen until you were outside, the sunlight bright and harsh. You’d just walked after that, not picking any direction in particular, just desperate for some distance.

You weren’t really sure where you’d wound up when you finally seemed to come back into yourself enough to make yourself just stop walking. Your feet ached, there was a dumpster next to you that absolutely reeked and you realized then that you’d ditched your shoes at some point but you weren’t quite sure when. You vaguely remembered running for a bit and your shoes making you stumble but you didn’t remember taking them off. You also didn’t have your purse, probably left behind at the damn restaurant because you hadn’t been thinking, so you had no phone, no ID and no money.

Perfect. Just perfect.

You walked to the end of the alley and looked around, asphalt cutting into the soles of your feet, and peered out to the street. It was mercifully fairly quiet, a bar across from you open, the soft sound of a guitar drifting out from the open door. You darted across the road and into the bar, thankful that no photographers had managed to catch you on your unhinged run through Los Angeles.

Inside the bar was quiet, too, just a few patrons hunched over drinks and a man playing guitar at a small stage in the corner. A few of them looked up when you came in and you realized you were breathing hard. You tried to slow it, clearing your throat awkwardly as someone seemed to clock you, his eyebrows drawing together like he was trying to place you before his eyes went wide and he quickly looked back to his drink.

“Hi,” you smiled at the bartender as you came up. “I was wondering…”

“Need shoes,” he said gruffly.

You frowned.

“What?”

“You need shoes,” he said. “Can’t be barefoot in here. Not sure why anyone would want to walk around barefoot out there anyway, but…”

“Sorry,” you said, smiling again as best you could even though all you really wanted to do was cry. But you’d acted through worse. “They broke. I was hoping I could use a phone to see if I can get someone to pick me up? I lost mine.”

“You can use mine!” The man who’d spotted you before said quickly before clearing his throat. “Um… if… if you wanted.”

“Thank you,” you smiled, relieved, and taking the phone he held out to you.

It took you a moment to figure out who to call.

You wanted to call Anna. She was the only person who would get it, she was the only person who knew all of it. She was who would make you feel like it was all going to be OK.

But you didn’t have her anymore, so you ran down the list of numbers you had memorized. You knew Tanya’s but you didn’t want to leave the number of the world’s biggest musician in some random man’s phone. Justice, one of your closest friends and former costar, was out for the same reason. But you knew Quinn’s number and you did pay her to get you out of situations like this.

Well, maybe not exactly like this, but still. It was better than the alternatives.

It took a few tries before she answered the phone and, when she did, she was clearly pissed.

“What!” She snapped. “Whoever this is, it had better be good because I’m dealing with a crisis right now.”

“Hi Quinn,” you winced a little. “I think I might be your crisis.”

“Oh, thank God,” she said, sounding like she was about to cry with relief. “What the hell happened? Where are you? Are you OK?”

“I’m fine,” you lied. “Just needed a walk. Can you send Joel to come get me? I’m at…”

You paused, realizing you weren’t sure where you were. You covered the receiver on the phone and were about to ask the bartender when he gruffly answered your unspoken question.

“O’Shea’s Pub.”

“Thank you,” you smiled at him before repeating it back to Quinn. “Can you tell Joel?”

“I can,” she said. “You know, you could have just told him yourself if you’d fucking said what you were doing!”

“I know,” you flinched. “Sorry.”

She sighed.

“It’s fine,” she said. “Just… don’t do it again. I’m sure he’ll be there soon.”

You returned the phone and got a glass of water from the bartender, who still looked none too happy about the fact that you were in his bar without shoes. But he was, at least, not forcing you to leave. You’d take that.

You tucked yourself into the corner booth, your feet on the seat next to you to get them off the floor, and stared out at the bar, listening to the guitarist as he played, letting your mind drift.

It had been so long since you’d been in the same room as Henry, even longer since it was close quarters. Years. Maybe a decade, even. You’d avoided him and he, mostly, let you. Every few years, a script would wind up in front of you with him attached and you never even read it, your stomach turning just seeing him listed as a producer. You just passed and he’d go back to leaving you alone.

You should have known he’d have done something like this eventually. You usually insisted on producer approval in your contracts but you’d foregone that to land Savage Starlight. You’d wanted the part so badly, wanted to be someone Ellie liked and looked up to and thought was cool, you’d made concessions. Henry was not the superhero movie type, you’d never even considered that he’d try to attach himself to this. A mistake on your part, it seemed.

“I still own you.” 

That’s what he’d whispered in your ear as he was leaving, when he had you far enough from Leo and Joel to get away with saying whatever he wanted. Just the memory of it sent a chill up your spine and made your stomach churn. You fidgeted with the water cup, trying not to cry. You couldn’t cry, not in public, not before you had press, not when you were about to be crying in front of fucking Joel. You had to focus, not let things that happened more than a decade ago get under your skin. 

It seemed like you’d hardly been sitting there any time at all when, suddenly, Joel was there, his large, broad frame blotting out the sun from the open door of the bar. 

“What the fuck were you thinkin’?” He snapped. 

You couldn’t make out the expression on his face from your spot in the corner of the booth, just a silhouette, but you looked up at him anyway, not really sure what to say. 

“Where the hell are your shoes?” He asked, his voice softening slightly. 

“I’m not sure,” you said. “I lost them somewhere…” 

He sighed and then took the seat across from you and you blinked in surprise, watching him as he crossed his arms on the tabletop, leaning in and looking you over, his eyes strangely soft. 

“Want to tell me what happened.” 

“Not really,” you said, leaning back against the wall behind you. 

He nodded to your cup. 

“What’re you drinking?” 

“Water,” you said. “I didn’t have my wallet, so…” 

Joel snorted. 

“You tellin’ me they’re not bending over backwards to give the biggest movie star in the world free booze?” 

You laughed, too, the sound thick in your throat. 

“Not exactly,” you said. “But I shouldn’t be drinking, anyway, I have press in… fuck, what time is it?” 

“About noon,” Joel said. “We got a few minutes. What do you want?” 

“Whisky?” You asked, brows raised. 

Joel looked surprised for a moment before he nodded. 

“Whisky it is.” 

You watched him go to the bar and bring back two glasses, setting one in front of you before taking his place across from you again, taking a sip himself. 

“Thank you,” you said. 

Joel shrugged and the two of you sat there in silence, sipping your drinks. The whisky was shitty but you kind of liked it that way for a change, the burn of it strangely satisfying, grounding you in your own body. 

“Who was that guy?” Joel asked eventually, looking more at his glass than at you. 

“Henry Wilde,” you said. Just saying his name made your stomach turn. “He’s a producer.” 

“Seemed like he was more than that,” Joel said, looking at you now. 

You watched him for a moment. One of the strange things about being famous was the fact that it seemed like the entire planet new your romantic history. It was disorienting, talking with someone who didn’t. 

“We dated for a while,” you said. “A long time ago.” 

Joel frowned. 

“Seems old for you.” 

You snorted. 

“Yeah, well,” you said. “It is what it is, I suppose. I haven’t seen him in a while except at awards shows and things. The breakup… it wasn’t great.” 

Joel nodded slowly, downing the last of his whisky before looking you in the eye. 

“You know it’s my job to protect you,” he said. “Someone shoots at you, it’s my job to take the bullet. Someone tries to grab you, it’s my job to grab them first. Thing is… it don’t really matter who the threat is. If he’s a threat, it’s my job to protect you from him. I will keep you safe. Understand?” 

You looked at him across the table, the seriousness of his expression, the uncanny openness of his gaze, the breadth and strength of his shoulders. There was something about him that made you believe him. He might hate you for some unknown reason but you trusted him. He would keep you safe, that you knew. 

The thought made your throat get tight and you smiled a little at him. 

“I understand,” you said. “Thank you, Joel.” 

He just gave you a stiff nod and you polished off your whisky and Joel helped you to the car that was waiting outside. Joel, at least, had thought to grab your purse and you texted Quinn about the shoes. You made a quick detour to Christian Louboutin, a sales woman running a pair of pumps in your size out to the car so you made it to your call time on time. They ushered you right into hair and makeup to touch up what you’d done to yourself that morning before bringing you in to the studio, a craft services table set up at the back. 

“There she is!” Your costar, Chris Reese, greeted you with open arms, a beaming smile on his face. You fought the urge to grimace as he hugged you, kissing you on both cheeks. “My God you look incredible, you really ought to have mercy on us mere mortals and have an off day sometime, love.” 

“Now where’s the fun in that?” You asked, brows raised. “Besides, you look pretty good yourself.” 

Which wasn’t a lie. Chris was almost unnaturally handsome - you wondered if he’d had some work done but, if he had, it was done well - with a sculpted face, dimpled chin, thick hair. He was good looking and he knew it but he seemed to love you admitting it, anyway. 

“Well, if you say so,” he winked. “Still say we’d make a beautiful couple. C’mon, just for a few weeks. We wouldn’t even need to fuck. Unless you wanted to, of course, because who am I to deny a beautiful woman what she wants…” 

“I think I’ll pass,” you said. 

“On the PR relationship or on the sex?” He asked, his British accent thick. “Because I’m happy to offer the sex with no strings attached.” 

“Oh I’m sure you are,” you clapped him on the shoulder before going to get yourself a Diet Coke. 

A production assistant came in then, calling you and Chris over to show you examples of some TikTok trends they wanted you to recreate for promos. 

It was hard to focus on them. You felt like you needed to play a character for things like this, some version of yourself that the public might want to see and be friends with, the kind of person they’d want to see on their social media feed instead of just on a movie screen. But it was hard to fall into it today. You had to say “Chris, this is the media day for ‘As We Know It’” three times before you finally settled on a take to use. 

Chris, to his credit, was good natured about it, willingly saying “I hope she plays Hot to Go” again and again until you were both happy with it. He did the same thing for some choreographed dance after you fucked it up more than you cared to admit and you tried not to feel completely humiliated by it all. 

After you posed for some photos - so many with your head on Chris’ chest or your face close to his, the faked intimacy making your jaw clench tight - you settled in for the interviews and you were already exhausted. You hadn’t counted on seeing Henry that day and, even if you had, you wouldn’t have known how much it would take out of you. 

“You alright, love?” Chris asked as you had a few minutes between interview three and four. “Seem like you’re not quite yourself.” 

“Fine,” you said, taking a sip of Diet Coke. “Just a long day.” 

“Tell me about it,” he said, taking a swig of water. “God, this is the worst part of the job.” 

“Not the night shoot where we were covered in mud and it was 40 degrees outside?” You asked, brows raised. 

He barked a laugh. 

“Yeah, alright,” he said. “That might have been worse.” 

The next reporter came in and introduced himself and settled in across from the two of you and everything seemed normal, the usual questions about research and challenges and favorite parts of the film when he turned is focus to you and you had to fight the urge to frown at that. 

“This one is just for you,” he said. “Sorry, Chris.” 

“Don’t worry, I know where I stand when this one’s involved,” he smiled jovially. “Rightfully so, I might add.” 

“Such a charmer,” you smiled at him before turning back to the reporter. 

“As We Know It is familiar territory for you in a few ways,” he said, making you frown slightly. “Not so much in plot but more in the awards aspect. You famously won your Oscar - your first Oscar, I should say, since you’re the favorite this season - when you were just 20. You were the frontrunner then, too, because you were such a standout…” 

“I mean if you want to talk about how great I am, I won’t argue too much,” you smiled, hoping to change the subject. 

“Oh, I could,” he smiled back. “But more what I’m getting at… The District, which was about a teenaged prostitute working in a red light district, was a very different film from As We Know It. This is much bigger in scope while also being very intimate - framing the dissolution of a marriage around the end of the world - while The District was much more of a character study, one that caught a lot of flack for the rampant nudity and graphic sex scenes. 

“But you also had a very different connection to The District, didn’t you?” He continued. “Your boyfriend at the time, Henry Wilde, developed it as a vehicle to launch that era of your career. The movie really existed because of you, didn’t it?” 

Your eyes darted toward where Joel was standing, your fingers pressing down into your thigh. You could feel his gaze on you, could sense the tension drawn tight between you, like he was waiting there for something to shift just enough for him to jump in. 

“Well…” 

“I was wondering what that was like for you,” he said. “Being in on the ground floor like that and having something built around you and your skills versus what the process looks like when you don’t have someone in that director/producer role crafting a film specifically for you? And how does that change awards season for you?”

You dug your nails into your leg. 

“Well, I…” 

“I’ll take this one, love,” Chris said, his hand coming to cover yours and you turned to look at him and you realized that he was watching you, intently, before turning his attention to the reporter. “I’m going to lay this out for you as clearly as I can: we aren’t doing that.” 

The reporter opened his mouth to argue but Chris cut him off. 

“No, you asked your question, I’m giving you the bloody answer,” he said. “First of all, my costar here is the most beautiful woman on the planet and the single most talented actor I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with so you will treat her with the respect she’s due. She’s also a lot kinder than I am because she would just answer your bullshit question which is why I’m not letting her. Someone needs to teach you some manners. 

“I’m not going to let you sit there and say - to her fucking face - that you think she slept her way to the top,” he said, tone heated. “Because that’s bullshit. You’ve seen her films, you’ve seen her act, if you think she got here off anything beyond talent and incredibly hard work, you’re insane but, more importantly, even if she DID fuck her way to the top, who cares? Why would that be on her? She was, what, 18 when making that film? Henry Wilde was pushing 50? Never mind the fact that he bragged about recognizing her talent when he first met her when she was all of - what was it, love? 13?” 

He looked at you again, giving you a chance to answer. 

“Twelve,” you said, your grip on your leg easing. 

“Fucking 12!” He turned his attention back toward the reporter. “Can you imagine meeting someone who is 12 years old when you’re in your fucking 40s and then DATING THEM six years later? If she slept with him for the part - which I highly doubt since she wouldn’t even pretend to date me to get good PR for this movie, I know because I asked - why would that be on her? That’s on him, ask him why he was going after fucking teenagers, don’t ask her.” 

“Alright, I think that’s all the time we have,” Chris’ publicist all but jumped in between him and the reporter, cutting him off before he could go any further. “Thank you so much for coming, why don’t we just see what I can answer for you over here…” 

She guided the still dumbfounded looking man away, leaving just you and Chris sitting there in awkward silence. 

“Sorry about that,” he said after a moment. “Just think if I had to sit there and let that jackass keep going I was going to lose my bloody mind.” 

“No, I…” You looked at him for a moment. “Thank you. Why did you do that?” 

He shrugged. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” He asked. “Meant what I said. You are supremely talented and an all around lovely person. You may not be too fond of me…” 

“I never said that,” you said quickly but he gave you a look. 

“But that’s really my own fault,” he said. “Something tells me if I came on a little less strong when we met, you and I might be friends.” 

You smiled a little. 

“We still can be,” you said. 

“As long as you don’t hold it against me,” he gave you a wink. “Even if I do deserve it.” 

You reached a hand out for him and he took it, giving your fingers a squeeze. 

“My publicist is going to kill me,” he said cheerfully. “Maybe I’ll never have to do press again.” 

You barked a laugh, already feeling lighter. 

“Let me know if it works,” you said. “I’ve got a few screeds stashed away, think I could be just unhinged enough to pull it off.”

The rest of the media day was calm, the same basic questions just asked in slightly different ways, things handled easily by your years of media training. 

There was just one other moment that set you on edge, probably because of the moment with Joel earlier in the day, the one where he brought your Oscar out from his room and forced you to look at it for the first time in years. 

“So,” the reporter asked, smiling conspiratorially. “You each have an Academy Award and I’ve always wondered: where on earth do you keep something like that?” 

“Oh that’s easy,” Chris said. “Keep mine on the bedside table but not on my side of the bed. Like to make sure the people I bring home know I’ve got one.” 

He gave the reporter a wink and she giggled and you tried not to laugh. 

“And you?” She asked when you weren’t quite so forthcoming. 

“Oh,” you said, your fingers pressing down into your thigh again, keenly aware of Joel’s eyes on you. “Currently, it’s in the back of my pantry.” 

“Your pantry?” Chris looked at you, incredulous. “What on earth is it doing there?” 

You laughed and hoped it didn’t sound too fake. 

“I just like keeping myself humble,” you said. “If it’s out of sight, it’s out of mind. Gives me something to work towards.” 

“Not me,” Chris said. “I’d wear that thing on a chain if it wasn’t so bloody heavy.” 

“I’ve got an Emmy that’s a paperweight in my office,” you smiled. “That one’s lighter if you want to borrow it…” 

“Not nearly as impressive for me if it’s got your name on it, love. Guess I’ll need to do some TV,” he said. “Get one of my own. Will you do it with me?” 

You laughed a little, more genuinely than you ever really had with Chris before. You liked it. 

“Of course,” you said. “I’d love to work with you again.” 

“And we’d love to see it,” the reporter smiled. 

Once the final reporter left, you got up, taking a moment to stretch as best you could in your outfit, the boning of the corseted top keeping you from doing too much and you were ready to be out of the damn thing, back in the comfort of your home where you could peel back the carefully packaged version of yourself that existed for public consumption and just exist without the artifice of it all. 

“Christ, media days are so long,” Chris said, cracking his back, too. “Give me back to back night shoots any day.” 

“Tell me about it,” you said. “Are you staying in town at least or are you heading out tonight?” 

“I’ll be here through the premier,” he said. “Want to walk the carpet with me? As friends, of course.” 

“Yeah,” you smiled a little. “That would be nice.” 

He gave you a peck on the cheek and a squeeze before the two of you went your separate ways, Joel sitting beside you in the back of the SUV as you stared out the window, watching the city go past. 

You did a FaceTime call with Ellie after you got changed and had something to eat, not too long before her bedtime. She told you about school, excited about making friends with a girl named Dina and proud of her grade on her latest science test. You’d promised to take her to the space center in Houston if she actually studied, so you made a mental note to see if Quinn could make some calls and get you a tour. You usually didn’t like leveraging your celebrity status for things like that - you’d gone to DisneyLand plenty of times and just worn a baseball cap and sunglasses all day, doing your best to blend in while waiting in line like everybody else - but, for something that would help keep Ellie engaged in learning, you’d pull some strings. 

Talking to her was good but it was also hard. You sat there for a minute, staring into space when the call was over. Something in you was so hollow in that moment, as though someone and wrenched your ribs apart and carved out your insides, leaving you totally empty. 

You missed Ellie. You missed Anna. You missed a life you’d never had, one that was quiet and still and let you exist in a way that didn’t include people like fucking Henry or reporters asking about some of the worst parts of your life so everyone else could know about them, too. 

When that feeling stuck around a little too long, you unfolded yourself from the couch and padded back toward your bedroom, pausing for a second at Joel’s door. The light was on in his room but it was quiet. Not that you should be bothering him, anyway. Just because he’d been kind to you that afternoon didn’t mean that the two of you were suddenly friends. 

You sighed before going to your room and getting your guitar from its place in the corner.

You took it out back to sit by the pool, tuning it quickly before strumming a few chords, trying to think of what to play. 

Eventually, you settled on Landslide. It had been a while since you’d played, it took you a little while to find a groove, but it still felt good. You’d never been an incredible guitarist by any means, but you loved playing. It felt like something you did just for you, something that no one else expected out of you. 

That was the problem with acting for a living. It helped you think and process and understand yourself and the people around you but it wasn’t something you could do on your own terms anymore, it was always something made for someone else, so someone else could profit or be entertained. No one expected you to play guitar for them, this was something you could do just for you. 

You played the song twice to get a feel for things again and just started playing music that felt right, not always whole songs, sometimes just bits and pieces, sometimes singing sometimes not as you watched the glow from the pool light ripple on the water.  

“Didn’t know you played.” 

You jumped, whipping your head around to find Joel hovering near the door, his hands in the pockets of his pajama pants with a t-shirt on this time. 

“Sorry,” he said. “Wasn’t… didn’t mean to scare ya.” 

“It’s alright,” you said, looking back toward the water. “I forgot you were here for a minute is all.” 

“It OK if I join you?” He asked and you looked back at him again. 

You shrugged.

“If you want.” 

He came and sat on the lounge chair next to yours, staring straight ahead at the water, too, his hands clasped between his knees. 

“Don’t gotta stop just because of me,” he said after a moment. “You ain’t bad.” 

You laughed once. 

“I’m not great,” you said. 

He shrugged. 

“Definitely heard worse. Where’d you learn to play?” 

“I had to learn the basics for Siren,” you said. “They almost never used my real playing on the show but I needed to at least look like I knew what I was doing. I just kept learning after that. I know I’m not very good but it feels good, you know?” 

Joel nodded slowly, looking like he wanted to say something but seeming to think better of it. 

“You doing OK?” He asked after a minute. 

You looked at him, examining him closely. 

“Why?” You asked. “Do you actually care or are you trying to find something to use against me.” 

He examined you back, his gaze sharp and exacting before softening. 

“Just seemed like you had a shit day,” he said. 

You nodded slowly, looking back to the water again. 

“I just miss my friend,” you said quietly. “Ellie’s mom, I mean. She was my person, she was my person for my whole life and I just want to talk to her again. I want to tell her about lunch and about Chris and I want her to know that Ellie got an A on her science test…” 

“She did?” Joel asked and you looked over at him, his expression oddly earnest. 

“She did,” you smiled a little. “I called her a little while ago, she was very proud.” 

“She should be,” Joel said. “She worked hard.” 

“She did,” you said again and then you sighed. “It just seems so impossible that Anna’s gone. She doesn’t get to see these things, I don’t have her to talk to, I can’t get drunk with her or laugh with her or… “ 

Mid-sentence, Joel just got up and walked away. You sat there, blinking at the empty space for a moment before you huffed derisively. 

“Figures,” you muttered to yourself, before picking at the guitar strings again. But, unexpectedly, Joel was back just a minute later, two glasses of whisky in his hands and a bottle of water tucked under his arm. He handed you a glass and set the bottle on the ground next to your foot. 

“Sorry,” he said. “Just… think we need it.”

You considered him for a moment before nodding and taking a sip. He did the same before frowning a little, holding the glass away from himself and examining it. 

“What?” You frowned. 

“Nothin’,” he said. “Just never had shit this good before. Probably should have asked before taking it.” 

“Nah,” you waved him off. “It’s there to be taken, I don’t mind.” 

“Wouldn’t have taken you for a whisky girl,” he said, taking another sip. “This is damn good.” 

“I picked it up when I was young,” you said. “Meeting with producers, they liked when a girl drank like them and seemed to know her shit. I had to force it at first but… well, I guess I acquired the taste. Course, that means I’m picky now. That’s a Macallan 25.” 

Joel whistled, long and low. 

“Explains why it’s so damn good,” he said. 

You smiled a little. 

“That it does.” 

You sipped the liquor in silence for a bit, savoring the feel of it on your tongue, the heat as it slipped into your stomach. 

“What Chris was sayin’,” Joel said eventually, his voice trailing off before he continued. “That all true?” 

You looked over at him, watching him for a moment. Joel puzzled you. There were times he seemed to relish being cold or even cruel. Others - like this one - where he seemed to genuinely care. 

You weren’t sure what to make of it. 

“Yeah,” you said after a minute. “Yeah, it is. But it’s not… Look, this is Hollywood. Producers and men with power date young women because they can and the young women date them because we know it can help us get ahead. Tale as old as time.” 

“That why you did it?” He asked. 

You didn’t really feel like giving him the real answer, so you just looked back at your pool and shrugged, taking another drink. 

“Meant what I said before,” he said after a minute. “I will keep you safe. Don’t matter who, don’t matter why. If you don’t want to ever talk to him again, fine, you don’t have to.” 

You laughed once, darkly. 

“That’s very sweet, Joel, but he’s producing the movie I’m on,” you said. “I’m going to have to deal with him, that’s just how it works.” 

“Well, then, it won’t be alone,” he said. “Not while I’m around, anyway.” 

“Because you’re going to fight the most powerful producer in Hollywood?” You asked, teasing a little, a small smile tugging at your lips. 

Joel shrugged. 

“Don’t much care who he is,” Joel said. “But why not. I’d win.” 

You laughed and then sighed and, before you were really thinking about it, your head drifted over to Joel’s shoulder. He stiffened and you were about to pull yourself back and apologize but then he relaxed a little, his arm slipping around you, his hand settling into the curve of your waist. 

“You’ll be safe,” he said, so quietly that you weren’t sure you were even supposed to hear it. “I’ll keep you safe.” 

You smiled a little, the light dancing on the water. For some reason, you believed him. 

Next Chapter

A/N: I swear, I'm not trying to only publish once a month! Thank you for waiting for this chapter. I really am so happy you're here.

I hope you're all taking care of yourselves right now. There's been a lot going on lately, please spend some time looking after yourself. You deserve it (and Joel would want you to.)

Love you ❤️

Taglist: @christinamadsen @eff4freddie @brittmb115 @copperhalfcent @r3dheadedwitch @pedropascalsbbg @lovelyjess69 @yopossum @moel-jiller @picketniffler @lilyevanstan1325 @reluctanthalfwayoptimism @wintersquirrel @missladym1981 @mellymbee @canthinkof1user @inept-the-magnificent

[destiny-fics]

11:45 pm-Wang Yixiang (Nicholas)

Pairing: Wang Yixiang (Nicholas) x Fem!Reader

Warnings: smut, sneaking out, car sex, making out, riding, dirty talk, dom!Nicholas, sub!reader, Euijoo makes an appearance, swearing, reader gets called baby and princess and also a brat, Nicho is sometimes referred to as Yixiang, he also gets called the reader's boytoy.

A/N: Hello everyone! Long time no see and here I am to drop this little Nicho fic and to say that I'll officially be adding &team to my list of groups I write for! I'll only be writing for K, Fuma, Nicho, Euijoo, Yuma and Jo so feel free to request things you'd like to see for those members! Hope y'all enjoy this.

18+ Only. Minors DNI

Tap...tap...tap...

"What the ever-loving fuck is that?"

You looked up from your journal at your roommate's expletive, raising your eyebrow at her as she stalked over to your window. Your dorm was on one of the upper floors of your building and usually, at this time of night during the middle of the week, it was quiet, peaceful even. The perfect environment for the two of you to study in, your roommate pouring over her physics notes while you scribbled in your journal.

"Ugh," your friend groaned as she looked out the window, montioning for you to come over to the window. "It's your boy toy."

You furrowed your brows, closing your journal before making your way over to the window. "My boytoy?"

"Nicholas," she rolled her eyes, opening the window. "Hey boy toy, will you knock it off? Some people are trying to study here!"

"Don't call him that," you whisper-yelled, pushing her away from the window "she didn't mean that! What...what are you doing here though?"

Nicholas just laughed, shaking his head and tucking his hands in your pockets. "It's okay princess. I was just wondering if you wanted to come for a drive?"

"Nicho it's past curfew, I'll get...we'll get in trouble."

"Ah, who's gonna know?"

"I'll know," your roommate singsonged, looking back out the window and down at Nicholas. "What makes you think I'll let you take my darling y/n away tonight?"

Nicholas merely looked amused and motioned to his car "Euijoo's in the car. I could offer you a trade for a few hours?"

You roommate hummed softly "You and y/n go for a drive and I get Euijoo to myself for a few hours?"

"That's what I said isn't it?"

"You got yourself a deal sir."

Nicholas grinned, bowing his head at your roommate before motioning to Euijoo to get out of the car "Pleasure doing business with you madam."

You rolled your eyes at their antics before pulling on your shoes and a jacket. "You're crazy Nicho, you know that?"

"Crazy about you, you mean." He ignored the disgusted face Euijoo pulled at him as he walked past, ready to climb through your window as soon as you'd climbed out. "Now jump."

"Jump?? I was joking before but you really are crazy."

"Ah c'mon I'll catch you," he smirked holding his arms out for you to jump into. "Don't you trust me baby?"

You sighed, looking over the window ledge and down at your boyfriend before swinging your leg over the edge and jumping into Nicholas' arms. He grinned as he caught you and set you down gently, kissing your cheek. "See? Told you I'd catch you."

You rolled your eyes, patting his chest gently "Yeah, yeah. You were right."

Nicholas grinned, pulling you in closely by the waist and kissing you deeply "God it's so sexy when you say that."

"Ah," you nodded your head in recognition, briefly breaking eye contact with Nicholas to wave goodbye to your roomate as she pulled Euijoo into your room, hands already tugging at his hair and lips already attached. "So we're going on a drive then? Not just a drive."

"Baby," Nicho looked mock offended as he began to walk you to his car. "I am a gentleman, I would never suggest we partake in something so vulgar."

You snorted "Good thing I'm not a gentleman, so I'll suggest it. Wanna take me to a lookout and let me ride you in the driver's seat?"

Nicholas grinned, openeing the passanger side door for you before sliding into the driver's seat.

"I'm so glad you asked."

~

"Fuck princess...that's it, mark me up. Make sure everyone knows I'm yours."

You hummed softly against Nicholas' neck, nipping and sucking at the soft skin to leave another bruise. A garden of similar marks had begun to bloom across your boyfriend’s neck and he was incredibly pleased with your work. You pulled away to admire the marks, pressing your fingers into the bruises. Nicholas moaned, looking up at you through hooded eyelids and kicking his head back so you could see the marks better.

"They look pretty baby?"

"Yeah..." You nodded "so pretty."

"That's cause my pretty girl did them." He smiled, sitting up and pressing his lips to yours in a heated kiss. "My pretty fucking girl marked me up, made me hers."

"All mine Nicho, you're all mine." You whispered against his lips, hands desperately making their way down to his belt to undo the buckle. He lifted his hips up to let you slide his pants and boxers down, just enough for his cock to spring out, the tip hard and leaking. You practically drooled at the sight, and ran your thumb over his leaking slit. Nicholas sighed, watching you with his lip between his teeth.

"You just gonna tease princess? Or you actually going to follow through with that promise to ride me?"

"Don't be a brat Wang Yixiang, or I won't follow through at all."

Nicholas raised an eyebrow, pulling your panties to the side and positioning you over his cock, just teasing your entrance with his tip. "We're using government names now y/n y/l/n?"

"Depends, are you going to continue to be a brat?"

Nicholas chuckled, shaking his head "I am not the brat baby, you are. But that's okay, I have a foolproof plan to change that."

"And what exactly would that be...?" You sunk yourself onto his cock with a moan, eyelids fluttering shut.

Nicholas snapped his hips up into yours fast and hard, pushing little desperate and whiny moans out of your mouth. "Oh it's easy really, I'll just fuck all that brattiness out of you."

"Is that a-fuck! Promise?"

"Oh princess, it's a fucking guarantee."

And Nicholas wasn't the kind of person to back out of one of his promises. He set a rough, nearly animalistic pace, fucking you hard and fast, cock hitting your sweet spot with every thrust. You could barely speak, you could barely think, only able to feel Nicholas, only able to think about him and how his cock felt inside of you.

"Nicho...Nicho fuck, please please please."

"What do you want princess?"

"Want you to make me cum...please."

Nicholas immediately slowed his pace down as the words left your mouth, chuckling as you whined. "You think you deserve to cum? Think you've earned it?"

"Yes Nicho...Yixiang, please."

"Okay then my pretty princess, you can cum, cum all over my cock for me."

Nicholas' permission was the last thing you needed for the knot of pleasure within your stomach to come lose, burying your head into your boyfriend's neck as you creamed on his cock. Nicholas pushed himself deep inside you as he came, letting out his own long groan to accompany you whines and moans of his name.

You both panted quietly as you came down from your highs, Nicholas' car hot and sticky with sweat and the smell of sex.

"Juju's gonna kill me for fucking in the car," he whispered making you laugh softly.

"If he does then I'll kill him back for fucking in my room."

Nicholas laughed, kissing your cheek softly "I love you, you know that right?"

"You've mentioned it once or twice," you giggled, pecking his lips. "I love you too."

~

Thump

"Ow..."

"Nicho I swear if you don't shut the fuck up."

You whisper yelled, helping Nicholas back up off the floor of your room and leading him to your bed.

"Sorry sorry, but who just leaves a chair there?"

You deadpanned him, falling onto the covers of your bed and dragging your boyfriend to lay next to you, quickly checking to see if your roommate and Euijoo were still asleep in her bed. "Under the desk? Where they usually are? Oh I don't know everyone?"

"Oh ha ha you're so funny."

"I'm glad you agree," you giggled kissing his nose. The two of you settled into a comfortable silence, letting the sound of the other's breathing lull you to sleep. It was peaceful, quiet and almost too relaxing, until the soft voice of Euijoo rang through the room.

"Yo Nicho, you okay? You totally ate shit tripping over that chair."

Masterlist

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

A Perfect Score - Epilogue | FigureSkating!AU

Summary: months have passed since the finals with no sign of Aemond, making you wonder if anything has changed | Word Count: 6k~ | Warnings below the cut~

Series Masterlist | Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Aemond Targaryen Taglist

Warnings: p in v sex, daddy kink, oral (f receiving), degradation, praise, *a finger in the bum*, butt play, ass eating, orgasm denial, creampie, ass slapping, pussy slapping, face slapping

A/N: *don't get emosh, don't get emosh, don't get emosh* I can't believe it's really REALLY the end! I've had this idea for the Epilogue for AGES and can't wait for you all to read the last instalment of our figure skating couple <3 would die for them and hope you enjoy!

"Good, but bend your knees!" You shout to El who's still got her hands outstretched haphazardly, wobbling on the ice as others whizz past her, knocking her off balance.

She throws a middle finger.

Charming.

You laugh as she pushes off to do another lap, reaching down between your legs for the bag and pulling your phone out for any new texts.

Nothing, you sigh.

El makes you jump, bumping into the ledge, "Will you stop being a simp and checking your phone every two seconds? He's going to text you!"

You click your phone off, "I know. I'm just so impatientttt…" you whine, exaggerating your frustration.

El rolls her eyes, "He'll get in, bud"

"Ew, don't call me that"

"Besides, if he gets rejected, he could always be your new manager, pal" she grins.

"You're so fucking gross, you know that?"

She shrugs, a grin that spells victory, "that'd be kinda hot to be fair. Going everywhere with you to competitions, organising your hotel rooms, fucking you over his des-"

"El! For fucks sake" you whisper-shout, heat rising to your cheeks.

A few other skaters on the ice turn their heads in judgment, making your face burn with embarrassment.

"Gods, so uptight" El jokes, a mischievous grin on her face.

To tell the truth. You missed Aemond. In all aspects.

You hadn't had sex since being in Dorne. And you hadn't seen him since the hospital.

Even though you texted most days, after months of seeing him everyday, it was quite the shock to the system.

It felt like there was a hole, conveniently Aemond-shaped, that was deepening the longer you two were separated.

"Oof!"

You both look up, to see Floris on the ice, wobbling her way back onto her feet, grimacing, "I'm ok!" She reassures, pushing off to skate slowly.

You nod in Floris' direction, "Is she okay skating?"

"Yeah, the physiotherapist said it'd be good to get her doing things like this again" El replies, looking over her shoulder at her sister.

She turns back to you, "Your manager doesn't hang around here anymore. Not since Floris has started coming back".

You resist the urge to frown.

Coward.

“Got you”, El smirks mischievously, "will you tell me what happened one day?"

It was something you’d thought about for some time. To tell her, or not? Floris certainly didn’t know the deeper details, but you knew she would have had suspicions.

Aemond was obviously unbothered if such information circulated, having put a very large proverbial wall between him and Otto the moment he was discharged from hospital. And yet, it still wouldn’t feel right, airing out all the Targaryen dirty laundry like that.

Even if he said it was okay.

But maybe, on a deeper level, Floris and El at least, deserved the truth.

"One day" you promise.

The cold winter chill nips at your bones, even through the layers of thermal clothing you've got piled on, the thick socks, boots and an overcoat, it still feels positively freezing.

“Who are you texting, missy?” you tease, bumping El on the shoulder, shoving your hands into your thick coat pockets.

She flushes, from the weather or the embarrassment you are unsure, but she puts her phone away quickly, “Nobody, you nosy cow”

King's Landing Winter Wonderland, Christmas Market and trinket shops, though it's far too early for any of that, it gets the people into the spirit. Stalls line the market square with several of them selling holiday related items as well as food, with an ice rink circling the entirety of the perimeter.

The air smells of mulled wine, cooked meats and the laughter of families and couples alike. With their warm breath creating clouds of white with each exhale.

El has you excitedly tucked into her arm, telling you all about her newest boyfriend, who for all intents and purposes is both hot and a keeper.

Ah, so that’s who she was talking to.

"He's already talking about us moving in together! Before the end of the year" She says excitedly, but her face falls, "but…I don't want to leave you in the lurch paying the rent by yourself".

You scoff, "I won't take you away from good dick because of fucking rent" you smirk, "if you want to, go for it".

She arches her eyebrows in uncertainty, "You sure?"

You pat her gloved hand with yours, "very", you smile, "as long as he doesn't steal you away from me, I want the lowdown".

"Oh you'll get that alright", she laughs.

Having poked your heads into a few stalls, and several sips of mulled wine later, you smirk as El is glued to her phone. Again.

"That your man?" You ask.

She quickly puts it away, biting her lip, "Yup" she replies, "wanna go skating?"

You roll your eyes, "It's not like it's my fucking job, El. Sick of it".

"Oh come on! I won't have to use the kids stabilisers anymore!"

She gives you her wide, puppy-like eyes.

Ones you know you can't refuse.

"Fine" you sigh.

She is far too excited to say that literally a few hours before she was struggling to use her two flippers to stay upright on the rink. Nevermind going backwards.

It’s quite entertaining to see her drag you by the hand excitedly to the ticket gate.

“One ticket for skating, please! Size 5!” she beams at the receptionist, who looks like he’d rather be dead right now.

You furrow your brows, “One? Did you want to go on by yourself and I watch or-”

“Nope! Just you” she grins.

“Me? El, what in seven hells are you on abou-”

She shoves the skates into your hands and practically pushes you past the gate, waving you off, “no questions!”

You don’t even really have time to cuss her out/question the situation, it feels like your brain is in overdrive.

There, either hand leaning against the entrance to the ice rink, where the public are zipping around slowly, laughing, pink in the face, hand in hand, is Aemond. The familiar ribbons of platinum hair that have fallen from the hair tie, now slightly waved from the moisture in the air, sways with the breeze at his shoulders.

He has that slack smirk on his face, his tall broad form leaning on one side, ankles crossed with the low quality skates on, tapping the tip onto the ice.

Even in a heavy looking coat, his hair messily done up and pink cheeks from where the cold had been hitting them, he still looks every bit as handsome as you remembered him.

It makes your heart sigh to see him smile at you with that glimmer in his eye. Blinking slowly and admiringly at you.

"Hey, Princess", he greets warmly.

You almost drop the skates in your hands, the cold wisps of wind making you realise now that your eyes are all wet.

You're sure his name slips out before you crash into his arms, flinging yours around his neck.

He smells just like he used to.

And all those good memories just flood back at once, making that wetness behind your eyes form actual teardrops that line your cheeks.

You feel him laugh a little, one of his big hands on your back, "missed me then?", he prods in a smooth tone.

Fuck. His voice.

You didn't realise you'd missed hearing it so much.

When you pull away, to properly look at his face, he's still smiling, in that classic 'Aemond' way.

You're so engrossed with just looking at him, you nearly flinch when you feel his thumb wipe your under eye softly, wiping the moisture away.

His gaze softens, "don't cry. I don't look that bad, do I?"

Giving a watery laugh, you shake your head, "Just missed you".

His hand is still around your waist, inadvertently pulling you close to him so your hands hover over his chest, "Now, now, don't get all soft on me".

Your cheeks hurt from smiling.

"How?.."

Aemond gestures with his head, "El organised it".

"But…she's-"

"With her new boyfriend, don't worry. It's just us, princess" Aemond smiles, picking up the skates you'd dropped.

"For old time's sake?" He smiles.

And all you can do is blush and smile up at him like a little lovesick teenager.

It feels utterly strange to get back on the ice with Aemond again, even if it is a public one in the middle of a Christmas market. Even more so that he's not flinging you around in all sorts of twists and jumps.

But it feels nice.

Hand in gloved hand, you glide about together, catching up.

Alicent, you learn, has gotten back in touch with her long time friend. Aemond furrows his brows when he recollects that usually she's on facetime with a glass of Dornish Red in one hand and creasing up in front of her iPad at something her friend has said.

Aegon. Well, he's Aegon. Aemond's words, not yours. But he's working on getting a teaching qualification so that he can coach skating instead. It's nice that he was able to find something to use his skills for. Other than womanising.

"Had minor surgery on my nerves…they think it'll do the trick for some years, hopefully forever" he says as you weave on either foot.

"Well that's good" you smile, "does it feel better?"

He nods, "Oh and Hel has a new partner".

You look over quickly, one eyebrow poised, "And? Was I right?"

Smirking, Aemond has to resist the urge to roll his eye, "Yes, you were right".

"Yes! I knew it! I knew she was bi!"

You flush when some families around you look over when you shout it a bit too loud.

Oops.

Aemond tugs you to his side by your waist, humming in a kind of quiet laugh. A comfortable silence descends, just enjoying one another's company.

"I got in", he says suddenly. Stealing your attention again as your feet synchronise in short glides.

"Got in?"

"KLU".

"KLU? Oh my god-" you surge up, his face between your hands, but he doesn't complain, and kiss him fiercely, "Congratulations, Aemond. Oh my gosh, that's-"

You beam with pride.

And you can tell he genuinely loves it, by the way he blushes slightly.

"And" he goes on, his face close to yours, smirking at the confused look on your face.

"And?..."

He licks his lips before he speaks.

"I got a place" he adds, "and was wondering…if you…"

He trails off. And your face settles into realisation. Your heart hammering in your chest, like the engine of an old train.

He shrugs, clearing his throat, “You know, because we basically spent all our time together during the championships…”

You swallow thickly, "Really?..." it comes out weaker than you intended.

He nods, “It’s just out of town, not far from here really” he gestures in the vague direction with his head, the hand that’s resting at your waist dropping somewhat.

Blinking the emotion from your eyes, you swat his chest playfully, “Alright, Mr Moneybags”

He doesn’t laugh, like you expect him to, but he does smile at least. At this point, you seem to have come to a stop, your skates nestled between his to keep you both stable.

His darkened gaze just looks at your face. Studies it.

Like he’s opened a book and is reading through the pages.

When he looks at you like that, you can’t help but feel a flutter deep in your chest. It feels like he is drawing on you softly, like a thousand little butterflies have landed on your face, and are slowly opening and closing their wings.

You shudder when his warm, ungloved thumb brushes against your cheek.

“What?...” you smile at him affectionately.

He hums, a cloud escaping his lips as he speaks, “I’ve missed you”.

All you feel is the ledge of the ice rink press against your lower back and yours and Aemond’s noses brushing against one another as he presses his warm, comforting lips to yours.

He takes his time, moving languidly against your lips with a soft, wet beat, his tongue parting your lips as if he had been waiting all this time to taste you properly.

He tastes just as you remember.

A hint of cigarettes that he’s tried to hide with spearmint.

When you break away, you can’t ignore the warm feeling that blooms in your gut. In all the time you’d spent apart, you forgot how his lips felt on yours, how his hands felt on you, and how his mere presence around you made arousal creep up your thighs.

Gods, it’s been so long.

A blush creeps up your neck to your face, and Aemond smirks.

“Stop that”

Your lower lip catches between your teeth before you reply, “What?”

He leans against the ledge, caging you in with his own body.

“Blushing”

His voice lowers.

“Otherwise I’ll give you something to blush about”

The tension was thick as you and Aemond trudged through the Christmas Market after vacating the ice rink. You tried to lighten it by doing idle things like looking at the homemade ornaments on one stand, to sharing a cup of mulled wine between you, feeling the way the liquid warmed your insides.

That warmth was nothing compared to the way Aemond looked at you.

It reminded you of all those months ago, at the hotel, before the dynamic of your relationship changed. The way he used to stare at you from across the room, in what you wrongly thought at the time was out of disinterest and detest.

How wrong you were.

Shooting off a quick text to El, who you were sure was already back at the flat anyway, enjoying all the ‘assets’ of her new boyfriend, you walk hand in hand with Aemond back to his apartment.

He was very intent on showing you his new place. And your insides fluttered in anticipation, heat crawling up your neck.

His apartment was nice. Not that you expected any less. It was several floors high, showing a good view of King’s Landing and the bright, illuminated Christmas Market in the square below. Even from here, through the tall and wide windows of the living room, you could see the couples zipping around the ice rink, as you both were just a few moments before.

It had that ‘new apartment’ smell, but whenever you brushed past a coat of his or a blanket, it smelled like him. The walls were bare, but you were sure that Aemond would decorate when he was properly settled.

“Is Vhagar going to be coming here?” you ask, cupping the warm mug of tea in your hands as Aemond gives it to you.

“Maybe. She’s quite settled at Mum’s though so…I don’t want to make her anxious”.

You nod, “It’s a nice place”

“Will look even better when you’re here” he smirks, bending down to huff himself onto the sofa, “I’m sure you have better ideas than I do on interior design”.

You simply watch him for a moment, the warmth of his apartment making your previously cold hands feel prickly. Your fingers tap against the ceramic, the sound of Aemond’s playlist rumbling quietly from a speaker in a different room.

Placing the mug on the coffee table, Aemond exhales as your legs rest either side of his torso, moving to sit atop him with your hands stealing beneath his shirt, watching as his pink lips part for breath.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, princess” he murmurs against your lips as he leans up, his large hands squeezing your ass, moulding the flesh to his grip and eliciting a low gasp from your lips.

"Who says it's a game?" You whisper back, teasing him by brushing your lips against his, moving your hips on him and smiling when you feel him harden instantly.

" - fuck - "

You know he hates it, just hates it, when you smirk at how pent up and desperate he gets. But you just can't help it. Not only is it all too easy, it's just too fucking tempting too.

How easily such a large, overbearing and domineering man, can be subdued to a mewling, near-begging mess just by the soft movement of your hips.

"Baby, please -"

Reaching down between your bodies, Aemond outright moans when you palm his erection through his jeans, sitting against his thigh quite obviously. You tease your hand from the base to the tip, squeezing through the denim, seeing the way Aemond almost knits his brows together in barely-contained pleasure.

And any time he tries to reach up, to kiss you properly, you pull back, allowing him to chase you.

"Oh, fuck you-"

You yelp in surprise as Aemond lifts you, keeping your legs around his waist as he pushes his bedroom door open and dropping you onto his mattress. And before you even have a moment to sit up on your elbows, he's on you, kneeing your legs apart and caging you to the bed with his body.

"Can't fucking wait any longer - need you, baby-"

Fuck, even the way he says that has arousal pooling between your legs, the desire to push your thighs together strong, but weakened with Aemond's body keeping them apart.

He's so fast and rough, the way he unbuttons your jeans and pulls the denim down your legs, taking your underwear with it, that you feel for a moment he may have torn something.

He practically fucking growls when he he looks between you, his thumb teasing your clit, finally able to look upon you the way he's wanted to for months.

"Already soaked for me, aren't you?" He coos lowly, teasing your bud in sure, confident circles, before swatting your heat firmly with a wet smack, "such a good fucking slut for me".

You mewl, pressing your lips together, a flush enveloping your face at his words. It's been so long since you were intimate with him, it will take a few moments to get used to it again and fall into that rhythm.

That, and you can't help but flush in embarrassment at the realisation you've not shaved your legs, genuinely not having expected to see him today.

It doesn't seem like Aemond cares.

With a fist over the collar of his shirt, he pulls it over his head, showing his lean and well-muscled torso lit with a warm amber glow from the bedside lamp.

You jolt in surprise as his fingers pull you by your thighs further down the bed, a gasp flying past your lips as his tongue and teeth nip and kiss at the inside of them. The sensation bordering on pain and pleasure at the same time.

"You don't know how long I've waited to taste your sweet pussy, princess"

You have an idea, by the way Aemond mouths at the crease between your thigh and hip. But you don't say it out loud. The anticipation of his mouth so, so close without touching you where you need him most is agonising.

" - fuck - Aemond -"

Your back nearly arches off the bed as he flattens his tongue against your warmth, swirling around your clit first before diving into your folds to feast on you, his fingers digging into your flesh for leverage. The feeling of his grip into your flesh burns pleasantly as he tugs you towards him, your lips parting with hurried pants tumbling out.

Your legs tremble as his low moan vibrates through your core, electricity creeping up your spine as he laps at you with vigour, his sharp nose nudging at your clit as he moves side to side to eventually fuck you with his tongue.

For a split second, you worry if he can actually breathe.

But as your embarrassingly quick orgasm starts barrelling towards you without warning, it somehow gets pushed to the back of your mind, you reach down, threading your fingers through his hair, chanting his name as if it’s all you can say as he groans against your cunt.

His hands hold you down by your thighs, tugging you back to his mouth in soft micro-movements as you shake against him, head thrown back against the pillows with your breath hot in your chest, unable to catch it well enough to form any other sound than moaning unabashedly.

Aemond outright moans as you cum against his tongue, the lewd sound of him licking up everything that comes out makes a heat creep up your neck. But you can’t find it within yourself to be embarrassed. Not when he makes you feel like this.

You can feel the moisture on his face when he takes mercy, drawing his lips away to kiss and nip at the inside of your thighs again, giving one firm bite before he pulls away with a smirk on his face, no doubt happy at the mark he’s left behind.

Your eyes feel heavy as you lift your gaze to him, now perched on his knees as he pops the buttons of his jeans off, the veins on the back of his hand straining, making you feel somewhat lightheaded.

“ - can’t wait to fuck you again - you don’t know how long I’ve wanted be buried inside that pretty little pussy -”

You lick your lips as your mouth goes dry. He always manages to do that. Somehow turn you into a limp, mewling mess in no time at all.

Something you have in common, clearly.

With your heart beating erratically, body throbbing in the afterglow of your orgasm, that feeling is enhanced still when Aemond tugs at his length needily, his shoulders rising and falling with the desire to just stuff himself inside you as deep as he will go.

You can only watch in awe as his fingers wrap around himself, the tip ruddy and desperate, with arousal coating it with every slow and calculated fist. His stomach muscles clench and unclench uncontrollably, his chest muscles moving steadily with each deep breath.

It feels exciting, how utterly small you feel when he leans over you, once again grasping your legs to spread them before him. His long, thick fingers tease your slick folds, before he guides the fat head of his cock to your centre, watching with parted lips at the way your eyebrows furrow in both relief and pleasure as he stretches you around him slowly.

“ - ohfuck - ”, he moans lowly, sinking himself slowly into your warmth and basking in the closeness it offers, “ - fuck, baby, so tight for me -”

Being with him like this again is like sinking into a warm bath, with the rolls of steam batting at your face. And his words are so soft, they’re like dozens of little snowflakes settling on your face in a flurry. All cold and numb, and yet warm and fuzzy at the same time.

It’s completely instinctual, the way you turn your head, slightly embarrassed as Aemond holds either of your legs apart, his pelvis smacking against yours as he eases himself into a steady rhythm.

“ -aw, don’t tell me you’ve gone all shy on me -” he mocks, his eye glimmering with mischief as he looks down at you, “-where’s the needy, little slut I used to know, hm? -”

You gasp as Aemond pushes both hands down, pressing both of your legs towards your shoulders, bending at the knee so that he can kneel higher, using the new position with gravity to fuck down into you faster and rougher.

The new position has you pretzeled before him, completely unable to do anything but throw your head back against the pillows and turn bright red at the wanton, breathy moans that slip out.

“ -Aemond -”

“ - what’s wrong, baby? -” he coos, “ -is this too much for you? Hm? I know you’re more flexible than this -”

Fuck.

Each rough push of his length into you from this angle has the curved head of his cock brush against your sweet spot with devastating precision. With every thrust, the air seems to expel forcefully from your lungs, not helped in part by the fact that Aemond has your legs pressed hard against your ribs.

All you’re able to see through bleary eyes is the way he smirks down at you with his hair stuck to his tacky face, his chest heaving with hurried breath, and every now and then, his neck muscles straining as he tips his head back and groans loudly as you inadvertently squeeze his length when he bullies the end of you.

The air is charged, hot and humid. And you barely register the fact that music is still playing in another room, and that the curtains are pulled back. Though there’s no chance of anyone being able to see you both from how high his apartment is, it still makes your insides tighten that it’s happening so unabashedly with the city right below you.

His hand drifts down your thigh, watching as you squirm beneath him as he presses hard on your stomach, your eyes closing tightly at the feeling of him closing you around his length as it pistons roughly into you. He smiles slightly, almost as if he can feel how deep he reaches inside you.

“ -Oh fuck, baby - can fucking feel you gripping me -” he moans helplessly, leaning over, the sweat on his forehead slightly illuminated by the warm lamp’s light, “-does my girl like being a dirty little slut?”

You barely even register he’s speaking, everything sounding utterly muffled and just too much all at once. His low voice only serves to make that coil wind tighter in your gut, reacting to the way he never lets up his pace once.

You jolt slightly when he taps your cheek twice, a little rougher than you’d anticipated.

“ -I’m fucking talking to you -” he growls, moving his hand from your stomach up to bunch the shirt in his fist, exposing your pebbled nipples to the warmth of the room.

You nod helplessly, “Yes - yes -”

It’s all mindless babbling, and Aemond knows it as he grins, his eye flitting down to watch the way your breasts bounce as he fucks you.

“ -please, Aemond -”

“ -please what, hm? You want to cum, is that it? But you’re too fucked stupid to say it?”

As much as you hate to admit it, his words send a bolt of humiliation through you that does nothing but excite you, your core throbbing around his length with every calculated word he says.

"Aw, poor thing -" he jeers, "- I'm going to have fun with you-"

Wait what?

This isn't said 'fun'?

Oh shit.

Before that familiar coil can wind itself any tighter, Aemond pulls back, grunting as he manhandles your hips to turn you over and his palm cracking against your backside, smirking in victory at the mewl it gets out of you.

The skin there blooms with warmth, more so as Aemond’s tantalisingly hot skin presses against it once more, your lips parting in what can only described as a relieved moan as he slides into you again, his cockhead hitting the spongey end, filling you utterly.

"-Aemo-"

Smack.

"Not my fucking name, Princess. C'mon, you can do it" he purred, pressing his hand against your back, pushing against your spine and forcing your face against the sheets.

A choked moan almost slips out, with him tugging your hips up to him in such a curved position, his cockhead bullies your sweet spot, dragging his length along your sensitive walls, propelling you to an overwhelming orgasm.

"Go on - beg me for it or I won't let you cum-"

The idea of him denying you yet again when you were so close last time just seems utterly unbearable. So despite the humiliation rocking through your core with each harsh smack of his hips, despite the overwhelming heat of the room and most of all, despite your pride.

You do.

"Please - daddy - need it-"

If you could see him, you'd hate it.

Because he grins. Ear to fucking ear like he's wanted to hear it for months.

"Aren't you gonna beg me for permission to touch yourself?"

You suck in a breath, squealing muffled against the sheets as he gives another hard thrust. Clearly, despite appearances, on the verge himself.

"-can I - can I touch myself - please, daddy -"

"-fuck- baby, touch that little clit for me, yeah? - want to feel you cum-"

His voice is strained, pushing you with each thrust further and further against the sheets, your arms near giving out with the weight of him on you. With difficulty, your hand snakes between you and the mattress that constantly dips with how rough Aemond is being, and finds your bud, running the slickness that has collected over it, tying up your pleasure into two feelings.

Aemond’s lips part, staggered breaths the only thing coming out, as he feels your walls flutter around him, looking down at the way your bodies meet with a soft smack every time. You feel so warm and tight, gods he’s wanted to cum since since you started touching him through his jeans.

But now, pulling you by your hips to spear you onto his cock, he’s so so close.

Just wants to feel you first.

“-baby, you’re doing so well for me-” he breathes quickly, his gaze flitting briefly from where he’s pistoning in and out of you, to your sweat slick face, pressed against the sheets, biting your lips harshly as you pleasure yourself in tandem with Aemond’s movements.

As his hand slid down past your hips, his thumb tracing the bottom of your spine, you suck in a harsh breath when he softly grazes over your puckered hole, still fucking shallowly as if to tease you and him into teetering on the edge of a climax.

You're barely able to see behind you, pressed so hard into the sheets, but he looks good fucking you. His chest shines with perspiration, the chain dangling around his neck teasingly, and his abdominal muscles clenching and unclenching with restraint.

And then you see him smile.

"-oh? We've never done this before have we, princess?-"

Oh shit.

After all the exertion of your passion so far, your slick has easily made its way onto your thighs, so Aemond doesn't have to move much to drag some of it on his thumb and circle your hole with light, delicate motions, moistening the area.

Humiliation creeps up onto your face, eyes slipping shut. No guy before has ever really tried to do this. So this is uncharted territory. But despite the brief embarrassment, you have to admit that the feeling of Aemond ever so slightly pressing his thumb against you as he continues to thrust brutally into your cunt just feels new in the most amazing way.

His other hand still grabs the flesh of your ass, tugging you back to his cock in a frantic rhythm. The mewls coming out your mouth now sounding so unlike your own.

Aemond knows by the way your hips move up to meet his touch that you like it, but are too embarrassed to say.

"-how about it, hm? - you want me in both your pretty little fuckholes? -"

"-yes - yes, please daddy, I-"

Making sure his thumb is slick enough, your puckered hole also, he slides in slowly, using the palm of his hand to grasp whatever of your ass cheeks as he can.

You almost hear his choked moan.

"-fuck-, you're so tight here, princess - you gonna let me fuck it one day, hm? - you'd be so fucking good here-"

The batting of his cock against your upper walls has you very nearly sobbing outwardly, combined with the feeling of him in such a new place, pressing in, you'd forgotten you'd stopped pleasuring yourself. Completely embroiled in this feeling.

He chuckles darkly, crooking the digit ever so slightly, leaning over to press against your back "-you'd fucking let me as well, wouldn't you? -"

The curling of his other fingers on the flesh of your backside has him smiling at the sounds it emits from you.

“-did I say stop, hm? Keep touching yourself - cum for me-”

You know that as soon as you do it’s all over.

His voice, combined with all three feelings at once, tugging at that pleasurable spot inside you that has white, hot pleasure soaring through your bloodstream, has a long, choked moan filling the space between you. And you’re surprised to hear that the same sound slips past Aemond’s lips as well, the air of his breath batting against your neck as he tries to bury himself as deep inside you as he possibly can.

You’re trying to suck in breath without really realising it, the earth-shattering orgasm making your body go all rigid for a moment before you relax against the sheets, with the pleasant weight of him above you.

Everything feels warm. His bedroom right now feeling like a large blanket has enveloped you both. It seems a weird thing to think in the moment, with Aemond’s half naked body hunched over you, his cock twitching and pulsing, whimpering as he is still emptying himself inside of you and feeling the aftershocks through your fleshy walls.

All his micro-movements seem overly-sensitive. And when Aemond exhales, lifting himself off your back, lifting your lids to open your eyes feels like the most difficult thing you’ve ever done.

“-sorry-” he whispers cautiously as he pulls his softening cock from you, immediately feeling the warm rush of cum coating your inner thighs.

Warmth blossoms once again to your cheeks as he stays still, and you think he must be staring at the way he leaks from you, sighing in a sort of perverted admiration.

You don’t even have time to open your mouth before his thumb slips out your other hole, only to jolt in shock once it’s immediately replaced by his tongue. All those dulled out endorphins that were dissipating into your limbs feel like they all gather back, and you squeeze your thighs together, fisting the bedsheets so tightly they could’ve torn.

Both of his hands seem to find their home on each asscheek, spreading them so he can easily swirl his talented wet, muscle around your hole, fucking moaning as he does it. All your nerves ring semi-uncomfortably, overstimulation nipping at the edges of the pleasure.

“-fuck, Aemond, no no, please-” you plead, emitting a weary, exhausted laugh when he chuckles and pulls away, landing one softened smack against the flesh.

“-Mm- another time-”

Lethargy pulls at your body as you lay on your front, blinking slowly as you feel the mattress rise, pressing your lips together as Aemond disappears into the en-suite, tucking himself back into his jeans.

A moment later, he comes back with a warm washcloth, offering to clean you up. But you simply smile, pushing yourself to sit up, “I’m good”, you smile, with a flushed face, feeling slightly bashful after what you’d just done together.

One long shower together later, you lay in his bed, looking out at the city beneath, the cascade of brightly coloured lights littering the dark space between buildings. Aemond’s shirt easily reaches to your thighs, with nothing beneath, not having anticipated staying over anywhere today.

Aemond sighs calmly, his chin on the top of your head, pressed against your back, with one of his hands running through the tresses of your hair, every now and then stroking at your scalp, which has your eyes slipping shut at the pleasant feeling.

“Well, princess? Do you like it?” he asks, his voice all soft and tired.

You meet his lilac gaze, tilting your head slightly in question.

“The apartment”.

“It’s perfect”, you smile, reaching up his cheek and running the back of your fingers over it, the scar tissue feeling slightly different in texture over your skin, “you sure you want me to move in?”

He blinks slowly, a smile rising to his lips, his hand coming to yours and pressing a soft, tender kiss to your wrist. And though not directly sexual, it makes your belly do little backflips, feeling so intimate and captivating that warmth floods your skin through his lips.

“Of course, princess. I can't do this without you”.

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[tusswrites]

Some Nights (h.j)

🫢pairing: hong joshua x reader

🫢synopsis: when laundry day takes a turn for the worse—fast

🫢genre: fluff, crack; rating: 16+

🫢word count: 1.7k+ (supposed drabble whoops)

🫢warnings: mentions of death, but it's not that serious (sorry to whoever died in the fic, you were there just for the plot) T.W: self-harm mentions, but reader misread the situation okay? nothin happened fr.

🫢a.n. : I was upset I didn't have a Joshua fic, but apparently a small dig into my trove and I had an old fic I never thought would see the light of the day, because it was a private fic to shu @welcometomyoasis . Anyway it does see the light on his birthday so HAPPY BIRTHDAY Joshua. See you down south for more notes.

check out the masterlist here!

Pedal to the metal, your mind whirs out the last few days of conversation, pulling out each molecule of the word that you’ve exchanged with him, trying to come up with some memory to nail his soon-to-be fatal. action. What could drive him to the ledge on this starry night you think? A leviathan of worry has blossomed from deep within, your mind cannot rest till you reach him right this instant. 

“Pick up. Pick up. Why are you not picking up, Hong Joshua?” It’s unlike him to avoid your calls. You were his priority; there’s never been a moment you’ve doubted that. His phone could only be unlocked with your face—much like parts of him were hidden away, only you were able to fathom what he truly felt. When his hums turned noncommittal, when the nods lost fervor, and when the smile ceased to reach his eyes, you knew it was time for lockdowns in the apartment. You and he, paired out in couple pajamas, matching each other's quirks in absurd face masks and cucumbers, binging reruns of The Real Housewives.

“I wish that this all would end” What would end? Is this what it’ll trickle down to? Were your movie nights pointless? Did prancing around in matching oversized tees and going pantless, holding concerts in the kitchen with spatulas as microphones mean nothing to him at all? Where did this even start for it to end like this?

 “I could use some friends for a change”

Is that what this is? Has he gotten into a kerfuffle with his bandmates? Did the recent rumors and blatant lies spread by the press cause rifts between his friends? And what about you? Did his random middle-of-the-night calls from a foreign country because he couldn’t fall asleep without hearing your sweet voice, (never mind the fact that you were time zones away) mean nothing to him? 

“I'm scared you'll forget me again” For that, you wanna smack right across his face hopefully slapping the stupid away in a blatant show of violence. How could anyone ever forget him? How could he ever think you would forget him? Doesn’t he know he’s etched in your heart forever? No man’s ever plowed this deep within the minefield of your heart, bringing to light parts of you that you feared would be a bother. Time and time again, he’s made you understand that you were never a bother to him, that he truly loves you, why else would he entertain your silly dissections at the ass crack of dawn?

 “I still see your ghost”

Now this is the part at which you had rattled, thinking no further to read more of the darned note, instead choosing to grab your keys and run to Pledis this very second, Hybe’s tight security be damned. The past few weeks were not easy on your boyfriend. A crazed fan had started a fabricated lie about Joshua and his ‘alleged’ girlfriend, and in no time he was under the scrutiny of the public eye. Protest trucks were sent to Hybe, stalkers greeted him at every corner during the late-night walks he took to cool off from the craziness he had to encounter in the day, the press was merciless and his fans betrayed his trust with malicious posts. You watch as the man you love becomes a shell of himself, doubting his every move, not even able to withstand making a silly joke or sparing some couple-times. You were every bit the understanding girlfriend

To top it all off with the scandal, he had lost his childhood best friend too. A tragic death that could have been avoided. Joshua blamed himself and his aloofness for his best friend's untimely decease even though you had reassured him that was not the case. Odd hours during the night he’d wake up crying, consoled only by you.He needed intimate proximity and tight hugs, you could get by that. When the outside world was tumultuous and the mind offered no peace to his turmoil, you’d crawl under his sweatshirt, greedily hogging up his body heat, comforting him, your head over his heart- another soul to listen to the racing beats reverberating the ones in his crazed mind. “I still see him and feel him, you know? It’s like he never left. His ghost follows me around wherever I go.” He’d confessed one night after waking up in a cold sweat jerking you violently awake. No amount of soothing words could dulcify him that night. You’d listened to him sob the night away gasping for deep breaths, curled up around your stomach.

 But that was a month back. You had forced him to go for grief counseling and slowly he was opening up, and getting better. The mirth in his eyes was slowly returning and you had hope that your boyfriend was feeling more of himself.

Except for today. You had caught onto a piece of paper that had flown out when you were whisking through his pant pockets while doing laundry. Words that had frozen you in place before kickstarting your flight response. Which is why you were here, pulled up in front of his dorms after a quick call with Jeonghan, owing to which you didn’t have to show up to Hybe. Without any words you barged into his room, thanking Hannie silently for the foresight to clear out the dorms letting you have your moment with Joshie. You are a little surprised to see him snoring on his bed as if he hadn’t just caused you a cardiac arrest. Unsure how to express your feelings—let alone with love instead of violence—you leap onto the bed and land on his stomach, knocking the breath right out of him. “Umph-” His eyes have widened into huge boba balls staring into your brown orbs as if you were a lunatic. Which, in hindsight you were. You did attack a sleeping person but you can explain yourself okay? With punches probably. “Y/N can you please- What is happe- Why am I- Is this a-” His words were slurred, sleep still hanging onto his droopy eyes but all the more befuddled at your crazy actions. Slowly you see his brain catching up to him trying to thwart your steady influx of punches.

“What the hell is going on” “I’ll tell you what the hell is going on Joshua Hong. It’s you and my poor heart. What am I going to do when you leave me to take care of my shattered heart. Didn’t you promise me forever? And now you choose to leave me? “When did I-?” “You think this is funny. Writing a suicide note and shocking-” “Suicide note?”

“Don’t try to act like you didn’t, making me look like a fool here.-” “Literally what the fu-” ‘You said to be ready for an engagement ring soon, we mapped the stars and painted out our children-” “Y/N love, would you please calm down?” His hand was placed over your palm effectively shutting you up and forcing you to stop yourself mid-rant. But your eyes worked just fine and so you sent out beams of anger waves at him “Alright let’s go one by one."

“What note?”

You thrust the creased-up tidbit to his awaiting hands, indignance written all over your face. You gaze inquisitively at your boyfriend of five years poring over his handwriting, reading whatever the hell he had written. Way too quick for you to catch up, you see his wrinkled brow straightening, only to furrow and deepen as he escaped into a cacophony of laughter. Was he laughing? At your misery? After what he had just done? Does he think this is a joke?

“Hong Joshua you better have an explanation for this or help me go-” “Baby, these are song lyrics” WHAT?? “Seriously, do these words not ring a bell to you?”

Snatching back the paper from his hand you read over the words one more time except this time from some part of your brain, music played and you held your breath as the lyrics of ‘Some Nights’ by Fun began to play in your head.

Well, some nights, I wish that this all would end

'Cause I could use some friends for a change

And some nights, I'm scared you'll forget me again

Some nights, I always win (I always win)

But I still wake up, I still see your ghost

Oh Lord, I'm still not sure what I stand for, oh-ohYou peer back up at your boyfriend who was trying his hardest to hide his grin. But he wasn’t the stronger soldier today because very quickly he began to guffaw, head thrown back- an arm around his chest clutching his pecs. You hate this cocky bastard.

“Aww baby, were you worried about me? “ “Asshole”

“Come on now, why are you lying? You came into this man cave you had sworn to never step foot into just because you were worried about me. Oh my God wait till Hannie finds out about this.” “Please don’t tell him. He’s never gonna stop teasing me.” You grumbled.

“Wow please? Means you are that mortified.” You say nothing. He is true. Once Jeonghan finds out the whole reason you had bribed him and the rest of the band with free dinner to hold an intervention was over a song lyric, you are never going to hear the end of it. “No baby, don’t look embarrassed. It’s cute that you care about me. I am truly touched. Come, we have some time to ourselves, what do you propose we do?” “Movie Night?” you ask softly. ‘Is that all you want?” “I am okay with anything as long as it’s with you.” You supply back to him.

“Aww I worried you quite a lot huh? You are never this nice.”

“You seem to be unsatisfied with the movie night proposition. Do you have any plans in mind?”

“Oh wow, she remembers her manners. Thank you for asking, baby. I was thinking, let’s do our skin care. I got some sample masks. And while our eyes are closed, let’s, I don’t know, listen to some music by Fun- Ahh I was kidding please stop attacking me. l take that back.”

Too late for that. He’s dying in your hands tonight.

-*-*-*-*-*-finished-*-*-*-*-*

A.N: Don’t kill me. Don’t kill me. Don’t kill me. Don’t kill me. Don’t kill me. Based on an irl story. Hehehe.

Comment below/ Send an ask to be added to the taglist.

@skzbangchanniee @ariananotgrandeee

Also, please listen to 'Some Nights' by Fun! Aju nice song it is 🫢!

[fractualized]

I talked about the first issue of Robin Lives! and my high hopes for it, but when #2 & 3 came around, I didn't have the time to post about them.

But this final issue… uh… Let's get into it. ("It" including gun violence and suicidal ideations.)

So as a brief recap: at the end of #3, Jason found Joker's hideout but froze when confronting him, and Joker decided to solve his Robin problem by mind-manipulating him to be a sidekick of his own: Jokey the Boy Lackey.

In #4, Joker takes his new pal to go after Dr. Stoner.

In #2, Joker pretended to be reformed but Stoner didn't buy it, expressing disappointment, which only set Joker off. And that anger reappears here, less about the offense of some nobody little man pitying him and more about insisting that nobody could actually care about the criminally insane. Of course, this scene comes off more like Joker punishing Stoner for caring— or rather, getting Jason to.

But whatever control Joker had over Jason doesn't hold.

Interesting that Joker leaves Jason alive, and Stoner too. Also, Jason is still awake in this scene, so Joker is truly not worried about him.

Compare this interaction to the opening of #3, in which Joker imagines he's watching films of old comedians with Batman, who is having a great time, and that fantasy is interrupted by an imaginary Robin, who makes fun of Joker's sense of humor. Did Joker decide that since trying to kill Robin had too many downstream effects, he should try to bring him into the joke instead? And then confronted with the real Robin's disdain for him, Joker lashes out to make him feel small? In any case, Robin has proven himself a poor fit for Joker's plans, unlike Batman.

Joker returns to his hideout to get his supplies, and he leaves a note for Batman not only with a clue to his whereabouts, but explicitly letting him know that he let Robin go!

Again with the signals that Joker regrets almost changing the game. (Though he still has, considering what happened to Barbara, which is never mentioned in this miniseries, which is disappointing. In all the brooding in #2 & 3, it's not like there wasn't room for it.)

Anyway, Bruce pulls that move where he works with a sidekick just fine until it gets too dangerous.

While Bruce goes to meet Joker, we learn that Jason has been stewing in humiliation and has had enough.

And the narration gives the first signal of how the storytelling in the last quarter of this issue is gonna go. lol

Oh, so you couldn't think of anything plausible? Anything at all? Not even, I dunno, Joker boasting to Jokey about his plan, or Jason catching sight of a map when he was in the hideout? Alright.

Anyway, Bruce finds Joker in the Miagani caves, home to the particular bat left with the note. Joker has figured out a frequency that allows him to control the bats, and he's also infected them with a psychoactive agent that he wants to unleash on Gotham.

UNLESS….

A proposal?! 😍

So it's either a swarm of infected bats or one infected Bat. Batman should forget about the dang kid, who just doesn't get the joke like they do, and join Joker!

Jason disagrees with this, which he demonstrates by popping up and shooting Joker in the chest. But we've known since #1 this doesn't end in a chest shot.

Farewell, sad clown. :(

So like Joker not planning to kill Jason, his expressions say that not only did he not expect Jason to follow through, but he was relieved when the kid did. Compare this scene to #1 when Bruce almost let him drown. Joker looked only distressed then; with Batman, he needs the game to go on. But Jason finally brings the compulsion to a stop, forever.

Bruce, of course, is upset, and he was not planning to drink Joker's toxin.

That face kills me

"WHATCHA GONNA DO OLD MAN"

When Bruce gets up to the ledge, Jason is gone. And while Arkhamverse Bruce nicely carried Joker's body out of Monarch Theater, here he seems to simply panic, per the first panel below. Which is quickly followed by a lot of shit that sure seems too easy??

Alert, alert! 🚨 WFA has breached containment again!🚨

There are versions of this that I could buy. None of those versions have Bruce simply hugging out Joker's murder within hours of him dying.

The next three pages are an unbelievable speedrun of the aftermath. Let's go one by one.

The Three Jokers-esque rundown of why Jason couldn't be held accountable for Joker's death is all fair enough. And it is in character for Bruce to take the blame for Joker's death, and boy howdy does it make the batjokes feels dance when Joker's death prompts the death of the Batman persona.

But Bruce putting all his bad bat-decisions into the dead persona doesn't really reckon with him having made all those decisions. In an earlier issue, Sara notes that Batman was a fantasy Bruce used to run away from facing his pain, and him now running into his parents' roles just feels like the same thing.

Also being told that Jason was "nearly catatonic" and not showing it is just odd.

Next page!

This page is also weird. I suppose if the logic is that Bruce's sin was bringing a child into the vigilante life and he needed to give up the cowl to atone… No, it's still weird, because Dick was also a child brought into that fight. Just writing him off as already damaged goods so Batman can stay around feels like it undermines the meaning of Bruce retiring.

I'm setting aside whether or not Dick would really want to be Batman, because I don't have a dog in that fight. But making him a Bruce clone does not feel right.

Maybe that's the point, though?? That the cycle is just starting all over again, inescapable? Is this just TKJ? 🤔

Before we follow that line of thinking, next page!

Ohhhhhhh, poor Sara. I thought you could still get out of this as a confidante. But no, you're the narrator and you're so familiar with Bruce and his family because you're ✨in love✨ now. We didn't have to do this. There's literally no point to making her a romantic interest. Sure, I can see going with her instead of an established one because they're all in the crime game and Bruce is escaping that here, but still. And don't tell me "it took years" in an attempt to gloss over how we don't even know this lady. WE DON'T KNOW THIS LADY. This development feels tacked on. I hate it.

Though I mean, Bruce only falls in love after Joker is dead. That's something. 😂

And then we have Jason getting multiple degrees related to mental health care and eventually becoming a higher up at Arkham Asylum. Way different than the Jason Todd of today, but hey, this is an alternate universe and—

what

WHAT?

Uh… 🎵 Cue game show music! 🎶 Congrats to the jaydick fans out there! You are the next batjokes!

I have no idea what to think here. You could theorize that Joker's brainwashing lingered, I guess, and influenced Jason to take his place later. Or perhaps that Jason studying mental health made him ponder the Joker too much and he "infected" himself with his late tormenter? Or are Batman and Joker truly inevitable in any universe and Jason is just helplessly compelled to take on the role?

I don't know! This all was going so well and then it just ends with a bunch of stuff that happens!

I wonder if it was always supposed to end this way? I reread all the issues today, and some of the narration is strange if #4 is indicating that the Sara telling this story exists at a point where she knows that Jason is now Joker. Like some of it you read and think, "Ohhh, the inevitability here isn't about Jason shooting Joker; it's about Jason becoming Joker." But then other parts conflict with that, like in #3 when Sara talks about Jason feeling like it's impossible to victimize others, as if it's a present fact. Clearly he does not feel that way!

Also, at the end of #3 when we saw Jokey, I was excited at the prospect of Joker seeing himself in Jason, and perhaps vice versa, and the emotional struggle that direct compare/contrast could bring. And the first couple pages get at that a little, I guess? But certainly not enough that the final two pages aren't completely out of the blue.

You could say that since Jason takes on Joker's old identity as Red Hood, he's just doing the same again here, but there's still no lead-up to it!

In the end, I guess this is just a sad story about how even when Bruce breaks away from his violent coping mechanism to really promote healing, he still fucked over his kids and it's just too late? I mean, fair enough, but still. Could've used one of those big exposition pages to at least drive more at that. 🤷‍♀️

The next mini-series I'm pinning my hopes on is the Two-Face one in December. Christian Ward stuck the landing in City of Madness, so let's see if he can do it again!

[works-of-fanfiction]

The Love of Another - Part One || Cillian Murphy x actress!Reader

Summary: After meeting on the set of Peaky Blinders, Cillian and Y/N struggle to keep their relationship professional.

Warnings: Swearing, cheating (loose mentions of Cillian being divorced).

Word Count: 3.8k

a/n: I’ve been wanting to write for Cillian for a while, so I hope this reaches the right people! My blog has always been mixed so why not include some more fics with more people?

“I miss you too.” She sighed, sinking deeper into the bathtub with her phone balancing on the ledge. Dipping her head underneath the water, she missed her husband’s next words and came back to the surface with a small splash. The tub was filled just an inch too high, suds lapping over the edge and wetting the bathmat below. “I didn’t catch that last bit. What did you say?”

 “I asked if Cillian had stolen my wife yet.” Her husband chuckled, the laughter trailing off when she didn’t immediately respond. “Y/N?”

She sighed, this time in frustration, as she reached with a wet hand to grab the phone. “I can’t even tell if you’re joking anymore.”

There was silence. Then a stutter. “What? Obviously, I’m kidding!”

“Are you though? These so-called jokes about Cillian are becoming a little too frequent…” She looked up to the ceiling, mentally recounting the three previous occasions in that week alone that he’d felt the need to bring her co-star into the conversation. “You call me to check in, but it feels like you’re really calling to see if I’m with someone else.”

“Y/N…”

“Don’t ‘Y/N’ me. This isn’t the first time you’ve been weary of one of my co-stars. I’m not here on holiday, I’m working.”

“I know – “

“So, please stop calling me and accusing me of something you know I would never do. I married you.”

As much as her husband had always supported her career, he’d never gotten used to seeing her play alongside different men. Kissing and romantic scenes made his skin crawl, and now she was a regular on one of the country’s most loved shows and spending a lot of time around the same man, his suspicions only grew. He was well-known to jump to the wildest of conclusions.

He mumbled an apology, and Y/N made an excuse to cut their call short, tossing the phone onto the pile of laundry on the floor. Huffing, she sank back below the bubbles and turned the tap with her foot, adding more hot water. “Marriage…” She muttered to herself, sniggering before closing her eyes and dunking her head beneath the water once again.

She scrubbed at her scalp, relieving tension from the day, and loosening the insane amount of hairspray that had been holding her hair down since eight o’clock that morning. Holding her breath, she stayed underwater for a moment, savouring the few minutes a day she could spend in silence.

The hot water showering her feet stopped and she sat up, pushing her wet hair out of her face. “What was that about marriage?” A familiar voice asked, and she opened her eyes, vision adjusting to the figure sat on the edge of the bath looking down at her. “Let me guess… It’s not all it’s cracked up to be?” He laughed, tugging at the knot in his tie. His hair was fluffy and messy from wearing a hat all day, his collar slightly dirtied from the face powder the make-up team had spent the evening reapplying beneath the hot, harsh lights of the soundstage. Still, he looked like he’d barely done a day’s work and the way that suit hugged his body made Y/N’s stomach flutter.

“Definitely not when your husband doesn’t trust you.”

“And what reason would he have not to trust you? Because…” He stood, slipping off his shoes and pulling the tie off, letting it join her clothes in the corner. “I can’t think of a single one.” He shrugged his jacket off and hung it on the door handle, unbuttoning his sleeves and rolling them up to his elbows.

She giggled as he lifted his foot and stepped into the bath, most of his clothes still on. The water lapped over the side and soaked the floor as he clumsily knocked the shampoo bottles over. She squeezed her legs together and he knelt over her, lowering his upper body towards her, but keeping a hold of the tub to steady himself. “Cillian!” She squealed, watching the water seep into his shirt and trousers.

“Sorry, love. Forgot to ask. Can I join you?” He smirked, cupping water into his hand and dampening his hair with it. With flushed cheeks, whether from the humidity in the room or Cillian’s presence, she smiled at him, reaching out to run her fingers along his jaw.

“Wardrobe are going to kill you.”

“It’s a good thing they’ve got two more suits just like it then, isn’t it?”

“Hm, it feels weird seeing you dressed like that, sounding like that.” 

“Would you prefer I talk like this, Mrs Shelby?” He adopted his signature Brummie accent from the show, instantly snapping into character and gazing at her through furrowed brows. She stifled back a laugh, unable to take him seriously with his soddened shirt and hands slipping along the bathtub’s edge. “You’re not supposed to be finding this funny.” His accent melted back to normal through the sentence, a smile creeping onto his own face. 

“Sorry, I just don’t see Tommy Shelby diving into a bath on top of his missus.” 

“That’s because he’d probably be the one on the bottom.” He teased, dipping a hand into the water and settling it on her waist. 

“Don’t get too comfortable. Believe it or not I was enjoying my bath before a fully clothed hooligan decided to jump in.” She propped herself up and fiddled with his buttons, her wet fingers making it a little difficult. She started from the bottom and he gave her a hand up top, before he peeled the damp garment off his body. 

“Is that better?” He quipped, as she stared at his character’s tattoo which had started to smudge from a mixture of water and sweat. Nodding, she ran her fingers over his chest, smearing the design even more. “Are you going to wash me? Is that it?” 

“Well you need it. You’ve got more makeup on than I’ve had all series!” 

“Then let’s get these trousers off too, eh?”

Lying on Cillian’s chest, Y/N listened to his breathing and heart beating. The low light in the bedroom made her eyes feel heavy, but she wasn’t tired enough to sleep just yet. His hand absentmindedly played with her hair, gently massaging her scalp with the very tips of his fingers, being careful not to scratch her. These moments behind closed doors away from prying eyes were their most cherished. They spoke about their days, the hours spent together and apart. Y/N praised Cillian for his performance in a scene earlier that day, and he tried his best to deflect the compliment and switch the subject to her scenes instead. “Will you ever accept my compliments?” She teased, poking him in the chest.

“I will accept your compliments if…” He started, stopping to think. She sat up, looking at him in anticipation. “If you let us finally talk about your birthday.”

“Cillian…”

“You know the studio are going to go all out. You can’t avoid it.”

“I’m turning thirty. I’m ancient! This is not something to be celebrated.” Covering her eyes, she shook her head and groaned. Cillian laughed, lightly swatting her hands away from her face.

“If you’re ancient, then what am I?”

“Men age better, you don’t count. Just let me enjoy my last few days of being twenty-nine.”

His chuckling made her frown twist into a smirk which she tried to hold back. Gazing at her with sleepy blue eyes, he scooted closer cupping her cheek in his hand. “I seem to remember your birthday being rather special.” He cooed, his thumb lightly stroking the soft skin below her eye. She sighed, remembering the moment like it was just days ago.

Thinking back to it with such fondness was wrong. She knew that. One moment on her twenty-ninth birthday snowballed into something so much bigger, and the lingering thirtieth celebrations reminded her just how badly things had gotten out of hand. The lapse in time made it impossible to take everything back. However, selfishly, given the chance, she knew she wouldn’t change a thing.

“Cillian…” She whispered breathlessly, his face still close and mouth still hot against hers. He drew back, his hands remaining on her cheeks, fingertips brushing the skin below her earlobes.

As her eyes fluttered open to meet his, he suddenly let go, catching his head in his right hand. “I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry.” He stumbled over his words, looking around the room in a panic, eyes darting to the door that was still clearly open, wide enough for anyone to walk past and see what he did. What they did.

“I shouldn’t have done that. Fuck, you’re married! What the hell is wrong with me?”  

She stood there, hands trembling by her sides as she watched his gaze jump across the floor, his feet struggling to stay still. Her lips tingled and stung from the contact, almost desperate to kiss him again, to feel his hands on her body. They’d kissed a hundred times on set; playing husband and wife meant that physical contact was just another part of the job, but he’d never kissed her like this. So tender. So slow. Their onscreen kisses were robotic in comparison.

“No one has to know.” The words spilled out of her mouth before her brain could catch up, her arm reaching out for him. He dared himself to look back up to see her flushed cheeks and freshly kissed lips, plump and pink, glistening and hungry for more. Something twisted inside his stomach, and her lashes fluttered innocently in his direction like they were two teenagers in love. She felt as if she couldn’t breathe, like his stare could burn holes through her body.

“No one – has – to know.” She stepped closer with each word, her body making the decisions for her. This feeling and attraction towards Cillian was certainly nothing new, but she never thought he’d return her affection.

Cillian searched for reassurance in her eyes, making sure she really meant what she said as her fingers traced the stitching along his sleeve. Sensing his apprehension, she slipped her hand into his. He sighed, the heat from her fingers sending electricity through his veins, a feeling that felt so right despite how wrong it was.

“We should get back to your party.” He breathed, the muffled sounds of voices and music somehow growing louder as if they were getting closer to the door, closer to finding them together. “Your guests they… Well, you don’t want to keep them waiting.” 

“Cillian.” She uttered quietly, pleading for him to look her in the eye and tell her she hadn’t just dreamt the past few minutes. She needed something, anything that would serve as confirmation that she hadn’t imagined it. That she hadn’t imagined his hands holding her face, pulling her to him, their bodies moulding together as their lips met for what felt like the very first time. This was no rehearsed kiss inside four cold white walls; this wasn’t in front of a crew of ten men with cameras zooming in on their faces. This was between the two of them. Raw and real. 

Defeated, she dropped his hand and headed to the door. Gripping the handle, she went to pull it towards her until Cillian pressed a firm hand against the wood, slamming it into its frame. He cornered her, his intense stare making her neck hot and her cheeks visibly pinker.

The kiss was hesitant at first; their movements staggered and filled with doubt yet fuelled by longing and the sheer desperation to feel each other again. Once each were confident that the other wanted the same thing, they melted into one another’s grasp, Cillian’s hands tangling into her hair, Y/N’s fingers clutching onto his shirt as if he could disappear at any moment. It was feverish, like a craving had finally been satiated for them both. They knew there was no going back now. They were in this, and they’d have to spend every waking moment hiding it from everyone they knew, both mutual and individual. 

“That means it’s been a year since…” 

“Since this started.” Cillian waved his finger between himself and Y/N, a reminiscent smile on his face. She never knew how to react when they actually sat and talked about their relationship. It was undoubtedly easier for Cillian, being divorced and completely free to do and see whoever he wanted, but Y/N was still very much married and playing a dangerous game. Every day she lied to her husband’s face and made fun of his insecurities surrounding Cillian. Little did he know, he had every right to be worried about his wife’s co-star, considering he was the one who wound up in her bed at the end of most days.

Cillian opened his mouth to say something but stopped himself. He knew diving into the specifics of their affair made Y/N uneasy. She didn’t like to talk about her marriage; she preferred to pretend that what she and Cillian had was healthy and real. If she didn’t think about her husband, she could convince herself she wasn’t hurting anybody.

“We should get some sleep.” He said comfortingly, wrapping an arm around her as she laid back on his chest. Y/N knew he was trying to distract her from her thoughts, and she was all too willing to escape them, so she closed her eyes and begged for sleep to come quickly.

“Happy birthday!” The cast and crew cheered, clapping and whooping as Y/N stepped onto set. She grinned in faux surprise having been pre-warned by Cillian that they were planning something. A table littered with cupcakes and cookies stood at the side with some crew members already lingering, hoping for an early treat.

“Thanks guys! You shouldn’t have done all of this for me.” Y/N smiled, hugging various people and receiving more birthday wishes as she made her way around the room. Cillian stood by the cameras pretending to look busy, trying not to draw attention to himself. To the outside world they were just castmates, friends at a push. People praised them for their work and chemistry onscreen, unaware of the true feelings below the surface, and the two had grown very good at playing acquaintances around others.

Reaching Cillian, he gave her a quick side hug and a friendly smile. “Happy birthday, Y/N.” He said politely, pulling a small card out of his pocket. “It’s nothing special.” He raised his voice to purposely reach those around them.

“Thank you, Cillian. I’ll add it to the pile.” She beamed, knowing she definitely wouldn’t be adding his card to any pile for anyone else to see. She didn’t know what he’d written, but judging by the glint in his eye, it wasn’t a decoy card to keep up appearances. It was the real thing, and he was playing with fire bringing it into the studio in the first place, but she’d chew his ear off about that later.

When everyone broke off for lunch, Y/N rushed off to her trailer, Cillian’s card burning a hole in her pocket. Throwing the door open, she was surprised to be greeted by a large cake on the counter, iced in her favourite colours with an obnoxious ‘30’ in the middle made from chocolate.

“It’s hazelnut. Your favourite.”

She spun around, confused, only to find her husband sprawled on the sofa behind her. “Surprise.” He grinned, opening his arms for her. She gulped, taking a step forward and leaning down to hug him. He shifted on the sofa, giving her enough space to sit in his lap as he squeezed her tight, feathering little kisses on her cheek.

Her body felt stiff in his arms from shock. It hadn’t even crossed her mind that he would show up, but it made perfect sense. It was her thirtieth birthday, of course he was going to come!

Glancing out of the window over his shoulder, she saw Cillian engaged in an animated conversation with the producers, throwing his head back with laughter. She sighed, wishing there was a way out of this situation, wishing she could run out of the door and disappear with him, leaving the guilt and the pain behind. Hugging her husband felt wrong. She felt ashamed to be dreaming of another man whilst the one she’d sworn her love to was right there in front of her.

“Are you OK?” He asked, moving so they could sit side-by-side.

“Yeah, I’m just surprised!” She lied, her voice high-pitched and shaky. She felt Cillian’s card crumple in her back pocket, but she thanked her lucky stars she didn’t have it on show when she walked into the trailer.

“I had to come and see you on your birthday. What shall we do tonight?” His arm around her shoulder made her feel suffocated and she hoped the ground would somehow magically swallow her up. She shimmied out of his grasp, standing up.

“The crew have organised a night out. I can’t let them down.”

He stood up, his hand settling on her upper arms. “Then we’ll both go. That sound fun?”

Nodding, she closed her eyes, cringing as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I have another scene to shoot this afternoon. Will you be alright hanging in here for a while?”

“What? I can’t come and watch?”

“I don’t think it’s a scene you’d want to see.” Another lie. The scene was a simple conversation between two characters, no drama or romance involved, but it was easier to let him believe it was something he’d find unsettling. The first time he watched her kiss Cillian in a scene, he couldn’t shake the sickly feeling in his stomach all day. As harsh it was to use his insecurity against him, it was far easier than the truth.

I’m having an affair with my co-star who I repeatedly told you not to worry about, and you being here is complicating things further, so I’d rather not spend any more time around you than I have to.

Yeah… Lying was certainly easier.

“I guess I’ll just uh… Stick a film on then.” He shrugged, sitting back down.

“It shouldn’t take too long.” She hovered for a second, then remembered Cillian’s card again. “I’m just going to use the bathroom.”

“OK.”

Locking herself behind the toilet door, she ripped open the card, stuffing the envelope into the small bin beside her.

‘Meet me in the wardrobe department at 1. I’ve got something for you.

Happy birthday, Mrs Shelby.

Yours,

Cillian x’

Her heart fluttered, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she re-read it a second time, then a third. What started as a joke between them became somewhat of a term of affection; calling each other Mr and Mrs Shelby. Cillian could certainly be corny when he wanted to be, but she was no better.

Checking the time on her phone, she had ten minutes to get to the wardrobe department and see Cillian before their lunch hour was over. Remembering her company outside the door, she counted a few seconds before flushing the toilet and rinsing her hands in the sink. She hid the card, pulling her shirt over her trousers so her husband couldn’t see a bump in her pocket.

“I have to go to wardrobe and get into my next outfit.” She muttered, fixing her hair in the mirror and rushing around to avoid making eye contact with her unwanted guest.

“Your lunchtime isn’t even over! Come on, babe. Sit down, let’s chat.”

“You know me, I like to be punctual.” She flashed him a weak smile, pulling out her phone to show him the time. “Plus, we both know how long it can take me to get ready.”

“Fine. But I’m buying you your first birthday drink tonight.”

“I’d be mad if you didn’t.”

He stood to hug her, but she dashed out of the door before he could even get close. Speedwalking to wardrobe, her mind raced back and forth between her husband and Cillian. She was supposed to be happy that he’d traveled all this way for her birthday. She was supposed to jump into his arms and declare how much she’d missed him over the past couple of months, not pray for him to go away. No matter what she did, she couldn’t get Cillian off her mind. He consumed her, emotionally, physically, in every way possible. She never meant for it to go this far, to feel this way, but she couldn’t control it.

Entering the room, she spotted Cillian’s shoes through the racks of clothing. She could hear him mumbling something to himself, but it wasn’t quite coherent. Once he spotted her, his face lit up, eyes twinkling as he gazed at the birthday girl. “Hi.” He whispered, edging closer to her.

“Hi, Cill.”

“I see you got my message.”

“I had to come and see what all the fuss was about.” She smiled, noticing a box on the table behind him. “Is that for me?”

“Impatient, aren’t you?”

“Just curious.” She teased.

Taking her hand in his, he fidgeted with the wedding band on her finger. It wasn’t hers, but her character’s, and Cillian wore a matching one in his role as Tommy. Looking down at their hands, Y/N couldn’t help but think about the ring that was usually in its place, or should’ve been had she not taken it off weeks ago. She thought back to her husband, sitting in her trailer watching some straight to DVD movie on the TV, counting down the minutes until he could finally spend some time with the woman he loved.

Cillian stole her attention, tilting her chin up with his thumb. “There’s something I need to tell you. You’re going to tell me I’m cheesy for saying it on your birthday but - “

“Cillian.”

“No, let me speak, please.” He went over his words again in his head, and Y/N began to panic as his eyes explored her face, pupils dilating. “Y/N, I love - “

“Cillian, my husband is here.” She blurted, exhaling a deep breath. His gaze didn’t leave hers, but the adoration in his eyes quickly switched to shock. His hand fell from her face, and he awkwardly gripped onto the hem of his jacket, rubbing the fabric between his finger and thumb as a distraction.

“…What?”

-

Next Part >

[emeritusemeritus]

hello !! i adore your work, so i was thinking about asking for a rq about the weasley twins x reader (if you don't like fred x reader x george it's totally fine, if that's the case then fred x reader is just as perfect) where they were dating back at hogwarts or at least have a situationship until she twins leave because of umbridge

and mind you, they did invite the reader to come with them, but she refuses because reader needed to end her last school year (due to her ambitions) and didn't want to leave her younger brother alone at hogwarts with umbridge there

so can you write a scenario where, two years later (NO WAR at all 💔) the twins receive a letter from her with tickets for a quidditch game? from a team they like nonetheless. they go to the game and find out that the reader, who was a hufflepuff chaser back at school, now managed to become a professional chaser and invited them to watch her first game?

pretty please! im sorry if this became a huge text lmao once again i adore your work and i hope you have a lovely day 🌷

Chase Me

My dear sweet Anon, I cannot apologise enough for how long this has taken me to complete for you. Life has been crazy and it’s in no way a reflection of your ask because this was super fun to write. I hope I did your idea justice!! 🖤

Warnings: slight past angst, longing, heartbreak. Happy endings. Reader is a hufflepuff- set after Canon. NO WAR. No mention of mouldy voldy or death. Mentions of Umbridge and her nastiness. Not beta read nor spellchecked.

Word count: 2.8k

"Oi Fred! Mail's here!" George shouts up the winding, wooden stairs as he unlatches the window where an owl was not so patiently waiting to drop off the thick letter held tightly in it's beak. George takes the letter from the gorgeous grey owl and pats it once on the head, frowning slightly when it simply flies away without so much as a chirp.

His frown deepens when he looks at the front of the brown envelope, seeing a multitude of stamps he didn't recognise and very neat handwriting that listed both his and Fred's names with delicate precision.

"Bit early for mail isn't it?" Fred says as he walks down the stairs to the main shop, still buttoning up his shirt with the arms rolled up, his untied bow-tie hanging around his neck.

"It wasn't Easy," George mutters, still examining the letter in his hands, trying to decipher the stamps. 'Easy' was their shop owl, an inside joke of sorts as it turned out once he was purchased that he was just as erratic as Errol once was, leading them through both call out 'easy!' Whenever the bird neared any glass panes or ledges, most notably because he never slowed down upon descent. Plus Fred said that Easy Weasley would be a great name for a pet and George had to agree, though he feared it was setting up a lifelong curse upon any animal that they might acquire, knowing Fred would want to keep the theme going. Easy, Peasy, wheezy, Breezy... it probably wouldn't end there.

"What's that?" Fred asks, noticing the brown envelope in his twin's hands, just finishing up his top button.

"Don't know," George says, still examining it.

"That's because you have to open them to read them mate," Fred jokes, but doesn't get the reaction he hoped for, seeing George too transfixed to shoot him the mock-glare he'd anticipated.

"Does this writing look familiar to you?" George hands Fred the envelope but doesn't take his eyes off it.

"A bit," Fred says with a slight squint as he looks at the neat writing on the front, quite liking the way his name was written in the fancy script. Fred bites the bullet and opens the envelope, his eyes drifting quizzically at the unique stamps on the front.

He pulls out the letter first as it fills the top of the envelope, still feeling other things in the bottom that he could get to later. The piece of paper is folded and heavy, so opaque that he can't see any writing through it.

At the top of the letter, even before he can begin to try and pull it open, is a little piece of card paper clipped onto the letter, stating 'To be read by Messers F and G Weasley of 93 Diagon Alley only.'

They cast a quick glance at each other in trepidation at the unusual literature and Fred begins to take off the card attached to the letter.

To his surprise, underneath exactly where the card had been temporarily fixed were the words 'I solemnly swear...'

Fred doesn't hesitate and pulls out his wand, tapping the paper gently and uttering the words he'd not spoken in so long, but remembered with great fondness and complete recollection.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good."

The paper immediately begins to unseal itself, the paper opening up like a friendly howler and handwritten words begin to fill the lines that have started appearing on the page.

The second Fred sees the opening line, he knows exactly who it's from, as does George.

'To my favourite jokesters'

"Well bloody hell," Fred says, slightly bewildered by the turn of events as he leans back, resting his hips against the counter whilst he gathers himself. In complete honesty, he's fighting back a ball of emotion at the back of his throat as he takes in the words on the page from the one that got away. She'd been everything to him since that first meeting on the train, the little Hufflepuff who gave him a run for his money both on and off the quidditch pitch. He's been convinced she was the one, his endgame, the love of his life- until his twin had piped up about his own feelings for her.

They made it work eventually, found a rhythm that suited them all, through trial and error and everything in between. They found love, the three of them with her being the rose between two thorns, the center of their world.

No one hated Dolores Umbridge more than Fred Weasley, not even Harry, the entire nation of wizards, witches or any of the wronged mythical creatures. The toad faced witch had ruined everything inserting herself into their school and their lives, spoiling the happiest time in his whole life and putting a rather forceful stop on all the plans he'd made. They'd talked about it since their fifth year, when the plans really started to take off. They'd finish school together, find the money to start the shop and they'd all move in together in the little flat above the shop. Eventually he and George would make enough money for a real house, just like she deserved and she'd be free to do anything she wanted to do, anything all all with the constant support of her two loves.

But that didn't happen, not even slightly. Umbridge had made it impossible for them to stay, she'd forced them to leave and though they did it in a spectacular way that would no doubt be the talk of hogwarts for many years following and a person high in Fred's own personal life- it was also one of the saddest times.

His love had stayed at the school, to finish her studies and to protect her little brother Michael who had unfortunately seemed to be under Umbridge's radar, meaning that he was far from safe. She couldn't leave and they couldn't stay. It was heartbreaking to leave her there, to face the few months alone without her. Everything seemed strange between he and George, always knowing that there was something vital missing. But then the weeks bled into months and that eventually turned into over a year as she got a job right after school, taking her away from them this time. They focused on the shop and on their products, keeping themselves busy where they could so that they wouldn't feel that constant void of her presence but late at night it was hard to deny.

George had taken it the worst and being the older brother, Fred had naturally tried to help him the best he could. He'd purposefully give George jobs to do that would require concentration, to set out problems that didn't have an answer, just so he'd forget about her for a while, but it didn't always work. There was a sadness about George that was never there before, always the happier, gentler and more sensitive of the two, these days he was quite often known as the quieter one too. He's happy, of course he is, he's living his dream and they are successful- he still laughs, jokes and pranks just as much as before but there's always just a little piece of him that is gone.

"It's really from her?" George says quietly, his eyes scanning back and forth over the document repeatedly, as if he can't take it in enough. The tone of his voice pulls at Fred's heartstrings, the sadness seeping out once again.

"Looks like it mate," Fred says, trying to remain calm and neutral though his pulse is a stark juxtaposition to his outward demeanour.

"Two tickets for the Sandacre Sirens, how the bloody hell did she get hold of these?" George asks, seeming to come to life once the realisation sinks in of what exactly is in front of him. He lifts the tickets up to his face fit closer inspection, holding them a little too tightly to be casual and inspects the tickets, noticing that they were really good seats- really really good seats. His favourite team too, though admittedly he'd been lax in his support of quidditch lately due to being so busy with the shop, another part of his old self he'd lost.

George had never fretted so much over what to wear. He grew up in a poor family with little resources and even less care of fashion or quality of being presentable. He was the tallest of all the Weasley's, even a little bit over Fred though it was never mentioned, meaning that for as long as he could remember his clothes had never truly fit him, most of them being hand-me-downs from Charlie or Bill (he'd outgrown Percy by his 12th birthday). Now they had money, he and Fred had nice suits for the shop and a selection of better fitting clothes for the rest of the time but he didn't have a single thing that would be good enough for seeing her again. Maybe Fred would know what to wear...

The crowd was booming, nearly every seat in the stadium filled, with loud chanting and joyous singing echoing around the stadium from both teams. The atmosphere was electric and chaotic- just like the twins liked it. She'd been very vague in her instructions of where to meet or how to find each other and so the twins mutually decided to take their seats, hoping to find her there in the neighbouring seat beside theirs. Only, there was no seat beside theirs, or at least it was just the occupier of the seat was certainly not y/n. Their names were written on little magical signs that could not be removed even with magic, scrawled in her own neat handwriting that flew away like a little bird once the twins prepared to take their reserved seats.

More confused than ever, they shared a confused look, near identical in confusion with eyebrows pulled into semi-frowns.

"Messers Weasley? Your refreshments," an usher said from beside them, enchanting a tray to hover in front of their spaces, filled to the brim with all sorts of delicious treats and beverages-  personalised to each twin. Fred couldn't help but kick his lips when his eyes fixed upon the fizzy bottle of dandelion and burdock and George's mouth watered upon seeing the butterbeer tarts stacked up on the tray, knowing they were just for him.

George squints, looking at the note on the tray in her distinctive writing, urging them to check under their seats. He cracks up laughing when he feels exactly what was there, seeing Fred do the same. Under George's seat was a thick knitted scarf with stripes of orange and purple, the colours of the sandacre sirens, as well as a big puffy keyring and a little commercial sized face pint kit. Under Fred's seat, is a matching scarf and face paint kit plus a ridiculously big hat in the same colours.

They know instantly- it’s the exact same thing they wore to the Quidditch World Cup back in 1994, when y/n was with them.

"Excuse me, have you seen y/n?" Fred asks the attendant, trying to call him back as he prepares to walk away. To his confusion, the usher simply stares back at him with equal confusion before letting out a humourless chuckle as he walks away, leaving both of the twins perplexed.

“To your seats, the match will begin in five minutes,” the announcement sounds out loudly, urging all ticket holders to claim their seats. The twins look around in nervous anticipation, excited for the game but more confused than ever when the seats around them fill up, completely ending their hope that she would appear beside them. Why had she invited them?

The other team flew onto the pitch with a roar from one half of the crowd, each player flying through the magically held banner in perfect synchronisation as they played up to the crowd.

“Oi, look!” George says to Fred with a. Less than gentle nudge as he extends his finger, pointing to one of the large screens directly across from them which had a large message printed onto the screen.

“A warm welcome to our new Siren chaser, Y/n L/n!”

Beside it was a photo of her, slightly older than they remembered but still as breathtakingly gorgeous as she stood with a proud smile, clutching her broom and dressed in her chaser finest.

Just then, a huge explosion of fireworks occurred on the pitch and their attention was dragged away from her photo, seeing that all the players had appeared through the residual cloud of smoke. Their eyes searched frantically, almost perfectly in sync as they tried to find the once familiar form of their love.

There she was. She looked majestic, proud and ever so slightly nervous as she beamed at the crowd, graciously accepting their cheers and feeding off their energy. Her eyes searched the crowd secretively but Fred noticed, seeing her gaze flick between the stands.

Their eyes suddenly met, very briefly, and Fred watched in wonder as she momentarily lost her balance upon the broom just for a second as she gazed upon the two brothers who were here just for her. Her smile widened still as she smiled at the two men she had loved so very much and in gaining some form of composure, she fired off a quick, flirtatious wink towards them before zooming off to her starting position followed by the starting whistle. It was then, Fred reached down and with the pride of a dear old friend and lover, placed the comically large hat upon his head and cracked open one of the face paints, drawing a little flag onto George’s cheek, though he hardly noticed, and then got his twin to do the same- he’d learnt how uncomfortable a full face of face paint was from last time and was not making the same mistake.

“Write her name,” Fred urged George, unable to keep the smile off his face.

After that, Fred could feel George’s tension all throughout the match, even without looking at him. If he sat any further forward upon the edge of his seat, he’d surely end up a pile of limbs on the floor, his entire focus solely on her. Fred smirked, seeing her eyes flicker over to them whenever they could, though everyone else would assume she was searching for the quaffle, or an opening to take the shot- but Fred knew better.

She played wondrously, an undoubted success in her first game with the Siren’s- cementing her newfound reputation of excellence in the quidditch community. Ten points here, ten points there and they were quickly adding up, creating a smooth win over the other team. She was quick, swift and agile, her flying skills incomparable as she made it look effortless- like a form of graceful dance. It was enchanting to watch her, entrancing almost.

Fred almost leapt out of his seat when an advancing bludger almost caught the tail of her broom and whether it was his inner beater or his inner boyfriend, he instinctively almost reached out to bat it away, just as he had done so many times before. She avoided it, just, and had firm words with the beater flying above her who had done very little to protect her as she nearly did a haversacking foul, just to avoid the rogue bludger.

Finally, when neither Fred nor George could wait for the game to be over just so they could see you, the final buzzer rang, the lights in the stadium turning orange and purple to denote the overwhelming win to the Sirens. The roar of the crowd was near deafening as more fireworks erupted around the players who were cheering, crying and hugging midair. George and Fred were instantly on their feet, trying to cheer louder than anyone else in the stadium just so she’d hear, their long arms rising up and proudly holding their scarves above their head. It had been a magical night for Quidditch, and even more so for the Siren’s new chaser. The little hufflepuff chaser turned professional right before their eyes.

It was then, watching her turn directly to the two twins mid-celebration and seeing her smile brighten even further that Fred knew he wouldn’t let this night end with them parting once again. He turned to George, seeing him just as enraptured as he himself felt, and knew he didn’t need to ask if Georgie felt the same way.

Never again would they let her get away.

[impala-dreamer]

So, yesterday... I died (almost)

No, seriously.

I've been powerwashing the house... back patio/back deck/sidewalk, etc... yesterday, I wanted to move the machine upstairs to my side deck where the birds hang out. I move the machine to the front of the house, and some of the hose was wrapped around a shrubbery... so I go to untangle it...

And was instantly stung by a bee.

Ok... no biggie.

Then another. Then one on my forehead... then I was swamped by the entire nest. And stung by like 12 bees.

....

I'm not allergic so I'm not worried, just pissed. I run inside, take my shirt off, deal with the bees and take stock. I'm OK, but lemme go take a benadryl anyway. I have one on my nightstand. I go get it and take it to the bathroom bc I'm gonna shower anyway, so I turn on the water and try to open the blister pack of benadryl. My hands start shaking and I can't open it. No way will it open. I start getting dizzy like I'm going to faint (I have a fainting condition so I know the early signs) so I'm like.. ok... if you're gonna have to sit down. And the shower has a seat. So I strip and go into the shower, sit down.

Normally, cold water stops the fainting so I'm like... this is a good idea.

It didn't help. Ok. I'm gonna faint, go lower. So I sat on the shower floor and I'm in the water and

Passed out.

Woke up disoriented, still in the shower. Ok. Get up.

Passed out.

Again. Get up and get out of the shower.

This went on for apparently, 35 mins of me losing consciousness and trying to climb out of the shower to call for help.

Finally, my brain is like.. if you don't get out of the shower you are dying here. So I'm talking outloud to myself as I crawl out of the shower unable to stand or really move my legs. (Btw.. 5 inch shower ledge to crawl over) I somehow get out, slide the phone off the counter, and text my brother 911. (Hubby at work). Then, I lay down kinda twisted on the floor like a chalk outline and keep talking to myself.

Bro comes in... freaks out...

Then the next 40mins are a blurr, but the cops came... 2 shots of epipen, and oxygen before the ambulance got there.

Another shot of epi, a shot of benadryl, another tank of oxygen...

My BP was 57/14.

They couldn't let me sit up even or I'd instantly pass out. Not that I could move.

So they carried me on some sheet thing out of the house, downstairs, into ambulance.

Apparently there were 4 cop cars and 3 ambulances on my lawn...

They got me in and couldn't start driving until they stabilized me..

I started major convulsing bc of all the adrenaline. Like full seizure shaking bad. They couldn't find any veins on me bc small veins and BP deathly low... so we were on my lawn for a while trying to get me ok enough to move.

Finally, I joked "you want me to drive?" Proving that my comedy is pure and part of me, even while on my literal deathbed. ;)

So we got me another shot of benadryl and a shot of steriods...

Drove 20 mins to the closest hospital ... bc I live in the middle of nowhere...

Guy calls in "critical incoming"... which is never great to hear.

We pull in and the hospital guys meeting us looks at me and says "you officially have the lowest blood pressure I have ever heard of on a living person."

Gee thanks! Let's fix this!

So I spent the next 5? Hours in the e.r. critical section hooked up to wires and ivs and ekgs and oxygen.

In the end I had 3 shots of epipen. 3 benadryl shots. Steroids. 2 bags of fluid. 4 panic attacks. 3 tanks of oxygen.

And a hospital turkey sandwich.

So... yeah, if I hadn't talked myself out of the shower with the dregs of my strength and will to not die naked on my shower floor...

I'd be dead.

I'm feeling a ton better today but still not good. I am on the couch and not gonna move.

Also having some theological thoughts about the lack of diving intervention or feeling of godly care.

Basically, my life was saved by myself, my brother, that cop, and Madision and John, my e.m.t.s.

Hope you are all doing better than I am lol

Happy Sunday 💖

[qsphyxias]

Nightwing x Male! Reader (hurt/comfort)

if you fetishize mlm/nblm relationships, get the fuck out of here!

synopsis ; you just broke up with ur bf bc he cheated on u and Nightwing comes to make u feel better.

warnings ; swearing, break ups, venting (not traumatic or too deep) about relationship, manhandle joke, angst? its topic is sad but I think I made it too nice and fluffy

note ; i wanna add more, esp. with pillow talk or whatever but I'm too tired and maybe ill just make another part or smth or edit it

words ; 1.3k+

Your face burned, and your lips trembled against the hand you held up against your moth. You sighed shakily, dropping your head atop your arm leaned up against the railing of your balcony. That was the end of another relationship.

You looked at the wet cement down below, over the thin, black iron railing, your eyes couldn't focus on anything because of the fat tears that obstructed most of your vision. Gravity pulled your tears to the ground, almost pulling you entirely over the rails — you just felt so tired.

The day you've had was just about enough for you to bear. You found out your boyfriend of three years was cheating on you for two of those three years. But the worst part was that you hadn't even found out yourself; he had told you, and he had been the one to break up with you. As if, you were the problem.

You were in the way.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" You murmured under your breath, rage began to well up, and you could feel it in your throat — strangling you, taking your breath and turning it into steam. "I wasted three years on him. Three fucking years of my life!" You backed away from the ledge, looking up at the sky as if it represented the entire world before you. "And for what?"

Despite it all, a part of you wanted him back. Not because you loved him, but because, where else will you find someone? You knew everything about him, and you... well, you hoped he knew just about everything to know about you. But now, all that information is useless. You were scared and alone; how much time did you really have? It's not like some handsome, piece of ass is going to come around and save you.

You slid down on the cold surface of the balcony, sitting down and tucking your knees in as you watched your fingers fidget in front of you. You stopped crying, but now it felt worse than before. Your heart had no means to release all that raw emotion because your body couldn't take the exhaustion.

"Hey, are... you alright?" A gentle hand grabs your shoulder, and your head shoots up to see dark blue eyes, staring at you with nothing but hopeful concern. His hope to somehow make you feel better, and his concern that you are currently sitting on the ground, eyes, nose, and mouth red and swollen.

You don't push away, not at all — in fact, that's the last thing on your mind. Even when it hits you that Nightwing is leaning over you, a knee on the ground and his arm on your shoulder. You're too drained to react properly, you just stare at him.

You pressed your hand on your cheek, murmuring your speech. "Give me a fucking break." Had he arrived at a time — literally any other time — less inconvenient, you probably would have asked him for an autograph and fawned over his arms. He chuckled at your reply, not at all offended by your display of disdain at his appearance. He took a seat next to you on the cold hard ground.

For a couple of minutes, you both just sat there, and you stared off into space as you silently fought with your inner demons to not lash out at him. With an apologetic sigh, withdrawing your attitude from before. "I'm sorry, it's been a rough night- I just found out my boyfriend was cheating on me for two years." Nightwing glanced over as you mentioned a boyfriend, so you weren't straight, huh? That totally won't affect how he sees you.

The man beside you sucked in a sharp breath as you mentioned your situation, immediately feeling terrible as he put himself in your shoes. "Don't worry about it; you deserve a little lashing out." You scoffed affectionately as you wiped your remaining tears away with your sleeve, he was friendly, wasn't he?

"That's nice of you to say." Suddenly, the floor looked much more interesting than looking at the attractive man beside you. He noticed the averted gaze and brought you back to reality by placing his hand on yours. "I'm serious, lash out at me! Whatever you wanna say to him, say to me." He was serious, grinning at his great idea.

"I mean I heard you wailing from miles away; I'm sure you don't have a shortage of things to say." He looked proud of himself. "Dear god — you heard that?" You stood up and backed away from him, with him following you closely. "I think half of Gotham heard that." He teased, watching your ashamed expression with a smile.

"You're kind of an asshole, aren't you?" You said, standing your ground as you taunted him right back. His smile only grew, "I have mixed reviews."

"Alright, Nightwing. I'll take you up on your offer." You crossed your arms and stepped closer to him, "I'll vent."

He rubbed his hands together in response, beckoning you towards him. "Give it to me."

Your face turned beet-red at the sudden conspicuous innuendo, and you paused. Hoping he hadn't noticed, you got back in the zone and tried to imagine your ex's face in place of Nightwing's. "Okay, alright. Well. You're... You're a dick."

Dick laughed, for more reasons than one. "That's it? Have at me! Don't be shy." You frowned, "Fine then, you're not just a dick. You're also cruel." You looked into his eyes, seeing your ex's face before you instead of Nightwing's.

To fuel the fire, you channeled all those feelings into your speech. "You broke my heart for no reason when you could have left me when you met him. And- Instead, you wasted my time, thinking I was in this... This loving relationship with a man I was going to marry — " Before you could keep rambling on, you felt strong arms around you, grounding you. You hadn't noticed you were trembling from the emotion until you felt the calm, still body against yours.

You also hadn't noticed how much you absolutely needed that hug.

Hesitating, your arms hovered over his back before you tenderly hugged him back, sinking into his body knowing he could still hold you from his already tight grip. You wondered if you'd ever be hugged like this again now that you didn't have a boyfriend. Whenever your ex did decide to hold you like this, it wasn't often.

Sleep took over your body as his warmth may have reminded you too much of your sheets, and the comfort of your bed. Maybe he reminded you of home.

"... Was that too much?" You murmured against the chestpiece of his suit. He shook his head, not wanting to see your expression just yet. Your frown and your trembling lips broke his heart.

"I think I'm tired." Dick took that to heart and picked you up with ease, walking over to your balcony door and stepping in. "Oh- so you're just gonna manhandle me then?" You declared eyes half-lidded from exhaustion. For a second, he was worried he had crossed a boundary. "Well, I'm okay with that." Now he wasn't so worried.

Dick chuckled as he placed you down on your bed, turning off the light beside you and moving to exit your apartment. He stopped in his tracks as he heard you groan. "Wait, come back..! Stay with me. Please?" He turned around to see you pouting on your bed, knowing you were trying your absolute best to extract pity out of him to make him stay.

"It'll be my first night in three years without a warm body sleeping next to me; you're really gonna leave a guy hanging?" He rolled his eyes as you played the break-up card, waltzing over with a defeated look on his face. You on the other hand, had adorned an expression of joy.

"You regret stopping by my balcony, don't you?"

"... Far from it, actually."