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cipheress-to-k-pop · 2 days ago

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party on you, part of you knew (m.r.)

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Word Count: 8k

Summary: Mattheo had been losing his belongings, forgetting things, and feeling uneasy about that random girl who was always staring at him. His solution? Blame Theodore. It's always that damn astronomy tower.

A/N: I'm so ass at summaries 😭 lowkey i kinda hate this

When Mattheo woke up, he was unbearably groggy—dragging himself around the dorm with zero fucks to give while his friends hooted and hollered with far too much morning energy.

He sighed, heavy with the weight of a dream he couldn’t remember. All he knew was that it started happy—blissfully, achingly so—but by the time he opened his eyes, he felt hollow. The fog in his head made it impossible to grasp.

He barely managed to throw on his shirt, only half-buttoned, his tie dangling uselessly around his neck as he stumbled around looking for his belt. He ruffled through his drawer, groaning when he pulled something unexpected from the back.

With a frustrated grunt, he hurled a cheap bottle of perfume across the room.

It smacked Theo in the back of the head.

“For fuck’s sake, Nott,” Mattheo growled, “Tell your useless fucks to stop leaving their shit in my drawer. My boxers smell like Victoria’s Secret now. What are they, perverts?”

Theo only laughed, ducking Mattheo’s middle finger with the practiced ease of someone far too used to this scenario. It wasn’t the first time, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last.

To be fair, it really was on Theo for being a shameless pervert who’d flirt his way into any skirt with a pulse. Mattheo wasn’t a stranger to finding souvenirs left behind after Theo’s conquests—underwear, school ties, even flowers that Theo had given them. Gifts Theo handed out to play the nice guy before inevitably ruining their lives.

Asshole.

But Theo was completely unbothered.

He ruffled Mattheo’s already-messy hair before yanking him into a headlock and dragging him out of the dorm toward the Great Hall for breakfast. Maybe, just maybe, after some tea and food, Mattheo would start feeling like a functional human being again.

Mattheo doubted it.

Still, he knew better than to show up to McGonagall’s first thing in the morning on an empty stomach—unless he wanted to snap and earn himself a detention for cussing someone out. Which, on mornings like this, was always a strong possibility.

He walked into the Great Hall like a stormcloud, shoulders tense, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. Without saying a word to anyone, he dropped into his usual seat at the Slytherin table.

Your eyes followed him the moment he entered.

He looked... wrecked. Moving sluggishly, like he hadn’t slept a wink. His mood practically radiated off him. Still, you watched as he poured himself a cup of tea—black, no milk, no sugar—and sipped it with his whole hand clutched around the rim, like the warmth might anchor him. A stark contrast to his polished friends, who had all been raised to drink tea like little lords—fingers lifted, saucers in hand, painfully dainty.

But Mattheo drank tea like a man dragged out of war.

You weren’t one to fall for toxic masculinity tropes, but Merlin help you—there was something a little charming about his ruggedness.

“(Y/N)? Hello?” Your friend whispered, snapping her fingers near your face. You blinked, startled, not realizing how long you’d been staring. She arched a brow, her expression tilting toward concern, “You good?”

Your gaze flicked back to Mattheo instinctively, just as he brought the mug to his lips again, the shadows beneath his eyes catching in the candlelight.

Your friend leaned in and hissed, “Don’t tell me you have a crush on Mattheo Riddle.”

Thank Merlin she had the sense to whisper. If Lavender—just two seats down—had heard, the entire castle would’ve known by lunch.

You gave a quiet huff and a crooked smile, “Me? Like Mattheo Riddle?”

But even as you said it, your eyes drifted back to him—just in time to see a Ravenclaw girl saunter up to his side. Her tone was too soft, her smile too wide, and Mattheo... smirked.

You couldn’t hear what she said, but whatever it was, it worked. She returned to her table tittering like a first-year after her first Butterbeer, and Mattheo’s friends clapped him on the back like frat boys cheering over a win.

Your stomach twisted.

“Fat chance.” You muttered under your breath.

And this time, you didn’t look back.

***

Mattheo slumped into his usual seat at the back of Transfiguration, his head pounding like someone had hexed a war drum into his skull. The classroom was too bright. Too loud. The voices around him felt like nails against his already frayed nerves.

All he wanted to do was crawl back into bed and sleep through the day. But McGonagall had already given him a formal warning for skipping too many classes, and he had no desire to sit through another one of her lectures about wasted potential and “throwing your life away, Mr. Riddle.”

So here he was. Half-awake. Half-dressed. Fully over it.

He sprawled in his chair like he hadn’t been raised to sit like a human being. The boys were already talking shit around him. Something about some girl. Someone’s sister. Or cousin. Or ex. Mattheo couldn’t be arsed to care.

And then—

Eyes.

He felt it before he saw it.

A stare. Steady. Intent. Not curious like the usual ones. Not flirty or appraising. This was something else.

He tilted his head lazily, scanning the classroom, and there you were.

Sitting with your friends at the front of the room, quill dangling from your fingers, your books open in front of you but untouched. You weren’t focused on your parchment or your notes or even your friends.

You were watching him.

And not like most girls did. Not like he was a prize or a challenge.

There was something in your eyes. Something he couldn't put his finger on.

For a second, Mattheo just stared back, caught in the intensity of your gaze.

Then:

“Oi, Riddle,” Theo leaned over with a grin far too smug for this early in the morning and jabbed him in the arm with his wand, “You’ve got a fan.”

Mattheo blinked, the moment snapping. His friends were all looking now, following Theo’s nod toward the front row.

“Who is she?” Blaise asked, already smirking.

Mattheo shrugged, leaning back in his chair with practiced indifference, “No clue.”

“You sure?” Draco drawled, giving him a pointed look, “She’s staring at you like you broke her heart.”

“Probably did,” Theo snorted, “Another one of Riddle’s charm-and-ditch girls. What’s this—lucky number fifty?”

Mattheo let a crooked grin spread across his face, “I don’t count past three. After that, it’s just a blur of names and disappointment.”

Lorenzo chuckled, “You’re sick.”

“Don’t blame me,” Mattheo said, “If they confuse good dick with love, that’s on them.”

The boys howled, loud enough to earn a sharp look from a Ravenclaw at the next table over.

Mattheo smirked, brushing his fingers back through his mess of curls. He let his gaze drift back to you again—just for a second.

But this time, your attention had turned. You were laughing at something your friend whispered to you, cheeks flushed, head bowed. The look from earlier was gone. And whatever he thought he saw? It probably never existed to begin with.

Good.

***

It wasn’t rare for Mattheo Riddle to wake up in the middle of the night—heart racing, skin clammy, breath coming in sharp, ragged pulls like he was drowning in his own lungs.

What was rare was not being able to go back to sleep after.

His chest burned. His head was spinning. The walls felt like they were closing in on him, squeezing the air from his lungs like a vice. He needed a cigarette. Now.

He reached for the pack tucked in his blazer, fingers trembling as he searched the pockets for his lighter—his lighter, the scratched metal Zippo with the chipped corner and the warm, familiar clink that grounded him.

Nothing.

“God-fucking-dammit, Theo.” He hissed, dragging his drawer open with a harsh scrape. No lighter. Of course. His roommate probably nicked it—again—for one of his stress-smoking episodes. Mattheo could’ve used his wand, sure, but that lighter was his. That sharp click when it flipped open was the only thing that made his fidgeting tolerable.

He scratched roughly at his wrist, fingers twitching for something to hold as he climbed the stairs to his usual spot. The cigarette was already between his lips before he’d even reached the top, wand-lighting it with a muttered “Incendio.” He took the first drag, feeling the smoke scrape down his throat and spread like static in his chest.

The cold air helped. A little.

Until he realized he wasn’t alone.

His eyes narrowed when they landed on you, sitting at the edge of the Astronomy Tower, legs dangling over the stone ledge like it was nothing. You were leaning lazily against the railing, illuminated by moonlight—and you looked just as surprised to see him.

“What are you doing here?” He snapped, accusatory.

You blinked at him, “I could ask you the same thing.”

Mattheo scoffed, taking another long drag from his cigarette and blowing the smoke out through his nose like a warning sign.

Great.

“Night terrors, huh?” You asked quietly.

He froze mid-drag, lips parting, “…How did you know that?”

“I get them too.”

That shut him up.

It went quiet. For a while, neither of you spoke. He leaned against the opposite railing, cigarette burning slowly to the filter, eyes fixed on the moonlit sky while the silence thickened.

Then he noticed your hands.

You were holding something—clutching it, almost. A stem of small, blue flowers. Mattheo stared, trying to place them. He knew he’d seen them somewhere before, probably in Herbology, but the name wouldn’t come to him.

He shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t like being watched, not when he was like this. Raw. Frayed. Sleepless. Unmasked.

“…Can you stop fucking staring at me?” He muttered, side-eyeing you.

Your cheeks flushed. You dropped your gaze quickly, fingers curling protectively around the petals.

Mattheo exhaled sharply, hating the stab of guilt that followed.

He felt bad. For you.

How Hufflepuff of him.

Mattheo threw the cigarette down with more force than necessary, the end flaring before he crushed it beneath his shoe, muttering another curse under his breath.

He didn’t say anything else.

Didn’t look back.

Just turned, hands once again scratching at his wrist for something to play with, jaw clenched like he was holding something back—words, or maybe the scream in his chest—and disappeared down the stairs.

Leaving you alone again.

The cold crept in as soon as he left, biting at your skin and wrapping around your ribs like a hollow ache.

You stared at the spot where he'd been, at the faint trail of smoke still curling from the squashed cigarette. Then, slowly, your gaze dropped back to the Forget-Me-Not's in your lap.

You sighed.

***

Mattheo was pissed off again.

Theo swore up and down that he hadn’t taken the lighter, which only made Mattheo tear through the dorm in a fury—rummaging through drawers, knocking over books, slamming open cabinets like the thing he was looking for might vanish if he didn’t get to it fast enough.

His wrist was already red and irritated, covered in faint scratches from how often he scratched at it now. Some nervous habit that had crept in without him noticing. It didn’t help. It never helped. Every time his fingers twitched toward that spot on his skin, it felt like he was supposed to find something there. Like something used to be there. Something that mattered.

But it was always nothing.

He yanked open his nightstand drawer again, rifling through clutter and broken quills and the chaos of his own impatience—and paused.

There, wedged between a tattered book and a scrap of parchment, was a small, flattened flower.

A faded blue. Edges browned and curled. Limp, like it had been forgotten for ages.

Mattheo blinked at it, confusion flickering briefly across his features—before his expression twisted into irritation.

“Bloody hell, Theo,” He muttered, snatching it up, “Tell your latest girl to keep her sappy crap out of my things.”

He didn’t know why it made him so angry. Maybe it was the idea of someone else’s sentimental leftovers tucked between his stuff. Maybe it was how… familiar it looked. But that only annoyed him more.

He crushed the flower in his fist and stormed over to the trash, dropping it in without ceremony. Wiped his hand on his trousers like it’d left something behind.

And that should’ve been it.

But it wasn’t.

Hours later, he was still restless. Still scratching at his wrist. Still glancing, without meaning to, toward the drawer where it had come from. Toward the bin where it lay now.

The feeling wouldn’t go away. The unease stayed curled around his ribs like a secret. That damn flower—it was nothing. So why did it feel like everything?

He stood up.

Crossed the room.

And dug through the bin.

There it was—crumpled, soft, and broken now. He lifted it carefully, petals cracking under his fingers.

Something inside him shifted. Just slightly. Like a door creaking open somewhere in the distance.

But nothing came through.

No memory. No explanation.

Only that feeling.

He shoved the flower back into the drawer, slammed it shut like it could bury whatever was clawing at the edge of his mind.

But it lingered.

Gnawing. Heavy. A strange, aching knowing:

He was missing something.

Something important.

***

The dorm was loud when they got back from Hogsmeade—Theo and Draco bickering over whether Honeydukes or Zonko’s was the superior stop, Blaise tossing his coat onto Mattheo’s bed without a care, and Lorenzo humming some obnoxious tune he must’ve picked up at the Three Broomsticks.

Mattheo didn’t say much.

He was still on edge—still fidgeting, still scratching at the inside of his wrist like his skin could give him answers. The chill in his bones hadn’t faded, and neither had the strange weight that had settled in his chest days ago.

Ever since that flower.

Ever since he lost his lighter.

He dropped his bag onto the bed and started to unpack: Chocolate Frogs. Licorice Wands. Cockroach Clusters—Theo’s, obviously. A new pack of cigarettes.

And then—

“Oi, Riddle,” Theo called from across the room, “Since when do you eat Sugar Quills?”

Mattheo frowned, “I don’t.”

Theo held up the pink-and-blue striped box like he was unveiling a crime scene, “Then what’s this doing in your bag?”

The moment Mattheo laid eyes on it, something echoed in his head. You’ll like it eventually.

He blinked.

Crossing the room, he took the box, turning it over in his hands like maybe it would offer some kind of explanation.

“I didn’t buy this.” He said, voice firm.

“You sure?” Blaise asked, brows raised, “You didn’t go into Honeydukes and black out in a sugar trance, you big back? You’ve got, like, twelve of these. Mate, what the hell—you’re gonna get diabetes.”

Mattheo rolled his eyes, “I’d never buy these. I hate them. Too sweet. They make my teeth feel like they’re rotting out of my skull.”

Draco smirked, “Aww, are the cigarettes finally rotting your brain too?”

Mattheo didn’t laugh.

He just stared at the box.

He didn’t remember buying it.

But his hands did.

The same way they reached for his wrist like something used to be there.

Like someone used to be there.

He sat down heavily on his bed, still holding the sweets.

His jaw clenched.

“I didn’t buy this.” He repeated, quieter this time. Almost like he was trying to convince himself.

But deep down, he wasn’t sure anymore.

***

He hadn’t meant to go up to the Astronomy Tower.

Not really.

His legs just carried him there, like they always fucking did lately. Like instinct. Like muscle memory. Like his body was trying to remember something his mind couldn’t.

He kept doing things he didn’t mean to do—walking into places without knowing why, reaching for things he didn’t remember losing. It felt like his own body was betraying him. His mind was slipping, fading at the edges, and it was starting to scare him.

He couldn’t remember things.

He scratched at his wrist until it burned—red, raw, relentless. He felt wrong every night when he lay down to sleep, like he was somewhere he didn’t belong. And every morning he woke up with a hollow in his chest, like he’d just lost something—someone—in a dream he could never quite remember.

And this tower.

This fucking tower.

It made his skin itch. Made his hands shake. Made him want to scream and break things and disappear into its stone walls, all at once. It offered a kind of comfort he didn’t understand—a familiarity he couldn’t explain—which angered him more.

But tonight—it was different.

Because when he stepped onto the final stair, he saw you.

And the air was punched from his lungs.

You were sitting cross-legged in your usual spot, the stars painting silver on your skin, your hair spilling down your back like ink across parchment. You didn’t see him. You were too focused on something resting in your hands.

Then it clicked.

Flick. Clink.

That sound.

He stopped cold.

The lighter.

His lighter.

You were flipping it open and closed, spinning it through your fingers with a rhythm that was too natural—like it was yours. Like it had always been yours.

Mattheo’s stomach twisted hard.

He couldn’t breathe.

He knew that lighter. He’d turned the entire dorm upside down searching for it. Tore open every drawer, snapped at Theo, cursed until his throat was raw. He scratched at his wrist for weeks—like something had been ripped from it.

And there it was.

Right there.

In your hands.

And then—everything hit him.

“You’ll like it eventually.” You giggled, chewing on the Sugar Quill Mattheo had reluctantly picked up for you at Honeydukes earlier that day.

He grimaced, visibly cringing as you crunched through the overly sweet treat. The sound alone made his teeth hurt. He could practically feel the sugar coating his molars just by watching you. It was going to get stuck between your teeth—he knew it—and while he wasn’t exactly a stickler for dental hygiene like Granger (he smoked, for Merlin’s sake), Sugar Quills were where he drew the line.

Still, you tore into the next package with such delight, he couldn’t find it in himself to berate you. He simply gagged—dramatically, of course—when you offered him a bite.

“I’m gonna Pavlov you into liking these.” You teased, that mischievous glint sparking in your eyes.

Mattheo’s brows furrowed, “What’s tha—?”

He didn’t get to finish.

You grabbed the sides of his face and kissed him—open-mouthed, unrelenting, sweet as sin. He froze for half a second before melting into it, letting your sugar-coated tongue slip past his defenses and press the sickeningly sweet taste right onto his own.

When you pulled away, his lips were sticky, glistening with syrup.

He swallowed, stunned.

“So?” You asked, clearly too pleased with yourself.

Mattheo blinked, then licked his lips, “They’re... not that bad.”

You laughed—bright, triumphant, and a little breathless.

It was another late night at the Astronomy Tower.

The stars were out, scattered across the sky like someone had spilled glitter over velvet, and the air had that sharp, biting chill that clung to your skin no matter how many layers you wore.

Mattheo leaned against the metal railing, eyes half-lidded, a cigarette dangling between his fingers.

“You want one?” He asked, offering it to you with a lazy smirk, smoke curling from his lips.

You wrinkled your nose, “I'm not kissing you if you smoke that.”

He chuckled, teeth flashing, “Is that a challenge?”

You shot him a look and snatched the lighter from his hand instead—silver, scratched, familiar. It was always warm, always had just the right amount of heft to it.

“Oi,” He said, eyebrows lifting, “That’s mine.”

“Not anymore,” You replied, holding it up like a trophy, “Finders, keepers.”

Mattheo pushed off the rail, slow and predatory, “You think stealing my lighter’s gonna get me to stop?”

“No,” You said innocently, slipping it into your robes, the metal cool against your chest, “Just… now I have something that reminds me of you.”

He was close now. Close enough that you could see the flicker of amusement in his eyes, the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He tilted his head, “You really need a souvenir to remember me by?”

You tried to sound casual, breezy, unaffected—even though your heart was thudding like mad, “Maybe I just like collecting little pieces of you.”

His smirk softened into something quieter. Gentler.

His fingers brushed your jaw, slow and deliberate, thumb tracing just under your eye. “You already have me,” He said, voice low. “Completely.”

You swallowed hard.

“I know,” You whispered.

And you did.

But you still kept the lighter.

Just in case.

One evening, he pulled a fast one on you.

You were sitting alone in the library, curled into the corner of your favorite window seat with a book in your lap, half-lost in the pages. Your hair was pulled back loosely, strands a bit wild from the wind that afternoon, but held together by your trusty hair tie.

Mattheo had been there a moment ago—pretending to study, but mostly just watching you with that unreadable expression he wore when he thought you wouldn’t notice.

And then suddenly— Fingers. Gentle and quick.

He slipped behind you like a shadow, and before you could even register his presence, he plucked the hair tie from your ponytail in one smooth, practiced motion.

Your hair tumbled down around your shoulders, soft waves cascading freely as you gasped and whipped around.

But he was already gone.

All that remained was the faint sound of his laughter disappearing down the corridor.

You found him two floors down, strolling like he hadn’t just committed a crime of war against your scalp.

“Mattheo!” You called, breathless and irritated—more flustered than anything else.

He spun around with that devilish grin that made you want to slap and kiss him all at once. “What?” He said, all faux innocence, “I’m sentimental.”

You shot him a look—equal parts annoyance and barely hidden affection—that made his heart stutter. It was the kind of look that made him want to drop to his knees just to hear you laugh.

“You’re a kleptomaniac.” You said, marching up to him.

Mattheo held up the hair tie, lazily looping it around his fingers before slipping it around his wrist like a bracelet. “It’s not stealing if it’s love,” He quipped, “Now I’ve got something of yours, too.”

You narrowed your eyes, arms crossed, “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” He murmured, stepping close enough for his breath to tickle your skin, “You still love me.”

You rolled your eyes but let him steal a quick kiss anyway. Just a brush of his lips against yours. Then you turned on your heel and walked away before he could get even more smug.

But later, at breakfast, you noticed.

He sat with his chin resting in his hand, pretending to listen to Theo ramble about god-knows-what, while the fingers of his other hand fidgeted absently with your black hair tie. Twisting it. Letting it snap against his wrist like a grounding tether.

You saw how he kept it during exams. How he twisted it when he was anxious. How his shoulders always relaxed a little more with it there.

You never asked for it back.

It was early spring, the air fresh with promise and the world just beginning to wake. You and Mattheo had slipped away from the noisy halls of Hogwarts, finding a quiet spot near the edge of the Forbidden Forest where wildflowers grew in soft clusters.

You spotted the tiny blue blossoms first—forget-me-nots, fragile and delicate, like little pieces of the sky nestled in the grass. Their soft petals seemed to glow faintly in the dappled sunlight.

Without a word, you bent down and carefully picked one, holding it between your fingers like a secret—its slender stem cool against your skin.

Mattheo watched you with that rare softness in his eyes, his usual guarded expression melting away just enough to let you see the boy beneath the bravado.

You stepped closer, your fingers brushing lightly against the dark curls at his temple as you tucked the forget-me-not behind his ear. The vivid blue popped beautifully against the deep shade of his hair.

“You look pretty good in blue, Matty,” You teased, voice warm and a little breathless, “Pity you weren’t smart enough to get into Ravenclaw.”

He smirked, one brow arching, “Smart enough to land you, thank you very much. Besides, I prefer being underestimated.”

You laughed softly, the sound bubbling up like a melody he wanted to bottle and carry with him forever, “Sure, keep telling yourself that.”

And then, to your surprise, he didn’t brush the flower away. He just stood there, letting you lean in again—tucking more blossoms into his hair, weaving them gently between his curls. Blue and lavender and a soft yellow bloom, until he looked like something half-wild, half-divine. He only rolled his eyes once, but never told you to stop.

“They’ll think I’ve gone soft.” He muttered, not bothering to hide the fond smile twitching at his lips.

You tilted your head, mock-serious, “They’ll think you’ve finally gotten taste.”

He didn’t take the flowers down. Not when you walked back together. Not when you kissed him goodbye just outside the castle, fingers brushing over his hand like you didn’t want to let go.

But as the stone walls of Hogwarts came back into view, and the sounds of students filtered into the air again, reality sank in.

Your relationship was still a secret — something held in the quiet, in shadows and stolen spaces. Not because you were ashamed, but because the world wouldn’t understand. Because in the daylight, things were louder, crueler, more complicated.

So Mattheo paused, just before you stepped into view of the courtyard. His fingers reached up slowly, brushing through his curls, dislodging the little blooms one by one.

He didn’t look at you as he did it — maybe because he knew if he did, he wouldn’t be able to go through with it.

By the time you reached the castle steps, his hair was bare again. No trace of the wildflowers you’d threaded there with so much affection. Just the same dark, unruly curls — and the carefully unreadable expression he wore so well.

But the forget-me-not? That one he kept. The first one you tucked behind his ear — soft, sky-blue, and still warm from your touch.

He palmed it quietly, slipping it into his jacket pocket like something far more precious than it looked.

Later that night, once the castle had gone quiet and his dorm was dark, he pulled it out again. Held it in the moonlight. Turned it gently between his fingers like it might crumble if he breathed too hard.

Then, like a secret he meant to keep safe forever, he slid it between the pages of a book and tucked it into the drawer beside his bed.

The first time you knew something was wrong, Mattheo flinched when you touched his arm.

It was late — one of your usual hidden meetups by the Black Lake. The sky was an ink spill overhead, stars scattered and silent. He’d been jittery the entire night. Pacing. Checking behind trees. Lighting a cigarette only to toss it into the water before even taking a drag.

You reached for him, “Mattheo, what’s going on?”

He looked at you like he wasn’t really seeing you — his eyes wide and distant, jaw clenched like he was holding something in his mouth that tasted like blood.

“My father’s coming to Hogwarts,” He said quietly, “Not officially. But… he’s been asking questions.”

You felt the cold seep into your chest like water through fabric.

“About you?” You asked, voice hollow, “About us?”

Mattheo hesitated — just long enough to make the answer obvious.

“He can’t know anything,” He said, “But he’s… suspicious. He doesn’t like when I get distracted. When I get soft.”

Your breath hitched, “You’re not soft, Mattheo. You’re—”

“I am with you,” He said, voice breaking, “And that’s the problem.”

After that, things changed.

He didn’t say he was pulling away — he just did. His touches grew shorter, his presence tighter, like he was wound up and couldn’t afford to unravel. He still showed up, but his eyes darted constantly — over your shoulder, into the shadows, like he was always expecting someone else to be there.

Then one night, he didn’t come at all.

You waited at your usual place for over two hours, fingers frozen and heart pacing.

When he finally appeared, it was nearly morning. You were curled on the stone steps of the Owlery, eyes red from cold and fear and something worse.

“You can’t just vanish on me.” You hissed, standing up the moment you saw him.

“I was in detention—”

“You’re lying.”

And his silence confirmed it.

Then, suddenly — he did something he hadn’t done in weeks.

He stepped forward, cupped your face in both hands, and kissed you like it was the last time. Like the world was ending and you were the only thing left worth saving. It was desperate, deep, a confession poured through parted lips.

When he pulled away, his shoulders were shaking.

“I need you to do something for me.”

“No,” You said immediately, because your heart already knew where this was going, “No. Don’t you dare.”

“Please,” He whispered, “You’re the only person I trust. The only one I—”

He stopped himself. Swallowed. Opened his eyes again — and this time, you saw it. Pure terror.

You backed away, “So your solution is to make me forget?”

“Not you,” He said quickly, desperate, “Me.”

You stared at him, stunned, “Mattheo—”

“If my father reads my mind—if he sees you—he’ll come for you. He won’t ask questions. He won’t give you time. He’ll just… take you.”

Your voice cracked, “You know how to protect your mind—Occlumency, you’ve been practicing—”

“It’s not enough,” He said, quietly, “Not against him. Not forever.”

“You know how to do it,” He added, “You’re brilliant. You always have been.”

“That’s not the point!” You cried, “You won’t remember me. Us. Anything.”

“I’d rather forget you than bury you.” He said.

And that was when the tears came.

“I don’t want to,” He choked, “But it’s the only way. You know it is.”

And deep down… you did.

You waited. Waited for him to change his mind. To reach for you and say never mind, say run away with me, say I’ll figure it out.

But he didn’t.

He just closed his eyes.

And nodded.

Your wand trembled in your hand.

He reached forward, gently brushing your hair back behind your ear — his touch unbearably tender.

“I’m sorry,” He whispered, “If things were different—”

“Don’t,” You said, stepping back, your voice a broken whisper, “Please don’t.”

And with hands that wouldn’t stop shaking, with your throat tight and your chest split open, you raised your wand.

You didn’t even need to say it loud.

“Obliviate.”

The moment the light faded, you knew you’d made the wrong choice.

He blinked. Once. Twice.

And then… his eyes didn’t settle on you. They moved right past you, like you weren’t even there. Like you were just another shadow in the morning fog, barely even looking at you as he walked away, not saying another word to you.

Stranger. Stranger. Stranger.

You dropped your wand and cupped a hand over your mouth, falling to your knees before your legs could even register it. The sob tore out of you like a wound — raw and keening and endless.

Why had you listened to him?

Why hadn’t you fought harder?

Why hadn’t you told him you loved him one last time?

Why hadn’t you heard him out — really heard him — when he tried to tell you about his dreams of a different life?

Now you were all alone, doubled over on the stone floor, sobbing into the fabric of your robes, fingers clutching the last thing you had left of him—

His lighter.

Still warm from his pocket.

Still heavy with everything he forgot.

Mattheo staggered back a step, like he’d been hit.

You looked up at him, panic flaring in your eyes as you noticed the way he stared — wide-eyed, horrified, stunned. You immediately closed the lighter in your palm, like the damage hadn’t already been done.

"Mattheo..." You whispered, voice barely audible.

He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. His heart was hammering so hard he thought it might stop entirely.

"You," He said, voice cracking, trembling with something raw, "You—"

You stood quickly, as if trying to close the space between you might somehow take it all back, “It’s not what you think—”

"Don’t," He cut you off sharply, eyes bright with something too painful to name, “Don’t lie to me right now. Please.”

You glanced down at the lighter still clutched in your hand — tarnished silver, the initials worn smooth, familiar in a way you could never explain away. Your throat burned. Your heart twisted. The thought of letting it go felt like tearing your soul from your body.

But your fingers moved anyway.

You held it out to him, your hand shaking slightly, silently begging — don’t take it. Don’t make me give this up.

"I found it in one of the classrooms," You said softly, voice paper-thin, not meeting his eyes, "If it’s yours... you can have it back."

Mattheo’s expression crumpled. His gaze flicked from the lighter to your face — and stayed there.

Something cracked inside him.

Because now that he really looked at you—he saw everything. The faint glassiness in your eyes. The twitch of your mouth as you tried to keep it from trembling. The hollowness in your expression that matched the ache inside his chest.

Salazar. How had he not seen you?

He'd looked right past you in that classroom. Days ago. Sat barely feet away and missed the way you blinked too fast. Missed the way your shoulders curled inward like you were trying not to fall apart. Missed every detail of the face he used to know better than his own.

How the fuck could he have forgotten you?

The realization hit him like a punch to the ribs.

Had he really let you go without a fight?

Now you were standing here, holding his lighter out like it weighed more than it should, like giving it up might tear you in half. And he could see the way your other hand was clenched behind your back, knuckles white, like you were physically holding yourself back from something—from reaching for him, maybe, or from falling to pieces.

He didn’t take the lighter.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t even breathe.

“I want it back.” He said quietly, voice cracking.

Your hand flinched.

But he wasn’t looking at the lighter anymore.

His eyes dropped to his wrist. Empty.

He remembered now. The hair tie. Black and fraying from how often he used to play with it.

“I want the hair tie back.” He whispered.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Mattheo took a step forward. Slowly, carefully, like you might disappear again.

And your hand began to shake.

Your eyes flickered all over his face—his brows, his lips, the curve of his jaw—as if searching for proof, for something to hold onto. And when you finally found it, that flicker of recognition in his eyes, your breath hitched. Your heart began to thump wildly against your ribcage, like it knew what was coming before your mind could catch up.

“Y-You… do you remember—?” Your voice cracked, brittle with hope and fear.

Mattheo's eyes didn’t waver.

“Remember that I’m in love with you?” He said softly, “I could never forget that.”

Your lips parted in a soundless gasp as the words landed. Your eyes filled with tears so fast they spilled over before you could stop them, hot and stinging as they traced down your cheeks. A sob escaped your throat as you closed the distance and threw your arms around him, burying your face into his shoulder like the world might fall away if you didn’t hold on tight enough.

And then your fist hit his back. Not hard—but enough to make him feel it. Again. And again.

“You horrible man,” You choked out between sobs, “You awful man. You left me alone for so long. You left me alone with all the memories of you. You let me watch as you moved past me without even acknowledging me—while I waited and prayed and begged for you to look at me just once.”

Mattheo clutched you tighter, his own throat thick with emotion, his arms trembling around your waist.

“I’m sorry,” He whispered, voice wrecked, “I’m so sorry.”

And he meant it—meant it with everything he was. Because now he could feel what he’d been missing all this time. Not just the memories. Not just the pain. But you—your arms, your scent, the way your voice broke when you cried, the weight of everything you’d carried alone.

Mattheo clutched you tighter like he was scared you’d disappear if he loosened his grip. His voice trembled as the dam inside him cracked open, everything he’d locked away pouring out with it.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N). I’m so—so sorry,” He murmured against your hair, the words shaky and breathless, “I’m sorry for leaving you alone. For making you carry it all by yourself.”

You hiccuped through another sob, your hands bunching the fabric of his shirt, your face still buried in his shoulder as if you were terrified this moment might end.

“I never could forget you,” He continued, voice raw, “Even when I didn’t remember… it was like the essence of you had been interwoven with the very fabric of my soul.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes glassy, jaw tight like he was barely holding himself together.

“I was looking for you, even when I didn’t know who I was looking for,” He said, “I saw you in my dreams, I heard your voice in the empty echoes of a room—I felt you there with me. Like my heart remembered you even when my mind couldn’t.”

Your tears came harder at that—relief, grief, love, and anger colliding inside your chest so violently it almost knocked the air from your lungs.

“I thought I was losing my mind,” He whispered, cupping your face like you were the most delicate, precious thing in the world, “Because everything felt wrong without you. Everything.”

His thumb brushed beneath your eye, catching a tear.

You were trembling, sobbing quietly as you leaned into his touch, hands clutching his wrists now like you needed to anchor yourself to him.

"Tell me." You whispered, voice trembling, raw. Vulnerable.

Mattheo paused, his breath catching in his throat.

"Tell me what you would do if things were different," You continued, "I asked you to stop that day... but I’ve regretted nothing more."

His features softened—pain flickering across his expression like a ghost. Slowly, carefully, he reached out and brushed a strand of hair from your cheek, his fingers lingering there, like he wasn’t quite ready to let go.

“If things were different,” He said, voice hoarse, “I’d announce to the entire world that I’m hopelessly, irrevocably in love with you.”

Your breath hitched as his thumb grazed your skin again, so gently it made you ache.

“I’d tie myself to you with an unbreakable vow without a second thought,” He added, his throat tightening painfully around the words, “I wouldn’t hesitate—not for a single second.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, letting the tears fall freely. Hot streaks down your cheeks. But Mattheo was already there, wiping them away as fast as they came, like he could undo the hurt if he just tried hard enough.

“We’d graduate together,” He murmured, “and move into some tiny flat close to your work—something small, maybe a little messy, but cozy. Ours.”

You laughed softly through the tears, already imagining it. He smiled faintly too, the kind of smile that was equal parts love and heartbreak.

“And we’d argue about furniture,” He added, eyes glinting, “Because obviously I’d want dark wood—rich and elegant, fits the whole brooding Slytherin vibe—”

“—and I’d want something light,” You interrupted, a wobbly grin forming, “Warm and soft. Welcoming.”

“Exactly,” He said, voice thick but fond, “We’d compromise. Or maybe I’d just let you win, because seeing you happy would be worth more than being right.”

You let out a shaky breath, and he pressed his forehead to yours.

“I’d support you completely as you started your career,” He whispered, “being the househusband of your dreams—your very own doting malewife.”

You laughed again, really laughed this time, and his heart nearly cracked open at the sound. He cupped your face, eyes shining with unshed tears, and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“I’d keep the place spotless, cook you dinner, be there every night when you got home—just to hug you and tell you how proud I am.”

You were crying again. He didn’t try to stop you this time.

“Then once you were settled, really settled... I’d ask you to marry me,” He whispered, “And you’d say yes.”

Your breath caught, and he leaned in closer.

“We’d move far away from here. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere by the sea. And we’d build a life—peaceful, messy, ours.”

He paused, his voice faltering with emotion.

“Maybe we’d have a kid. Or two,” He said, his hand moving to rest gently over your heart, “And we’d raise them right. With kindness. With patience. With love.”

He swallowed thickly, blinking fast.

“We’d give them everything we never had,” He whispered, “We’d give them a home. A real one. One where they never have to question if they’re wanted. Or loved.”

Silence stretched between you—thick with longing and mourning and love that had never really gone away.

And in that quiet, you leaned forward, resting your forehead against his once more, tears mixing with his.

“I love you, Mattheo.”

The silence that followed was soft, reverent—like the universe had paused just long enough to let the words sink into the spaces they belonged. Mattheo’s chest rose and fell, his jaw trembling as he took your face in both hands.

“I love you, (Y/N).” His voice was barely more than a whisper, but it was raw, certain, “More than I can express. More than even I understand.”

You pulled back just enough to see his face, your eyes searching his. “What now?” You whispered.

He looked at you for a long moment—his gaze steady, intense, as if he was trying to memorize every inch of your face all over again. Then he shook his head with a small, breathless laugh that sounded half broken, half amazed.

“I don’t know,” He admitted honestly, his eyes searching yours, “I really don’t. I thought this plan of mine was foolproof. Now I realize that no magic on Earth could keep me from you.”

His thumb brushed softly along your cheekbone, grounding you in the moment, like he needed you to feel every word.

“But we’ll figure it out,” He murmured, “Together.”

His voice dropped, fierce and tender all at once, “There’s no way I’m ever leaving you alone again.”

And you believed him.

The silence between you was thick with everything unsaid, everything still fragile and aching and hopeful.

You sniffled, tears drying on your cheeks as your lips curled into the ghost of a smile, “You really didn’t get sorted into Ravenclaw, huh?”

He blinked, “What?”

“If you had just thought of all this months ago, we could’ve avoided… well, all of this.”

Mattheo let out a breath of laughter, warm and hoarse. His eyes shone—not just with relief, but with something softer, something that looked a lot like joy. “Brilliant timing’s never been my strong suit,” He said, cupping the back of your head and pulling you gently toward him.

“And yet,” He added, brushing his forehead to yours, “You still love me.”

Then he kissed you—slow and reverent, like a promise being made without words. And you kissed him back, like a vow being answered.

Not perfect. Not finished.

But finally, finally starting again.

***

Bonus (3 years later):

It had taken them months.

Theo had stormed through libraries and pubs, interrogated shopkeepers and old Hogwarts portraits. Draco had used every Ministry connection he had, even bribed a goblin or two. Enzo swore up and down he’d seen Mattheo in Paris (he hadn’t). Blaise exhausted every last connection in his effort to find him.

They were chasing a ghost.

Mattheo had vanished the moment he turned seventeen. No note. No warning. Just gone.

You stayed behind. Finished the year. Graduated. And then disappeared too, vanishing without a trace.

Now, with the war finally over—Voldemort gone, the dust settled—they were left sorting through the wreckage. And only now had the truth surfaced. Mattheo Riddle, the Dark Lord’s son, had been funneling secrets to Dumbledore the entire time. A double agent. A traitor to his bloodline. A hero, some dared to say.

But no one had seen him since.

Until now.

After following a trail of half-clues and rumors, here they were—standing in front of a sun-washed cottage perched on a cliffside in Greece, the Aegean sparkling behind them like a dream.

Theo knocked.

Draco crossed his arms.

“This is ridiculous,” Enzo muttered, “We should still be checking those shady pubs in Transylvania. That prat always wanted to go drag racing there.”

The door creaked open—and there you were.

Their jaws collectively dropped.

“Hi,” You said, startled but steady. A little older, a little different—but still unmistakably you, “Can I help you?”

“I know you,” Draco said, snapping his fingers, “You’re that Gryffindor girl—the one who used to creepily stare at Riddle.”

Your mouth fell open. Creepily? Really?

Then, from deeper inside the house:

“Love? Who’s at the door?”

Mattheo’s voice.

Their hearts stopped.

Before anyone could react, he stepped into view—shirtless, barefoot, hair messy and eyes half-lidded from sleep. He froze when he saw them.

Theo blinked like his brain wasn’t catching up. Blaise muttered something about hallucinations. Draco looked ready to demand blood. Enzo just pointed, wide-eyed.

“Mate,” He said slowly, “what the actual fuck.”

Mattheo ran a hand through his hair and exhaled like he’d just been hit by a Bludger, “Wow. Okay. This is... unexpected.”

“Well, don’t just stand there!” You whispered, nudging him, “Invite them in!”

“…Right. Uh—come in. I guess.”

The four of them stepped inside cautiously, like crossing the threshold of something sacred. The living room was cozy and sunlit, scattered with books, candles, and—

“Hold up,” Enzo blurted, pointing at a pastel blue baby onesie draped over the arm of the couch, “What the hell is that?!”

Mattheo’s mouth opened.

Then closed.

Then opened again.

Before he could say anything—

A soft, high-pitched wail echoed down the hallway.

And it hit them all like a Bludger to the head.

Theo staggered back. Blaise grabbed the bookshelf for support. Enzo looked like he was about to pass out. Draco let out a strangled “No fucking way.”

You sighed, unfazed, and brushed past them all toward the hallway, “I’ve got him, don’t worry.”

Mattheo watched you go, rubbing the back of his neck, caught somewhere between pride and panic.

The room was silent for a beat before Theo finally broke it, voice rough:

“Mattheo. Riddle.”

He turned slowly, lips twitching with a smirk.

“You have a baby?!”

“HOW?!” Enzo yelled.

Mattheo deadpanned, “Well, when a mummy and a daddy love each other very much—”

“Shut the fuck up!” Draco and Blaise snapped in perfect unison.

Before anyone could add another word, you reappeared—cradling a sleepy, blinking infant in your arms.

His dark curls were mussed from sleep, one tiny fist clutched near his face, eyes fluttering as he took in the unfamiliar faces. He had Mattheo’s wild hair, the same furrowed brow, and—when his lashes finally lifted—the same stormy, soul-piercing eyes as his father.

“This is Leo.” You said gently.

Draco went rigid, color draining from his face. He pointed an unsteady finger between you and Mattheo.

“I think—I’m—oh Merlin—I think I’m having a heart attack. I need to sit down.”

Blaise put his head in his hands and groaned, “I can’t believe I crossed international borders for this.”

***

Forever Taglist:

@simonsbluee

@notslaybabes

@superheroesaremyjam113263

@writers-whirlwind

#mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle imagine #slytherin boys x reader #mattheo riddle angst #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle oneshot #mattheo riddle fanfic

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axetivev · 3 days ago

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— Summary: Aventurine's birthday is getting close! You, his boyfriend. Was struggling on what you should give him, since you can't really afford something expensive. Until you saw a red ribbon lying around the living room, a lightbulb flicked on top of your head.

— Warnings/Tags: Blindfold, BDSM [Shibari], Nipple play, Ridding. (there's nothing much help)

— Words: 1k

— A/N: first request in May ! i'm pretty much still busy... and had some writerblock along the way. but hey, requesting is still open ! thank you to the anon who requested this. forgive me if it's too short ! i hope everyone enjoyed this fic !!

— Pairing: Aventurine x Male!Reader

Aventurine’s birthday was just right around the corner. You found yourself in the kitchen, thinking of what you should get to him.

Should I get him a new coat? You mentality asked yourself, but then shook your head thinking about how you can’t really afford it with your own money. Well, you wanted it to be special. Why should you use Aventurine’s money? It doesn’t feel special that way. You just mindlessly stare at the kitchen counter.

You sighed, nearly defeated as you walked to the couch. You face pressed to the soft material, groaning. You slowly looked up, your eyes slowly met with a red line—a ribbon from a box of chocolate Aventurine always gave you before he get back to work. Your eyes lit up.

Got it!!

When Aventurine’s birthday came, you told him, that he’d had something special. Your eyes landed at both on your phone and the time. Watching a tutorial of how to do shibari. You stare at the screen as the women, muted as she showed the step.

…Too fast. Why didn’t you practice when you had time a few days before his birthday? You kept repeated the video over and over again, you nearly forgot how many times you messed your rope. You flick your tongue, trying to bond your naked body to the red ribbon. Eventually, lost track of time. You sighed at your failed attempts.

“How cute, still struggling?”

“Yeah, the video is too fast,” you answered defeated. For a moment, the silence stretch, your eyes widened as you realized that voice. “A–Aven!?”

Aventurine smirked as he kneel down behind you, his expensive clothing pressed against your bare back as he rested his head over your shoulder. “You’re pretty when you struggle…”

You rolled your eyes. “Well, thanks for ruining the surprise, Aven.”

Aventurine pouts, playfully nibbled your neck. “Can I help? Pretty please…”

“Aventurine—” Your sentence was cut by a gasp, Aventurine’s hand reached your dick as he slowly moved his hand, his gloved thumb slowly played with the slit. Your eyes widened. You slowly turned your head to find Aventurine nothing but smug. “F–fine… you can…”

Well, you’ve failed to surprised him. If only you didn’t procrastinate a few days prior, you’d give him a surprise Aventurine would never forget. You just sat on Aventurine’s bed as the blond tied your body with that red ribbon. You actually felt embarrassed by this, who wouldn’t?

Your hands were bound to your back, tied tight but not tight enough to make you feel uncomfortable. You body too was wrapped by the red ribbon, bounding your body as one. Aventurine took a moment to exam his masterpiece, a smirk played on his lips as he slit a hand over the ribbon. “Comfy?”

You were too embarrassed to say something, your eyes just followed Aventurine’s hand, his right hand moved over the areola. You whimpered the moment he brushed over your bud—Aventurine noticed your expression. He then shamelessly pinched your right nipple, you gasped, your nipple immediately hardened. Aventurine hummed, “I’m taking that as a yes.”

Aventurine then moved you over body, placing you on his lap, he made himself comfortable by resting to the headrest. His purple-blue eyes bore into you, he turned his head to the nightstand next to his bed, pulling a red silk from the drawer. You raised and eyebrow. “What’s that for—”

“I’m the birthday boy… can’t I do something that I want?” Aventurine whined, resting his head over your bounded chest. Your face reddened, he just smirked as he covered your eyes with the silk.

It felt soft, like a typical silk. Your vision was dark red. You couldn’t see anything. Literally. The only thing you could do now was only feel, you slowly squirm by the feeling. No one was watching. Simply Aventurine saw you in your most vulnerable state. But you still felt embarrassed about it, Aventurine’s the birthday boy. You also planned this anyway.

Your mind kept tracing, embarrassment slowly overfilled you, you didn’t even realize Aventurine’s fingers went to your hole. You heard a sigh coming from his lips, though you can’t see anything, you knew he shook his head with something, perhaps. Amusement.

“You already prepared yourself…” Aventurine muttered, he smiled as he bring his hand over his pants, slowly pulling his pants along with his boxer. “That’s nice, but how did you do it?”

He didn’t give you time to answer, with speed, he lifted you up and slammed you over his cock, a moan—loud and clear escaped from your lips. Your toes curled, Aventurine’s tip was kissing over your prostate. Yes—you’ve prepared yourself before this but you didn’t calculate this.

Aventurine’s hands nicely placed over your waist. He immediately plunged his cock over your hole, fucking it so much without sense of mercy. Hitting your prostate repeatedly.

Tears slowly stained the blindfold. Your cock twitched by each thrust, your hole was already feeling sore and this is just the first round. It didn’t take long for your dick slowly give in and

“Cumming already?” Aventurine let out a cruel laugh as he delivers a smack over your buttcheek, leaving a sting. That only made your dick erect. He continues his unforgiving pace, you whimpered.

You gasped the moment you felt warm liquid filled your hole, the blindfold was wet with your tears, you pant—gasping for air. You expect Aventurine you pulled out, instead, his cock was still deep inside of you, tip rubbing your prostate. Aventurine grabbed the ribbon that still bound strong over your body—pulling you up close while his ofree hand played with your nipple.

“We aren’t done yet, pretty.” He whispered to your ear, making you jolted when you felt Aventurine’s cock twitched.

“The birthday boy isn’t satisfied yet.”

After two hours. Your body was sore… like really. You felt you can’t move a muscle. Your body was stained by cum. But Aventurine was kind enough to carry you to the bathroom.

The ribbons and billfold was already gone, your eyes felt like burning after those two hours. Tired as fuck. You felt you were seated over the slippers bathtub, your body was surrounded by warm water. You slowly rubbed your eyes when Aventurine sat behind you. His hand slowly massaging your shoulder.

“The birthday boy is now satisfied.” Aventurine grin, placing his head over your shoulder. Even though you’re tired, you still had the energy to rolled your eyes.

“[Name]… baby? Handsome? Hot stuff~?” He pouted his lips, sure. He made you exhausted, he placed his hand over your chin—guiding you over his lips as he pressed your lips against his. Almost hesitant. Usually, that’s how he apologize.

Honestly, you want to scold him. But the fact he actually prepared this for you—the warm bath and it had your favorite scent… you leaned against his kiss.

“You won this time gambler…” You muttered between the kiss. Aventurine just deeps the kiss. He slowly pulled away as he pinned you against the bathtub. “AVENTURINE, WE AREN’T GOING TO HAVE SEX IN THIS BATHTUB—!!”

#axetive's works !#Aventurine #hsr aventurine #aventurine x reader #aventurine x male reader #male reader #x male reader #bottom male reader

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overangel · 2 days ago

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αƒтєя мι∂ηιgнт

❥ This is a yandere batfam x neglected reader story.

act 1, act 2, act 3

You take the first steps towards your new life and prepare for the battlefield that is Wayne manor. Alfred chooses you. He will always choose you, and Jason Todd starts to move. Fuck the legacy. MDNI 18+, TW: suicide (past life), parental death, depression & anxiety, pseudo-incest

You were going to need as much codeine as Nurse Patrice could carry. Sprinkle in a little oxy too. Would it look like you had a problem if you asked for a morphine drip?

Willing to risk the suspicion, you tried to raise your left pointer finger towards the nurse call button, but your strength failed you. A strangled growl vibrated around the ET tube.

‘I’d even take a tylenol at this point!’

Another night’s sleep in the hospital was another week fighting the dummy in the pocket dimension. That made it two weeks of training and that meant two weeks of pushing your body farther than it had ever gone before.

You sniffled, 'I knew I wasn't weak.' You had been called that word so many times that you took it as an immutable fact, but that false truth was starting to crack.

That dummy was like the real thing—his moves, his ferocity, the viciousness with trained precision in his youth that tempered with maturity and became a lethal force for good as he aged—it was all so familiar.

You swallowed a nervous lump around the ET tube.

You had felt enough pain over the last couple of days and finally accepted your predicament for what it was.

This really wasn’t a dream, afterall.

The beatings you took in the pocket dimension felt like what you got in the real world but on steroids. When you felt your ribs being broken, you actually felt them snap and puncture a lung when you failed to evade him, and then could feel the bone mending itself so you could continue the fight. The internal bleeding ceased and the puncture wound closed.

You were getting real time consequences of the fight, but healing simultaneously so you could keep going. It was disorienting as you watched your shattered shin bone rip through your skin and felt the white hot pain that brought tears and stars to your eyes, only for it to mend itself and disappear without a trace in seconds.

It’s like something wouldn’t let you give up even if you wanted to, but retreating was the furthest thing from your mind now. If you quit here, you’d never get to where you wanted to be, and all you wanted was to be able to protect yourself.

To not be a victim.

To not let anyone make you feel the way you did before. There was no point in getting this second chance at life if you didn’t make it count.

Besides fighting, your goals also included your education.

This was one of your greatest shames. You closed your eyes, the soft morning sunbeams suddenly too much.

Your mom and family had been so proud of you. She and nana, and all of your aunts, uncles, and cousins swore you could be whatever you wanted to be, and If there was one thing in your life you were sure of, it was that they believed in you completely with all they had.

Then, you were taken in by Bruce Wayne and the ghouls and wraiths that haunted both the manor and the man set upon you and stole your soul.

You weren’t a stranger to anxiety and depression before the Waynes, but there was just something about that man and about the ghosts—that were far from just metaphorical—that latched on to you and made you the sacrifice.

That word.

Ｓａｃｒｉｆｉｃｅ.

Were all the lives lost that day a sacrifice? Four hundred and thirty-two dead, and for what?

Performative outrage that was smoothed over when a handsome man trotted out his beautiful kids and showed how compassionate he was?

Was it forgiven and forgotten when the lost princess was whisked away to the castle on the hill by the king?

They all bought what Bruce Wayne sold.

You were starting to hear the waves crashing again and turned your mind back on topic.

Education.

You’re sure it broke your nana’s heart that you barely graduated high school. She was long gone but you could feel the guilt weighing you down in this life as well. This isn’t the way she left you. The woman you became under that roof wasn’t who you were meant to be.

You thought of your worst subject and scowled.

‘I need to get a head start before I go back to school...’

In the past, you begged to go to a regular public school and you barely graduated then with the lax coursework.

It was hard. there was a target on your back before your first day. So many lunch breaks were spent having panic attacks in the bathroom, but at least lower income to upper middle class was the crowd you understood over the elite.

Sadly, you couldn’t go back to public school this time. You only had two years to secure a good enough transcript and some accolades for admission to a decent college.

You were going to fulfill your Nana’s dream of being college educated.

And if you had to be a Wayne to do it? You were going to milk that legacy for all it’s worth.

Just think of getting every penny of the child support your mother never filed for with interest. What’s wrong with collecting your and your mother’s due?

Not a damn thing.

You shut your eyes for a moment and found yourself standing in the pocket dimension. The dirt wasn’t as dry as it had once been, and the grass was starting to sprout green.

The Damian dummy was gone since you wouldn’t need him, but there was a new addition to your space. Sat at the base of the lonely tree, was a short table with several books and notebooks on top of it. Walking closer, they were textbooks in the subjects you were the worst at. You sat on the pillow behind the table and picked up a pencil, not knowing where to start.

You read the cover of the first textbook, and turned to the front page. ‘You shouldn’t be able to read in dreams.’ But you could read it as clearly as if you were awake.

‘Well, I wanted to improve…’ You grumbled, thinking you’d rather take a physical beatdown over a mental one.

You awake after a short nap, blinking the shapes and letters from your vision. The textbook pages were still fresh in your mind and you found that you were still holding the pencil you were using. You brought it to the real world and stared at it in disbelief.

A polite knock resounded through the room, and a familiar face peered in through the gap. “Hello, Young Mistress Y/n.”

You jumped and almost poked yourself with the pencil but it disappeared from sight when you gave it a surprised squeeze.

The soreness immediately left your muscles when you saw who it was. You perked up and twisted about and Alfred Pennyworth crossed the room in graceful strides to stand beside you.

“Did you sleep well?” Despite your smile being hidden behind the ventilator’s mask, he could tell you were beaming since your eyes crinkled and softened when you gazed up at him.

“I’ve come bearing gifts.” He took a seat in the armchair at your bedside and put a bag in your lap. Both of your hands were still heavily bandaged and your right arm was in a sling, so he gingerly opened the bag for you and produced a cell phone box.

“Young people these days and their gadgets.” He chided sarcastically as he powered on the phone and you both watched the animation.

It was a pleasant silence, a young person and an older person marveling at a smartphone, when he said “It has your old phone number.”

The air went still, and the only sound you could hear was the blood in your ears and your panicked thoughts.

How did he know?

Why did he think about you?

He was always the one thinking about your feelings. Why did he care? Why didn't he just follow everyone else's lead when they decided you weren't worth the effort? Why didn't he follow his master when it came to you?

He pulled down the navigation menu and you saw that your main email was already listed and you were signed into the carrier with your old account.

Your phone had been the last thing on your mind, but months later it would hit you that it was gone. Years worth of texts and memories would be gone without a trace. It was like Alfred was making sure you stayed where he could reach you.

You tried to wipe the tears that clouded your vision and were race hot tracks down your cheeks, as Alfred took the phone and typed something before showing it to you again.

“And now you have my number, Young Mistress.”

The name 'Alfred Pennyworth' was saved there proudly at the top of your contacts as a favorite, right beside your mother's, Nana’s, and closest friends. You laid back in your pillows and cried. Everyone you loved was right there.

It's just that most of them would never pick up again.

Alfred made quick work and pulled up the text-to-speech app he was most excited for and tapped your arm. “Young Mistress,” you pulled yourself together and wiped your blurry eyes. The bandages were itchy against your skin.

“Would you mind typing something for me?” He presented the smartphone to you and you recognized that it was the latest model when you were 16. It was a flex if someone had this, and the cases for it were the cutest.

You remember admiring your classmates’ phones. Your mom could never afford a high end model for you, but you were more sad instead of envious.

Now, Alfred presented it to you in pristine condition and you knew that it was his doing.

He went to the outlet and picked it up himself.

He probably had someone like Tim retrieve your passwords, but he logged into your emails and configured it so it’d be easily accessible to you, so you wouldn't be kicking yourself for not being able to remember a simple login after your entire life had been ripped from you.

You took the phone at a loss for words. What could you say to him? There was too much to say and so much that hadn't even happened yet that he wouldn't understand. You stared at the text window as the cursor blinked.

You could never let him know how much he meant to you, not now at least, you'd look insane. However, in time, you would definitely make him proud too.

You laid the device in your lap and gently entered your message, deleting and correcting several times because your fingers twitched.

After rereading the message you took a shuddering breath and hit “Enter.”

“𝐼'𝓂 𝓈𝑜 𝑔𝓁𝒶𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝓇𝑒 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒.”

You held your breath and Alfred was stunned for a moment before a grin broke across his face. “I'm glad to be here, Young Mistress.”

You beamed, “𝑀𝓎 𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝒾𝓈 𝒴/𝓃.”

“I'm aware, Young Mistress Y/n. Hm," He mused, “Ms. Y/n L/n. It has a lovely ring to it.”

“𝐼𝓉'𝓈 𝒶 𝓅𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝓊𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝑒𝑒𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊, 𝑀𝓇. 𝒫𝑒𝓃𝓃𝓎𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓉𝒽.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” He placed a hand over his heart and bowed slightly. “And please, there's no need for titles with me. Alfred is perfect.”

“𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝒸𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝑒 '𝒴/𝓃.'”

The smile that rose to his eyes betrayed the professionalism, “No problem at all, Young Mistress Y/n.”

“𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝓂𝑒𝒶𝓃.”

“I'm afraid that I don't.”

“𝒥𝓊𝓈𝓉 '𝒴/𝓃' 𝒾𝓈 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝒻𝑒𝒸𝓉.”

“I agree, she is.”

You lifted and raised your legs in a mock tantrum. You would've pressed your lips together if you could and your cheeks burned.

“𝒩𝑜 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓂𝒶𝓁𝒾𝓉𝒾𝑒𝓈, 𝓅𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑒!”

“I can't do that, Young Mistress. There is etiquette that I must follow as head butler of the Wayne family.”

“𝐵𝓊𝓉 𝐼'𝓂 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒶 𝒲𝒶𝓎𝓃𝑒.”

His heart clenched, he incorrectly assumed you already felt like you didn't belong. Little did he know, you didn't want to.

“You are. You are by blood and will soon be in name, and that is something no one can take from you.” He took your hand in his and looked into your eyes in the same reassuring way he would when he told you your panic attacks didn't make you weak.

“𝐵𝓎 𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑒?”

“Yes, you will soon be Y/n Wayne. We thought it would be appropriate to wait until you woke up and had time to settle in.”

‘’We’ meaning you, right?’ You thought.

You let him think you believed that.

You hated the name 'Wayne'. You carried it with you like an idiot in the past. A Wayne in name with none of the perks, but since you’ve resolved to use that name to your advantage—you were talking transcripts, college admissions, and scholarships here—you were going to take it again but with some stipulations.

You were going to change it after you accomplished what you wanted to do and didn't need it as a fallback, and you weren't giving up your identity to try to fit in again.

“𝒞𝒶𝓃 𝐼 𝒶𝓈𝓀 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔?” The AI voice sounded particularly pitiful which worked in your favor.

“Anything.”

“𝒞𝒶𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝓊𝓇𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝒷𝑒 𝐿/𝓃-𝒲𝒶𝓎𝓃𝑒? 𝐼 𝒶𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓀𝑒𝑒𝓅 𝓂𝓎 𝓂𝒶𝓂𝒶 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓂𝑒.”

And make the Waynes an afterthought.

“Oh.” You are always surprising him, “I don't see why not.” He rubbed his chin as he pondered. “Young Mistress Y/n L/n-Wayne.” Trying on each syllable for size.

You squinted at him to show the dissatisfaction with the long and frilly title while his eyes held a hint of mischief.

You switched gears, “𝒟𝑜 𝐼 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝓎 𝓈𝒾𝒷𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈?”

This was a subject that Alfred was more than prepared for. He had wished for you to get adjusted and start bonding with you new siblings as soon as possible, and although they didn’t visit, he dropped seeds of interest about you whenever he could, and now it was time to plant those same seeds for your siblings with you.

“Where should I begin?” He exhaled and thought back to the beginning when Dick was brought home. “I was willing to accept the manor being child-free forever with Master Bruce’s bachelor lifestyle, so you can imagine my surprise when he brought home this young boy just out of the blue—”

You rested comfortably and gazed at him. You didn’t take in a word because these people were your least favorite topic, but you enjoyed whenever Alfred explained something. He could make the most mundane feel worth knowing.

“I was more prepared when he brought Master Jason home.”

You made a show of perking up at the name, he caught your renewed interest and continued with gusto.

“He was much smaller than other boys his age, but his heart was far larger than most.” You hugged a pillow as Alfred spoke of Jason like he was his own grandson.

He explained how Jason possessed an inner strength rarely found in grown (it broke his heart someone had to grow up so fast. It hurt every time I see it.), and was an avid reader who enjoyed finding first additions together and studying the craftsmanship.

“I’m still so proud of him.” and Alfred stopped before getting to the Second Robin’s final chapter, when Robin ended and the Red Hood began.

You knew about it all, but kept quiet. To the rest of the world, Bruce Wayne’s second adopted son died by a tragic accident only for it to be revealed to the public to be a misunderstanding.

The public had a way of rolling with whatever it was fed, but you knew that Jason had been a “child soldier” and that was something you would never forgive Bruce for.

“𝒟𝑜𝑒𝓈 𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔?”

Alfred smiled, “Once a bookworm, always a bookworm.”

You peppered him with questions about Jason, coming across as really looking forward to having a big brother to protect you and he was more than happy to indulge.

You were so good at the game, discussing books and themes, circling back to Jason in some way or other, that Alfred didn’t have a chance to talk up Tim and the others or your only actual blood-related sibling.

“𝐼’𝓂 𝓈𝑜𝓇𝓇𝓎 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑜𝓌𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈 𝒶𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊.”

Alfred felt like he was splashed by a scalding pot of Earl Grey. “Perish the thought. Speaking with you brightened this old man’s day.” He checked his pocket watch, visibly dimming at the time.

“𝐼’𝓂 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝑒𝓍𝒸𝒾𝓉𝑒𝒹. 𝐼’𝓋𝑒 𝒶𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒶 𝒷𝒾𝑔 𝒷𝓇𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝑜 𝓅𝓇𝑜𝓉𝑒𝒸𝓉 𝓂𝑒.” You looked down shyly and fiddled with the blanket self consciously.

“𝒜𝓃𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒷𝒶𝓈𝒾𝒸𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝓇𝒶𝒾𝓈𝑒𝒹 𝒽𝒾𝓂 𝓈𝑜 𝐼’𝓂 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝑜𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓌𝒶𝓇𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝒾𝓉!”

Alfred’s heart swelled. “I’m sure he feels the same way, dear girl.”

He would make sure of it.

You bid Alfred a good evening, and he walked the halls with his heart soaring. He would share everything he learned about you with Jason, and was going to move heaven and Earth to make sure you were loved as you deserved.

You snuggled under the blankets after Alfred left. If all went according to plan you would make a second ally before even reaching Wayne manor.

A phone that only accepted one phone number vibrated, and ᴊᴀꜱᴏɴ ᴛᴏᴅᴅ dropped from the pullup bar knowing exactly who was on the other end.

“'Sup?”

“Master Jason, I’m so glad you answered.” The accented voice came through smoothly.

“Of course, Alfred. What’s up?”

“Must something be up, Master Jason?”

Jason raised a brow that Alfred somehow detected.

“I wanted to share good news.”

“Oh? Are you finally taking that Elder singles cruise?”

“Haha,” Alfred said flatly, “and miss out on our chats in favor of cocktails in Tahiti? Never.” Jason grinned, the sarcasm in Alfred’s voice wasn’t heavy and burdened. He sounded light, actually. Like something caught him from falling.

“I spent my afternoon with someone and we discussed books and cinema. I almost doubted the literacy of the younger generation, but she restored my faith in humanity.”

“Now, she sounds like an incredible person.”

“She is, and that’s why I’d like you to meet her.”

The record scratched.

“Look, Alfred, I don’t need to be set up—”

“It’s Young Mistress Y/n.”

Alfred didn’t break the silence and let Jason’s mind lead the way.

ʏ/ɴ.

The girl he had only seen on the news. There wasn’t a channel that hadn’t shown that million dollar picture, or a Gothamite who hadn’t seen the bloodied face of Bruce Wayne’s daughter.

Jason didn’t know how to feel about you. You were discovered because of tragedy and being reunited with your billionaire father should’ve been the sign that things were looking up for you.

This should’ve been your golden ticket, so why did he feel like things would only get worse for you in Bruce Wayne’s care?

“Out of the frying pan and into the fire…” He whispered to himself. Nothing could ever equal the suffering you were already experiencing, but you would face a new dilemma when you officially became a Wayne.

First of all, you were a civilian. An extremely vulnerable civilian that Bruce Wayne wouldn’t be equipped to care for in the ways you needed: emotionally.

“This is going to be a disaster.”

“It’s not like she hasn’t survived one before.”

Jason twitched, he didn’t mean to let that thought slip. “Alfred, seriously. You don’t think this is a good idea, right?”

“It’s a great idea.”

“She needs to be around normal people, Alfred.”

“She needs to be around people who will understand her.”

“Exactly!”

“And who better than someone who’s been to hell and back.”

Jason went silent. Damn you, Alfred Pennyworth.

“She had many hot takes.” The butler offered.

Jason snorted, and shifted the phone to his other ear, settling in for what may be a long chat. “Okay, Alfred, let’s hear ‘em.”

They talked late into the night like how they did so many years before when Jason’s biggest problems were math homework and if Bruce would let him patrol that night. There was laughter, and for a moment they both forgot how cruel the world could be.

These were the moments worth fighting for.

After the call ended, Jason got a text from Alfred with your phone number.

His thumb hovered over the screen, so close to swiping it away, but then he saved it.

It wouldn’t hurt. Just in case.

The ET tube was removed ahead of schedule and Alfred could finally see your pretty face. The bandage beside your left eye was still there and it hurt to smile too wide, but you were so expressive and he loved it. It was as if he could hear your voice speaking instead of the AI from your phone.

He was looking forward to your laugh. He could tell by the rapport you two had built in only a few days, that your laughter would come easily.

You two watched telenovelas and he guided you through tactile exercises to strengthen your hands and maintain dexterity. Sometimes a tear would spring from your eyes, but your eyes were relentless as they had been in that photo that shocked the world.

He knew you would thrive at the manor.

You quickly noticed that Alfred wasn’t your only guest.

After Alfred leaves and the dusk stains the sky in pinks and purples, the creatures of the night begin to stir. A presence cloaked in black, born in the shadows, watches you attentively.

The first night, he watched from the roof of a medical building far across the campus. He was able to spy you from his scope when Alfred left the blinds opened at just the right angle.

You read and he enjoyed watching your emotions play across your face. He could watch you for hours, following the story alongside you. He stood in position for so long that his legs were on pins and needles. That’s when he realized he had watched you for hours.

The following night, he was closer, just on the roof above the medical pavilion facing your room. He had a knack for avoiding light, natural or artificial, he found the darkness and made it home.

Tonight, he watched you from your window and frowned as you kept rereading the same sentence, unable to concentrate. A frown twisted your lips and you huffed, finally closing the book and setting it aside.

Anticipation prevented you from focusing no matter how engaging the story was. You officially started PT tomorrow which would be the most physical work you've done in the real world since the flood.

It would hurt just as much as your training with the dummy if not more and you hoped you could shoot through it all and finish on target.

You remembered the frustrated tears. The trembling, the falls, the hopelessness that came with the creeping fear that you would never have what you once had. ‘What if I had taken it all for granted?’

Jason watched, his brows furrowed as he could sense that you were going to do something you shouldn’t. You sat up and threw the blanket from your legs. You hadn’t taken a step in weeks and you couldn’t wait until tomorrow to see if you could.

You turned to the side and dragged your numb legs to the edge of the bed.

“She isn’t…” Jason was pulling out his phone and swiping to Alfred’s contact without taking his eyes from you. Alfred didn’t make him wait, “We’ve got a runner!”

“Excuse me?”

“She’s going to—ah, damn it!”

Jason shoved his phone in his topic and started sprinting across the roof, eyes focused as you dropped your legs over the side of the bed.

He pulled a grapple gun from his belt, shot and secured a good grasp on the roof of your building’s roof, and swung forward with a running leap. He was at your windows in seconds and didn’t have the grace to stop himself with it being such a short distance.

He hit the window with a gloved hand and knee guard and the bang almost startled you off the bed.

You froze before you could set a single toe on the floor.

You two stared at each other. His red lenses and mask didn’t reveal his feelings, but you could imagine the embarrassed look on his face.

You grinned and silently chuckled. He’s like a bird that crashed into the really shiny window from those cleaning commercials.

You put your weight against the bed and was about to lean forward to take a step before you heard two deliberate taps at your window.

Looking up, you saw the Red Hood shaking his head. Your smile grew more as you locked eyes with his goggles and gingerly lifted a foot to take a step.

He stopped nodding and stared.

You pulled your legs back from the edge. No sound came out, and it hurt too much to speak, but he could see you shake with laughter.

He watched this all, astonished. Why weren’t you afraid?

He knew you weren’t from Gotham, so it'd make sense why you wouldn’t recognize an infamous vigilante from Gotham and The Hill, but why weren't you scrambling for help from a masked weirdo at your 13th floor window?

‘She must be on a lot of meds.’ Jason thinks to himself.

You look at him, with your grin shrinking into a normal half-smile. He wasn’t expecting the attention tonight, Actually, he wasn’t expecting any attention at all.

Giving away his presence wasn’t the plan, but he just had to play the good guy and not let an injured girl fall to the floor in front of him.

He wasn’t a monster.

You chewed the inside of your cheek in thought. He was hyper aware of every move you made.

He would see your smile and your sparkling eyes when he closed his eyes for weeks.

You'd drawn him out, and fought the triumphant grin from spreading across your face.

In your past life, Jason ignored you, but never really ridiculed you. He looked at you from the corner of his eyes, his lips curled in dissatisfaction when you were sad—when you were weak. You always had the feeling that you disgusted him with your vulnerability. And why wouldn't he? He was the type to not break under adversity, but apparently you were the type who did.

Maybe it was hard for him to watch.

You would never know that he avoided you because he thought you were too precious for him to touch.

Your softness, your humanity, your compassion even when the world and your family did everything it could to beat it out of you. The spot of darkness that you sometimes fed and sometimes starved, he knew it all.

He wanted it all.

But he ruined everything he touched.

He convinced himself that getting close to you was a delusion, and that self-sabotage caused him to miss out.

Before he could even act on it, you had sealed yourself in that damned room. He put up a guard between you two, but you locked the padlock and threw away the key.

When your life ended, he realized that he deluded himself into thinking that staying away for you was for your safety, when he was truly just trying to protect himself.

He was the weak one.

You dragged yourself back against your pillows and tossed the blanket back over your legs. Jason hadn’t thought to pull himself from the window while you weren’t looking since his brain was short-circuiting. Damn you, Alfred Pennyworth.

You looked back at him and smiled dreamily. You waved and closed your eyes.

He hoped the spell you cast on him would wear off soon, and he waited but his legs wouldn’t move on their own. “Oh, fuck this.” He forced his legs beneath him and propelled from the roof and swung across the medical campus and away to clear his head.

He wasn't expecting that.

He wasn’t expecting you, and your big clear eyes that seemed to see all of him beneath that mask and show no fear. He wasn’t expecting the cheeky grins and easy laughter, and he wasn’t expecting to want to see you again so soon.

“Come on, Young Mistress. You can do this.” Alfred encouraged as he watched you on the parallel bars.

You shook violently and carried all of your weight in your trembling arms because you just knew that if you put even a pound of pressure on one foot you would drop.

Sweat beaded at your brow and you exhaled sharply from your nose. You placed half your weight in one foot and your hips immediately fell. Alfred waited anxiously on the side as the physical therapist helped you.

His jaw was set tightly, it was so hard to hold himself back but he needed you to improve by your own efforts so you could be healthy when he brought you to the manor. He repeated this to himself, trying to fight back the desire to catch you every time.

You huffed and carefully placed one foot in front of the other. Your sweaty palms almost lost their grip on the parallel bars and you shook them with your trembling.

Your ankle twisted and your arms gave out like you knew it would. You fell to the floor like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

Alfred gazed at you with admiration as you pulled yourself back up and started again. That determination was definitely a Wayne trait and he was sure your mother must’ve possessed the same as she worked hard to raise you well as a single mother.

He had never met her personally, but he meeting you told him that she must’ve been an amazing mother and woman to bring up someone like you.

So your days went on like that. Physical therapy, and cleaning your wounds, never allowed to push harder than your therapists said or you’d be sent 3 steps back in recovery.

In the pocket dimension, you studied tirelessly and trained with the dummy. The thing scowled at you and lashed out with killing intent, but it was an effective teacher. No words were spoken between you two, the dummy didn’t have the ability to speak, and you were glad for it.

You found out you could’ve liked Damian if he didn’t talk. Who knew?

Working hard was always a good thing, and you were making strides in the time in the hospital. You tried to calm your mind. You weren’t expecting a transformation overnight, but you were changing for the better and getting stronger by the day.

Besides reading, you practiced the arts. You were sure that Gotham Academy had excellent extra curricular programs including an art department so it wouldn't hurt to use it and put together a portfolio.

In your past life, you had given up what made your soul sing. Your hands felt unworthy to touch a pencil, your joints locked up in panic when you tried to press pen to paper. Hands hovered over keyboards at a loss for words and instruments lay silent as the grave.

One afternoon after therapy, you took a pencil and sheet of paper and sketched for the first time in years.

Alfred caught himself wondering where he had gone wrong when raising Bruce. He was proud, don’t get him wrong, but Alfred knew that he was guilty of enabling the man until he grew up and was able to disregard the butler’s concerns and advice entirely.

Alfred could only lament as he stitched shut a knife wound on Bruce’s shoulder with expert position. The Dark Knight droned on about protocols that would need to be updated, and chastised Damian for rushing ahead.

It was the same story, different day, and it only frustrated Alfred even more that they chose this monotony when there was a vibrant new life they should be welcoming with open arms.

Not only that, he hadn’t been able to visit you in 3 days! That first day, he was needed for air support. The second day, he was watching the comms while Batman, Red Robin, and Robin went on a manhunt. You didn’t add to the old man’s stress, though. You were patient and sent him updates on your PT progress, and hoped you weren’t bothering him.

The texts you managed to share throughout the day eased his nerves.

‘Nurse Patrice said ‘Hi!’ :D’

‘Did you see the new episode?’

Damian once watched the way Alfred’s eyes lit up at his phone before he could contain himself and sent the butler a quizzical frown. That was a close one.

At least Jason was having a good time. He watched you from afar from the moment the last rays of sunlight retreated from the sky. He was outside your window now, far closer than previous nights, emboldened by your cheerful reception nights ago.

He still remained one with the night and was undetectable by the naked eye, but he was so close now that it felt little he was there with you.

He watched every gesture; admired every facial expression. He scanned the covers of the books you held carefully in your bandaged hands and watched you as you watched TV.

He watched you as you slept.

You looked so fragile in the hospital bed amongst the tubing and monitors. The ET tube and neck brace had come off a few days prior, and now what remained was a splint and bandaging.

It was a quiet moment like this when there was nothing to watch that he finally acknowledged the feeling in his chest.

You were tucked away in a private hospital, only accessible to an elite class, and no one but Bruce Wayne's family members could get to you. You were safe, so why was he watching? Why did he stand guard like a knight outside of his lady's chambers? He wasn't in the bodyguard business.

But he wasn't as emotionally constipated as his adoptive father and could see this for what it was.

Something took root before he knew it, and he felt like he had fallen into a beautiful trap. In a matter of days, he developed an affection for and desire to protect a girl who he originally wasn't going to accept as his adopted sister weeks earlier.

All it took was a smile for you to completely disarm him.

He had always wanted to protect others, to be what stood between the innocent and the dangerous, but he failed every time he tried. He even accepted that he wasn't meant to be one of the ‘good guys.’

Maybe the kid of a junkie and dealer from Gotham's roughest streets wasn’t meant to be a hero, and he was just the last one to realize.

You stirred in bed and whimpered.

The hair on the back of his neck stood up and he leaned forward against the glass. You were having a nightmare, tears squeezed through your tightly shut lids as you gripped your blankets like a lifeline.

Your mouth popped open but no sound came out. He read your lips, felt your silent cries in his blood, 'Mama!' Your face twisted in anguish and he almost bashed in the window.

'I can't do this alone…' you broke down into silent sobs and struggled to breathe. He couldn't take it any longer and started loudly knocking on the window until you woke up.

Your eyes opened wide. You gasped for air painfully before looking to the source of the noise as the nightmare was being pulled away from you by invisible hands.

You looked to the window and saw red lenses on black goggles and a red half mask. Jason watched you and your pouty, trembling lips, and your startled eyes.

He wanted to reach through the window.

You smiled a soft, teary smile and waved again and mouthed a 'Thank you.' That almost made him slip from the window ledge.

You fixed your ventilator to your face and took steady breaths before you started hyperventilating. He watched as you settled into bed and even more after you closed your eyes.

Jason Todd had someone he wanted to protect.

You were being discharged soon after a few weeks of treatment and therapy. Alfred couldn't visit as much as he had wanted but bringing you home was a planned event and he made sure everyone knew he would be busy and that they should free up their schedules as well.

Damian was disgruntled and combative. He wasn't going to arrange his schedule for some “vagrant” and why should he stand on ceremony?

Alfred wondered if his patience was thinning with age, because at times like these venom coated his tongue ready to retort and thoroughly dress down his opponents, but he kept it under lock and behind his teeth.

Damian was a child, he reminded himself, he was merely taking his cues from his role model and father.

Bruce Wayne was the problem. Alfred hid away correspondence and froze all appointments and reminders on today's calendar. Bruce wouldn't need any distractions.

It wasn't lost on the butler that Jason had been poking around at the manor. He lazed about at the library or home theatre, but he wasn't invested in whatever he was doing. He just wanted to be near, waiting for Alfred to get the call that you were ready to be discharged.

Alfred, in his benevolence, decided not to tease him. He was going to eventually, of course, but now wasn't the time.

Jason slipped away for something when Alfred got the call he had been waiting weeks for. He flew as if he had stolen Hermes's winged sandals, jumping in the town car and beating traffic like he was Dom Toretto.

The gentleman was upstairs and at your door before his “visitor” sticker was fully stuck to his jacket, when you were being settled into your wheelchair.

“Ready, Young Mistress?”

You smiled the soft smile that made the space around you glow with sunlight.

Your hair was groomed and styled by Nurse Patrice and the casual outfit that Alfred had brought for you fit well. You felt good, and it was a strange sensation but you looked forward to getting to know the woman you would become.

“As ever.”

Alfred took the handles and wheeled you down the halls, you thanked the staff as you passed, truly grateful for their care and gave Nurse Patrice the longest hug. She and Alfred both laughed as you tried to drag her with you when Alfred tried to wheel you forward.

It was past the front desk, just before you crossed the entrance into the outside world and felt the sun against your skin, when you saw her.

Peeping from behind a corner was a little girl who was a mix of pale blue and mossy green and soaking wet.

Her hair and oversized T-shirt dripped water on the floor around her tiny, dirtied feet and your shoulders tensed more with every heavy “drip, drop, drip, drop.”

Matted hair was plastered to her face, but her large, sunken eyes penetrated the veil and stabbed into your spirit.

A victim of the flood.

You were a survivor and your father was at fault. Why did his child get to survive? Were the other children not special enough?

It was unfair that you got off and they were just another section on Bruce Wayne's wiki page when the media circus died. You knew the lives lost would be added with all the other ones Batman let slip through the cracks.

You wouldn’t carry his burden for him.

You stared at the girl, your eyes locked with her bottomless pools as you began to hear the waves crashing and feel the wind blow your hair, and a silent understanding was formed between you.

You reached back and gingerly touched Alfred’s hand as he wheeled you into the parking lot.

ʜɪꜱ ʟᴇɢᴀᴄʏ ᴡᴀꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴄʀᴏꜱꜱ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇᴀʀ.

To be continued.

Thanks sm for wanting to be tagged, and please let me know how I did and stop by to chat <3

@c4xcocoa @rythespy @chaoticmoontimetravel @sydneyyyya @linasrosetown @yuezodiaco @pearlyribbons @nirvanaxx1942 @alishii @galaxypurplerose @mourart7 @shycreatorreview @crispybelieverworld @simpingpandas @teabutnerdy @holderoflostmemories @cherrydaisymanic @victoria1676 @lilithskywalker @aelxr @kore-of-the-underworld @magdalenacarmila @therealme13posts @oxt3n

#yandere batfam #yandere dc comics #yandere imagines #yandere jason todd #yandere batfam x neglected reader #ty.writes

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drunkinyourbenz · 3 days ago

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୨ৎ i sleep so i can see you. b.e

୨ৎ billie eilish x fem!reader

୨ৎ genre: fluff and a hint of angst but MOSTLY fluff

୨ৎ content: implied homophobic family but they're not in this. this is honestly one of my favourite things i've ever written, they're so soft (and also at the beach I LOVE THE BEACH). swimming. just read and find out im giggling while i type thisssssss

୨ৎ note: MAJORLY based off sailor song by gigi perez <3 also heavily based off true blue by boygenius feeling very lesbian today.

୨ৎ wc: 2.6k

you and billie loved each other so truly, so deeply. you were two halves of a whole and you fell together perfectly. if soulmates existed, that was what you were. the connection between the two of you was electric and heartfelt and you could never wish for anything more. it made sense—very few things in your life had made sense until you met billie, and then everything seemed to click into place.

the sole problem was the world you lived in. the cruel, cruel world. you had accepted that you liked women long ago, and although it was hard with the family you had, you knew very well that you couldn't change a thing. it didn't help that you got the same homophobia from others everywhere you went. you couldn't escape it, no matter how hard you tried.

when the two of you came out as a couple, there was a lot of support, but there were also the repulsed reactions of others—it reminded you a little too much of your parents, exactly what you’d tried so desperately to escape from. it was strange, being gay, after being raised to believe it was deeply wrong. you were making it through, though. with billie by your side, perhaps you could make it through anything.

you were currently on tour with billie, and you had a few days between shows. so, the two of you naturally found your way out to the beach, where your heart felt at home.

it was a small, secluded little cove you'd found, the tree coverage sheltering the two of you from any unwanted attention. it was peaceful, as the two of you sat together, the waves lapping at your feet. one of your hands was intertwined with billie's, and the other was fiddling with some dainty seashells. your heart felt at peace, here with her.

your nails were painted a pale yellow, which she had picked out for you, and hers were painted a light summery green. that had been one of your pastimes in the hotel room, painting each others nails. billie adored doing anything like that for you, be it skincare, nails, makeup, you name it. she just loved taking care of you.

your head rested on her shoulder as the two of you sat by the water, the peaceful sounds of the waves gently lapping healing your heart.

the sun was just beginning to set over the water, painting a soft golden glow over the bay, and you have a small picnic basket of food to eat. these kind of dates, where it's just the two of you—where you’re normal people away from the view of the world… these were your favourites. it was healing in a way nothing else ever could be.

billie’s arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer against her side. she watched you as the setting sunlight gave your skin a warm glow, highlighting your features. the way the orange light played over your skin felt somewhat like a song to billie—a song she could write, perhaps one that you’d hear coming softly from her guitar in a week or two, a voice note to be recorded. a voice note that could be released, or could just stay as your song. the two of you had a lot of those.

leaning down, billie pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, before resting her chin on your shoulder. “beautiful,” her voice came as a soft murmur, as if she were scared of disrupting the peace the two of you had created so perfectly.

“you are,” you whispered back, pulling your eyes from the gently lapping tide to look into her eyes.

billie’s lips curled up, “i mean the sunset.”

your lips twisted upwards into a smile, and you hummed, “sure, love.” leaning in, you pressed a kiss to her lips, revelling in the way she leaned in as you pulled away, chasing your lips.

the smile on billie’s lips was permanent, a feature you felt so blessed to see as often as you did, “both you and the sunset are beautiful,” billie hummed again, not hiding the way she was still leaned in slightly, gaze drifting between your eyes and lips, “is that better?”

you laughed softly, “ much better.”

for what felt like hours—and possibly was, time had no meaning with her—the two of you just sat together, your head rested on her shoulder while you ate bits of food from the picnic you’d packed. after a while, she pulled you to your feet, hand reaching for your waist to steady you when you stumbled slightly on the rocks. she gestured towards the water with a grin, “wanna swim?”

“obviously,” you hummed in response, pulling your top over your head and hanging it over a low branch. both of you stripped down to your bikinis, billie grabbing your arm before you headed towards the water, pulling you in for a quick kiss.

the two of you stepped into the water, and you tensed slightly at the cold, hand snaking down to squeeze billie’s as you shivered slightly. she laughed at your reaction, but you could see the way she practically recoiled from the cold, stiffening up and tugging you closer. the two of you waded in ever so slowly, feeling like you were making progress, but in reality it had taken you five minutes for the water to reach your mid thighs.

billie’s hand let go of your own, and you barely had time to glance back at her in confusion before she’d pushed you forward into the water. you fell backwards, the water muffling the laughter you would have heard leaving her lips, the coldness enveloping you. a few seconds later, you’d resurfaced, water dripping down your skin, the remaining glow of the sunset illuminating your skin—and you saw the way billie faltered, that lovesick look in her eyes that you were so familiar with.

you took her pause to your advantage, reaching forward, hand closing around her wrist and pulling her into the water after you. her hands grasped for you as she plunged into the water, and she gasped when she rose again. she ran her hands through her hair that was dripping with water, attempting to tame it slightly, but to no avail.

“bitch,” she muttered, but there was no real bite to her words. lifting her hands, she splashed water towards your face, drawing giggles from you. you took in the way her dark hair looked sticking to her skin, the way the water dripped down her skin.

shivering slightly, billie whined, “i’m coooold.” tugging you towards her again, she wrapped her arms around you, clinging to you as she buried her head into the crook of your neck.

she stays like that for a long moment, just nuzzled into you, before her hands travelled down your waist to your hips. her thumbs moved in soft circles, the repetitive touches soothing you slightly. your arms moved, draping over her shoulder as you stepped the two of you backwards, deeper into the water.

the two of you stayed like that for a moment, before billie spoke softly, “baby?”

“hmm?”

“does it bother you? the things people say, i mean.”

you looked at her, thinking for a brief moment. “i mean, sometimes. a lot less than it used to.” pausing, your eyes travelled to the the last remains of the sunset before you continued, “i don’t think it matters when i’m with you. like, the happiness cancels out everything else.”

you saw the way her eyes lit up at those words, they way her whole body seemed to relax, “yeah,” she murmured. “yeah, same.”

billie gently lifted her head up so her chin was resting on your shoulder, and she nuzzled her face into your neck. the water was starting to grow colder, a soft bite to the chill of the cold night air, and billie let out an involuntary shiver.

“cold?” you whispered, hands moving to her arms, rhythmically moving up and down to warm her up slightly, feeling the muscles of her biceps under your touch.

“yeah.” billie sighed, “don’t wanna go in though. i like it here, with you. i don’t feel like i’m billie eilish with you, just bils.”

your lips twitched up, the same smile that had lit up her face earlier, “you’re always just bils with me, you never have to worry about that.” your gaze moved up to the sky, where the sunset had fully disappeared, replaced with the darkening blue sky. “it’s late, though. we should head back soon, we can cuddle.”

billie smiled softly, “can we come back here?”

“of course.”

the coldness of the night was more obvious once you were out of the water, and you shiver, reaching for a towel, passing a towel to billie as well. the two of you started to dry yourselves off in a gentle silence, the chill of the air becoming more apparent with each second that passed. billie glanced over at you as she put her towel in the bag, pulling on her jeans and hoodie over the bikini, and she took a second to appraise you as you dried yourself, her eyes roaming over your body in the dim moonlight.

your eyes flickered up, catching the lovestruck way she stared at you and feeling your lips twitch up into a grin—someone loving you as much as billie did was a blessing, truly.

“see something you like?”

“obviously.”

still grinning, you pulled on your jeans and another one of billie’s hoodies, grabbing your bag in one hand and her hand in the other, “let's get back to the car, i’m freezing my tits off.”

billie giggled, letting you pull her back up the winding, tree-covered path to the car, the flashlight on her phone lighting the way. you got to her sleek black car, opening the passenger door and slipping into the seat, instantly turning on the heater.

turning on the playlist that you and billie shared, the drive passed fast, with the music you knew and loved, billie’s hand on your thigh for most of the drive. soon enough, you pulled into the place where you were staying, which was just the tour bus for the night because it was a short overnight stop before you kept driving.

the two of you were still holding hands as you entered. finneas, maggie, and patrick all look up when the door opens, maggie and patrick together on the couch and finneas in the kitchen area. billie’s family adored you. truly, they all knew that there had never been anyone better for their daughter, and you were a part of the family.

"where'd you two disappear off to? we all got a little worried when you suddenly took off." maggie spoke, her warm smile on her face.

ÿou smiled softly, "we went down to a little cove by the beach, had a picnic. fucking freezing."

patrick let out a laugh, "ah, to be young and in love."

finneas turned around fully, leaning on the kitchen counter, “you guys make me want to throw up.”

scoffing, you spoke. “please, you can't talk. have you seen you and claudia?"

finneas rolled his eyes, “i hate you—” he didn’t hate you, of course. he adored you. he knew you made his sister happier than anyone else ever could, and that was more than enough for him. “i’m going to bed, y'all are annoying.”

it didn’t take long for the two of you to also head to bed—a small room at the back of the tour bus, which only really had a bed and some storage, but you and billie had made it feel cozy and as homey as you could. photos stuck up on the walls, fairy lights, the one potted plant that could survive the travel.

clothes shed to the floor—her eyes lingering on your body in a way that was simply appreciative, perhaps adoring. the two of you had your fair share of sexual intimacy, but tonight was not one of those nights. the two of you peeled off your slightly damp clothes, billie unable to stop her smile at the sight of you pulling on one of her oversized t-shirts.

before you knew it, the two of you were curled up under the blankets, limbs intertwined and her head resting on your chest, your fingers brushing through her hair soothingly. breathing synced, eyes shut, the two of you just lay together. you would be forever grateful that this was how all your nights ended, tangled up under the sheets with the girl you loved more than anything in the world.

nuzzling her face into the crook of your neck, billie’s lips gently brushed the skin of your collarbone where the t-shirt had slipped down ever so slightly. you breathed softly, not opening your eyes when you spoke.

“I wanna marry you one day,” your voice was barely audible—tentative, but not scared.

not missing a beat, billie hummed in sleepy agreement, while her lips curled into a smile against your skin. “mhm, one day you’re gonna be my wife.”

and just like you’d said you would, the two of you had returned to that cove.

around a year later, once you’d been home in los angeles for a few months, you’d suggested a holiday. a getaway from all the work things billie had going on, some time for just the two of you. billie had instantly brought up returning to new zealand, where the cove from that blissful evening a year ago had been.

so soon enough, the two of you had made your way there. new zealand was refreshing, in a way. it was as if billie wasn’t a celebrity, people would stare in awe for a second, perhaps approach her once, but then they’d move on with their days. it was the contrast you needed when you lived in los angeles, where billie only had to walk down a street with shark for two minutes to have the paparazzi in her face.

a year after that swim, a moment that you felt had been one of your favourites of your entire relationship with her. a year after those sleepy words, a year since the idea was seriously planted in billie’s head. a year later, the same cove, another sunset, another simple picnic.

it was straight out of a movie, the soft breeze, the painted sky, the image of the two of you sitting there together, your head resting on her shoulder.

it was like billie had planned it all out, the way you reached into the picnic basket for another piece of fruit, only for your hand to fall on a small box. you faltered slightly, pulling your hand from the basket and looking at the box in your hand for a long moment.

“open it.” billie’s gentle voice broke the silence.

and so you did. in the box sat a ring—a ring you could’ve sworn you’d mentioned to your best friend before. it wasn’t too extravagant, too flashy, it wasn’t a statement. it was just a gorgeous ring, one that you stared at in a trance for a long moment.

when you looked up, billie’s eyes were fixed on you. she had a slightly nervous look about her, and was fiddling with her hair, lips pursed slightly. still, she was smiling. a soft, small smile, eyes glued to you as she watched every single reaction you had to unboxing the ring she didn’t speak yet, letting you process the sight of the ring on your own. you could practically see the way her heart was racing, the way she was hoping with every fiber of her being that you'd say yes.

“will you–”

she didn’t need to finish her sentence, you already knew your answer, a smile lighting up your features as you stared at her for a second. you almost felt as though you were about to cry, and you reached out to take her hand that had been fidgeting with her hair.

“yeah. yeah, i will.”

୨ৎ tags: @47lake @st0nerlesb0 @n0vabug @darkside-0f-the-sun @asterisk-eyes @amara-eilish @dragoneyelashart @greenbttrflyy @bilswifee @tan1shere @asothinking @ilovealiceosemann @chrissv4mp @lovelyy-moonlight @b1lli3sgirl @giababyyyishereee @bitchesbrokenpromises @foliverfalls @cantlandonmyfeet

#୨ৎ lyd writes #billie eilish #billie eilish x reader #billie x reader #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish imagine #billie eilish fic #billie eilish fluff #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish x y/n #billie eilish x you

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batsybat91 · 1 day ago

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You've left the house to go grab some groceries, leaving Ghost all by himself. It was cute, trying to make him smile like that. You and him have never really... spoken before. To be honest, he thinks that might be the first true interaction you've had with him beyond, "Hey, did you do your chores yet?"

He calls Soap immediately. Soap went on vacation two days ago to visit home. When the Scottish bloke finally picks up, he sounds more than annoyed. "What is it now, ya daft idiot?"

"I haven't called you since you've been gone," Ghost retorts.

"Ye dinnae kill our sweet little roommate, did ye?" Soap asks, clearly repressing a groan. "Ach, I knew I shouldn't 'ave left you 'ome with her! It's like leaving a lion home to watch an antelope."

"Johnny. I haven't touched her," Ghost replies, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Then whyyyyy are ye callin' me?" he drawls.

"Because... she - bloody hell, Johnny - she told me terrible jokes last night, tryin' to get me to smile. Or laugh," sighs Ghost. "And it's the cutest fuckin' thing I've ever seen."

Soap is silent on the other end for a moment. Then the bastard starts snickering. "Aye, I see how it is. Someone's got a wee crush on our dear girl!"

"Don't call it a crush. That's childish," Ghost growls. "Listen, Johnny, what do I do about it?"

"Could just tell 'er."

"No."

"Could drink it away, then."

"No."

"Well, damn, Simon. Just keep shootin' me down, why don't ya?"

"Have better ideas, asshole."

"I dunnae know what you want me tae do!"

"How do I talk to her? What does she like?"

"Aren't ye Mr. Womanizer? I'm pretty sure you've had 15 hookups since she's lived with us!"

"It's different! She's not a one-time thing!"

"She likes colorin' books." Soap finally relents. "And concerts."

Ghost sighs in relief. He can work with that. "Thanks, Johnny."

"You're not welcome," he scoffs. "Don't call me again 'less it's an emergency! Em-er-gen-cy!"

"Right, right, I got it," Ghost grumbles, hanging up the call.

When you get home, Ghost helps you unload the groceries and put them away. You look at him like he's grown another head. But you don't say anything until after the groceries are put away. "Someone's social today," you tease.

"I hear you like coloring books," he blurts.

You feel like you've been flashbanged. Your ears start ringing, and you blink at him a few times to recover. "Yeah, doesn't everyone?"

"Can you show me?" he whispers.

Another dazed look appears on your face. You shake your head to clear it. "Who are you and what have you done with Simon Riley?" you laugh, poking him in the chest. "I thought you didn't talk."

"I want to talk to you," Ghost says, his brown eyes filled with such... emotion. You couldn't name it if you tried. A deep sorrow, perhaps. But that isn't enough to describe the look that was in those wet, brown eyes.

"Alright" you concede. "Let's color."

Part I

#🦇 batsy tag #drabble #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost cod #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #soap cod #johnny soap mactavish #fluff

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littlemillersbaby · 2 days ago

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request: Hi lovely person ! Could I request an angst to fluff piece with Joel miller? So I was thinking.. we always see Dbf! Joel smut, but I would really like something angsty with that trope. Maybe something along the lines of the reader and Joel being together in secret because you know being scared of judgment because of the age gap and stuff and not the father finding out. But then there's this woman, more to Joel's age coming into the picture, making reader insecure thinking she's not enough and too young and naive but in the end all turns out good? I'm a sucker for angst loll" word count: 1,2k warnings: cursing!

you were supposed to be past this by now. the self-doubt. the little pinpricks of anxiety you never used to feel before joel. the kind that bloom right in your chest; it hadn’t always been this bad. at the start, it had been electric—hiding, sneaking, the way his hands used to shake the first time he touched you like he couldn’t believe what he was doing. what you were letting him do.

but that was when it was new. now it’s just uncertain.

you came home early. you tell yourself you’re doing it to surprise him, but deep down, it’s selfish. you missed him, wanted to see him and hear that voice all rough and possessive. you were gonna kiss his neck and make him groan like he always does when you wrap your arms around his middle from behind.

but, once you get there, the front door’s already open. maybe he forgot to close it all the way? no way not joel.

within that small moment of you questioning why the door was open, you hear his sweet laugh and a woman’s voice.

you freeze in the entryway, sneakers still on, keys tight in your hand. you see them before they see you.

he was in the kitchen, leaning on the island like he lives here. it’s an image you always love—him comfortable in your house. like it’s his too. but next to him is her. she’s got one elbow on the counter, her whole body tilted toward him, her legs crossed while she’s laughing at something he just said, flipping her shiny brown hair off her shoulder with practiced ease.

your throat goes dry seeing him grin widely at her..he was yours for fucks sake.

your feet move before your brain decides where to go. you make a little too much noise, keys clattering on the hallway table, and the door clicks harder behind you than it should. you know you should smile. a joke, maybe? just say something.

joel turns around fast at the sound.

“hey, baby,” he says, but it’s careful, like he’s trying to read your mood before you’ve even said a word. he straightens up, steps away from the island.

the woman turns to you too. she’s prettier up close, older too. just right..like if he wasn’t with you, she’d be the natural fit. not your frayed little heart that’s too young to have any right wanting something this serious.

“hi,” you say, and it’s clipped and fake.

you try not to look at him. because you know if you do, it’ll all show. how suddenly, irrationally fucking insane your brain’s gotten.

joel must see it anyway, because his eyes narrow, not angry. just—watching, somewhat worried. the older woman pushes off the counter, smoothly. “i should head out,” she says, glancing at joel. “thanks for the help. you’re a lifesaver.”

joel nods, kind of tight-lipped now. “no problem. let me know if it doesn’t start again.” she smiles at you on the way past. you can’t bring yourself to return it. your face feels frozen in place.

joel waits until the door clicks behind her before he speaks.

“you good?” you’re still standing by the entryway, arms crossed like you were cold.

“who was that?” you ask, and it comes out cooler than you meant.

he runs a hand through his hair, sighs, steps toward you, rushing out the words. “her name’s elena. neighbor’s cousin. she’s in town for a bit; had some car trouble.”

you blink at his simple explanation. “oh.”

he studies you. “okay darlin', what’s goin’ on in that pretty head of yours?”

you almost laugh—but it’s bitter and sharp in your throat.

you walk past him toward the living room, not sure what you’re doing. you feel stupid, childish, pathetic. and still—you can’t stop. it’s gnawing at you. inside your chest, inside your bones.

you don’t sit down, just turn to face him.

“nothing. just…she’s pretty and normal. and probably not some big secret.”

he flinches. “what the hell does that mean?”

you wrap your arms tighter around yourself. “you know what it means. i’m the one you sneak around with. the one you don’t talk about. and then i walk in and you’re laughing with her like..like you’re not ashamed to be seen with her.”

his jaw works, tightens, then softens again.

“ashamed?” he echoes, incredulous. “is that what you think this is?”

you don’t answer. you just keep going because now that you’ve started it, it’s like you can’t stop. every thought you’ve shoved down in the last few months starts rising like bile in your throat.

“sometimes i just wonder how long this’ll last, you know? how long before you realize i’m too much or not enough. that this is all some dumb phase and you’re just waiting for a reason to bail. like maybe you wake up one day and look at me and wonder what the fuck you’re doing wasting time with some girl barely out of college who still calls her dad to ask how to fix her tires.”

joel walks to you, leans over you in an endearing manner. “hey..hey..look at me.”

you don’t want to. your eyes are wet and you feel like an idiot. but he cups your face in both hands, rough thumbs brushing your cheeks, and you have no choice.

he leans down, rests his forehead against yours.

“i love you,” he says. “i’m not goin’ anywhere. and don’t you ever—ever—talk about yourself like that again.”

your lip trembles as his grip tightens.

“you think i don’t wish i could take you everywhere? shout it from the rooftops that you’re mine? i do, baby. every fuckin’ day. i just…” he sighs, jaw clenching again. “i worry, alright? i know how people see me. old enough to know better. and you? you’re this bright, gotdamn beautiful thing, and i don’t wanna drag you down into all my mess.”

you shake your head, fast, angry now. “you don’t get to decide that for me, joel.”

he smiles fondly, even with the tension thick between you.

“i know. you keep remindin’ me. but this? this ain’t a fling. you’re not some secret i’m ashamed of. you’re the best thing in my life, i swear.”

you swallow. “then why does it feel like you’re always waiting for it to fall apart?”

he pulls you in—both arms around you, holding you so tight it aches. his lips press to your hair.

“’cause i don’t deserve you. but i’m selfish enough to keep you anyway.”

you squeeze your eyes shut, burying your face in his chest.

his voice rumbles in your ear. “you’re not too young. you’re not too much. you’re not anything but exactly what i want. every second. every day.”

you’re quiet a long time. his hand strokes your back comforting you.

“you smiled at her,” you whisper. “like it was easy to do.”

he leans back, just enough to look at you. “and you smile at bartenders when they spell your name right on your smoothies. doesn’t mean you wanna fuck ‘em.”

you snort against your will.

he grins. “see? there she is.”

you wrap your arms around his waist and hold on tight.

“i hate how much i love you,” you mumble into his shirt.

“nah,” he mutters, kissing your temple. “you love how much you love me.”

you roll your eyes, but you don’t let go. and never will.

special tags: @inbred-eater , @wintfleur , @lowrisemiller

#𓇢𓆸 requests #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller tlou #tlou fic #joel x reader #joel x you #joel x y/n #divider by @i-mmaculatus

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kiame-sama · 2 days ago

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Humans Are Extinct (Yandere!TWST x Fem!Reader) Monster AU pt 51

(Jasper is a student of Royal Sword Academy and has taken an intense interest in the Human that lives in Night Raven College. Where most RSA students have joined up to the 'Save the Human' fan club that has gathered in strength an numbers, Jasper feels it is a ridiculous club that is no better than the many poachers that have tried to move to Sage island. He believes that the Human should only be 'saved' if they want to be and that trying to save them against their will makes the students no better than the Poachers that have arrived in abundance. Jasper has also become rather well known for picking fights with poachers when he sees them among the general populous of Sage Island.)

Warnings; yandere, yandere behavior, multiple yanderes, platonic and romantic yanderes, conflict between yanderes, arguing, hurt feelings, semi-peaceful moments between stressful ones, Kalim refers to his father as 'Baba', party, confrontation, yanderes don't like being called out for being yandere, wishes, Shinigami, Dragon, Vampire Bat, Naga, Genie, Merfolk, Cecaelia, Selkie, Hellcat

~~~~

"You wished to speak, Lord Hades?"

The elder Shinigami turned to regard the Dragon that stood next to his typical Bat attendant, the both of them finally darkening the doorway to the dorm lounge. Where it was technically not Hades' domain, the Ramshackle dorm was where he had been staying for this complicated situation. Humans were a cherished and precious thing, it was only natural those around this last Human felt compelled to protect such a treasure.

"Yes. Come in, young Malleus. Take a seat."

The Dragon and Bat entered the lounge confidently, sitting across from the large Shinigami and his descendants. Idia and Ortho were not present, but their parents were as they sat expectantly watching the pair of Fae.

Shinigami and Fae typically got along well, especially those of the Night Fae variety. As they were both species that tended to live a long time compared to others, they were typically viewed as kindred spirits among one another. Even more so the Dragon Fae that lived until killed. This pair of Fae had no reason to believe that the Shinigami wished to discuss anything other than the wellbeing of the Human for this fact alone.

"I am certain you have been made aware of the Little One's recent transformation to that of a Selkie despite her lack of magic."

"Yes... I am surprised it happened so quickly and that she took to it as well as she did."

"Interesting you should mention your surprise, I would have assumed that you were acutely aware of the events taking place given you have poured so much magic into her already."

This comment made a cold expression take over Malleus' face, a kind of dark shadow settling in the crease of his frown. All his reaction did was prove that he was far more aware of the situation than even Hades had initially assumed. Where the Shinigami elder knew the temperamental and youthful Dragon would likely have some claim lain over the cherished Human, he was surprised to realize there was a level of intent laced over that claim.

Most Dragons claimed others unconsciously. Showing intense protective behavior and eventually integrating that individual into their Hoard without much fuss or theatrics. Putting their magic into others was common during this integration process, but Malleus just showed this was no instinctual call or misstep. It was intentional.

"..."

~•§•~

Kalim watched you with a pleasant smile on his lips, laying across the counter of the Scarabia kitchens. Despite how difficult it had been for the Genie to convince his fellow dorm leader to allow you to spend the evening among Scarabia students, he was happy you were around all the same. It had taken no less than a fair chunk of gold, Thaumarks, and a promise for a future debt to be repaid, but it was worth it to Kalim.

Even though the three Mercreatures had also accompanied you to the sandy dorm, it gave Kalim time with you. Jamil remained nearby just to keep Kalim from granting any wishes as you and the Naga cooked together.

Azul- despite his desire to not share an ounce of your attention- was rather pleased with how he came out on top in this interaction. It was worth it for the price the Genie paid and for the way that you smiled. You were so thrilled with the assortment of spices available to the sand-warmed dorm that it was hard for Azul to feel anything other than joy.

Naturally, Jade and Floyd were keen to bother and pester poor Jamil even while the Naga cooked. Jamil was trying quite hard to not show his irritation and present anything less than a cheerful disposition while you were around. The Twins took this effort of Jamil's and decided to take advantage of it, compelling the Naga to indulge their curiosity.

Even little Grim was thrilled to be around the kitchen as the official taste tester, his little wings fluttering whenever he got a spoonful of the food. Jamil was also keen to ensure the Kit stayed safe among the many heated surfaces and sharp objects, using his long tail to guide the Kit to safe spots.

As you moved around the kitchen, Kalim followed you with his eyes, eager to stay within view of you and keep you within his own view. Anything you needed was quickly retrieved by the Genie who was trying so desperately to be helpful to you. Even Jamil was surprised by how useful Kalim could actually be when he was the one aiding and not the one being aided.

"Once you're done, we can have a whole feast in Scarabia! I know the others in the dorm are so excited to have you with us like this, (Y/n)!"

You smiled, checking on the large pot of rice simmering on a lower heat. Where Kalim had initially insisted that you didn't need to cook, you had happily jumped in to help Jamil and ensure that the dish was not so spicy you couldn't consume it. Jamil didn't taste spice the way others did and Kalim was used to extremely spicy dishes, so you decided to step in for the sake of your own stomach.

"I'm glad to hear that, Kalim!"

The Genie wriggled with excitement at the sound of your praise, soaking up the affectionate behavior from you. What he wouldn't give to have you stay in Scarabia all the time. Even as the two of you chattered away about anything and everything, Kalim found himself leaning in more to hear what you had to say and hanging off of your every word.

"Hey, (Y/n), when everything is cooking and underway, do you want to go on a quick carpet ride with me?"

"Kalim," Jamil quickly interrupted, frowning at the ditzy Genie, "that is not safe for (Y/n) and you know it."

"Aww, come on, Jamil! It is just a bit of fun."

"No, Kalim. (Y/n), don't encourage him."

Somewhere in the distance, as Kalim whined and tried to convince Jamil to let you go with him, you could hear the faint sound of thunder. You rest a hand over the Magestone around your neck, a kind of crackling like static seemed to come from the magically charged item. It felt like something was happening just beyond the confines of Scarabia.

~•§•~

Malleus was slowly feeling rage build in his stomach, not knowing what game the elder Shinigami was playing at. The accusation directed at him certainly made it difficult to keep his emotions in check, especially without his Treasure nearby.

"Whatever do you mean? I simply protect her the way I would protect everyone in my Hoard."

"Do not play coy with me, young Dragon. I am aware that Dragons posses a unique kind of magic that is used to prolong the lives of their mates. This same magic is obviously growing in the Little One's presence. That Magestone she wears is more than telling."

Thunder rumbled in the distance.

"It is so I can protect her better. Those who parade around as her guards have done poorly in keeping her safe. I won't allow anyone to bring harm to her."

"Where it is true the others have allowed for injury to befall her, it is not your place to force your magic upon her without her knowledge."

"She is well aware of what that Magestone allows. I told her as much when I gifted it to her."

"Have you told her you are binding her life to your own so that age cannot claim her?"

"..."

The thunder was louder this time, shadows swallowing up the sky as the Dragon glared. He was doing everything in his power to keep his most precious Hoard member safe, how could he possibly be in the wrong?

"Have you told her that the further you entangle your souls, the harder it will be for her to adjust? I heard she could understand the language of the Fae when she confronted those captured during a kidnapping attempt. Now, why would she be able to do that unless your magic were already seeping into her being?"

"..."

"Furthermore, have you informed her that the longer she wears that Magestone, the more power you have over her?"

Green lightning struck the ground not too far from the dorm, thunder shaking the very foundation of the building as Malleus glares. A kind of glowing intensity took over his eyes as he left visible trails of light when he moved, the smoldering flame of rage igniting within the Dragon.

He was not in the wrong. He refused to let others tell him he was wrong. Malleus had lived enough of his life alone- placed on a pedestal others could not reach and always kept at arms length by almost everyone- he would not allow this Shinigami to tell him he was wrong.

Centuries spent in suffocating loneliness where only the few Hoard members he could claim would even approach him, let alone speak to him. His magic had left him sitting above all others he cared to interact with, leaving him isolated aloft a throne that he didn't want. Was it truly so wrong for him to want just one friend that he could claim as his one and only? Was it wrong that he wanted someone who wasn't an equally detached family member or a grandfathered in Hoard member to sit by his side?

Was he truly so wrong to want someone all his own to care for and protect?

"I won't use that power over her so long as she stays safe. She is constantly hunted and chased down by poachers who would sooner see her body used for their benefit than those who wish to keep her safe from such manipulation."

"By keeping her safe, you are justifying keeping her in the dark about what your magic is actually doing to her. You are using your magic on her and claiming that it is for her own good when you are seeking means to your own ends."

An even louder crack of lightning split the sky, shaking the ground with the force of the impact. Malleus didn't care how angry he was getting. He didn't care that others could be outside trying to flee to safety from his storm. He didn't care that his anger was getting out of hand.

He only cared about the infuriating words of the elder on his extremely fragile heart and psyche.

"And you aren't seeking to use her for your own means? I know you seek to use her body to create your own Humans. When you have gotten what you want from her and have more Humans to call your own, will you throw her away just as you did with your previous home in Tartarus?"

This actually managed to make the elder scowl, not typically one who was quick to anger or feel any kind of frustration despite who he spoke to. Naturally, his growing displeasure was obvious to everyone present as those witnessing this argument became acutely aware of the danger. Both Malleus and Hades were powerful beyond those who sat around them and their anger combined could easily flatten the island they were currently on.

Lilia glanced to his phone in concern, wondering if he shouldn't request your presence to soothe the growing tension between the two. It would be better for everyone if this conversation stopped here and now.

~•§•~

"You know, (Y/n), I have been wondering why I can grant wishes for you and not others, but I think I figured it out."

"Oh?"

You were seated next to Kalim at the head of the banquet. Around you, both members of Octavinelle and Scarabia enjoyed the combined efforts of your and Jamil's cooking. The atmosphere was light and the conversation was buzzing with energy while the other students conversed and happily discussed things amongst themselves.

The genuine feeling of relaxation that filled the air was valuable to you, having found it so difficult to find anywhere that didn't seem to be on high alert whenever you were nearby. Perhaps you would have to visit Scarabia more often if this was as common as it seemed. Even the students seemed happier to have time to talk together and spend time enjoying the feast they had been presented with. Some Scarabia students were even comforting a few Octavinelle students who had burst into joyful tears upon tasting the meal you had created.

"Yeah! I've been thinking about it a lot and I only recently realized it is because of your aura!"

You froze at this, feeling your heart race and your mind begin to sprint with stress. How could Kalim possibly know about your aura? When else did he know?

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, every species has an aura- Genies communicate and survive using our magic, after all- but your aura is so unique even from Genies or any other species. Genies are made of magic and survive off of magic, so we can see auras where others don't. Some, like Unicorns, can sense aura too, but not as well as Genies can."

Kalim gestured around himself at the constant golden glow that seemed to hum from his very being. Odds are, that golden glow was his own aura shining through in a visible way around the Genie.

"My aura is golden, just like my Baba's aura. Most have a set aura that often shows their intentions and helps create a comradery between species, but your aura is different. Auras all have colors and wavelengths that show what they are like. Usually there is only one color per aura and most auras tend to stay within certain wavelengths. When a wavelength or color match between two creatures, they tend to get along a lot better. Your aura is like a rainbow over an Oasis."

Kalim picked up your hands, holding them close to him with an excited smile. He noticed the way your pretty aura shifted to more golden tones, rising in wavelength frequency to match Kalim's own- rather erratic- aura. That synchronicity soothing Kalim and his volatile magic to something more tamed and controlled.

"Whoever you talk to or touch, your aura matches their color and synchs up on the same wavelength as theirs. Even mine- which is always fluctuating and changing- is so soothed and calmed by your aura. It has to be that your aura communicates with mine in a way others don't! Genies often match their aura with whoever is making a wish so that wish is fulfilled in the desired way. My aura doesn't like matching up with anyone, so that is probably why I can't grant wishes the way my Baba does. But with you... Your aura synchs up to me, not the other way around."

As you felt an immense interest overcome you, your phone suddenly buzzed with an urgency. You had assigned most of these monsters to their own ringtone and recognized the playful tone of Lilia calling you. The Bat had encouraged you to spend time in Scarabia and promised to keep Malleus mostly calm while you were away, so it seemed odd that he was calling you now.

"Hold on, Kalim, I have to answer this."

When you answered the call, your phone switched to speaker automatically, the loud sound of howling winds and thunder overpowering the electronic as you heard a voice within the storm.

"How dare you accuse me of such an abhorrent act?!"

You somewhat recognized the voice though the tone was far too aggressive for what was usually the calm and measured timbre of of the voice that had once crooned to you so sweetly. Lilia was calling you because he couldn't stop the fight that seemed to be taking place. As the sound of wind from the phone picked up, you noticed the rest of the party had gone silent as they all stared in your direction.

"(Y/n)! Come quickly to your dorm! If they keep this up, they're both going to Overbl-"

The phone went silent as the call dropped, leaving an deep and yawning stress in your body while you stared at the screen in front of you. Your silence was louder than any words you could say as Kalim suddenly turned serious.

"Kalim, I need to get to Ramshackle right now, or who knows what will happen. It is my wish."

"... Wish granted."

#kiame-sama #humans are extinct twst au #yandere #tw yandere #yandere x reader #hae au #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere au #monster au

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sugar-write · 2 days ago

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Heart-eyes (LN4)

Lando Norris x rocker!fem!reader

type : smau (fc : random girls from aesthetic on Pinterest)

summary : Lando Norris and his rocker childhood friends interaction are the favorite of the fans, they love their best friends dynamic and how different their life are. but when people start shipping her with her bandmate, the world is about to learn what's really behind their 'best friends' title.

note : Ikare and Astrid are your bandmates

adv : nothing really, maybe swearing, pictures with cigarettes and alcohol, English isn't my first language so sorry for the mistakes. it's my first smau plz be nice

part 2???

its.yn.bitch

liked by Lando, fallingIkare, AstrId and others

back in the city for some fun with the gang (yeah it's Ikare and I in the hoodie)

view comments

Lando I'm not part of the gang... I feel betrayed

its.yn.bitch ur like on the other side of the world

Lando so what

Lando distance is breaking us down now

its.yn.bitch you're such a drama queen

Lando but you love me

its.yn.bitch unfortunately I do Heart-eyes

user4 new music when?

user6 to be friends with people like they are...

Lando can you teach me skateboarding?

user22 day 386 of Lando asking for skateboard lessons and getting left on red by yn

user5 give us new music bandname ✊✊

fallingIkare chaos is our second nature 👆

its.yn.bitch always and forever 👆

AstrId always and forever 👆

user2 why do she always calls Lando Heart-eyes

user1 they're childhood best friends and when she saw him watch a Karting race she thought he had heart eyes and it stayed

user8 it's when he looks at her that he have heart eyes

user10 plz they're like best friends forever

user3 yeah stop shipping people

user15 manifesting for a new song

user11 she's like very close to Ikare

user24 I was thinking the same, they're always together

user9 yeah because they're bandmates and friends

user13 you guys need to go to therapy people can be just friends

Lando posted a story

view replies

its.yn.bitch you should be grateful to have me in your life

Lando I am I am but I'll still call you loser

its.yn.bitch fuck off you fell to

Lando but you fall first

its.yn.bitch you're like a trained athelt

its.yn.bitch I can't win a pump match!

fallingIkare idk what you did but she came back angry

Lando she just don't like losing

fallingIkare what was the dare

Lando pump and she's good

Lando I only made two more

fallingIkare yeah she do pump on stage before show she says it helps with stress

Lando such a weirdo

user32 it's giving chaotic date vibes

user17 I love how you have two lives, like F1 and making date night eating on skateboard at night in some street

user26 when is it my turnnnn

user32 why do you always post her in story and never in post

its.yn.bitch

liked by Lando, fallingIkare, AstrId and others

chaotic you said?

view comments

user37 wait that's a MAN

user25 red alert, who is that guy

user14 which one? Ikare or Lando

user1 for fuck sakes they're friends

user34 come on man respect them!

user38 guitare ? new music ?

fallingIkare you just set the world on fire

its.yn.bitch :) :)

AstrId no need Ikare she's just proud of herself

user36 omg they're so much things to analyze in that post

user34 even in these interaction

user19 she woke up and choose violence

its.yn.bitch posted a story

view replies

Lando I thought you stopped cigarette

its.yn.bitch i did

its.yn.bitch don't worry not gonna start again

Lando great

Lando I hate the smell

its.yn.bitch I know heart eyes I know

fallingIkare makes us sound like junky

its.yn.bitch I thought it was poetic

fallingIkare it's not

fallingIkare sorry to break your little dream

its.yn.bitch you suck so bad

fallingIkare ouch

AstrId photo creds ?

its.yn.bitch thanks babe <3

user16 what do you mean high?

user35 are you two dating?

user38 you're just playing with us

meanwhile on Twitter~~~

meanwhile on yn's phone~~~

its.yn.bitch

liked by Lando, fallingIkare, AstrId and others

time to go back to work

view comments

user17 omgggg new musics

user29 she's in the studio!!

user8 using music to get our attention out of the man

user3 we see you yn

its.yn.bitch oupsiii

user09 she's so unserious

user22 I can't wait to listen to it

Lando I'm hyped

user45 bro you probably already knew

user31 honestly even knowing before everyone I would be hyped

user37 yeah like, it's bandname new song

user43 Ikare x yn dating comfirmation?

user39 I'm so ready for this frr

user14 omg would this be about Ikare??

user42 I can't wait

its.yn.bitch

liked by Lando, fallingIkare, AstrId and others

happy birthday bb <3 <3

(ps : Heart-eyes, solo song available everywhere, make sure to give it a chance)

comments had been limited on this post

fallingIkare when you said it was freaky I didn't though it like that

Lando oh my god

Lando thanks

Lando I mean I love you too

Lando god I miss you even more now

Lando wanna make up?

its.yn.bitch omw heart eyes

AstrId so this was your master plan

its.yn.bitch it worked no one thinks I'm dating Ikare anymore

fallingIkare thanks god they stopped, it's already too hard to be your friend

its.yn.bitch 🖕🖕fuck off

its.yn.bitch I don't accept negativity on this beautiful festive day

AstrId nurse they're out again

—————————–————

thanks for reading

I hope you like it I loved making smau so maybe I'll do a part 2 or another story tell me

Anyway have a good day take care of yourself

#lando norris #lando x reader #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 smau #lando norris smau #ln4 #ln4 x reader #ln4 x y/n #smau

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r4fe-cam3ron · 3 days ago

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WARNINGS; *please read before reading* — NOT a romanticized oneshot, manipulation (though not plainly stated, it’s clear that remmick is only trying to feed), mentions of spousal abuse — bruises, mentions of a k*lling, a body, and blood, a vague ending. MDNI — 18+ an; this is my first try with remmick, and i’m not entirely sure if i enjoy this or if i’ll actually do anything else with this character — but i love horror and i thought it would be interesting to try and write something horror. if you do enjoy this, and would like to see more horror based oneshots or anything, let me know!! again, im not romanticizing anything in this short oneshot at all!!! please be sure to read all warnings before proceeding. (this is also just so i can actually catch up on all of jack’s film’s before writing for more characters!!)

It’s something that you barely thought about — locking the front door that leads into you and your husband's home. The fire had been put out long ago, smoke swirling its way up the chimney and into the night sky.

Living room and kitchen had been cleaned after dinner, your feet hurting from the long day and eyes heavy with sleep. Although, your mind still reels from earlier and the visitor you’d grown to know over the last few months.

The man’s name was Remmick. He was charming in a strange way, words that could pull you into any type of conversation and never bore you. You’ve known him for four months — he’s realized many, many things, even if you haven’t voiced them.

He’s harmless. Drinks ice cold sweet tea, loves lemon poppyseed muffins and blueberry biscuits with homemade icing. There is something strange about him though — how he requests the curtains to be closed, and how he wears thick coats in the middle of summer and how he tries to shield himself from the light of day, staying until the sun dips below the horizon just enough.

You don’t ask questions. You’re just happy to have a friend, someone to listen if you ever need a shoulder to cry on or to speak about the heavy weight on your shoulders to remain perfect.

He’s caught on with what happens behind closed doors — the way you jerk away from his gentle touch, or the way you pull your sleeve to your wrist — to hide something, a secret. It has something dangerous — primal — wanting to shed its shell and show its ugly form.

“I could help you, you know?”

It’s said in passing, making you flinch from his voice breaking the long stretch of the silence that had lingered after sharing a plate that had two blueberry biscuits on top, the icing dripping down to the sides. Your eyes flicker up to meet his. “What do you mean?” The laugh that slips past your lips is shaky, nervous. You begin to shake your head. “I don’t need any help, Rem. I’m okay.”

You stand, trying to move away from him, the conversation. You reach down, fingertips grazing under the plate before his hand is wrapping around your wrist in a gentle hold. Your heart skips a beat, eyes immediately shooting over to stare at him.

He’s already staring up at you.

His other hand moves slowly, tugging up the sleeve that hides away any deep purple and blue marks or fading yellow-green ones. Your cheeks flush, embarrassed, and trying to pull your arm away only leads him to tighten his grip slightly and pull you closer. “Remmick, that’s not—”

“You think you’re clever at hidin’ them, but you're not,” His eyes drop down to your arms. Goosebumps raise slowly as his fingers trail slowly up your skin, tracing over slowly. “Thinkin’ this is a type punishment is low for a man,” He shakes his head.

You watch as his eyes trace around the marks, before his head slowly begins to lower and his hands gently cradle your arm in a soft hold as he lifts it slowly. His lips meet the skin, pressing a soft kiss against a fresh mark.

You’re sweating now, chest beginning to heave slightly. You know you should stop him, but there’s just something so captivating about the man, the words die in your throat when you feel a slight nip from his teeth. The chair shifts under his weight when he stands, your body stumbling back slightly, pressing into the table from the way he crowds into your space.

“Let me help.” He whispers, eyes darting down to your lips, then your neck. He watches as your pulse begins to pick up, the smell of sweat beading at the hollow of your throat. He relishes the moment, eyes flickering to yours once again.

You swallow your spit — your throat feeling as if it was glued together with pins and needles. The thought is intoxicating. You’re not exactly sure how Remmick would help, but you know he would follow through on his word.

His grin is dangerous, sharp, when you finally nod your head. It’s hesitant, but it’s still yes, help me.

His hand is cold when he cradles your jaw, something that sends chills over your body, your spine straightening from the touch, and the hair on the back of your neck stands straight.

“Leave the door unlocked tonight,” His voice is low. “I’ll be sure to not wake you.”

You’re still awake — your eyes now wiped from the heaviness of sleep they were carrying. There’s something that’s different tonight, something in the atmosphere that shifts. You’re not sure what it is, or what it could be, but the way your heart pounded and fingers clenched at the sheets, you aren't sure that you enjoy the feeling.

It’s distant when you hear the floorboard that squeaks outside your bedroom — you’ve gotten used to listening for it when your husband would come home at three in the morning.

The door creaks open slowly, the sound of heavy boots making their way over. Your eyes squeeze shut immediately. The slow, tantalizing steps make your breathing hitch quietly, they’re coming closer to you.

They stop. A finger slowly pushes away the strand of hair that had slipped against your temple, you try not to flinch. The touch is gone and the sound of his boots make their way around the bed once again before stopping.

It’s sickening — the sounds. The bed jerks and a hand shoots out to grip your arm, but another is jerking his arm away, the sound of bone cracking has your hand pressing over your ear as you try to bury your head deeper into the pillow.

The bed jerks once more, roughly, before something drops onto the floor with a heavy thud. Slowly pulling your hand away, your breath shaky with every exhale, you wait to move.

It’s only a minute. Slowly looking over your shoulder, eyes burning with tears, the sight you’re met with is sickening — there’s deep crimson that stains the pillow case and blankets. Sitting up, you stumble to the ground, head banging against the floor.

A sob leaves your throat and a sudden pounding against your temple has you feeling even more nauseous. There’s something warm under your hand and face, your cheek sticking to the ground. Slowly opening your eyes, you blink once, the grim reality of what Remmick’s help truly meant.

Your husband's face is stuck in a scream, fear etched onto his face, the life from his eyes dull. Flaring your nose, you slowly lift from the ground, shaky hand lifting as you stare at the small red river that trails down your arm, wrapping around slowly before dripping onto your nightgown.

A small sound leaves you as you turn your head, eyes lifting as a quick tear rolls down your cheek. Remmick stands by the window, the moonlight seeping into the room casting a ghostly glow over his body.

“I told you I’d help you,” His voice is different now — deeper, gravelly. “Now, you help me.”

#𝜗𝜚 cherry’s posting #jack o’connell x fem!reader #jack o’connell x reader #remmick x fem!reader #remmick x reader #remmick x you #remmick x y/n

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antianakin · 2 days ago

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For those saying the writing in Andor is bad: if that was so, it certainly made a big enough impression on you to take the time to post your opinion on this forum and not keep scrolling. And to take the time to reply to other posters.

I DO like Andor. I loved the first season and never made that unclear when I was talking about it. I was one of the likely very few people who was already excited for it before it even aired because I already loved Rogue One and Cassian Andor. I was one of the relatively few people who genuinely liked the opening three episodes and didn't find them "boring" and fervently defended those three episodes. I've gone back and rewatched that first season while we were waiting for this one more than once.

I criticize the writing in season two, in part, BECAUSE I loved it so much. I knew they were condensing four years into one season before the season aired, I knew we were getting the four arcs with three episodes released per week already, so I had certain expectations about how the pacing might work before I saw it and was EXTREMELY willing to just see how it worked and believe that it WOULD work because, well, season 1 had been so good with its pacing and its writing that it just seemed reasonable to assume that the second season would be, as well. They had said they'd planned it to be one 24 episode show with two 12 episode seasons so clearly all of it should work together and the second season wouldn't end up feeling tacked on and less strong than the second.

I had very high expectations because of just how much I adored the first season, and that may unfortunately be lending itself a little to the criticisms I have of this season. Even in this season, though, I liked the first arc well enough and was willing to let go of the strange pacing issue with Cassian's narrative where he was captured by the Maya Pei rebels in a way that didn't seem to do anything for his character or the overarching storyline because I believed there would be a reason for it later on.

And then little things started piling up a bit this season, and while I am happy to admit that there WERE still quite a few things I did like about this season (the visuals are still beautiful and well thought out, the music is still good, the editing is still good, the themes and motifs are still really interesting, the acting is incredible, and there ARE still places where the writing and editing is really good but it's more on an episode by episode basis rather than an overarching storyline basis), the disappointment I have in some of the areas where it didn't live up to expectation are more dominant right now. I'm hoping it doesn't stay that way. I'm hoping I can come back to this show in a year or so and watch the whole thing all together and I can just focus on the things I still DO enjoy about it rather than on the parts that were a little frustrating.

And I think it's valid to point out the places where Andor's second season failed, even if it's just my personal opinion. I maintain that Bix's storyline was mishandled. I think Cassian's development got a little shoved to the side and he landed strangely wishy washy rather than believably growing into the character we knew in Rogue One who was realistic about the rebellion but still 110% committed to it. I think that Cinta's death wasn't thought through enough and, even if we can understand why they did it, it doesn't mean that it isn't still part of a pattern that's going to leave a bit of a sour taste in some people's mouths. I think that it's fair to point out that the choice to condense four seasons into one led to some issues with pacing and development where a LOT of people felt like we were missing major pieces of story for the characters and not getting a chance to let them breathe and process what had happened before moving on to the next major storyline.

But there's also still some incredible stories in this season. Episode 8 was really incredible on so many levels, and while I have my personal issues with episode 9 and how it effectively chose to end Mon Mothma's character arc for the show I do think that the action element of it was done really well. I loved the Luthen and Kleya backstory episode, and I genuinely found the final arc of the show to be its strongest AS AN ARC (as in all three episodes actually all flowed into each other and all of the storylines felt like they related to each other thematically and there wasn't one storyline that stood out as being particularly weak in comparison to the rest).

So yes, there's plenty I still enjoyed about Andor season 2, it's still a generally really well done show, but my expectations for it were quite high based on how well done the first season was and I don't think it lived up to those expectations and unfortunately those things are a little more prevalent on my mind right now than the things I DID enjoy more. I am reblogging gifs and other people's posts that are more positive, so it's not like my blog is full of nothing but negativity, it's just what I'm personally still thinking about and so it's more of what I'm personally writing about, too. And of course any time I do, I have dozens of people showing up to tell me how I'm wrong and if I just thought about this one basic theme that's really really obvious then suddenly this thing that frustrates me would just go away.

So yes, I'm aware that one of the show's themes is how not everyone in the rebellion agrees with each other, that's a theme that's existed since Rogue One, but thank you for pointing it out to me again. If I felt like the show was just pointing out that Cassian was a little biased about Luthen and disagreeing with Bail because he's emotional and grieving, that would be one thing. If I felt like the show was just pointing out that Luthen had made SOME contributions that were important but often overlooked because people hadn't liked his methods, that would also be one thing. But that's not really what's being presented here. Luthen is said to be the SOLE REASON the rebellion is here right now, the SOLE REASON for its existence, and we aren't led to believe that Cassian is overexaggerating that or just being emotional about it, but that the OTHERS are the ones being biased and judgmental and since none of them have made as many moral sacrifices as Luthen then their opinions aren't valid.

And THAT'S the problem I have with the scene. It's not that they're showing the rebels disagreeing, but what felt like the ultimate MESSAGE that was coming from the scene that I didn't love. And you may disagree with me on whether that's the message being sent, and that's fine. It's possible the message I'm picking up isn't what I was intended to get from the scene, but that doesn't necessarily mean that that isn't how the writing is coming across anyway. I'd be fine if they just said Cassian didn't like Bail all that much (although I'd argue they never showed any REASON for Cassian not to like Bail aside from Bail not liking Luthen, so we just kind-of have to take that at face value), but the argument that Luthen is so much more important and vital to the establishment of the rebellion than anybody else just smacks to me of how Filoni tends to treat Ahsoka as better and smarter and stronger than basically everyone else around her. It's annoying, it's not that interesting, and I don't accept it from Gilroy any more than I accept it from Filoni.

I WANT the messy flawed rebellion that has a lot of people in it with differing opinions and methods and who don't even all get along. I do. But I don't necessarily want that to come at the cost of completely dismissing characters who've long been established in this franchise as vital contributors to the rebellion in favor of Gilroy's personal OC being lifted up as the greatest and best rebel who is the REAL founder behind it all and we just never knew it before now.

This show can be better, we know that because we saw it in season 1, and so when I point out all of the places where it feels like it didn't do well in season 2, it's because I remember that it can BE BETTER. It's frustrating to know that and see it fall short this way.

It seems a little hilarious to me that they have Cassian making the argument that the only reason any of them are here, the only reason the REBELLION exists at all, is because of Luthen... and he's saying it to BAIL FUCKING ORGANA.

I'm sorry, but while I am happy to accept that Luthen did do a LOT of things to keep the rebellion alive and likely recruited quite a few of the people on Yavin to this cause himself and trained them up, there are just as many if not more who are there explicitly because of BAIL ORGANA.

Bail Organa who began fighting the Empire the moment he showed up at the Jedi Temple the night of Order 66 and turned around to save any Jedi he could and then became a GETAWAY DRIVER as Yoda went to assassinate the Emperor and then proceeded to agree to take in Anakin Skywalker's child in order to hide her from the Empire.

Bail Organa who has literally been shown helping recruit the entire Ghost Crew and likely brought on the entire Phoenix Squadon and theoretically the entire Gold Squadron. Bail Organa who was the one who helped Riyo Chuchi try to fight for clone rights. Bail Organa who saw Ahsoka Tano on Naboo for Padme's funeral and immediately turns around to offer her a chance to join the rebellion which she does eventually choose to take. Bail Organa who eventually does allow his own DAUGHTER to join the rebellion and run missions when she's old enough.

You cannot convince me that somehow Luthen Rael is MORE responsible for the creation of the rebellion and its existence and people's involvement in it than Bail Organa. You can't.

#andor critical #bail organa #andor spoilers #andor s2 spoilers #luthen rael

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humpster35 · 12 hours ago

Text

‘C’ as in Chris

Frat!Boy Chris x innocent!reader

|Contains: fluff, banter, soft!chris, innocent reader, suggestive content and flirting.

dividers from tumblr account @enchanthings

As Y/n walked down the hallway, heading to her locker—a smile glued to her face, she spots her boyfriend. Chris was always so cheery in the morning, but this particular morning—he had something up his sleeve.

With the shake of her head, Y/n reached her locker as Chris smirked down at her. He smelled so amazing, as usual—his hands were behind his back which made Y/n curious.

“Heyy why do you have hands behind your back?”

Chris cheekily smiled—showing all of his teeth, he pulled a necklace out and it had a small ‘C’ attached to it. Y/n shook her head as she laughed childishly.

As Y/n watched Chris gesture for her to turn around, she began to think back on how they first met.

It was during freshman year that Chris had accidentally hit Y/n with a basketball during one of his games. She didn’t know how to react and everyone’s attention was on the pair. Chris took this opportunity to approach her—seeing if she was okay, then asking her if she wanted to have his number.

Y/n of course thought this was so cheesy. It’s not like they were living in some musical—or fantasy land. But when Chris gave her those eyes, those beautiful blue eyes—it was as if her world stopped. The universe had aligned for her to meet him, in this moment she knew that she would soon become his.

Next thing you know, they’re walking to class together as if they’ve been doing it forever.

“What class do you have next?” Chris asked while walking beside Y/n holding a basketball.

Y/n furrowed her brows for a moment—she was so busy staring at Chris’s facial features that she didn’t even remember.

“Uh—oh it says, Theatre.”

Chris smiled as they reached the lockers. He bang putting away his basketball, turning his attention back to look at her.

“No way, i’ve always loved theatre—well the singing part at least.”

Y/n’s eyes widened as she took this new information in. Of course she didn’t wanna judge anyone based on stereotypes but—Chris was your typical jock. He played basketball and only hung out with people who cared more about what they wore than world issues.

“Chris don’t take this the wrong way but…I didn’t expect that.”

Y/n watched as Chris started laughing, his adam’s apple moved up and down while he covered his eyes with his hand.

“You can’t judge a book by its cover doll.”

Chris’s voice was stern but Y/n knew he was joking about the situation. She felt bad that she had this image of him being something he’s clearly not. Chris has never shown her that he’s like his friends after all.

Y/n smiled at Chris—he closed his locker then placed an around her. They both silently joked about his singing skills as they headed down the stairs to the theatre room.

Right now it has been two years since those days. Y/n felt the coldness of the necklace as Chris’s hands steadily enclosed it. They stood in front of her locker mirror.

“There. Now you’re all mine.”

Y/n furrowed her brows while smiling in the locker mirror. Chris kissed her shoulder sensually then her head.

“Whats this for?”

Chris chuckled lightly—he ran a hand through his hair as he bit his lip at his girlfriend.

“What you don’t know??”

Y/n blushed under his gaze—she could feel his hand on her hip. Chris always knew how to make her catch butterflies, Y/n wasn’t the most active person sexually nor had she done anything more with her boyfriend than makeout—but right now she was feeling something.

“C as in Chris?”

Chris smirked as he tapped Y/n’s hip and the upper part of her ass. This made her blush as he gently took her chin, kissing her lips.

Y/n started to moan into the kiss as Chris deepened it, his hands grasping at her sides. This made Y/n back up into the locker—her head being protected by Chris as they begin to makeout.

“Chris-.” Y/n breathes out.

Chris only smirked. He kissed her lips one more time before pulling away, his thumb wiping away any lipstick that may have been smudged.

“Good girl.”

Y/n nodded, she turned back around to her locker mirror—fixing her hair. Once she finished, Chris stuck his hand out so they can walk to their class.

This was very short but I had this idea from @seeing-stars-today She wanted me to do something involving an initial necklace, so I combined that with my love for High school Musical.

tag list🎀

@mattsweethart @mattspillowprincess @mattswrinkleton @sturniphone @salaciousxsturniolo @stvni0l0 @sturniolofruitloop @sturnispider @hannahsturniolo @whore4chris @chrissleftshoe @chrisbratt333 @chrismalfoy @chrissfavgirlie @passionfruitchris @riggysworld @regulaho @obsessedwiththesturniolos @ellbowmacaroni @eeyoresturnz @eyesonmattyb @nickssidewitch @kenah-sturniolo @kayskreativeideas

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teaboot · 3 days ago

Note

in WHAT universe is rising of the shield hero less of a dissapointment than spy x family? ppl glaze sxf a bit too much but theres few anime worse than Incel Isekai 20472.

anyway. if you want something actually good, frieren, odd taxi, and my roommate is a cat. havent watched ascendance of a bookworm yet but i hear incredible things.

Oh yeah no ROTSH felt like ABSOLUTE dogshit episodes 1-5ish, I have no idea why I kept watching cause the MC was so cringe but I’m enjoying it quite a lot now! (I was actually checking my inbox before catching the next ep, lol)

I’m actually really happy with how they showed the MC’s immaturity and flaws and all the stupid and confusing common isekai tropes in a realistic light- And I’m kinda sorry you didn’t keep watching too ‘cause it absolutely lays bare all that stupid “chosen one” crap about halfway through s1. You stop cringing at the awful stupid incel asshole shit E3 or so and start GENUINELY LIKING him, which is wild!

It’s not perfect media obviously- I kinda REALLY don’t like some of it- but it focuses a lot on personal responsibility and thoughtfulness and working within the context of your environment, learning to heal relationships, and the importance of diplomacy and communication.

What I REALLY like is the central theme that being a hero doesn’t mean everything you do is correct- but that people WANT TO BELIEVE everything you do is correct, so being a symbol isn’t so much a ritzy ride as it is a HUGE responsibility that one shouldn’t be eager for.

Also, I don’t want to give any spoilers, but I’m at a point now where they’re starting to touch on the idea that there’s a difference between fighting for an idea and fighting for PEOPLE, and I’ve never really seen that done well before so between that and the twist here that’s being foreshadowed I’m genuinely SUPER EXCITED to see where they’re going with it.

Also- even WITH all the “pretty girls love the hero” trope- if you watch long enough you’ll notice how they PLAY with the trope without investing in it. There’s genuine respect between the characters, and several times the MC makes it clear he sees some of them as family, that he’s not into kids and it’s creepy when others are, and there’s no fanservice panty shots or surprise “oops I’m naked” shit. It really does show by example how a REAL good-hearted protagonist should- or would hopefully- realistically act in the circumstances of an unrealistic isekai type series. There’s been pretty much zero actual romance or any interest in romance shown by the character after episode 1-2. (At least as of s2e1)

And I love that! It’s incredibly character-driven. It feels like the MC genuinely might fuck up, that there are real stakes, that the correct path is unclear, and I want to see if what I’m hoping for will happen. The MC is selfish and closed-off and heartless sometimes and TOTALLY has a cruel and pragmatic streak, and the narrative takes full advantage of that to force him to confront those issues. Some of his vices are even advantageous, as they would be in real life!

Spy X Family didn’t do anything for me. It appeared to be what it said on the tin. I never got any real sense of stakes or depth or personal development, or of reoccurring thematic elements or symbolism or overlying message, or any kind of statement that was poignant or meaningful. It came off as a fun story, but not anything exceptional or different.

I couldn’t bring myself to care much because it was pretty clear that the good guys were right and they were gonna pull something off and have a happy ending and live a cute little family life with a mom and a dad and a daughter and a dog. It was never surprising or curious and I never felt emotionally intrigued or invested or attached.

They’re both enjoyable, but I like Rise of the Shield Hero more because it’s been proving me wrong in exciting ways and making me think about why I feel the way I do, and I like that in a series.

Spy X Family is fine, I don’t think it’s BAD, it just didn’t scratch the itch for me personally.

If you watched like 15 eps and hated it the whole time that’s fair but if you stopped at e2 I’d super recommend giving it another shot!

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pupkashi · 2 days ago

Text

facetimes & phone calls

part one // part two // masterlist

part three of lights out f1 au | both you and satoru are beyond busy, but pinky promises should never be broken, right?

a/n: helloooo !! i hope u guys are doing well :3 im so deeply sorry for the wait you’ve had to endure for this part </3 i hope you guys enjoy it !! i swear i wont take nearly as long to upload the next part LOL plzplzplzplz let me know what you guys think it really helps motivate me to keep going :3 reblogs are very appreciated <3 any f1 enjoyers do not jump me for any inaccuracies in the schedule okay thats all bye bye !

wordcount - 4.8k

tags: gojo satoru x reader, formula one au, gojo is in his rookie season, fluff and angst, long distance is hard

LIGHTS OUT & AWAY WE GO !

neither you or satoru were ones to break pinky promises, even two months into the relationship the two of you had managed to have at least one conversation each day despite your busy schedules and jarring time difference. there hadn’t been enough time between races for him to be able to fly in and visit, and you had begrudgingly rejected his offers to fly you out to any races.

and so the two of you sat on facetime, your phone propped up against the lamp on your desk as you reviewed for your upcoming finals. satoru cherished every moment he could spend talking with you, going on and on about his day, making sure to spare no details so you felt included. you hung on his every word, happy to be an outlet for him after stressful days on and off the paddock.

“what about you? how was your day?” he asked, a glint in his eyes as he watched you furrow your brows in concentration before humming and replying.

��same as usual, went to class, had lab, studied” you shrugged, insecurities creeping in. you were just a boring college student, how could your day ever compare to the glamor of his? nothing in your daily life compares to him getting sponsors from million dollar companies.

“what’d you do in lab?” satoru urges on, “y’know i would’ve liked to go to college i think it would’ve been nice.” your ears perk up at his comment.

“really?” you have a small smile on your face as he nods at you, looking off to the side before focusing back on his phone.

“yeah, wanted to study engineering” he replies, “i like hearing about your days so i can live vicariously through you” he giggles, even through the phone you can see the blush on his cheeks as you stared at him.

there’s a beat of silence before you speak up again. “well i woke up early cause i had to take the bus- and you know how full the busses get for 8 ams” you ramble, continuing to talk about your day in detail. satoru couldn’t feel more grateful, hanging on your every word just as you did his.

“there’s a race this weekend right?” you asked after a couple minutes of silence. satoru nodded, grabbing his phone where he had it propped up and holding it up as he laid on his back, one arm behind his head.

“imola this weekend, think you’ll wake up on time for it?” he teases, you scoff and roll your eyes at him.

“it’s not my fault i had to pull an all nighter before the last one” you pouted, “i really did try! i watched the first two laps before passing out” you defended. satoru couldn’t help but laugh.

“alright, alright I’m just teasing you sweetheart” he looks at your now flustered face and swears his skips a beat, “don’t ever feel guilty about missing a race, your classes are more important even though i try to talk you into skipping to follow me around the world.”

you grow more flustered by his words, smiling widely at your phone and clearing your throat. “maybe once I graduate I can take a gap year” regret creeping up on you. was it too soon to bring up the future? the two of you hadn’t even said i love you yet.

“oh that would be a dream” satoru giggles, his face flushed and he’s practically swinging his legs like a schoolgirl. “we can wear matching outfits in the paddock and i can show you around the cities- oh my god ill get to kiss you right after races.” the white haired driver catches himself in his daydreams, clearing his throat before trying to backtrack as to not scare you off.

“I mean only if you want of course” he assures, his face burning as a shy smile creeps onto his lips. “would you want to?”

“Im the one who brought it up, genius” you tease. satoru lets his heart skip a beat, admiring you as you got back to studying. “oh also i might be texting you a bit less since finals are around the corner.”

you can practically hear your boyfriend pouting through the phone, “how much less?”

“not too sure, I’ve got a couple back to back days so i need to start early to cover all the material” you sigh, stressing out over all of it already, “I’ll try to keep calling but i get really bad at communicating during finals season” you admit.

“it’s okay sweetheart, just take care of yourself alright?” he gives you a soft smile, “I’ve actually gotta go but I’ll text you, make sure you don’t stay up too late.”

satoru laughs as you give him a salute, smiling and waving goodbye before hanging up. he rolls over on his back and lets out a sigh, it’ll be okay, right? he begrudgingly sits up in his bed, rubbing his face before standing and getting on with his day.

the sunlight is barely creeping into his Monaco home, there’s a couple decorations here and there, some trophies from F2 and now a second place trophy is adorning the top of his shelf. photographs with family and friends hung on the wall, a picture of him and suguru smiling brightly at the camera, both of them no older than 14, clad in their karting uniform.

satoru wasn’t sure what do with himself, it was rare for him to be up so early. he almost regrets hanging up so soon, but as his phone buzzes with your text he smiles.

goodnight <3

he knew you’d have stayed up all night studying if he had stayed on the phone with you. satoru wastes no time in replying to you, a grin on his face as he makes his breakfast. he did have a couple errands to run, making a mental checklist as he finishes up his food and checks his phone, just in case you had texted him again.

he wasn’t sure how he survived without your presence before, the hours of the day seemed to drag on, texts from the team, a quick phone call and meeting up with Oscar and a couple of his friends to play some padel.

“are the rumors true then?” oscar asks, a sly smile on his face as satoru looks at him with the tiniest grin.

“dunno what you’re talking about” he teases, Oscar nudged him softly as they both stand from the bench, satoru twirling the padel in his hand as they get ready to play.

“you plan on introducing them to anyone?” satoru thinks it over, mentally mapping out your schedule as they continue the match.

“maybe after the semester ends, might be able to convince them to follow me around for the summer” he replies, cheering and giving the McLaren driver a high five as they score.

satoru’s mind continues to wander the rest of the day, what would it be like to have you here for the summer? he thinks about showing you around Monaco, taking you around Europe and treating you to fancy dinners. he imagines you in his house, having you meet the other drivers, it all makes his stomach flip.

you weren’t lying when you had said you’d be texting him less, with satoru only receiving a good morning text and nothing else for the next six hours. by the time you’d had a moment to take a break satoru was sound asleep, his phone buzzing next to him.

“hello?” his voice is raspy and groggy, and you feel guilty for ruining his sleep.

“did i wake you? sorry we can talk later” you quickly rush out, zipping up your bag and making your way out of the building you’d been studying in.

satoru rubs his eyes, checking the clock and seeing how late it was, “no, it’s okay what’s up?” his eyes are still half closed, a loopy smile on his face as he hears your voice.

“just wanted to say hi, sorry i hadn’t texted you, had to meet up for a project and then studied for finals” you sigh out, “gonna get home make some food and probably study for the rest of the day.”

satoru hums in response, “want me to send you something to buy dinner?” you can’t help but laugh, a blush and stupid grin on your face as you walk through campus.

“no, I’ll be okay thank you though” you giggle, “how was your day? when are you heading to Italy for the race?”

“tomorrow probably” he mumbles, “hopefully it’ll be a good weekend for the team” his voice trails off as he sighs dramatically, “even if you won’t be there.”

“just gotta get through these next two weeks,” you say, comforting yourself more than you were him. satoru can practically feel the stress through the phone. “my bus is here I’ll text you?” there’s a hint of hope in your voice and satoru yawns on the other end, humming.

“I’ll be waiting, sweetheart” satoru has a sleepy grin on his face as you whisper a quick bye and hang up, two minutes later he’s out like a light.

you sit giddy in your bus seat, headphones in as you scroll through your instagram. there’s a feeling of being watched you can’t seem to shake, looking up and finding two girls staring at you, quickly tearing their eyes away as if they weren’t caught staring. you check your shirt, then your reflection in the bus window. with furrowed brows you shake it off, maybe they recognized you from a class?

there was no telling how long it had been since you began studying, your eyes burning as you decided to take a quick nap, figuring you’d be up in an hour to knock out some last minute assignments.

when you woke up at was already almost 5 in the morning, groaning as you saw your somehow snoozed alarm. thankful you didn’t have classes that day as you scrolled through your notifications.

satoru <3 1h ago

good morning :)

about to get on the plane :P

forgot to mention it was a morning flight lol

you felt a small pang in your chest, texting him back quickly

hi !! sorry i got so caught up in studying i totally forgot to text you :(

i hope it’s a safe flight !!!

im probably gonna head to bed for a bit longer, have a good day :3

the frown on your face was evident as you locked your phone, your reflection staring back at you. there was no telling what satoru was up to, it was 11 am in Italy, you figured he was probably setting up in his hotel room or in team meetings.

the days seemed to fly by, with you losing track of when qualifying was, waking up for the last part of Q3 and cheering when satoru placed P5.

you texted him immediately, knowing he wouldn’t see it until later. there was a slight pang in your chest as you scrolled through the past messages, sparse ‘good morning’s, ‘good night’s and ‘hope you had a good day’ being most of the texts for the last couple days.

part of you knew this is what you’d signed up for, having talked to satoru about it the night before you’d come home from Japan.

“i really like you” you began, your hands fiddled with the drivers fingers as he hummed for you to go on. “but do you really have time for a relationship right now?” the words hurt to say out loud, but both of you were thinking it.

“I’ll make time for you,” he responded, not missing a beat as he stilled your fingers, intertwining his with yours and squeezing softly. “hey” he mumbled, smiling when you finally looked him in the eyes, “we’ll make it work, pinky promise.”

you sighed, locking your phone before slinging your backpack over your shoulder and heading out the front door.

satoru felt like the team debrief went on for ages, fingers itching to check his phone. had you woken up on time? he nodded along to kento and toto’s words, having some input on track and tire feel when necessary.

“alright get some rest, let’s try and get both of you on the podium tomorrow” toto spoke, laughing when satoru shot out of his chair and waved goodbye quickly.

satoru wasted no time in checking his phone, grinning when he saw your live commentary via text. he immediately pressed the dial button, hoping you weren’t busy.

“well if it isn’t mr. P5 himself” you teased, a smile on your face as you walked across campus. “you did great today, i think” you smile.

“hi sweetheart” he’s practically giggling to himself as he walks to the car, a giant grin on his face, “i saw you woke up in time for quali” he says, turning the car on and reversing out of the parking spot.

“course i did! had to cheer for my favorite driver” you reply, “ill be up for the race tomorrow also, it’s not insanely early” satoru can’t help but feel nervous, as if you were right there with him.

“I’ll do my best for you sweets” there’s a beat of silence before he speaks up again, “how’s studying going?” the words make you let out a small sigh, satoru frowns a bit.

“it’s going, last day of classes today and then I’ll have more than enough time to hyper focus in on everything else I’ve gotta study.” you sit on a bench outside the campus library, staring at a couple of birds in the tree in front of you.

“two weeks and you’re done with the semester right?” satoru wonders how stressed you’d be for the next two weeks, if would you be texting even less than you were now.

“week and a half, my last final’s on that wednesday” you mess with the strap of your backpack as you speak, “but I’ll be free after that.”

satoru hums, wondering if he should get you plane tickets for the races now or if he should hold off to closer to the date.

“I’ve gotta get to this study room before someone steals it, and you need to get some rest for the race tomorrow” you say, smiling when satoru whines for five more minutes. “bye toru get some rest, I’m betting everything in my bank account on you getting on the podium”

“well you’d only be losing like what? $15?” the driver teases and you wish he was there so you could smack him. “goodnight sweetheart, make sure you eat dinner and get some rest too okay?”

your goodbyes extend into another 10 minutes of talking, finally saying goodnight to him when you hear him yawning a bit, hanging up before the two of you could strike up another topic of conversation.

the next morning you were awake bright and early, watching the race with your friend as the two of you have your laptops open to work that slides that should’ve been getting studied, but instead stare at the two of you cheering at the fast cars.

you’re drowning in a Mercedes crewneck, satoru’s number embroidered on the front. he’d bought it and shipped it to you when he found out you didn’t own any formula one merch, except for the Red Bull shirt you’d bought on sale. it practically brought the driver to his knees when he caught glimpse of the two bulls on your t shirt.

you’re hugging the pillow in your lap tightly, on the edge of your seat as you watch satoru enable his DRS behind a McLaren driver.

“and gojo is on norris’ tail as we head into the chicane, he’s out of the slipstream- he’s able to get into the apex first and he overtakes!” the announcers voice is blaring though your apartment, “another great move by the rookie as he gets yet another podium for Mercedes.”

you can’t help but cheer, jumping from the couch out of excitement. “that’s my boyfriend!” you squeal, a grin on your face as you jump around with your friend, hugging her in satoru’s stead.

there’s no wiping the grin on your face as you watch him get out of his car, cheering and running to his mechanics before taking his helmet off. you feel your cheeks heat up at how hot he looks, breath hitching in your throat as you try (and fail) at focusing back on your studies. small giggles leave your mouth as you record the podium ceremony, snapping a picture of your tv and sending it to the man on your screen

told you I’d cheer you on :3 I’m so proud of you !!!

satoru spends the day in a blur, a whirlwind after the race as he handles media and team debriefs in the paddock. he gets to his hotel room beyond exhausted, falling face first into his mattress before finally checking his phone.

sweetheart <3 6h ago

his eyes go wide as he scrambles to text you back, a toothy grin on his face as he types back quickly. there’s no filter as satoru rambles on over text, sending you a plethora of messages explaining the race highlights and what he’d done after, being sure to ask how your studying is coming along. the time difference makes his heart ache, knowing you’d reply when he’d be dead asleep.

so he does the only thing he can do, ‘i hope you have a good day :3’ he sends, a small frown on his face before sighing and tossing his phone to the side and finally letting himself relax.

you weren’t sure where the days had gone, your stress growing exponentially as your finals creep up on you, hundreds of pages worth of notes to study as you coop yourself up in the campus library. the buzzing of your phone makes you lose focus, grabbing it and smiling softly when you see it was satoru.

hiii , can you call ??

at the library rn, talk later ?

okay :)

no race this weekend but i might be busy w other stuff :P

satoru feels selfish for feeling hurt, he hadn’t talked to you in over a week already, the last time being sunday night after his imola podium. he tries to push past his feelings, reassuring himself that after this next week you’d be all his. he can’t be too mad at you though, seeing as though he’d all but ghosted you during some race weeks where he had other responsibilities on top of team duties.

the by week was no time for satoru to relax, with toto and kento calling him to train during the week so they could better prepare for the next race. now that they had a foot in the door for the world drivers championship they were gonna do everything they could to make it a reality. it was long days and nights for satoru, being the first one in and out as he listened in on strategy meetings and practiced on the simulators.

satoru landed face first in his bed when he got home, mumbling out a curse as he feels his phone vibrating next to him. what the fuck more did they want?

your contact picture lights up the room, one of you under the cherry blossoms after he’d asked you out. satoru’s foul mood has vanished, answering quickly before the last ring.

“hi!” he grins, sitting up in bed and looking at your face through the facetime call, he messily attempts to fix his hair as you stare at him with a smile.

“hi! whatcha up to?” you ask, messing with the pencil in your hand as you rub your eyes gently. satoru noticed the darkened bags under your eyes, and he can spot the empty can of Red Bull you’d forgotten to get off camera.

“just got back from practicing, they’re working me to the bone” he smiles, “how’s finals? almost done?” you nod at his words, exhaling dramatically.

“thank fuck I’m almost done, have my last three this week” you grin, “and before you ask yes I’ve been having actual food” satoru giggles over the phone.

“and that contraband next to you?” his brows lifted as you spot the crushed can and look at him sheepishly, tossing it into the trash can under your desk.

“dunno what you’re talking about, maybe the crashes got to your head?” you tease, satoru laughs, falling back onto his pillows, one hand behind his head. the flex of his biceps makes you lose your train of thought, satoru can’t help but admire how cozy you look in the crewneck he left you.

“funny seeing as though I’m in the top four for the championship” he quips, not so subtly trying to get your praise.

“i saw that! you’ve also podiumed in every race except your debut” you boast, wiggling your brows as you show off your limited knows, “i wish i could give you a kiss or hug you or anything” satoru feels the frustration in his bones, wanting nothing more than to hold you after the high of a podium.

“someone’s been studying up on the formula one” he replies, it makes your cheeks heat up, “after your finals you’ll be able to kiss me all you want, I’ll get you plane tickets to fly you over to me” the excitement in his chest is quickly put out as he sees the look on your face.

“i wanted to talk to you about that” you mumble, clearing your throat and tearing your gaze from your phone. you’re nervously writing in your notebook as satoru stares at you intently through the screen.

“what?” he lets out a breathless laugh, “i thought we agreed after your finals you’d come with me to my races?” he asks, furrowing his brows.

“we never talked about that toru” you laugh nervously, “and I’ve got this internship i interviewed for” you begin, eyes flickering to your phone to gauge his reaction. “um it’s between me and three other people- it’s a really good opportunity i can’t pass up on if i were to get it.”

the silence in the air makes you feel like you’re suffocating, not tearing your eyes from the paper you were writing notes in, satoru is staring dumbfounded at his duvet.

“oh.”

he winces at his own lack of words, racking his brain and speaking up again, “i mean that’s great but how are we going to work? like-” he laughs dryly running his fingers through his hair, “you’re not making time for us, how is this even a relationship?”

the words come out harsher than he intended them to, and it makes your chest pang with guilt. you bite your bottom lip, scoffing at his words and rolling your eyes.

“i don’t make time for us? what about you making time for us? for me? even before i started studying for finals it was me waiting around to see if you’d text or call” you snap back, the stress making your meaner than you wanted to be.

“you know racing isn’t just me driving around the track a couple times right? i have to practice, do media and promotions and so many other things” the slight snicker in his tone takes you by surprise, anger bubbling in your chest.

“okay? and it’s not just me going to classes for a couple hours and coming home and chilling out for the rest of the night” you shoot back, the grip on your pen tightening.

“y/n racing is my whole life, I’ve worked to get into formula one since i was a child” satoru says, “i can’t just skip out on stuff because you want me to.”

“so you shouldn’t ditch your responsibilities and goals but i should? for what? so i can be your little trophy wag?” the venom in your voice is enough to make satoru’s defenses go up.

“you know that’s not what I’m saying” he groans, “how are we ever going to work out if we’re texting each other every other fucking business day.”

maybe it was the terrible timing of it all; with the stress of finals driving you up a wall and satoru being hailed as Mercedes saving grace, the pressure was on him to compete for the world drivers championship title.

“im trying my fucking best, I’ve been nothing but supportive waking up at fuck ass o’clock to cheer you on” satoru rolls his eyes, clenching his jaw and shaking his head at your words.

“are you implying that I haven’t been supportive? I’ve sent you money for dinner, I’ve wished you luck every day I check in on you everytime i fucking can” he snapped.

“point to where i said that, stop pulling shit out of your fucking ass” you groaned, “you know what i have to study for this final im not wasting my time with this” satoru can’t help but chuckle darkly.

“so now working on our relationship is a waste of time?” he knows he’s being petty, but being snarky and rude was the only way he could mask his pain.

the exhaustion seemed to hit you at once, no longer having the energy to keep up with your anger. you put your face in your hands, sniffling before wiping your eyes. satoru’s heart breaks at the sound of your sniffles, eyes locking on your figure, frowning at your red rimmed eyes.

“let’s talk about this later” you mumble, satoru shakes his head, he knows there wouldn’t be enough time in his schedule to.

“no we need to discuss this now” his voice is stern, “if we don’t talk about this now we’re just going to be wasting each others time.” the statement breaks your heart, you know where this is going.

“we talked about this in the hotel” you say, “i knew this shit would happen.” satoru pieces everything together quickly, but ironic as it may be, he’s not fast enough.

“m-maybe in another life-” your voice wavers, chocking back a sob before you continue. “maybe in another life or another time it would’ve worked out for us.”

satoru’s hands go cold, he feels himself getting dizzy. the flurry of emotions makes him feel numb, but even as he stares at you dazed he whispers out, voice breaking.

“i love you.” the three words he’d been saving to tell you in person roll off his tongue naturally, so instinctively it hurts.

“don’t say that” you plea, “that’s just going to make this hurt more.” there’s a certain desperation in your voice, satoru shakes his head.

“do you not feel the same? tell me you don’t love me” he begs, heart shattering when you remain silent.

“i cant” your voice is barely above a whisper, you’re shocked your microphone even picks up on your words. “you know i love you, but-”

“why does there have to be a but? I don’t want to end things” satoru cries, his face is flushed red, bottom lip torn from how hard he was biting it earlier. “we can try harder, I’ll try harder” he’s clinging onto anything he can, hoping he’ll find the magic words to keep you on the phone longer.

“we have to be realistic about this satoru” you say, “we’ve got to let each other go.” even as you say the words they don’t seem to register in your mind, “we don’t have time for this relationship, it’s not fair to either of us.”

there’s so much left you want to say, but nothing seems right, not as your vision continues to blur through your tears as you pick at the lint of your sweater, his sweater. there’s no telling how much time had passed when he speaks up, it makes you jump slightly.

“so that’s it then?” satoru asks, it takes all your courage to nod, giving him a small smile and saying goodbye. your shaky thumb hovering over the red x, wincing when you end the call.

his sweater felt heavy on you, like it knew you shouldn’t be wearing it anymore. even then you couldn’t bring yourself to take it off, a chocked sob leaving your mouth as you hugged yourself tightly. it was for the best, you tell yourself.

satoru is out of bed, running his fingers through his hair and replaying the conversation in his head as he paces around the room, mumbling curses out of frustration in every language he knows. your words are rattling around his brain, he sniffles softly before finally sitting down. the bright sunlight seeps through his closed curtains, he feels his bottom lip wobble before letting his head land in his hands, sobs shaking his whole body.

despite being thousands of miles away the two of you are found in the same state, splotchy tear stained faces and broken hearted. it’s for the best, the words are repeated in both your mind and his. if that’s true, why does it feel so wrong?

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