#the “I wish i got to play with you more”…

[dilf-docs]

From This Time, Unchained

jackson!joel miller x younger fem!reader

summary: joel doesn't know why, of all the people in jackson, you've chosen him.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), BIG age gap (20s/60s) (does it look like igaf), smut, begging kink, praise kink, oral (f. receiving), breast play, dacryphilia, hurt/comfort, soft!joel, insecure!joel, fluff bc my dying man deserves it💔 #joelmillerapologistclub

word count: 8,554 words

side note: joel miller widow club where u at??? i wish i could write a fix-it fic but my heart is too heavy even after a week lol and my ass too people pleaser-ish to write allat. (i haven't seen last night's ep yet bc this weekend has been ass!!) so, instead, have this piece because peepaw deserves love and a good fuck with his glasses on! (shout out to my joel miller playlist, u saved me girl) (also girl why did i battle with this like for four days lmaoooo not me posting it 9 seconds before midnight)

Joel Miller is a busy man.

All of Jackson seems to need him. Be it his neighbours, with a broken faucet or be the council, for his skills in construction, or even Maria and Tommy, when they wanted some time alone and he got to be the fun uncle for a couple of hours. Even Ellie, who didn't need him, as she liked to remind him, yet he still found himself in her garage, where she moved despite his reluctance, dusting off shelves or the forgotten guitar in a corner, all to feel useful for the one who he cared for the most.

That spot was debatable, thought. There was his brother, his niece, maybe Maria, Ellie, recently Dina and well, you.

You. Sweet you. Town's favorite girl. A complete dream. The girl next door embodied. Looks that aim to kill. It killed him. So damn perfect he can't help but wonder why, of all Jackson, you'd choose brooding old Joel Miller.

The one you'd give your smiles to, because even if you shared it to the world, your reserved your best for him only. His patrol partner, the beauty of the snowed-in landscape barely rivaling your own. Who you'd give your hours, always appearing when he needed you most, eyes open wide with that shine of theirs it was impossible to resist, not to trust. He had been a faithless man for too long, wandering in the dark. Eyes closed. Then came Ellie, and it was gone, coming back the days when Sarah was his babygirl. But it returned when she pushed him away, but you had stepped in, not as a replacement but as an oath. Something to hold on.

To believe.

In anything. In you. In the us, silent but strong. Watchful, like the stars shinning above in the sky, twinkling as the sound of your laugh when you and him would watch them, sitting on his roof. He let this things happen, let his guard down and allowed himself to be childish and soft, even if his joints ached when he got up and he could fall. But you were there, and falling... It didn't sound bad.

(He knew you'd be there to catch him, anyway. Even if you weren't that strong and he wasn't exactly... well, featherweight)

Right now, he's working. Not for Jackson, but or you. Furrowed brow and shoulders slumped over his table at the workshop, concentrated, his glasses perched on his nose. He hates them, another reminder of the time passed by, yet there's no option. At least not if he wants to give you the very best.

Ah, yes. His latest project. A little wood carving. Doesn't have a shape yet, like your relationship. He chuckles to himself, feeling silly. What where labels anymore in this world, anyway? Still, he can't fanthom the nature of it. It sounded more like a perverted old man's fantasy, if he's being honest, the glances thrown his way from townsfolk a little cruel reminder. You're no good, you'd jokingly sing that one song and, despite the judgment, he'd smile. For you, anything.

Like the figurine. Joel finally sees it take shape. And then there's a knock in the door. Sharp. Same as yesterday, and as the year before ever since he's had you like this.

"Come in" he says, not looking up as you enter.

He's too focused, voice sounding gruff for the long hours of silence since he sat down with an idea in mind; pounding heart, trembling hands.

"Hey, Joel"

He takes his glasses off, placing them on the table, before standing up to greet you. He crosses the short distance and wraps his arms around you in a tender hug, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. He smells like wood and sweat. His musk lingers, so does his tight embrace. As if you'd dissappear if he didn't.

"Missed ya', sweet girl" he mumbles, voice muffled.

You giggle a bit. "I was gone for an hour. Are you getting clingy on me, Miller?"

You loved to tease him. Bad habit of yours. He lets out a low chuckle that rumbles on his chest and against your skin. He pulls back from the hug, yet his arms now drop to your waist, because he's addicted to keeping you close.

"Too damn long" he protests, carrying his southern accent within.

"I love when that Texan drawl slips in" you sigh, poking his cheek. He leans into your touch, like a touch-starved puppy. You then look at him, pouting your lips with a small frown. "Hey, and your glasses?"

"Huh?" he looks at the pair, sitting on the table. Forgotten. "Over'ere. For?"

You shrug. Joel shoots you a suspicious look. "Darlin', why you so interested in my glasses?"

You avert his gaze. The floor is more interesting now.

"Honey... Look at me. S'okay if you don't wanna-"

"I like how you look when you wear them" you finally blurt out, too fast and too quiet.

He's taken back by that. Eyes wide, probably written all over his face. Yet you refuse to look at him. He tips your chin up, so you can meet his gaze. It's soft, making your legs wobbly.

"Is that so?" he asks, teasingly. He still can't believe you actually like them. "You like when old men wear them glasses, baby?"

"Hhm, yeah" you hum. "More if it's you"

His heart skips a beat at your response. Fuck. He's gone soft, too soft. He feels his face heat up, chuckling in an attempt to cover it. Then, runs a hand through his hair, letting it rest on the base of his neck, a tell-tale sign he's feeling awkward. Flustered, even.

"You gon' give me a heart attack, honey. 'M too old for ya' to say things like that"

"Aw, old man can't take a compliment?" you tease, wrapping your arms around his neck. Then, you stand up on your tiptoes to whisper on his ear. "You're cute when you blush"

Joel's sure his face has gone redder, breath hitching as well. Still, he manages to put his arms around your waist, holding you close.

"You're real bad" he grumbles, though there's no bite on his tone. He hides his face again in the crook of your neck. "And I'm not blushing"

You giggle, patting his head lightly as your fingers trace his now long hair. If it didn't drive you wild...

"Then stop hiding"

Joel relaxes under your touch. "You're trouble. I'm serious 'bout the heart attack"

"No" you exaggerate, rocking him slightly. "Don't die"

He looks up at you, smirking as he groans with fake annoyance.

"If you keep that up, I might do"

"Then who will I bore with my failed recipes and gossip?"

"Thankfully, not me"

You groan. "Oh, shut up you old man"

You're always calling him that. Not that he minds, he knows you're not doing it with malice, but sometimes it annoys him. For example, today.

"Well, you chose 'tis old man so don't go complainin', honey"

You huff. "Unfortunately, I love this old man with his old-man ways. Like your woodcarving"

After saying so, you take a small peek over his figure, still drapped over your chest and neck, to the table behind. "Speaking of, can I see what you're doing?"

He looks back, where he's left the figurine unnattended after your arrival. Lets go of you, taking a step back so you get a better look.

"Sure, darlin'. Go'head"

Joel thinks he's good at hiding the nervousness in his voice as you approach the table. He crosses and uncrosses his arms, anxiously.

"Your glasses" almost in a reflex, passing them to him before seeing what's on the table. "Can you wear them, Joel? Pretty please"

He takes the glasses from your hands, fingers brushing. It may be that or your request that make his heart jump. You can see some hesitation on him before he puts them on. Looking down at you, smirking, Joel smiles.

"There ya' go, sweet girl. Happy now?" he asks, a hint of huskiness in his voice.

"So much better" you tap them lightly, "and so is your vision"

Joel let's out a small chuckle, grinning like a fool. Honestly, he loves the attention.

(He's never going to admit it out loud, though)

"You do know how'da flatter an old man, huh"

You smirk, moving to the table again. "Oh, I love flattering him. Now, show me what you're working on"

There's a block of wood on the center. Cut sharp. Perfectly. He's been obssesive with it, maybe. There's a sketch, and the figurine only has been carved at the bottom, where a tail begins to take shape.

"I know am not an artist, but I tried"

You remain silent, making him a little nervous.

"S'a deer" he explains, gruffly, looking into your eyes for a reaction.

"A deer? Like, Bambi?" you ask in awe, softly tracing the wood. Your words get stuck, like honey. Sweet but sticky. "Joel..."

His heart swells a bit at your tone, expression soft as he recognizes admiration in your tone.

"Yeah, like damn Bambi" he murmurs, hands itchy. First, he shoves them on his pockets, just to take them out and place them on his hips instead, his jacket now open, the silhoutte of his tummy under his shirt showing, the flannel stretched on the middle. He watches you closel as you face him again.

"Is it- Is it for me?" you ask in that voice that, goddamn it, makes Joel want to give you the whole world if he could.

He slowly nods, a sheepish expression on his face.

"Yeah" he admits, voice uncharacteristically hesitant. "S' for ya"

Then looks away, feeling vulnerable for some reason. But your lips quiver, and before he can register, you throw yourself at him, hands around his neck, body practically swinging. He stumbles a bit, yet manages to catch you alright.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" you gush, peppering his cheek with kisses. "I know it's not even done but, wow. Thank you, Joel!" an adorable squeal leaves your mouth, and as soon as that is out, your lips find his to leave a sweet kiss on his mouth. When you calm down, your voice goes soft. "It's... No one had ever done something like this for me"

He's clearly taken by surprise by your affection outburst, his heart swelling at your reaction and giddyness. He's also a bit overwhelmed, kissed cheeks now a pretty flushed pink. There's something so warm and fond on his eyes as he looks down on you, cupping your cheek after your final kiss.

"S'nothin', sweet girl. You're welcome"

"You're so special, Joel. Did you know that?" you whisper, leaning into his touch while closing your eyes.

Good. He's probably a mess right now, his heart clenching on his chest, a mix of emotions washing over him. God, he hates getting compliments, but yours always stirred things he long ago thought dead.

"Special, huh?" he grumbles while sporting a half-smile. "I reckon that's you"

You smirk. "We can both be special, then. There's always room for two"

He runs his thumb over your cheek, chuckling a bit. "Deal. But you're a bit more"

"Oh, you want to compete?" you tease.

He smirks at the challenge, pulling you closer with a tight arm around your waist.

"Damn right I do. Y'know I like winnin'. 'Sides, 'm more than willin' to play if it means ya' get competitive 's well. You're cute when you challenge me, baby"

You feign hurt. "I'm always cute, how dare you"

"Oh, forgive me" he chuckles. "At this age I tend to forget"

"Don't worry. I'll beat your ass so bad, you won't forget it"

He archs an eyebrow, amused. "Now you abuse the elder? Bad girl"

Your face flushes and core pulses.

"I can be a bit of a brat if I want to" you tease, fingers roaming over his warm chest. "Will you punish me for that?"

Joel's eyes darken on an instant. There's a shadow of desire coating his brown when a low rumble escapes his throat. The air feels charged with a new found tension suddenly.

"Careful, sweet girl. You ain't know what you playin'"

He closes the gap between you, his body pressing against yours. His hands move from your waist to grip your hips, holding you against him.

"You're quite mouthy tonight, aren't 'cha?" he growls, his voice carrying a rough edge.

"Just to get what I want. Besides, your little project tug at my hearstrings" you quip. "And something else"

"Oh, yeah? You gon' tell me what's that?"

You smirk. "What do you think it is?"

He hums. "I'd rather hear you say it"

"That's not fair" you pout your lips.

He chuckles, "Nothin' ever is fair, I reckon. But you're a troublesome little thing, ain't ya'?"

You send him a little flirtatious wink.

"I am looking for some trouble tonight"

He's not amused by your words. You're a greedy insatiable little thing sometimes. So far, Joel's been able to deflect all of your attempts. The farthest you'd ever made it was when you straddled his lap on the old couch of his workshop, and even then, he limited his reactions to grunts and seeing you come. God. It had been tortuous waiting for you to go so he could piston his aching cock to the memory of your little sounds.

"Ain't that interesting?"

"Oh, but it is" you're quick to counter, "and I take you and your little friend are into it"

His breath hitches, eyes and cheeks burning alike with intensity. The heat travels down his spine, straight to his throbbing dick, the reason he's been caught red-handed.

"You surely are looking for trouble" his voice reduced to a rough gasp.

Joel's struggling to maintain the control he so prided himself in, you not making it any easier with your teasing. "Y'a temptress, doll. Know that?"

"Is my magic working?" you ask, batting your eyelashes.

He's resolve is quickly crumbling, self-control tossed to the bin in the corner. Joel loves as much as he hates your big innocent yet teasing eyes. No wonder he was carving you out a deer.

"Damnit, sweet girl. Y'know it's. You gettin' me all worked up in'ere"

"Take me upstairs, then. I'm sure we can find a solution"

He can feel the heat radiating off of you, eyes darkening at the invitation.

"Doll, you're playing with fire here" he warns, despite the obvious effect your words are having on him.

"It's fine. I don't mind the burn"

He knows he's done, Joel's growl an indicator of his control snapping completely.

"Damn it" he mutters before his lips crash against yours. It's heated. Desperate. His hands grip your hips, holding you tighlty against him while he devours your mouth like a starved man, as if you didn't kiss just this morning, before going on your patrol.

You moan into the kiss, Joel swallowing your sounds as if they were his own. Fuck. His mind goes fuzzy when you grab his face with both of your hands, deepening the kiss. He thinks he's backed you against a wall, by the small Thud sound. He's lost: on the way your lips move, on the way they taste, in the sounds they make.

You pull out first. Joel thinks you belong in a museum: with your lips, swollen and parted. It's too your dilatated eyes and chest, rising and falling. He can't resist and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his calloused fingers tenderly brushing your soft skin.

"Aren't you the prettiest man in Jackson?" you blurt out, adoring.

He's not used to being praised like this. Not even by you, even after months of doing so. Always feels like the first time. And then, he feels stupid: for blushing too much, heart skipping too many beats, chest clenching too hard. Like a damn highschooler. Joel's as embarrassed as content that you make him feel all sort of ways.

"Easy, sugar" he mutters, voice gruff. "You gon' give 'tis old man an ego"

"No need to blame me when you can look at yourself in the mirror" you're quick to reply. "I believe that's enough reason to give you some ego"

He's smirking at your response. Yeah, he definitely loves when you stroke his ego. Especially as of late, where he feels... rather, old.

"Oh. Oh" you begin to tease through giggles, playfully hitting his chest. He huffs, catching where this is going. "Do you like it when I call you pretty?"

Joel's cheeks flush a little at your question, his stoic nature faltering a bit at your teasing.

"Maybe" he mumbles, eyes avoiding yours. "But don't let it get to your head, doll"

"Too late" you murmur, wrapping once more your hands on his neck. "You're pretty, Joel. Especially when you flush"

Pretty isn't exactly a word he'd used to describe himself. But when you call him pretty, out of that sweet mouth of yours, his name along as well? You can call him however the fuck you want.

He can feel his body reek out vulnerability, and he hates himself a bit for getting weaker. He tried, really did, but his walls had been down for a while. His defenses had crumbled. He was pathetic, lonely, and sad. Yet here you were, looking at him with your big adoring eyes like he was the only thing that mattered. Joel lets your words sink for a moment, letting out a small sigh, not being able to deny it feels good. Maybe it does matter.

"You're too damn sweet, sugar. Y'know that?" he mutters, finger tracing lightly your hip.

You smile, sickenly saccharine. "I'm aware. Trust me, I have a cute grumpy boyfriend to remind me so"

His expression softens even more at your easy loving. He's so fucking putty in your hands, Tommy would laugh in his face.

"Y'got me wrapped 'round your damn finger, sweet girl" Joel whispers in his usual gruff voice, but it's laced with affection.

You raise a finger, moving it in front of his face like one would with a bone and a dog.

"You mean this?"

Joel watches your finger with amused eyes, a small smirk tugging at his lips. It scares and excites him how easy it's to fall under your spell. With soft movements, he reaches and captures your hand, bringing it to his mouth. He then presses a gentle kiss to your finger, eyes never leaving yours.

"Yeah, doll. This one" his voice is husky, "All of 'em. Y' got me good"

You gulp under the intensity of his gaze. "Don't do that..."

He smirks at your reaction, finally feeling like he has some leverage. He raises an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes as he holds you even closer, your chest pressing against his. You even feel the soft curve of his stomach over your own.

"Don't do what?" he asks, playing coy. "We're not backin' down now, are we, sugar?"

At your lack of answer, cheeks bright, he huffs, hand moving to gently cup your chin. Joel's brown eyes lock with yours when he speaks again.

"So, what now? Or did y' just come by to check up on your ol' man?"

"No. That's not what I want"

His smirk grows as the dark shade on his eyes. He's not dumb, of course he knows what you want. Just wants to hear you say it.

"What'da ya' want, then?"

You pout your lips, whining.

"Joel... Just give me what I want"

He leans in a bit closer, voice gruff and filled with desire. His thumb strokes your chin softly.

"Depends" he grumbles. "You gon' ask nicely?"

"On my very best behavior" you raise your hand, "I swear it"

He smirks, letting go of your face. "Good girl"

You stand on your tiptoes, leaning against his ear. His heart skips a beat, a small shiver running down his spine at your lips ghosting his skin.

"I am" you kiss his earlobe. "For you. Just you" you leave a little bite on it. A low rumble escapes his throat. You lick the red little spot to soothe it. "Your best girl"

"My only girl" he's quick to reply. You're up in the air in a minute, his hands supporting you as he carries you, your legs dangling at his sides. It amazed you how strong he continued to be, despite his age. Strong men make good times, you suppose.

You giggle a bit. "Oh, Joel. I'm so lucky"

His heart races at your words. All this banter fills him with a warm fondness, making him feel young again.

"I reckon that's me, doll"

Your noses brush after his comment, in silence. You close your eyes, as so does he. You break the aphony first.

"Joel"

"Yes?"

"I want you to have me"

Joel's heart skips a beat at your words, his chest swelling with a mixture of emotion. No one has ever spoken to him with such tenderness, even with what your request implies. It's overwhelming.

"Ya' want me?" he asks gruffly, his voice hoarse with desire and emotion.

Fuck. It's happening. What he avoided so badly, but right now? His mind has gone blank, and when it starts working again, it's filled with lewd images of sweet you. Jesus. If he had doubts he was going to hell before, now he's certain. At least, he got heaven on Earth with you.

"Y' sure 'bout that, sugar?" he asks gruffly, his voice husky. "You're so damn young, deserve someone better"

You nod, slowly, caressing his cheek, your voice just barely above a whisper.

"I've never been more sure"

He takes a small moment to gather himself, his eyes never leaving yours. He's suddenly feeling incredibly vulnerable, and it scares him as much as it excites him.

"I mean, would've I done all this if I didn't?"

Joel lets out a small laugh. "You little devious minx. I'll give ya' that"

"Give me what?" you tease.

His lips crash into yours as your hands find his face, holding as you deepen the kiss. His fingers dig in your thighs, making you moan and a spark of electricity run through his spine. He lets out a low moan in response to yours, pulling away from your lips momentarily, his eyes darkening with want. Joel looks at you for a moment, taking in your flushed cheeks and parted lips.

He lets out a low rumble, his voice gruff and rough.

"Yeah" he mutters. "Keep talkin' like that, and you'll get more than a kiss"

"So, I'll keep talking then"

"Y' little brat" he grumbles, voice dripping with frustration. "If ya' don't stop, I'm gonna..."

Joel trails off, his eyes dark with promises left unspoken.

"Say it" you challenge. "Or are you backing down?"

He takes a deep breath, trying to regain some semblance of self control, despite loving your teasing and how it's driving him wild. He lets out a small laugh, his mind swirling with desire and frustration.

"Y' gon' pay for that later, darlin'" he threatens gruffly, his eyes locked on yours.

"How about now?"

Joel's heart skips a beat at your question, the idea sending a surge of desire through him. He can feel his self-control slipping away, your words pushing him closer to the edge.

He lets out a low, gruff chuckle, his hand tightening around your chin. His eyes lock onto yours, a mix of desire and anticipation in them.

"Sure you wanna know, doll?" he asks gruffly, his voice rough with barely restrained desire.

"All of it" too eager. He can't help but smile, resolve unraveling. "Don't spare any details"

"And you gon' be a good girl?" he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

"Didn't I promise so?"

Those simple words are all it takes for Joel's resolve to finally crumble. Fuck what other people think. Fuck his own fears. He can't resist you any longer, the desire within him reaching boiling point.

"Shit, doll" he rasps, voice rough. "With words like that I'm just gon' give y'anythin' you want"

"Please, Joel" you utter his name in a little whimper.

"Please what?"

Loves to see you beg. Has imagined you squirming, like you did when his fingers would drift too close to your aching cunt. Straddling feels so stupid now, when he could've have sweet you like this a long ago.

"Fuck me"

The sound of your whimper goes straight to Joel's throbbing dick. He's completely undone, powerless against your desires.

"That's right, good girl" he rasps, his voice gruff and rough. You let a little whimper at the praise. "I'll give y'anythin' you want, angel"

He carries you upstairs while you giggle at his huffs, teasing him when his knees creak like the old wooden stairs. Still, he insists on carrying you when you offer to walk, maybe trying to prove his strength to you or something. When his face turns a deep shade of red, you can't tell if it's out of shame or effort.

"Taking me to your bed? I've never seen your bedroom" you muse out loud, once he reaches the final stair.

Despite the intensity of the moment, a small smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

"There's always a first" he rasps.

Your nose brushes against his cheek. "Can't wait"

The door opens when Joel kicks it lightly. It's very him, you think, as soon as it comes on view. There's a guitar in the corner, you notice too.

"It's very you" you say out loud now. He drops you on the bed, making you giggle. "It's simple and cozy"

He's still trying to calm his racing heart, but it's difficult when he's hovering over you, so close to your body, he can feel the heat of it. Can even smell your arousal in the air.

"'M not sure simple's a nice thing t' say 'bout someone"

For a moment, the room goes quiet. He hesitates to continue.

"There's just... somethin' I need to discuss with ya' before we get carried 'way"

Your doe eyes look up to him. "Yes?"

Joel takes a deep breath.

"I've... It's been a while, y'know, since... I'm just used to bein' alone. In that sense. And I... I haven't been with someone in a long time"

His voice trails off, a vulnerability settling in his expression.

"Joel..." you whisper, sitting as he backs up a bit.

"'M not good with people" he admits gruffly. "I tend to scare 'em off"

You extend your hand to softly trace over his stubble. Joel leans into your touch, his expression softening, your presence providing a sense of comfort. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts.

"You're not scaring me. I'm here"

His mouth tastes like sand when he swallows.

"Yeah, but I-"

"Yes?"

He pauses for a moment, a hint of vulnerability in his expression.

"'M not exactly young anymore, sugar"

"And what's bad about not being young?" you look at him, voice soft. "Are you afraid your knees will crack when you go down on me or what?"

He lets out a clipped laugh. The tension in the room lightens a little, and he's grateful for your attempt to lighten the mood.

"Oh, very funny, sweetheart." he grumbles, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "And no, 's not that. I can eat ya' just fine" Joel spits, making you laugh at his cocky demeanor. But then he goes quiet again. "It's just... 'M not as young and good lookin' as I used to be" he finally blurts out.

Why is he even saying this things out loud. He didn't care before. He thought about himself better before. Yeah, before. What is it about the now that he cares, worse, admits out loud his insecurities?

Your expression morphs into one of sympathy. God, he hates it. Looks away from your warmth and pity. No, not pity. Compassion, like Joel was some sort of wounded old dog.

"Joel" you close the distance, tracing his face tenderly, drawing little heart shapes over his stubble. "That's not true. You're as handsome as back in the day, baby. I didn't meet you then, I know that, and this may be biased, but I'll choose the old you always, my pretty boy"

Joel's heart skips a beat at your words, his expression softening even more. He's not used to such tender affection, and it's overwhelming.

He takes a moment to process your words, his eyes never leaving yours. He can see the sincerity in your eyes, and it touches him more than he can express. Words were never his thing, anyway.

"Y/n" he mutters gruffly, his voice rough with emotion. He even used your name. "You're too good fo' me"

"I just... I think it's because I love you"

He's taken back, almost falling in top of you, yet quickly regaining his posture. Still, his heart jumps into his throat, dangerously close to falling out from his mouth at your sudden confession.

It's been almost a year of being his and him being yours, yet those three words hadn't even been close to being said. Joel never thought he'd get to hear them again from the lips of a lover. Yet here you were, so damn young and sweet, letting them roll off your tongue in a soft echo of your loving. Safe. Like a home. You were his home.

He looks at you, his expression a mixture of surprise and vulnerability.

"Y'... Y' love me?" his voice rasping a bit as he questions you.

"It's okay if you don't say it back" you laugh quietly, probably to make him feel better. Always thinking about the others, you pure thing.

He looks you in the eye, his hand still cupping your cheek. There's a warm tenderness in his expression, despite his gruff tone.

"No. Don't think that" he goes quiet for a moment, as if the weight of your declaration was sinking him. He lets out a shaky breath, as if unsure if the world around him was real, his eyes locked on yours. "I... love you too"

Your eyes widen, a smile appearing instantly on your face as it lights up. His heart swells immediately at the sight of your happiness, and all he wishes for is to see it everyday. When he wakes up, to be first, and when he goes to sleep, your face the last thing to see. To be there, even as he closes his eyes and dozes off to sleep. Your giddy giggles are so fucking contagious, a rebellious smile creeps up his lips.

"You do?"

His chest tightens, vulnerable. Filled with an affection never known before.

"Yeah, sweet girl" he mutters gruffly. "I do. I love you"

Your smile is probably the most beautiful thing in the world, pleased and vicious like a cat's.

"Now, if you love me so dearly as you say, please" your lips part in a shaky breath, "have me"

So damn impatient. He may have spoiled you too much.

"Ya' want me t' have ya', honey?" he asks gruffly, his voice rough with desire as his hands slide down your thighs, tainting untouched skin.

You squirm, nodding eagerly. "Please. I want you so bad it hurts"

His voice, so soft and low, may have passed as a grunt. But you saw. Heard. Noticed. Like the way his face frowned, eyebrows furrowed as if you just told him you were sick. As if he wanted to be the cure to the disease he gave you.

"Tell me where it hurts"

Demanding in a tender way. Almost benevolent. Not even hurting you, but wanted to take every pain of yours away. You didn't deserve not even a scratch of this angry dirty world ruining your soft heart.

You point to the middle of your legs, parting them slowly open. His eyes turn glassy as he tugs your jeans down, and the first sight he gets, is your underwear, damp with your sticky arousal. He gulps, eyes darkening with desire.

"Please. There" you whimper.

"I've got eyes" Joel lets out a small, gruff chuckle. "You're impatient, know that?"

He cups your chin, eyes locked on yours. His breath is shallow, voice raspy and low.

"Don't worry. Lemme help"

He places himself in between your legs, fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties.

"Gon' show ya' what'a man with experience has to offer, al'ight? Now, spread y'r legs open for me" he commands softly. "Lemme see that beautiful, needy cunt"

He pulls your panties down, his throat dry when he peels the drenched fabric down your legs, revealing glistening folds. He can see how swollen and puffy they were. The sight makes his mouth water and his cock pulse with desire.

Joel lowers his head, knees and bed creaking, inhaling the sweet intoxicating smell of your arousal, his facial hear ghosting over your trembling skin until it tickles. Your nervous giggling get stuck in your throat when Joel buries his face between your thighs, tongue delving into your slick folds to lap up the sweet nectar that dripped from your cunt. He groans at the taste, as if savoring the best meal to exist on Earth.

"So sweet" he growls, voice vibrating against your sensitive flesh. His mouth latches onto your clit, suckling the throbbing needy bud as his tongue flicks over it. "Too damn sweet"

It still hurts. It's across your face.

"Gon' help with 'tis. Just wait" he thrusts two fingers knuckle-deep into your cunt, pumping them in and out, curling them to stroke a spot that reduces you to a quiet muffled mess. "S' right, sugar" he praises. "Wanna see you come f' y'r old man"

The feeling of having you here, so needy and responsive, is doing things to him. Joel's lost on the way you beg, his name out of your parted lips in a secretive manner, as if reinforcing the nature of your desires and needs. How this moment was only yours, a whole new world past his door, creeping up the sweaty sheets, making way to his lonley heart, poisoned by the infectious warmth of your own.

He could feel your thighs trembling around his head, cute cries and whimpers serving as a motivation to bring you to the edge. Joel devours you, sucking like a starved man, flicking and lashing at your gushing cunt mercilessly with his tongue. It's experience, he made damn sure you knew about that. He also pumps his fingers faster, plunging deeper into your clutching heat.

"Come on, doll" he urges, voice a low rumble against your sex, "wanna feel 'tis tight little pussy spasm 'round ma' fingers"

"Joel!" you moan out loud, hands clawing into his arms for support.

He can feel your body tensing, your tight walls fluttering around the digits plunging in and out of you. Joel knew you were close, so he sucks your clit with fervent intensity as he curled his fingers just right, stroking that special spot that made your toes curl.

"That's it, y/n" he growls, eyes flashing up to meet yours, dark and intense with lust. "Drench me, y' sweet thing"

With a keening cry, you feel your body burst. Your back archs as your body quakes and shudders, your orgasm washing over you. Joel feels your pussy clench and spasm around his fingers, hot liquid gushing out to coat his hand and drip down his wrist.

Joel's a gentleman, languidly licking and suckling as you ride out of your high. Once your breathing slows, he withdraws his fingers, bringing them up to his mouth to clean off your essence. He meets your gaze, eyes hooded with the same hunger as your own.

"Like I said" he praises softly, making your spent cunt throb. "You're too damn sweet, sugar"

You giggle. "You're insane"

He leans in, planting a soft fluttering kiss to your quivering lips.

"Just f' ya'"

There's only one thing left to do. You know. He knows. You both know. But the way he takes in your pause, as if you're going to discover the most powerful secret, makes you believe there is so much more. His expression turns curious at your deliberate choice of aphony.

"Tell me what ya' want now. I could give ya' the world if 's what ya' want"

You avoid his gaze, playing with the collar of his flannel.

"I need you"

He lets out a clipped chuckle. "That I know, dirty one"

You roll your eyes, playfully.

"We're both aware. But it's not that, it's just..."

"Yes?"

"Can I see you, please?"

His eyes meet your expectant ones. His voice is gruff but soft, his desire for you mixing with a hint of vulnerability.

"Y' wanna see me?"

You nod as he gulps harshly, mouth tasting like sand.

"Can I take off your clothes?"

Joel's heart skips a beat again at your request, a mix of desire and vulnerability warring within him. It's too revealing and intimate, but God knows he just wants to give you all you want.

There's a hint of huskiness to his vulnerable voice. Unsure.

"Yeah" a beat. "You can"

You start unbuttoning slowly, licking your lips with eager trembling hands and pupils blown wide. Like a child on Christmas, knowing they're opening what they asked for. What they wanted. What they wrote at the top of their list. Your slow, deliberate unbuttoning has him practically holding his breath.

"Joel..." you bite your lip, removing his final button. Finally. "You're...."

Joel's heart stammers at the sight of your eyes on him, your obvious desire heightening his own. Yet, he avoids your stare as you reveal his bare chest, pose faltering a bit as if his strength succumbs to your hungry stare. He gulps under the intensity gaze, feeling so fucking vulnerable. It shakes him to his core, foreign to all this fuzzy things that make him sick.

He watches you through heavy-lidded eyes, his voice gruff and raw.

"Yeah…?"

"Perfect" you whisper out loud, his whole world crumbling down.

Joel's heart skips a beat at your words, his chest tightening with a mix of vulnerability and affection. Despite it, he feels self-conscious.

"Perfect…?" he teases, a hint of a dumb smile tugging at his lips.

"Yeah" you hum. "So pretty"

A word that doesn't fit in Joel's world. Feels off-putting. He has never been called such, but once it falls past your lips, coated in adoration, it feels as if it's the only truth ever. His heart skips another beat, body responding to your words.

You can tell he can't believe you're saying those words about him by the hint of disbelief in his eyes.

"Joel"

He lets out a gruff huff in response.

"Look at me"

"Pretty" Joel repeats, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Don't you believe me?"

Joel's heart skips another beat, the vulnerability growing stronger. He's still not used to hearing compliments about his body by you, by anyone at all. It's making his head spin a little.

He can't quite meet your eyes as he responds.

"Take it easy on me, sweet girl. I ain't exactly in m' prime"

"Joel. Look at me" your voice a little firmer this time.

Joel takes a moment, his heart racing. He can't resist your plea, even if he hates feeling vulnerable. Slowly, he meets your eyes.

His voice is almost quiet. "I'm lookin'"

"Good. Do you want me to know what I'm looking at?" you extend your hand to reach his face, brushing a strand of hair that's fallen to his forehead. "Your greys" then, you tug his bottom lip down, "your lips", you circle the wrinkles around his eyes, "your warm eyes" and afterwards, your fingers dwindle on his nose, "just... all of your face: scars, spots and wrinkles. It leaves me breathless"

Joel's heart races as you speak, your words sinking in. He feels seen, in a way he's rarely felt before. Its messing with his mind.

"You describin' what you seein'?" his voice hoarse with emotion. It sounds far away, as if it didn't belong to him.

His lips part as your hand moves down, grazing his neck and his chest before landing on his belly. The sincerity in your eyes is making him feel even more vulnerable, and Joel can feel himself crumbling under your intense stare and firm hands.

"No, I'm describing what I love"

He looks at you, eyes filled with vulnerability and uncertainty.

"Y/n"

It was like being peeled, layer by layer. He hated how he was built now. Rough. Too sharp around edges. Soft on ones he wished he wasn't.

"All of you"

He chuckles, but it's a defeated dying sound. Almost bitter.

"That's impossible, honey"

"What's impossible is not to love all of you"

He gulps, throat raw but unable to say anything.

"Please. Let me love you"

As if he hadn't already hand you his soul. Swallowed all of your words with a feverish desperation, placed them inside a space that had gone cold with time, now feeling like a warm home where he finally belonged.

"My sweet girl..."

You feel Joel pressing you up against the mattress, his bigger body pinning you in place with a hunger that takes your breath away. His hands are everywhere, roaming over your naked curves with a fevered intensity, a low growl of frustration escaping his lips when you break the kiss to take some air.

"You can do with me anything you want"

Joel's breath stops. With a trembling but sure hand, he reaches out, his calloused fingers skimming over the swell of your breasts, teasing the sensitive flesh until your nipples strain against the cloth of your bra. You arch into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips as you feel the hard length of him pressing insistently against your stomach.

Joel leans in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he whispers. 

"Anythin'?" he murmurs, his voice low and rough with desire as you nod, desperate. 

But then, he's laughing, as if pleased with your eagerness. Amused.

"That much? Oh, baby, you that desperate for 'tis ol' man? That bad you want me?"

You whine, at loss for words, the throb too painful to think straight. Joel laughs again, but it's devoid of malice.

"No, don't just nod. I wanna hear you say it, y/n. Wanna hear ya' beg fo' me like the desperate sweet little thin' y'are"

You've never been one for begging, but something about the way he's looking at you, the raw, unbridled hunger in his eyes, makes you want to give him everything he wants and more.

"Please, Joel" you breathe, voice reduced to a needy tremor, "I need you so bad, Joel, please. I need you inside me. I want you filling me, claiming me, in every way possible"

"My sweet girl" he coos, followed by a flurry of heated kisses and desperate groping. You barely have a chance to catch your breath before he's pressing you up with more insistence, his body pinning you in place with a hunger that leaves you desperately aching for more. "S'pretty"

Joel's eyes darken with lust as he takes in the sight of you, drinking in every inch of your glistening skin. He smirks at the desperation written all over your face, something wicked and tender circling inside his brown eyes.

He leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers huskily. "Ts' it, doll. Keep on beggin'. Lemme hear how much y' need ma' cock 'nside 'tis tight little cunt"

You gasp, your hips bucking involuntarily as you feel his fingers slide down to brush against your sensitive clit, a wave of arousal coursing through you.

"Please, please, please, Joel" you whimper, your voice high and needy as you grind yourself shamelessly against his hand. "I'm so wet for you. Please, I'm begging you, make me yours"

He growls. "S'eager, huh? Who would've thought ya' were such'a dirty girl for 'tis ol' dick? Just had ya' bein' all lovey dovey a second ago and now y'are beggin' fo' me to ruin 'tis pretty pussy, baby?"

He quickly sheds what's left of his clothes, revealing to your wide eyes the thick, hard length of his cock, springing free and bobbing heavily against his soft belly. Alright, you had some thoughts about dating a much older man, even if Joel seemed the type of guy to be doted, given his energy. You're glad to be proven wrong in the very best way.

"Fuck, Joel" you breathe, licking your lips as you imagine the taste of him on your tongue. "You're so big"

His cheeks color a pretty pink, sweat beads adorning his forehead. The heat of his body envelopes you like a furnace.

"Now I truly believe ya' like what ya' seein'" he chuckles, "such'a greedy little thing" a beat. "S' fucken hungry for ma' cock. Don't worry, baby. 'M gon' give it to you, nice and slow, until you're screamin' fo' me to let you come"

Joel settles between your thighs, the thick head of his cock nudging against your entrance as he leans down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, effectively swallowing your needy whimpers.

"M' gon' take real good care of what's mine" in that southern drawl that drives you crazy. Hungry. Poisoned with a ravenous desire to possess every inch he can reach of your body. For everyone to see. Know. For all the prying stares. Judgeful. To appreciate in secret under the watchful gaze of the weak sunrays that filter through the courtains of his bedroom.

He then leans to take one of your nipples on his mouth, suckling and teasing the rosy peak, lapping the sensitive bud with his tongue, his hand kneading and squeezing the soft flesh of your breast. You arch into his touch, a symphony of moans and whimpers falling from your lips as he works your body.

At the same time, Joel begins to slowly, teasingly push forward, the thick head of his cock parting your slick folds and sinking inch by tortuous inch into your tight heat.

"Joel!" you gasp, your nails sinking down on the soft expanse of his broad back as you take in his girth, walls clenching and fluttering around his size.

Joel's breaths come in harsh pants against your skin as he fights the urge to bury himself to the hilt in one thrust.

"Y'are so fucken tight" he grits out, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "Don't wanna hurt you, my little fawn. But ya' feel s' good, sweet girl. S' perfect 'round ma' cock."

You wrap your legs tighter around his waist, using the leverage to rock your hips up against his, taking him a little deeper with each desperate roll. He's impressed by your hunger, your desire fueling further his consuming own.

"Joel" you mewl, voice breaking with need, "I can take it, please, I promise. I just need all of you, Joel. Please, fuck me hard and deep until I can't think of anything but the feeling of your cock inside of me"

With a feral growl, Joel surrenders to your plea, slamming his hips forward to bury himself to the hilt inside you. A scream that sounds like his name tears from your throat at the sudden, intense sensation of all of him devouring your from inside, your body convulsing with the force of his thrust.

He sets a brutal pace, pounding into you with deep, powerful strokes that shake the bed frame and echo through the room. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin mingles with the sounds coming out of your mouths.

"Please, please. I wanna come, please"

Tears well in your eyes at the insistence that rocks your body. Joel's eyes widen, perhaps in surprise, this new and strange, yet, his cock twitching makes this all the more intriguing. Arousing even.

"S' you cryin' over my cock?"

You deny it, but the salty trails have started to pool down your cheeks, your prettu fluttering eyelashes damp. Joel gulps, feeling blood rushing to his cock again.

"Don't worry, little fawn" doesn't know why but his tongue runs across your tear-smeared face, the taste of your damp skin, musk and sweat strong, make his mind go numb. "I think ya' look pretty when ya' cry"

Joel feels your velvet walls starting to flutter and clench around his pistoning cock, signaling your coming climax. He doubles his efforts, slamming into you with a wild, primal intensity that steals your breath away.

"That's it, sweet girl" Joel growls, voice ragged with lust as he feels your body tensing beneath him. "Come for me, y/n. I wanna feel you comin' undone on ma' cock, screamin' ma' name as I fill you up nice"

You're a sight to savor in, like basking the first rays of sunlight on the morning. Like his bitter coffee on his favorite mug. But you're sweet on the inside and the outside, he thinks as his thumb finds your clit, rubbing merciless circles over the sensitive nub. Joel is lost on you, he's aware, as he leans down to capture your lips in a consuming kiss. He just wants to have all of you, day and night, body and soul, in and out, because just a taste, and he's gone down the deep saccharine trails of your neck and quivering heart.

Your back arches as the pleasure becomes too intense to bear, your body convulsing uncontrollably as your climax crashes over you. You scream his name, you think, lost in a sea of desperate pleas and incoherent whimpers spilling from your lips.

Joel hilts himself deep inside you as your walls spasm and milk his cock, your release triggering his own, followed by a grunt akin to surrender, perhaps. To you, now fully his. This is the end, he thinks. Now, he's truly yours. God help her, the townsfolk say when you tell them Joel's your man, but when a hoarse shout of your name comes out of his mouth, pulses hot and hard as he grinds against you, you think this is all you need.

Fuck it.

This is what it feels like.

Joel collapses onto you, his bigger softer body blanketing you as he struggles to catch his breath.

"My sweet girl" he coos, peppering your face with soft kisses, his hands roaming over your curves with a gentle, reverent touch. You can feel his heart pounding against your own, when he whispers, voice low and sated. "Mine"

You can't help but laugh in awe. "Yes, Joel. Yours"

He props himself up on his elbows, his brown eyes searching yours with a tenderness that makes your heart skip a beat. A slow, lazy smile spreads across his face as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on the delicate line of your jaw.

"I know I said I was scared, before. That I've tried to push you 'way. God, y'are stubborn, know that? 'M just glad you ain't a quitter"

He leans in closer, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, tender kiss that makes your heart leap. It tastes bitter like grains and whiskey, but sweet with love and devotion. It's not only a spark between your lips, another of many, but a promise, burning with the same intensity the old coffee pot heats his coffee in the morning.

"Y'are my everything, y/n" your name pronounced like never before. Now ever since.

A heart. A home.

"So are you, Joel" his name in a fervent whisper. Born to be said like a prayer.

And for the first time in so long, Joel Miller feels the same thing he felt when he held Ellie close. I've got you, babygirl.

Hope.

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @pedgito / dts: @joelscowgirl ⋆˚✿˖°

[songwithnosoul]

#i always imagines his shoes to be cowboy boots underneath it all. the lightning mcqueen of character designs

#its that all of them are equaly wild and it balances out

#and he wears the sunglasses at night too

#trying to explain to non-artists how absolutely fucked up it is trying to draw this man#like the line from this man’s cheek fo jawline is so weird for me?? shit just sticks out somehow#Mans always in contrapposto#the ‘huh??’ face#also. i am obsessed with sissel having a New York accent so consider- those aren’t vans they’re timbs#it takes a certain kind of deranged to go around in ghost white timbs

#I read his shoes as uhh the word escapes me. but patent leather dress shoes. like gangsters wear in movies.

#it’s the dead guy rizz

#i should dress like this to prom

#that. that design#it calls to me#tumblr approved man

#who is this man? not even he knows#sissel: i don't know why i made these fashion choices but i'm stuck with em now#he looks so stupid and so rad at the same time

#he looks so so stupid i love him#the fucking hair

#AND he’s got amnesia so he can’t even remember why he made those fashion choices in the first place lmaoooooo

#on anyone else it would look bad. but he has the Swag.

#the sunglasses and the way his sprites are drawn help#like both art style and posing#god the character design is so good in this game#he’s so lively for a character with static sprites#like the art style in general makes most everything look good#except the curry prisoner guy

#it's been forever since i played ghost trick but nonsense that makes perfect sense was jus part of the game which yknow good for them

#he has banana hair a red suit with white loafers and is wearing sunglasses constantly#he looks like a giant douchebag but it’s still the best thing ever#ghost trick

#who is this man#yeah sissel wishes he knew that too

#the character design and art direction in this game is just off the charts awesome#and Sissel is like on the milder end of the scale too

#genuinely when i first saw the hair i thought#what the fuck is this game that i’m playing

#truly he goes from what the fuck kinda design in your eyes to best character design so fast

i can't believe im saying a banana dressed like a ketchup bottle looks hard as fuck but he does. he fucks. what STYLE what GRACE i want his GENDER

#wanna hit him w my car#affectionate. ur cool sissel

#Uhm actually those are the dirk strider glasses *I am shot and killed immediately *

#he's so cool and so awful to look at

#the nature of following people in different is that every so often#you run into cherry flavored present mic with not a clue as to why or who that is#and it's just a normal occurrence

#the whole reason I ever even considered playing Ghost Trick#this weird man's incredible design#what the heck#it's a work of art

#Truly one of the designs ever

#also the banana hair is supposed to emulate the tail of a spirit/soul#trust me if you saw the other ideas for his hair

#fr hes got a perfect colour palette

#play ghost trick for more successful fashion failures

#love him or hate him he exudes an energy of mystery from his first appearance

#the sheer audacity and smugness is what ties it all together#nobody would be caught dead in that fit but this man rocks it#ALSO WHITE FUCKING SHOES

#i need to steal his clothes#Just missing the white tie and white shoes

#its cool when u dont think about how his everyday life must be#how much hair gel does he use??#him with his hair down is cursed and Not Him#the banana hair is important#just dont think about it too hard

#Honestly when i was watching the playthru a million years ago i would totaly forget that his hair has an end#u know cuz the icon screen cuts it off#bezerk sword hair in my heart

#it's called confidence baby and it comes from fucking cluelessness as all confidence should

#he doesn’t realize how insane he looks due to REDACTED and amnesia

#i wrestle with this conundrum ever damn time i look at him

#Looks like a sci-if Ronald McDonald

#imagine waking up dead looking like this and not knowing a thing about why you look like this

#it's even funnier when you learn his occupation#like oh. you do that? and you go to work dressed like that?#ok dude

#especially how the expressions work on it too....#like with his Completely Dumbfounded and :0 expressions you feel like it shouldn't work but it does!!!!

#simultaneously silly and actually kinda cool. very distinct.#and you have to take it seriously during the emotional scenes anyway#i like the sunglasses at night though thats the finishing touch

#idk who this man is but with any wacky outfit you need confidence to carry it off. and he’s got panache in *spades*

#yeah#design that in any other context would make me go oh dirk? but they shot straight past it into a whole new loser#and it rules

#a fucking muppet that's what he is

#‘who is this man’ this character design for this game? gets you asking the right kind of questions#literally perfect no further notes necessary

#hey guys if you're on mobile open the sissel image and make the guy zoom around your screen :)

#if vash and wolfwood had a baby this is what he would look like

#absolutely nothing about the designs in ghost trick feels like they should work#they're all categorically insane#and yet they work SO well

#its about confidence. the swagger of a man who has lost everything

#he looks like an exclamation point

#also notably ghost trick was on the ds originally and this man is SHAPED. you can see him no matter how low poly he is

#He should’ve been a tumblr sexyman I’m so serious

sissel's character design elements are so deranged individually yet somehow they all end up working together to make the most baller design youve ever seen. i really dont know how to describe it ive never seen anything quite like it.

[sangunary]

Yandere BatFam x other dimension Reader.

SYPNOSIS: In another world they did love you.

IMP: Reader did get neglected in her dimension.

You've never been a figure or anything important, not something worth the light. Even in picture everybody looked so good and you're just there, even just from a glance it's hard to notice you.

You've tried to shine to take that light everybody else have in their grip but the light was purposefully avoiding you.

No amount of grade, beauty or perfection would make you their baby. Someone they cared for.

You weren't some star like them just the black sheep, everybody else have a life they can call theirs but your life was already written out for you, every possible things already carved out by everyone else but yourself.

Unlike Dick you weren't charming or good looking everything about him was amazing and admirable... The first Robin and the first to become their own person. Not even Bruce get to curve his story...

He treat his siblings equally, that was what he preached... It was true. You weren't a family to him, you didn't matter enough to be apart of his family.

Even when Jason decided to started killing you stayed by his side, brought him food and even tried to build an actual relationship but it was no use.

Everybody called you desperate for crawling to him when he needed somebody and the moment he healed(kind of) he throw you away. Ignoring how you were the only one who stood up for him, took all the insult and humiliation for his sake yet he took you for granted.

You took the word, hit and almost got disowned, for somebody who doesn't even care. You almost died for somebody you thought was your brother yet he didn't do shit when the family almost disowned you for staying by his side... Didn't offer home or solace. Just ignored your suffering for his sake.

Tim was smart everything you adore in a brother, stayed by his side spent sleepless nights just to watch over him when he was in the hospital, trying your best to support your brother who you fear might die.

Yes, everyone didn't get enough sleep but you didn't even sleep stayed by his side to make sure no harm could happened to him. Took your time to read book's knowing he can't even hear you, doing everything.

Yet when he opened his eyes he hugged the family and not you, even have the audacity to ask you to go out while they had some 'family' catch up...

Damian was one hell of a monster, yet you never gave up on him. He was just a kid and you wanted to be the admirable older siblings you never had.

It wasn't easy it never was, the constant lie about you to everyone and yes nobody in this world pity you enough to hear your side... Yout life was already hell and it wad just unfair how everybody else got what they wished for and you never get anything... Not even a family.

To the eyes of the media you were the black sheep often left out even in family portraits or any major Wayne gala, just some avarage citizen that was living the life...

Bruce couldn't remember your name's at times blaming it on old age, Alfred only saw you as an extra mouth nothing more nothing less.

Even when The joker kidnapped you and made Bruce choose between you and Catwoman he almost hesitate, you were never the first or second, you weren't an option to everybody... Just some extras living with them to make them look better.

Being you was painful itself, when your family who were supposed to be the hero rejected your presence.

So, when you accidentally step into another dimension you became attached.

Your false family loved you to no ends, you were dead in that universe... Dying a gruesome death.

Yet when they saw you alive even tho you weren't their family they cherished you and most importantly treat you like a family.

There was no more I no more threats just a loving family.

Who will do whatever to make you stay.

"I like this" You told them, you couldn't help but smile.

You've never played games with your actual family before, to them you were an actual bot with nothing interesting.

"Oh, you won't like it for long... I'll beat you"

Tim said as he aggressively nudge at you to make you lose control.

"Hey! That's cheating, someone take him out!"

Barbara stood up for you.

"Everything is fair in games... As long as you're the winner"

Damian speak up as he instinctively grab Tim hoodie and cover his eyes with it. To let you win.

"That's cheating! I should have won"

"Everything is fair in games... Just gotta have the right support"

You couldn't help it, everybody were together. You were finally in the picture, you didn't have to fit in they just have to accept you and they absolutely did.

You couldn't help but tear up, your heart aching slightly.

"Little wing are you okay? Should w-"

Dick spoke before he was cut off by Damian.

"Let's beat up Tim, he made them cry"

"Huh?! Im the one that lost... Your violence towards me make them scared!"

Before anyone else could argue on who made you cry Jason who was just there because of you spoke up.

"Don't be so obnoxious and loud... They're obviously emotional for a good reason. Bunch of wannabe adult in this room"

With that said he would gave you this handkerchief which was very unusual of him.

Taking a seat next to you on the ground as he pick up the extra controller, not even weirded out by your suddenly burst of tears just pure understanding.

Your Jason was the one who kick you aside the moment he felt healed but this one... He was trying his best to comfort you, he didn't like to be so upfront yet he was doing this to save you from embarassment and a little comfort.

Looking at the Handkerchief you couldn't help but smile, the same one you gave to your Jason when he came back but the one you made was burned into crispy by the very person you made for. He took it and throw it inside the crumbling building that was ignited into flames by him.

Called it a waste of fabric and time, not worth his precious time or life even tho you spend weeks stitching everything by hand... You just wanted to encourage him to be better you didn't knew he would take offence to your kindness.

There was some holes on the handkerchief yet it was extremely clean and ironed... He seems to cherish it alot.

"Took it everywhere and I ruined it, it was my lucky charm but you're here now so you'll be a good replacement"

"I don't think being compared to a literal fabric is fulfilling"

Duke commented.

"It's not just a fabric it's made by our beloved sibling here, shame on you Duke, shame on you"

Stephanie tease him with a fake offended look.

"They only made it for Jaybird... Im abit upse- Very upset"

Dick decided to bring another reason to start a full on war again.

"Hey! I want one but with our special logo!"

"This is childish, but I need one for a good purpose"

"Im the oldest so I should be first"

"Want one"

"Enough!"

Bruce spoke up, seems like all the arguing had finally went into his brain.

"As your Father... I am first priority"

"Master Bruce, as your somewhat father I must be the first I insist"

This was what family should be, united and happy. One that are willing to be by yourside even at your worst, willing to take the hit with you and just be ourselves to eachother without shame.

While you were finally getting the life you deserved your actual family were crumbling. Trying to find you, turning every nook and crook up side down.

Gotham was turning into literal hell, they were acting like dog hound pounding onto anyone who they assume have information on your whereabouts.

It seems like they have finally realised your worth. But you've already replaced them.

You were slowly healing but too bad they won't tolerate being replaced.

Watch me flop.

[ay0nha]

Please Forgive Me | Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch

GIF by crushribbons

SUMMARY: You needed to let go of the illusion that it could have been any different. You were both slowly losing yourselves and your patience. Instead, resented for being weathered and callous. But the pain and hurt were still there; nobody acknowledged how it had gone so long ignored.

Where Robby says, "Please forgive me." The first step in Ho'oponopono.

PAIRING: Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x f!attending!reader

WORD COUNT: 3.6K

WARNINGS: Canon-typical things, mentions of rats, vaccines (anti-vaxxer fuck off), needles, pining, angst, Myrna, incorrect medical things, plot driven by movie magic, flashbacks, arguments, some fluff, me projecting my competency kink, smoking, scrub sharing, word vomit, etc.

Inspired by @skulandcrossbones's post, @xxdrixx's post and @sunkissedburns' post.

A/N: Not quite what I had in mind, but I'm not going to be too hard on myself. This first bit was entirely self-indulgent. Comments are HEAVILY encouraged, they truly keep my going and motivated to write. Many thanks to @hummusforthewin for helping me out again. Enjoy.

prologue

“I could fake a seizure.” 

“Too ‘boy who cried wolf’…” You shook your head. The strike of your lighter was motivated by agitation. On the first exhale of your newly-lit cigarette, you said, “It has to be a…casual—believable lie.”

“All this for what? Love?” Myrna gestured at the air with mocking disgust. “I know a thing or two about a crime of passion.”

Something swirled in your chest, but you brought the cigarette to your lips to suffocate it. 

“Robby’s allergic.” To love. You wouldn’t say the word out loud, afraid you’d catch fire by some divine fury.

“Oh, honey, I knew you were stupid, but not that stupid.” Myrna cracked with humor. Her insults made you feel electric. Normal. They humbled every egotistical vein in your body. “I’d bend him over my knee for what he did to you.” 

Your eyes sparkled with the image. You’d pay good money to see Robby’s face painted with discomfort. His self-control irked you, got under your skin without even trying. It used to drive a competitive friction between you both, one that was light, teasing, even. But it festered to the point it controlled you; you relied on proving a point. 

“Breach of duty, my ass.” She continued. “So you were a drug dealer, so what! God forbid you did something about healthcare in this country.”

“Myrna,” You warned. You wish you were just a ‘drug dealer.’ Instead, you became the judge, jury, and executioner.  “It’s just temporary.”

You said more to remind yourself. It hadn’t quite stuck as a mantra, but it was enough to get you through a shift. It took many years of vomiting up all the filth you’d been taught about yourself, and half believed, before you were able to walk on the earth as though you had a right to be there. You’d be damned to forget that because of him.

“You won’t even spit in his coffee!” Myrna snapped playfully, not letting your eyes glaze over for too long. “You asked me how to get him off your back: seizure.”

“That’ll just give him more reason to bother me.” You filtered smoke through your nose, half-lidded eyes remaining ahead. The thought caused your lips to tingle with indifference. Deep down, you knew nothing would change.

“Listen, girlie…” Myrna gave you the least offensive nickname in the ED. It was why you passed the dwindling cigarette to her; you always played favorites. “...whatever you do, don’t bet on a losing dog.”

—

The ED was slow. 

No one acknowledged it; everyone was too superstitious to acknowledge it. The weather consisted of sleet that kept everyone off the streets. All that could be done was to wait idly for those who were brave enough to come in and those who had no choice but to succumb to the danger of it all. Slow days brought the worst cases.

The quiet no longer felt like rest. It starts feeling like a missing tooth. You keep tonguing at the space, even when it hurts. 

The snow fueled your smoke break; it was a subconscious way to find warmth and stave off subconscious anxiety. Neither was remedied. Your fingers were stiff from the cold, and there was no relief from how the pit in your stomach grew. 

“You alright?” Dr. Robby perked from the desktop, cautious enough not the call too much attention but aware enough to know you weren’t. 

Robby imagined the way your fingers deftly played with the lighter. The way your side profile was traced as you exhaled the smoke. He resisted the urge to follow you out. But you didn’t smoke often, so he knew nerves formed the habit. 

 His attentiveness made you nauseous. 

“Peachy.” Your sigh was heavy. Your day was not ruined. Your world was not over. Take a deep breath. It’s just temporary. 

“Nicotine lowers the seizure threshold...” He hummed. You focused on Robby carefully, watching how his glasses reflected the screen in front of him. “...but there’s no way Myrna can smoke with those handcuffs, right?” 

Ignoring him no longer led to guilt. You viewed it as self-preservation. It was the only selfish act you could take in your condition. You’d be stupid not to exercise your only right. Robby continued to push lightly. His attempts at your vulnerability were in vain. It had been weeks, and you’d yet to budge. 

You don’t know why, but you were all heart today. Maybe it was what Myrna had said to you. Maybe it was the cold that weighed your limbs down. Maybe it was Robby’s question, an unorthodox olive branch, saying: everyone deserves a break. 

You waited for him to interject, to ask some clarifying question or comment, but he doesn’t. The meaning of his words was not lost on you. It allowed something warm to creep through your chest, so you gave him a nod. One that held forgotten gratitude. 

It shocked you, how gentle a tug it took to unravel everything that you built up. 

Had his eyes ever seemed so wide, so earnest? 

To distract yourself from such dangerous thoughts, you picked up any task you could. When things were busier, the trivial things vanished behind the rush, but it was too slow a day to hide behind it all.

“You hear me?”

You hummed, unaware that the way your ears rang consumed your space. You focused back in on Robby, leaned back in his chair, arms tight across his chest. Although in a relaxed posture, Robby looked protective, as if it took a lot of courage to reach out to you again. 

“Your scrubs.” Robby’s eyes crinkled, toying with suppressed charm. It made you shy, like you’d done something wrong, gone too far, and lost your defensive bravado.  “If you’re going for the tie-dye look, you’ll fit in better with Peds.” 

There were splotches across your chest. It looked like dried blood, deep in color that led down to your pants. The droplets looked unprofessional, and you had meant to change, but the few patients that came in commanded your attention instead. 

 “Oh.” You said.  You mumbled as the memory came back to you.  “...had to snatch the povidone-iodine from a patient, they saw it had 70% isopropyl alcohol…tried drinking it…”

You’d volunteered for the busy work of stitches, as it was the only thing that you didn’t need to be monitored for. You were already counting down the days until the patient would return so you could remove them; another moment where you’d be able to come up for air. 

However, it was the ED, you couldn’t turn your back for a moment because even stitches became overly complicated. 

“Excuse me, doctor…” 

The voice behind you is so timid, you don’t hear it right away. 

“Uh, the scrubEx machine is, uh, broken—” Dr. Whitaker sheepishly interjected, catching the conversation in passing. You eyed him, seeing he wore morgue scrubs too big for him. “I mean–I-I didn’t break it…I think it’s old or it needs maintenance or something…”

You frowned. You were already in your spare. 

“Check my locker, I should have extra…” Robby threw the comment passively, not bothering to look away from what he was doing. “504-985.”

Everything stilled for a breath. Nurses who were casually eavesdropping were locked in. Dana’s eyebrows even raised hearing Robby’s code roll off like second nature. Dr. Whitaker blushed on your behalf. You knew his code by heart from years ago: the area codes of New Orleans. He couldn’t let go of the numbers; they followed him everywhere. 

The coldness in your limbs vanished. A prickly heat traveled through your fingertips, representing something close to mortification, but ultimately led to confusion. Then, quickly smothered with irritation. 

You wanted to be suspicious, to think this was just another test, but that wasn’t in Robby’s motive. He covered himself in sarcastic exasperation, but beneath all the stress and trauma, warmth and wit were his nature. This was genuine, this was not Dr. Robinavitch or Dr. Robby, Michael had offered the clothes off his back to you. 

You were like a rabbit frozen in tall grass. Ears perked, heart running, eyes blank and wide. But you didn’t move yet. 

“Go on,” Dana jerked her head in the direction of the locker room. “We’ve got a GSW coming in hot.” 

—

You didn't have it in you anymore to struggle and fight and suffer; you wanted to be quiet and happy.

The lockeroom wasn’t even a room. It was just lockers tucked away at the end of the hall. The so-called privacy was a small sign that said: staff only. It was between the hallway and the bathrooms, forgotten and small. 

Punching in Robby’s code, you were praying for it to be wrong. 

It was minimal. There was an unopened water bottle, neatly folded scrubs, and a pen that had been there since before Robby. Everything he needed was in his backpack. It was functional, tactical, his. It was all he ever needed and was there if he ever needed to run. 

You felt like you were intruding, like you were moments away from being caught. For what? You didn’t want to know. 

You tried to rip it off like a band-aid, grab the scrubs, and go. Something made you jerk. The fabric was scrunched into your fist like it would get away if you let up. The longer you held onto it, the more it tethered you. It was standard scrubs. Unisex and black.  You went through the details, trying to be clinical. Professional. They would be big on you, but they would be functional. 

You drew the fabric closer, holding the top as if it were going to vanish like a bad prank pulled. You ignored the fact that the action resembled something primal. Brushing it against your nose, you knew these were Robby’s by the faint smell of mint. It lingered from the pocket where he stored his nicotine gum.  

“Thought you got lost…”

You paused. 

Not out of interest. More like the way a dog pauses before crossing a fence line—aware. 

“Checking to see if they’re clean.” You don’t miss a beat with the latent insult. “I know better than to trust you these days.”

There it was, that festering anger that was built on resentment. Your heart had frozen over again. You forced the air colder. It was unrelentless with no room for kindness to settle, it was not the kind of cold that came from a breeze or shade, but from stillness, from the absence of sun and time. 

You comment on trust was spat as if the idea itself was revolting. It created a hush so thick it felt like you were walking underwater. Robby said your name. 

“Dr. Robinavitch, I appreciate the…” You couldn’t even thank Robby properly. You’ve stood your ground this long, there was no retreating.

You shrugged off your scrub top, your thermal the only layer left. You moved swiftly, the GSW would be here in moments and you already took enough time for yourself. Tugging Robby’s shirt over your head it fit as expected; baggy in areas that didn’t matter and stitched with reliability of the owner. 

The smell enveloped you fully. If you let your thoughts linger you’re sure you could figure out Robby’s detergent and what aftershave he used when it was time to trim his neck. You adjusted the collar like it was tight, a nervous tick to reprimand yourself for thinking about how Robby’s chain would hang just where you touched. 

Your fingertips tingled with buried emotion. You projected a longing for when things were in a different rhythm, for when Robby was there for you outside of stipulations. 

Communicate. Ask for help if you need it. Trust your attendings. We will get through this together. 

The words came to you so suddenly, it felt like you’d lost your breath. They wrapped around you like a boa. You heard them when you slept and they loitered until you rubbed the exhaustion from your eyes. It had never cracked down on you like this. 

Together was a false-bottomed hope. Together didn’t exist—couldn’t. Your eyes drifted, not unfocused—just distant. Remembering.

The office felt awfully small.

Robby stood far away from you, leaning against the opposing wall stiffly with hands in his pockets. His hair was a mess, a clear indication of the utter frustration he was in. 

Despite the distance, the tension between the two of you was palpable. He was absolutely livid.

Deservedly so. You should have listened to him and stayed out of it, but you didn’t—couldn’t. Now you had to simply stand and take whatever he was about to throw at you.

You swallowed the knot in your throat, preparing for a half-hearted apology. “I’m so—”

“You—” He straightened himself, finger pointed out in accusation, “—had one job. I asked you to stay out of it— no, I ordered you to stay out of it. And what the hell do you do? The absolute fucking opposite. The actual fuck were you doing?”

Robby’s eyes narrowed deeper, the sharpness of the glare hitting you right in the chest. You flinch. “What makes you think you can ignore the rules? Have you forgotten that I’m your attending? I—”

“Do not pull rank with me.” You snapped. So much for just standing there and taking it. “You know damn well I am just as competent as you are.”

“Competent doesn’t mean that you’re—” Robby paused taking in a tight breath. His voice stayed level, refusing to let his anger get the best of him. “You were reckless. Out of line. I have to pull rank if you choose to act like one of the students.  What is not clear here?”

 You can’t help the bitter laugh that burst from your lips. 

“You can pretend to be Adamson all you want, but this morning, you froze.” Low blow. But the ripple of emotion in Robby’s face was satisfying.“ So, sure, I’m fucking sorry for taking things into my own hands when you couldn’t.”

“This was not your patient, and you are too stubborn to understand that. Now he’s dead.” Robby kept going, cementing your fate. “Gloria is expecting you this afternoon. You will listen to her if you want to stay here. Don’t fuck up again.”

You tried opening your mouth, but nothing came out; your face was too hot, too hurt, too full of rage. 

“What the fuck is that?” 

You hadn’t realized your wrist had been caught until you were met with resistance.

You pulled back instinctively. “What are you—

A dull pain scratched at your wrist, and Robby was afraid he’d caused it. But he knew what he saw, identifying it immediately. 

Robby held onto you steadily.  “Did something bite you?”  

“What?” Getting your wrist back, you finally looked at it. The bandage was haphazardly put on, now snagging on your sleeve, exposing two pinpricks.  “You heard Whitaker, the patient tested positive for rats...” 

You cringed, trailing off. It was a cheap joke that landed flatly. A few bubonic plague jokes came to mind, but you swallowed them. 

“I’m fine.” You went to push past Robby, but his arm landed against the wall blocking you. His frame didn’t intimidate you, but it made you hesitate with your response. “...I’ll be fine.” 

“You need antibiotics, a tetanus shot…” Robby rubbed his hands over his face, rougher than he should have, but it helped restrain his agitation. “Streptobacillosis can happen, rabies—

“Seriously, rat bite fever? I have a better chance of winning the lottery than getting that.” You actually laughed, but it wasn’t appreciated. “We have a GSW incoming.” 

“The students need non-cadaver experience.” Robby attempted to be lighthearted, but there was an edge of authority to his voice. “They’ve got plenty of good hands to learn from out there.”

“Don’t be—

“You understand that’s my polite way of saying you will not touch a patient until I clear you, right?”

The words landed like a stone in still water. 

They silenced you, but you didn’t shrink. They cut deeper than it was meant to. It seemed to always happen that way, where once the pleasantries passed, what weighed heavily between you only grew in pressure. The guilt was mocking you again. 

Robby moved, knowing you’d follow. As he traced the hallway, you recognized what he grabbed: needles, medication, gauze, gloves, and confidence. You could have administered it all yourself, but this was a test of faith, one you were too curious about to challenge. 

 —

Anytime you went to the doctor, you felt like a child. Like you’d still get a lollipop and a sticker for being brave. It was why you avoided them if you could. You felt pathetic with your eyes wide and naive as Robby pulled the curtain around the two of you.

The irony didn’t go over your head. 

His gloves were pulled on with dexterity. Robby mumbled what he would have to a patient, it was a reflex you were familiar with. You just stood there, anxious that you were in too vulnerable a position. 

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of needles.”  Prepping the syringe, Robby looked you dead in the eyes, working without the need to look. You wanted to indulge in the charm, but you stayed quiet. “Ready?”

You nodded. There was nothing but everything to be afraid of. Doctors never got used to being a patient. It felt like going against the natural order of things. Especially when Robby looked at you so expectantly. 

“Don’t think I can get through to your arm…” Robby was waiting for you to catch on. Out of habit you pulled at your long sleeve, as if covering the bite itself would disappear. 

Eyeing the needle, you knew it would be intramuscular. It needed to be deep enough to be effective. It was calming to go through the facts you knew, waiting for it all to be over. The muscles had good vascularity. The injected drug would quickly reach the systemic circulation, bypassing the first-pass metabolism.

Robby repeated your name, prompting you to understand so he wouldn’t have to say it. He’d been through the worst imaginable, the grossest, the strangest things. That was life in the ED.  But this was new territory. 

“If you could…” He instructed you in a low tone, clearing his throat. “Turn around.”

Oh. 

You had become so warm, you forgot you intentionally layered for the weather. Your arms were covered. Your legs were covered. The easiest muscle to access caused you to lean against the examination table. The paper crinkled from the slight force as turned your back to Robby. 

He couldn’t seem to clear his throat enough. “If you could…” 

“Right.” You snapped out of your slight stupor. If you had any conviction left, you’d have scolded him. Instead, you hooked your thumb in your waistband. Pulling the fabric down, you barely gave Robby enough surface to administer the shot. 

You could almost sense the way he is actively preventing himself from letting his gaze wander further down than it had to—how he was tentative to pull at your pliant skin to find the muscle. It didn’t matter how hesitant he was because even through the gloves, his hands were unbelievably warm on your bottom. 

“First one…slight pinch…” Robby’s voice was muffled by the needle cap in his mouth. “Alright, one more. Deep breath.” 

The cold was catching up to you. So was the exhaustion. It weakened your senses and put your emotions at the forefront. You wanted to be held, to be cared for in ways you couldn’t provide alone. Robby was familiar with the feeling, but was better at hiding the ache. 

Instead, Robby, in his own way, cared so deeply for others. His care was written in small things, never said, but done. He’d say he didn’t have any friends, but the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb—always. Yet, he never carved out space for himself to be minded. 

“Not too bad, right?” His smile was awkward, but soft. Genuine. Concerned. 

“Ouch.” You mumbled, a playful frown pulled at your lips. “I’ll live.”

“Good.” The snap of removing his gloves invited reality back. “This can’t be done without you.”

You were both stalling, not used to being so close for so long. The curtain’s fabric was a safety net in the chaos. He was slow to rub the hand sanitizer on. You both desired one last deep breath, but the air was running out. You both didn’t know how to exist so softly. 

“Thanks for—

—I’ve been thinking…” Robby cut you off before you could slip away, hands pulling at the ends of his stethoscope to stop fidgeting. 

You paused, letting it sit for a minute.  “Dangerous thing.” 

You’d been thinking too, but now wasn’t the time to crush the hope in his eyes. The risks outweighed the benefits.

You knew he’d been trying to catch you for days. Weeks. But his irritability got in the way. Impatience for Gloria got in the way. He had trouble sleeping, and when he was awake, he was vigilant. Then, when you didn’t see him, you knew he carried his sadness to the roof.  

Even now wasn’t how he’d wanted to approach you.

“Look—I don’t know.” Robby chewed on his cheek. “I just—fuck.” He looked at you with a childlike regret. As if he’d gotten too excited and played too hard. “We can’t keep going like this...I don’t blame you… and I don’t know…”

You knew what he meant: I’m sorry—please forgive me. 

You needed to let go of the illusion that it could have been any different. You were both slowly losing yourselves and your patience. Instead, resented for being weathered and callous. But the pain and hurt were still there; nobody acknowledged how it had gone so long ignored.

“I know.” That smile that you wore—it didn’t shine. Soft and a little sorry. It settled over your guilt for now.

[psformybss]

Birthday Wish

drew starkey x reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI, birthday sex, heat of the moment

an: based on a request that somehow disappeared from my inbox 😭 to whoever i hope i got everything that was on the request i think i did but there’s a chance i didn’t but anyway i hope you like it!

═══════════════

The clock on the wall blinked past midnight, the soft hum of the TV barely filling the silence.

You sat sideways on the worn leather couch, one leg tucked under you, a fork in hand as you lazily picked at a slice of grocery store cake. The cheap kind Drew liked, extra sweet, way too much frosting.

Across from you, Drew nursed a beer, his long legs stretched out, socked feet nudging your shin every so often. His hair was messy from the day, a little damp from the quick shower he’d taken earlier, a lazy, boyish grin on his face.

Twenty-seven.

You glanced at him over the rim of your fork, trying to ignore the low, constant simmer that had been brewing between you two for months—hell, maybe years. Living together, working together, trying and failing to keep it light. Friendly. Easy.

Except nothing about Drew was easy when he looked at you like that.

“You good, birthday boy?” you teased, licking a bit of frosting off your thumb.

He watched the movement with dark eyes, swallowing thickly.

“Yeah,” he said, voice rough. He set his beer down with a soft thunk. “But you know what I really want for my birthday?”

You smiled, playing along. “Another piece of cake?”

He huffed a laugh under his breath, then leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, voice dropping to something that brushed warm over your skin.

“No,” he said slowly. “Good sex.”

You froze, fork halfway to your mouth. Your heart kicked hard against your ribs.

“And not just anyone,” Drew added, reaching out to trail his fingers along your bare calf, slow enough to make you shiver. His voice turned into a growl. “I want you.”

The air tightened between you, heavy with all the things you never said out loud.

You set your fork down, pulse thundering. “Drew…”

“I know,” he cut in, voice rough. “Been trying to be good. Be your friend. Your roommate.” His fingers skimmed higher, brushing the hem of your shorts. “But I can’t stop thinking about you.”

The confession cracked something wide open inside you.

“You don’t have to,” you whispered, barely recognizing your own voice.

Something wild flickered through his eyes—heat, hunger, a desperation barely leashed.

He moved so fast it stole your breath, pulling you into his lap, your thighs bracketing his hips. You could feel how hard he was already, straining against his sweats, pressing into the soft heat between your legs.

“I’ve been wanting you,” Drew whispered against your mouth, his hands drifting over your thighs, your waist, and your hips. “Waking up in the middle of the night, thinking about this.”

He kissed you—hard, messy, like he couldn’t help himself. Teeth dragging against your lower lip, tongue sliding against yours, tasting the sugar from the frosting still clinging to your mouth.

You whimpered into him, grinding your hips without thinking. Drew groaned, deep and low, grabbing your ass to rock you harder against him.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “You feel so fucking good.”

You tugged at the hem of his T-shirt, frantic, needing more. He yanked it over his head in one smooth move, tossing it aside. Your hands immediately found his skin—the warm planes of his chest, the hard cut of his abs, the sharp dip of his V-line disappearing into his sweats.

He looked like sin incarnate—messy hair, flushed cheeks, that look in his eyes like he was about to ruin you and love every second of it.

You barely got a hand to the waistband of his sweats before he caught your wrist.

“Not here,” he said, voice thick, wrecked.

You blinked, confused.

Drew grinned, devilish, and stood, lifting you effortlessly into his arms. You squealed, clinging to his shoulders as he carried you through the apartment, kicking open his bedroom door.

The second he set you down, he was on you again, pushing you back onto the bed, peeling your clothes off piece by piece. Your shirt, your tiny shorts, your panties—all discarded like afterthoughts until you were bare beneath him, breathing hard, aching for him.

Drew hovered over you, just looking for a minute. His big hand trailed down your body, featherlight, over your throat, between your breasts, down your stomach.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he muttered, almost like he was talking to himself. “Better than any fucking dream.”

You reached for him, desperate, but he caught your wrists again, pinning them above your head.

“Patience, baby,” he murmured, eyes gleaming. “Gonna take my time with you.”

He kissed you slow this time—deep, drugging kisses that had you whimpering into his mouth. His lips traced a path down your neck, your collarbone, sucking bruises into your skin as he went.

When his mouth finally closed over your nipple, you arched off the bed with a soft cry. Drew groaned against you, sucking harder, his free hand sliding between your thighs, finding you already soaking wet.

“Fuck, you’re dripping,” he rasped, sliding two fingers through your slick folds, teasing your clit in slow, lazy circles.

You tried to roll your hips, desperate for more, but he pinned you down easily, grinning wickedly.

“Need you,” you gasped.

“You got me,” he promised, kissing his way lower, lower.

When his mouth finally replaced his fingers, you nearly sobbed—his tongue lapping slow and deep, drawing sounds from you that you’d never made before. He ate you like a man starved, moaning against your pussy, one big hand splayed over your stomach to hold you still.

You came hard against his mouth, shaking, crying out his name like a prayer.

Drew didn’t stop. He kissed up your body again, covering you with his own, his cock heavy and leaking against your thigh.

“Tell me where you want me,” he rasped against your ear, teasing the head of his cock against your entrance.

“Inside me,” you whimpered, clawing at his shoulders. “Please.”

He pushed in slow, inch by inch, stretching you until you felt him everywhere, filling you so deep you could barely breathe.

You both groaned, bodies locking together.

Drew kissed you hungrily, thrusting slow and deep, each roll of his hips hitting that spot inside you that made you see stars.

“Don’t need candles,” he grunted, driving deeper, “don’t need cake, just need your body, baby.”

You cried out, wrapping your legs around his waist, meeting each thrust desperately.

He shifted your hips higher, driving deeper, faster, sweat slicking your bodies together as you moved in sync—grinding, gasping, moaning each other’s names like they were the only words you knew.

He kissed you everywhere—your mouth, your jaw, your chest—murmuring broken praises against your skin.

“So fucking good… so perfect for me… so fucking mine.”

You felt yourself building again, heat pooling low in your belly.

“Drew,” you sobbed, nails digging into his back.

“I got you,” he panted, driving harder. “Come with me, baby. Come for me.”

When you shattered, he followed seconds later, burying his face in your neck, groaning your name like a prayer.

You lay tangled together, panting, hearts hammering against each other, sweat cooling on your skin.

Drew kissed your forehead, your cheek, your shoulder, anywhere he could reach.

After a long moment, he rolled onto his side, pulling you with him so you were tucked against his chest.

You traced lazy circles on his chest, still catching your breath.

“Happy birthday,” you whispered, grinning against his skin.

He chuckled, deep and satisfied, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Best fuckin’ birthday ever,” Drew murmured, voice thick with sleep and something softer, heavier. “But… might need you to wake me up in a couple hours for round two.”

You laughed breathlessly, already feeling him getting hard against your thigh again.

“Guess twenty-seven’s gonna be your lucky year,” you teased.

“Yeah,” Drew whispered, eyes fluttering shut, arms tightening around you. “Lucky as hell. ’Cause I got you.”

[13tinysocks]

My Dead Girlfriend

Angstrom Levy plays his hand. You fuck it up. [Invincible Variants x reader]

[Part one]  [Ao3] [5]

6 * Bad Dog [5.5k]

"Since all those lost years when I thought I was the monster,

It turns out I was really the prey

Masturbating and waiting for the raid,

And hating every little thing about you all the way!"

The Ruminant - Go Hang

        The acrid breeze makes his blue curtain of a mask flutter. "Give us our shit." You almost don't think it's Mark talking, his voice is so different, so stereotypically New York native.

        The man standing on solid air ignores him. Good eye sliding from one Mark to another. "You're down one."

        "We're down a lot more than that, numbnuts." Mohawk throws his arms out. Gesturing to the empty space where other Marks could have been, but weren't. 

        "To be expected. This reality is much more resilient than most." At that, the men surrounding him bristle.

        "You meant for us to die." Baldie accuses, crossed arms tensing with the need for violence. "You were never going to deliver."

        The man, Angstrom, though you don't quite know it yet, laughs. Holding a scarred finger out to point at you. "I have though, haven't I? More than half of you wished to see this one again."

        You are slack in the arms of your savior. Conscious but head spinning with the sudden change of atmosphere. It was a good thing none of them could see your face behind the mask, see that you were awake and biding your time. 

        But he knows you're awake. The one holding you, the warrior raised on Viltrum from birth. He feels your pulse pick up under his hands, hears the skip of your heart, the faint smell of fear induced sweat under your armor. The others aren't close enough to sense it, you hide your feelings well, play dead good as a possum, but he knows. And he tells nobody.

        "You've all had a turn, so I think my end has been delivered." He finishes.

        The one with a bare face looks at Angstrom, confused. "I have no idea who that is. Where's William?"

        "Yeah." Backs up the long masked one. "Like I'd even give a fuck about some... whatever." he waves his hand, uncaring to find a word for some insignificant bug.

        Despite the backlash, Angstrom smiles pleasantly. "I'm aware in your realities, you didn't know or care for (Y/n) (L/n). That is perfectly acceptable. Don't think I've forgotten about the deals we've all made. But to fulfill them, I'll need you to find this dimensions Mark Grayson and bring him to me."

        Eyes twitch. Lips curl.

        "No," Scars finally says. He looks to you in the arms of that straight-laced Viltrumites arms and barely contains a smirk. He's going to enjoy ripping you out of them. Tearing his arms off for touching you. "I've got what I want. I'm done with this place."

        "You are aware I could leave you here or somewhere worse, correct?" Angstrom doesn't sound the least bit concerned regarding the mounting tension. The cracking knuckles. The nasty grinning-snarls, thirsty for a little more blood. 

        "You won't." Lensless hums, "We'll kill ya before you get the chance."

         "Then we'd actually be stuck here forever, dumbass." Mohawk barks. "We'll just torture him instead, duh." 

        Angstrom rose a brow. "There's only one of her left in all existence, remember that before you threaten me."

        You are consumed by crackling green light that seems to statically stick to your armor. You are falling, then not, draped over Angstrom's arm like a coat. Still trying to play knocked out. "I have the perfect reality ready for her if any of you move." He says before you're settled. "Pit of man-eating octomen I've been starving for months, waiting right here." A ring of power encircles your body, not touching you but threatening with its presence. "Move and she's there."

        "I don't care, man." Long Mask says. 

        Angstrom ignores him. "Get me Mark Grayson."

        "You've got ten of him right here," Emperor says. "And if you know what's good for you, you'll drop it."

        Angstrom laughs, nastily. So hard he shakes you in his grip. "Am I dog now, Mister Grayson?"

        "You're no better than one," Emperor replies.

        "Look at you all- looking at me like you want me to die. After everything I've given you." Spit flies off Angstrom's lips, landing on your visor. "I met so many of you with snot dribbling out your noses over this thing," he jostles you in his grip as you grit your teeth, "this worthless animal who in so many dimensions joins your conquest. Just some regular human who adds absolutely nothing to nearly every timeline. I don't get the appeal, but I don't have to. Do as I say or she dies."

        You observe the Marks. Ready to pounce. To throw caution to the wind. Some are hesitant, actually using their brains but enough of are ready to fucking shred you think you might get eaten by whatever an octoman is.

        It leaves you with no other choice. It was just a bonus it'd get him to shut up. You were dead tired of hearing this guy's voice. Hearing any guy's voice.

        You let out a weak, groggy groan. Catch Angstrom's attention, which is all you need. Watch the grin spread across his busted face. "Look who's awak-"

        "Bite off your tongue." Blood comes out of your nose in such a rush it splattered against the inside of your helmet. Power ripped from you all at once, used on this guy you didn't know, but definitely didn't trust. 

        Drip, drop atop your helmet. Then came the rivers of blood down his chin. Weaving through his beard. Tongue stuck all the way out his mouth, teeth grinding down, down, down. Sawing, squelching. He blinks, tongue half removed from his mouth, when your hold snaps. A scream that was more a gargle, splatters more blood across your visitor. You're thrown, ass over heel.

        His words are thick with pain and a brand-new lisp as he says, "Bad dog!"

        The sickly green light surrounds you as a portal opens up behind your back, snapping shut before the closest version of your ex could reach you. The last thing you saw was him smiling with blood bubbling over his lips. 

        Your landing was surprisingly soft. Skidding to a slow stop on silky tan sand. Scrambling to your knees to see where the portal was. Gone. No green, just a cloudless, hazy sky. Sun fat in the sky. Beating down harsh on the black metal of your armor. Around you there is nothing but more sand and ruins of a society long forgotten. 

        You don't know what happened. Don't know how to process what happened. Calling out to the nothingness, "Bring me back!" To no reply or help at all.

        ***

        "You-!"

        Biting off your own tongue was something the deeply deranged and suicidal did. Despite that criteria, Angstrom Levy had never wanted to do such a thing, but there you'd been- making him do it. 

         He was in acute shock. Slow. Unable to dodge the hands grabbing him, the fists beating him, not with his tongue dangling half-cut out his mouth. Threats came pouring in quick as they were delivered. Ribs broken. Ligaments torn, good eye gone red with burst blood vessels. 

        It'd lasted thirty seconds, maybe less, but a voice cut through the violent haze. "We can't get her back if he's dead." Said the boy who killed his father and wore his cloak. God, if Freud were still around. 

        The words didn't calm them, but soothed the blows like a balm. Mohawk had him by the collar, choking him with it. "Open the portal, cocksucker."

        Angstrom rose a hand, the only one he had left after that Viltrumite loyalist chopped the other off. He let it open slow, teasingly so. Power roiling under his skin, revenge on the mind. They'd thought they'd had him down and out, but he was nowhere near dead. He never planned to keep them along for the full ride. The plan was always to betray them. This was much sooner, and much bloodier, than planned. So be it. 

        "There." He heaved. They turned, looking into the opening to a new world. A world so dry it'd evaporate the marrow out of your bones. 

        Phantom didn't speak. Just shot his black and blue body through. One down, nine to go. 

        "That world," he begins, tongue awkwardly flailing over the bottom of his mouth, blood spilling down his throat just to be hacked out, "-that world has major time dilation. She could be very far from the origin point by now. Miles. It'll take him too long to find her... I can't-" He let the portal waiver, looking unstable, "I can't hold it long."

        "You can and you will." The ex-prisoner grabbed him by the balls. Through Angstrom's pants but still. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. 

        If guilt tripping wouldn't work, he had no other choice. "Wait... I can.. I think I've found her." More portals zap open all around him. Nine in total. "Do you see?" They turn, just to watch the portals shoot closer, swallowing them all whole before snapping shut. Leaving them to fall in the sand and Angstrom alone to his devices. 

        ***

        You'd tried it all. Screaming. Looking for an exit. Digging. Trying to call someone, anyone on your phone that had not a bar. All while the sun beat at your back. You didn't give up, not really, just resigned to moving somewhere else. Powers, you knew, were stupid. Angstrom could find you again even if you'd left the dropoff.

        You walked. Migraine gnawing at your temples. Power stores drained out. Boots dragged in the sand, prints sifting away as soon as they were made. Moved from wreck to wreck for the tiniest slivers of shade. Baked inside your helmet until you popped it off, wiping at the drying blood with your gloves. When there was a breeze, it felt like a hairdryer, making your eyes water.

       Two hours, you'd walked to find nothing.

       The sun moved slow, the sky fading to a dull purple, but you knew the second it dipped below the dunes, you'd be dead without a fire. Deserts don't stay hot without sun. Planks were easy come by, old wood waiting to disintegrate into the sand. You rooted through the tool belt attached to the body armor. Tear gas, a high-powered taser, a flare, a knife, ammo for a gun you didn't have, and a to-go first aid kit. 

        You tried the taser on the wood. It made the old thing crumble in your hands. You tried again to the same result. Again and again as the sun crossed the sky and the heat began to ebb. 

        ***

        He flew through the desert, combing it in a gird. Square mile by square mile, searching. Growing more desperate by the second. Head filling with what if's. 

        It's faint, a mere vibration in his left ear. He banks hard. Following. Forcing his hearing to it's limit- catching grains shifting below his flight path. Then it comes again. Audible this time. Bzzt. Lil more to the left. Bzzzzt! Not long now. He starts to slow right as the sound pinged from below. BZZZT!

        "Fuck you, motherfucker." Came out from a line of beams fallen together to make a concrete tent.

        He landed gently, trying not to make a dust cloud and scare you away. Watching your back as you tried to light a plank ablaze with a taser. It crumbled in your hands. You scoff, kicking debris into a cloud that makes you violently cough. 

        You could turn and see him. Husky purple dusk not yet camouflaging his blue-black body suit. But you don't. Instead, you keep trying to tase the remaining sawdust into flames. It doesn't work. 

        He floats above the sand, slowly rolling into your view. 

        ***

        Chaos. Total, absolute, chaos.

        Nine of them in the middle of some desert planet, tenth fucked off God knows where. No Angstrom to take them out. No (Y/n) to soften the blow. The rage settled in like a beat behind their eyes, a thrum under their fingerpads. They wanted to choke each other for existing. 

        Their personal genie had betrayed them, left them for dead. 

        He wasn't the first to blast off into the desert. Searching for a way out, for you. He was, however, first to shoot into the sky for a birdseye view. The atmosphere thinned, going from an ugly yellow to the familiar dark of space. Above the sphere, he hovered, seeing only sand. Around the planet he went, hoping, then finding those hopes were something juvenile. 

        The search extended into space. For other planets. He noticed then, flying through the cold dark there were no stars or gas giants or distant worlds. Only the planet they landed on and the too-close sun. 

        As if Angstrom Levy had found the one reality in all of existence with one dead world. One big, sandy, uninhabitable world. The perfect place for them all to die. The search could be expanded later, with more of them looking, but he doubted even their Viltrumite bodies could reach any planets if he couldn't see them. 

        He was angry, but couldn't fault the guy. He was going to rip off Angstrom's balls after all. He'd find a way out of this, the same way he'd found a way out of that hell of a Viltrumite prison. Scarred beyond recognition. Coming home to find the love of his life dead and long buried. 

        Except that now you were down on that sandball, somewhere. Hopefully alive. So why was he angsting up in space? 

        ***

        The taser shot out, connecting thick prongs to his suit. Electricity traveled fast through the carbon fiber, penetrating to his skin. He didn't seize and drop. He took it like he was nothing but thin air, like you were imagining him in a wave of heat induced hysteria.

        The prongs retracted and he took that as cue to step down into your concrete hut. Coming closer, slow, hands up over his chest like he wasn't going to hurt you- as if you'd believe that.

        You hear it. Something moving so fast the air splits around you. 

        You don't know what you're going to do. Shout? Duck? Gasp? You don't get to decide because he's on you. Holding you hard against himself, feet inches off the ground, hand pressed firm over your mouth. Head tracking the sonic spec in the sky as it passed over. When the coast is clear, he sets you down and backs off. Not leaving your nothing of a camp, but any space willing given by these freaks was noticeable. 

        "Leave." Power doesn't even bother to tickle your throat. You had jackshit left. Wouldn’t have jackshit for days if your luck stayed bad. You'd only blown yourself out like this one time- that day at the beginning of the end of your life. You'd never used your power on someone else powered before. Barley used it period. Only on little, meaningless, petty things. Until you used it all at once to save his life. Then on him. Blowing out you out like a tire. Failing. 

        Now you were here. Staring at a fully masked version of him, unable to control him or your life again. 

        Yet you try, "Go." The taser finds its home in your belt, replaced by the tear gas canister held over your head. "Or I'll set this fucking bomb off if you get any closer." It's a lie so obvious you couldn’t put your chest behind it. "I'll kill us both, I swear to God."        

         He doesn’t move. Your helmet sits on the ground at your feet. You wonder how fast you could set the tear gas off and put the thing back on. If the GDA-enhanced tear gas would make you go blind.

        As you fingered the pin, he pulled something from his belt. A short, metal pin. He approaches the pile of wood you’d made. You back up, knowing he'd catch you if you ran. Knowing you didn't have energy for any more running. He cracks the metal against a shred of concrete. Sparks rained down on the dry material and then there was fire. Small but as he stepped back, blaze growing. 

        Technically, you knew what he was doing. Starting a fire so you wouldn’t freeze to death, the breeze as the sun went down already cool. But mentally? You had no idea what he wanted. You knew that he was one of the ones that asked for you, that knew some version of you and decided thousands dead was worth it. Even though he was the first to your side on multiple occasions, you couldn’t know what he wanted. If he wanted something in exchange.

        The sky had gone a deep gray. Cold settling in between the sand dunes like an old bone's ache. You could leave, but the growing fire was your one and only shot of living. Just a guess, but the taser thing wasn’t going to work. 

        "What do you want?" You asked, shuffling closer. Still gripping the tear gas hard, reared over your shoulder like a weapon. "Tell me or I'll set it off."

        "I'm not going to hurt you." Through that demon of a modulator, you catch a softness, Mark whispering a secret he hadn’t told anyone else. More genuine than you’d heard from any of these alternates. 

        "How do I know you're not lying?" But there is no reply, and you don’t think he is. He's done talking and you're done fighting. 

        He sits first. On the edge of an uneven slab, leaving plenty of room for you. You watch him carefully. Sure he's going to lunge, a lurking predator luring you into a false sense of safety. So you lean against the wall instead, watching him and the fire. 

        He does lunge eventually, ten minutes later. Dashing forth to stomp out the fire as another body streaks across the sky. Tense as you both watched it go by. Waiting until there’s nothing but the night. Then he was back on his knees, cracking the stick onto new planks.

        "What is that?" You're still standing. Arm lifting the canister overhead once again.

        He looks up from the fire at you. Black going brown in the light. Tentatively, tortuously, and against every nerve in your body, you sit. Slip the tear gas canister back into your belt. Hoping he'd talk if you seemed a little less hostile. 

       "Tell me where I am. Who the fuck was that?" 

      You’re not shocked when he says nothing, only annoyed by your acceptance of it. He can’t bring himself to ruin this moment with you, finally alone. Hearing your voice, even angry, was like an angel’s song for the damned. Your face like something out a dream. Any nervous tics, little movements, shifts in your weight, was studied and tucked away to categorize and compare to what he knew. 

        You at seventeen, nervous and shy and sweet. Could you have become this bitter thing had you lived? Surely not. He'd have made sure you were taken care of. Made you into a wife with nothing to fret over. He hates him. The Mark of your dimension. Wants to turn him inside out for letting whatever happened to you- happen.

        You watched him right back with no knowledge of what his gaze meant. None of the same interest, but watching for the same things, instincts of being prey. Wondering when the slowly stalking fox was going to pounce, if the gaze was a challenge. In the thickening night, he was starting to blend in. You could still see his outline and the dark lenses reflecting back your stare. You try to look past them but can't, can't read anything from the blank, dark slate. You look away, wanting a momentary reprieve, backing down from the challenge. Movement. Your gaze right back, tense all over. Hand on the taser holster.

       The mask is off. Chin up, he is bare. There is stubble dark on his jaw, skin paler than you recalled Mark ever being, his hair a shaggy mess that hung past his ears, eye bags deep, nearly purple. He was Mark, no surprise there, the surprise was the slate blue of his eyes. Just like his father's. 

        You pull the taser out, but not wanting to escalate further, voice almost a whisper after you’d grown used to the quiet. "What do you want?" He looks up at you under dark brows and long lashes. It reminds you so much of your Mark you want to strike him, but think better of it. "Answer me." 

        It comes out breathy, hardly audible. "I just-" Two syllables and his voice breaks. Cracks right down the middle. He shuts his mouth, hand going to his throat, thumb massaging. He swallows, tries again but all that comes out is a hoarse sigh. His brows knit in frustration. He’d talked more than he was used to in the past few days, and with the dry air and nerves, what was left of his vocal cords wasn’t going to cooperate. 

        You don’t know what’s wrong with him, but now you understand why he wore that modulator.

        The mask goes back on. He's given up trying to talk, trying to show his belly like he wasn't a threat. You suspect violence, harassment, almost get up anticipating it, but it doesn't come. You're about to settle down when the ground shudders just outside your camp. You don't get the chance to check what it was because it steps inside between the concrete pillars.

        "We've been working together to find a way out of this shithole and here you two've been, love shackin' it up." His mask flutters in front of his face as he talks. Sand stuck to his tracksuit where blood had wet it. "Jesus, yer lucky I found you. Those other dudes have been losing they's fuckin' minds."

        Phantom rises, dashing the small fire away. He'd know his alone time with you would be short. They'd find you both eventually, but he was glad to have had it. Even if you looked at him with such disdain. For so many years, that's all he wanted. His voice failing him was punishment for letting you die, for letting this version of you get stuck in an unending desert. He'd make it up to you. Find a voice to say what needed to be said.

        He steps towards the other. Long mask, long face, you don't quite know what to mentally call him yet- steps back. Making room for Phantom to exit the ruin. 

        "I'm not leaving." You tell the newcomer, though you grab the helmet. To throw at him? To cover your head from the cold now that the fire couldn't ward it off? 

        "You dunno if I've found a way out or not and yer just gonna act like that?" His laugh is humorless, "Glad we weren’t a thing in my world."

        Behind him, Phantom jerks his head, a 'come' gesture. Wind, not a breeze, cuts through the dunes and sends winter cold through the cracks in your armor. Settles under the fabric, making you shiver. 

        "Do you have a way out?" You demand.

        "Would'a left your ass behind if I did." He says, stepping further back. Annoyed but understanding you wouldn’t come within a certain distance; despite how fast he could liberate your head from your shoulders. "Come on," he lifts inches off the ground, "the longer you're gone the edgier those shitheads get. I can't take it anymore." 

        You really, really, really did not want to see any of them. You look back to your concrete shack. But. Survival is easier in groups, right? You know what else is easier in groups? Mass murder. The second you got your powers back, you were taking them out like you'd set out to do. Sure, you'd probably only kill one or two more of them but it'd be enough to kill Mark Grayson four times before you went to hell. Only then did eternity of torture sound bearable.

        You also couldn't make a fire, it was freezing, you had no food and you'd be starving soon, and you had nothing to drink but codeine, which was a bad idea. 

       Phantom waited for you on the ground. Tracksuit, ah there's that convenient nickname, hovered low in the sky waiting. "Let's go already." You can't fly and something tells you Tracksuit isn't willing to walk however many miles it is back to camp. 

        Phantom taps his masked cheek. At first you're disgusted, thinking he wants you to lay one on him but realize, he's telling you to put the helmet on. You'd seen those old stories of superhuman and regular-Joe-human romances going bad because their lover flew too fast and all the human's skin was flayed off. You didn't want to go to the others, but you really didn't want to go without skin.

        You put the helmet on and he moves towards you. Slower than the first time he scooped you up and took you to the sky. He definitely felt bad about dropping you. Elbows move under knees, strong hand supporting your back. Lifting off gently this time. Accelerating slowly enough for Tracksuit to scoff and shout, "Dude, move it!"

        You'd never been flying like this. Before, it was too quick to process, too much adrenaline. Now you were burnt out and empty enough to actually process the passing dunes. To feel your body relying on his for support. You would have liked it, really, if it wasn't one of the crazy Marks- which was pretty much all of them. Horrified at any time he'd drop you or dangle you by an ankle until you cried, "Uncle." He hadn't seemed the type, but he also ripped off Psychopomp's arms the second time you met him. He wasn't as forward as the others, which made him less predictable. 

        The whole flight you were scared shitless, because the second it was over, things were only going to get worse. The bright side was, things were always awful before they got better. Thinking about killing Mark calmed you down a fraction.        

        Even in the distance, you could see the camp. No mountains to hide its orange glow. The only thing of note for miles upon miles. 

        Tracksuit sighed with relief, "Thank God." He shot forward, gone, leaving you and Phantom to meander along. You'd noticed he'd significantly slowed. Sucking up all the remaining alone time with you he could get. Hovering hundreds of feet over a massive bonfire. Figures below, waiting with baited breath. 

        Phantom contemplates the success rate of leaving. Running with you. Surviving alone together. His black boots touch down on the sand. He sets you down, keeping a hand at your back as you wobble to your feet. Unaccustomed to flying. Human heart fluttering in your chest.

        You get no peace or relief. 

        Just Mohawk flying forward and almost knocking you over "Dickhead," he hissed before his fist sent Phantom careening into the desert night. Phantom catches himself, but stays further back, hidden in the dark. It was chilly but this planet was nothing compared to the vacuum of space. To what his life had been before seeing you again. The fire, here and there, were for you. Warmth and signal. He would keep watch from the shadows. 

        The perpetrator turns to you, sand stuck in his mohawk. "You good?"

        You don't meet his eye. Opting to stumble closer to the bonfire, trying to avoid eye contact with the Marks standing around.

        "I thought you'd need it," Omni-Wannabe says. 

        "Where are we?" You stare into it. Hoping they don't notice the answers aren't forced out of them. That they don't piece together the only reason you're not going batshit is because you're powerless.

        "A desert," Lensless kicks at the sand, "Duh."

        "What desert?" It's hard to keep the venom out of your voice. 

        Emperor stretches his legs over a rock. Leaning back in his low earthy chair, looking like he meant to be stranded. "You tell me. You're the one who got us trapped here."

        You don't bite the bait. You can't fight back, so opening your big mouth is the last thing you should do. But he's looking at you like he wants to chop you to pieces. You go for fawning but not too out of character. "Wasn't expecting anyone to end up here with me."

        Under the yellow fabric, his brow twitches. "After all the chasing and defending, you didn't expect backup?"

        "I didn't ask for backup." You say, "I have no idea what's going on. One second I'm working, the next this guy," your arm gestures to Mohawk who grins, "is beating the shit out of my boss."

        Emperor's muscles tighten. You'd said the wrong thing. Towed the line too willy-nilly. He says, "You really must be dumber in this world if you haven't figured it out yet. Don't speak to me until you do." And goes back to watching the fire.

        Crisis averted.

        Somebody thinks it's a good idea to rest their fat, meaty hand on your shoulder and say, "Are you okay?"

        When you turn it's the bald one. Wearing an expression you think is concern.

        You can't help moving away and snapping, "Get off." 

        "D'aww, somebody mad their geriatric handler didn't pick them up?" Scars is right behind you. Not close enough to touch, but too close for comfort. He could push you into the fire and you'd be roast dinner. "Not expecting to deal with the consequences of your actions, were you?"

        This time, for real, you hold your tongue. Stuck straight to the roof of your mouth. You are not fucking with this guy.

        He touches you the same place Baldie did. You're scared to shove him off. Baldie was a mistake, one that could've gotten you killed. Scars would be a mistake that would get you killed. 

        "Hey, look, she's afraid of me!" He announced like it was an honor. "That's a smart girl, but where's that fighting spirit? Come on, I wanna see you try n' hurt me again."

        You don't reply. Don't move. Don't breathe. 

        "Your heart just skipped a beat, there, Dregs. Don't tell me you're gonna avoid me by killing yourself again." His fingers tighten on your shoulder. Nearly bruising. "I won't let it happen again." He's masking his anger being here with nine of himself by playing with you. Relieving stress. 

        "You're wasting your energy antagonizing her." The grip lightens immediately, someone else to play with. Scars' violent attention turned toward the bare baby-faced version of himself. 

        "You telling me what to do?" Tension cracked off his split lip.        

        "No." The other says evenly, "But we're stuck in an alien desert. Now's not the time to pull some master-slave dynamic bullshit on some girl you don't even know. Be smart."

        Scars slipped around you, prowling toward the sat man. "And how do you suggest I 'be smart'." 

        He started counting off on his fingers, "Get more firewood if you don't want her to freeze to death. Search ruins for something that could get us out. Look for food. Rest, conserve energy, because we don't know how long we'll be stuck here. My guess is until we get ourselves out because there's no way Angstrom is coming back for us."

        "He will," Lensless says with unwarranted confidence. "He has to know we'll find him and kill 'im. It's dumber to let us be mad n' stuff."        

        Maskless shakes his head. "He chose this planet because he expects us to die. I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm not fighting you guys over some human I don't know. If you're smart, you'll do the same." He slides off the rock and lies himself sideways in the sand. Head propped on his elbow like a pillow. "At least shut up or go to sleep so you can kill echother quicker tomorrow."

        Scars took two steps toward him before an arm jutted out, stopping him. Omni-Mark stood between the two like a wall. "He's right. We should sleep while it's cool. Search more tomorrow."

        "Who said you're in charge?" Emperor snipped despite being deeply unhelpful.

        "I'm not trying to be," he said, "it's just a suggestion."

        One you take. Moving away to the other side of the blaze while their bickering went on and on. You sat on a rusted pipe. Maskless a few feet to your right, brow furrowed but eyes closed. The Viltrumite to your left, arms folded behind his back. Posture painfully straight. His eyes flick over to you, head not moving. 

        You don't see it, but he's content with the situation at hand- for now. He could take the others. Savvy enough to survive in the harshest conditions where the others surely weren't. He'd conquered harsher planets than this without help. Atop of all that, you were choosing to be by his side. That is enough for him, for the moment.

[angelltheninth]

hi, this is my first time asking but uuhm I can't stop thinking about female reader that is bestfriend with Dante and/or Vergil (DMC5) and they are very touchy with her and she loves it cause it makes her feel safe and protected to have their hands on her?? and she's like super innocent, she just truly loves it. You can make it SFW or NSFW as you wish aah

So them in their older hot state. Well they were always hot, but them being DILFS is definately attractive.

Pairing: Dante Sparda, Virgil Sparda x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, protectiveness, flirting, casual touches, hand-holding, dancing, childhood friends, shyness

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: I will have to play all the games sometime, I got my friends into it so I'll play along as they do.

always been a tease towards you

intentionally invades your personal space because he knows it will make you blush like mad

not at all ashamed by being a shameless flirt towards you

tries to get you to flirt back but he never can, in fact you seem to get more and more shy, which makes Dante want to flirt with you more

he shows off at any chance he can and does moves that he knows will make you swoon

wants to dance with you whenever he can, pulling you close, pressing his gloved hands against your hips

every time his lips brush your ear a shiver runs across your body but you can't do anything about it

since he is one of your best friends he knows of the crush you've had on him for years now, he has the same feelings towards you but hasn't made a direct move yet

when he gets tired of waiting he does a really grand gesture as his confession

and that grand gesture is killing a bunch of demons and writing his confession with their blood

while not exactly a big flirt but he is very protective and sometimes the lines between those two can blurr for you

he doesn't do it intentionally but he always walks just a step or two in front of you, his back straight and his hand available for you to hold of you need it

at night when you get tired he will stay in your room until you fall asleep

never was too big on the cuddles but will hold your hand

very stoic, even when he says something that is very blatantly flirty, he never lets anything fluster him while you are exactly the opposite

smiles to himself when he sees the way you blush

doesn't let you hide behind your hands when you blush or mumble to yourself, you should have more confidence

praises you when he thinks you've earned it

genuinely values your company, which is not something he can say for a lot of people

if praise doesn't get you flustered he places a hand against your cheek and brushes your hair behind your ear

[melit0n]

Thank you for the tag bossman <3

The Oh Hellos -> "Soldier, Poet, King" (I was massive into animation memes (and creepypasta...a prevailing fixation) when they were still popular, and Ijustwannahavefunn's video from 2019 caught my eye; it was history from there, lol. I wish I'd found them way sooner. I will not pass over until I get to see them live. Eat You Alive and Passerine SHALL also be playing at any sort of formal occasion I can manage.)

Sleep Token -> "The Night Does Not Belong To God" (I had the video appear in my YouTube recommendations when it first came out in 2019, and, while I found it amazing, I didn't really dig my teeth in. I ended up hearing 'The Offering' in a record shop (if I had a nickle for each time a band I ended up getting super into played at my local record shop, I'd have a stupid amount of nickles.) and recognised the vocalist, said 'FINE.' and went home and did a proper listen of all they had out. Calcutta, Jericho, Levitate, The Offering, and then, later on, their album 'This Place Will Become Your Tomb', made me lock in. Hearing 'The Summoning' in 2023 also brought me deeper lmao.)

Radiohead -> probably "Creep" (I've been an on and off listener of Radiohead for ages. I think I probably got into them more in the last two years; I got gifted the Viynl of OK COMPUTER, saw a mass of of sad SatoSugu edits to 'Let Down', and while having my lunch, someone in their apartment with their window open nearby started playing 'All I Need' on their piano. 'In Rainbows' and 'Kid Amnesiac' are my favourite albums).

Tagging @vulcanette @bubacorn @a-s-levynn @copper-sands @officialcaptain and anyone else who wants to have a go!

starting a tag game because i'm bored as fuck

name three of your favourite music artists and the song/anything else that introduced you to them

i'm tagging @the-wxter-is-fine, @jeahreading, and @akumakitsunesog <3

here's mine-

Taylor Swift - ...Ready For It?

(also the music video was a partial bi awakening for me)

2. Conan Gray - Jigsaw

3. Nirvana - Come As You Are

open tags for everyone who wants to participate!

[thirteenheavens]

mafia mingyu - arranged marriage

that's all I ask forrrr tyyyy!!!!

(p.s., I ABSOLUTELY LOVE YOUR FICS)

Consummate this union|| Kim Mingyu

Notes: I should really be doing more of my masterlists but instead I’m writing LMAO

Mingyu sits across from you in the dimly lit mafia office, his dark eyes studying you with intensity. The tension between you both is palpable - this marriage was arranged to seal a business deal, after all. "We need to consummate this union," he says bluntly, rising from his chair. His muscular frame fills the doorway as he approaches you.

"You can't just tell me what to do," you snap back, trying to maintain some semblance of control despite the circumstances. Mingyu smirks, closing the distance between you in a few long strides. "Actually, I can," he purrs, backing you against the wall. "You're my wife now."

His hand reaches out to caress your cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle despite his dangerous reputation. "But don't worry," he continues, "I'll make sure you enjoy this too."

Days go by and Mingyu's teasing continue subtle touches during meetings, lingering glances across the dinner table, finding excuses to be near you.

"You're getting quite red, my dear wife," he comments one evening, running his finger along your neck. "Are you feeling hot?" The mafia lord's proximity and dominating presence have you increasingly aroused, but he refuses to take things further. He wants you to beg for it.

"Stop playing games with me," you finally snap during dinner, slamming your glass down. "Either finish what you started or leave me alone." Mingyu's eyes darken with lust at your outburst, a predatory smile spreading across his face. "As you wish," he says silkily, standing up. He grabs your wrist and pulls you up from your chair, leading you to his private bedroom. The door slams shut behind you both as he pins you against it.

"You've been a very naughty girl," he growls, pressing his body against yours. "Talking back to your husband like that deserves punishment." His hands slide down to grip your hips, grinding his growing erection against you while his lips hover just above yours. "I hope you're ready for what comes next."

"Show me what you've got," you challenge breathlessly, arching against him. "Don't just tease me like some toy." Mingyu lets out a dark laugh, swiftly unbuttoning your blouse. "Oh darling, you have no idea what I'm capable of," he purrs. His lips attack your exposed skin while his hands work on your pants. "You're mine to play with now," he growls possessively. "To break and remake however I want."

"Break me then," you gasp, tugging at his shirt. "I want to feel everything you can give me." Mingyu rips his shirt off, revealing his muscular chest and several scars from previous fights. His eyes glow with intensity as he lifts you effortlessly, carrying you to the bed.

"You asked for it," he says with a dangerous smile, laying you down and climbing on top of you. "Now I'm going to make you scream my name until you forget everything else." Mingyu's hands roam your body hungrily, exploring every inch of your skin while his mouth claims yours in a bruising kiss. His tongue tangles with yours possessively. He breaks the kiss to trail hot kisses down your neck, marking you with possessive bites. "These will remind you who owns you," he growls against your skin.

His fingers find their way to your wet core, teasing your entrance through your panties. "So ready for me already," he observes with satisfaction. "Let's see how well you take me." Mingyu removes your panties in one fluid motion, positioning himself between your legs. His cock stands proud and leaking, ready to claim you fully.

"Look at me," he commands, holding your gaze as he slowly pushes into you. "I want to see the moment you become completely mine." He fills you completely with one powerful thrust, stretching you deliciously. His hips begin moving in deep, controlled strokes while his fingers dig into your hips.

"You feel so perfect around me," he groans, picking up speed. "Like you were made for my cock." Mingyu's skin burns against yours as he fucks you harder, his sweat mingling with yours. His dark hair falls messily across his forehead, eyes glazed with pleasure.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he growls, hitting your sweet spot with each thrust. "Such a good little wife for me." The heat of his body drives you wild, making you writhe and moan beneath him. His possessive grip leaves bruises as he claims you completely, making sure you'll feel him for days.

"Mingyu, please... harder," you cry out, gripping his broad shoulders desperately. "I need to feel all of you." He smirks at your pleas, his pace becoming ruthless as he pins your hands above your head. "Such a needy little thing," he pants. His cock slams into you mercilessly, hitting that spot over and over again. The wet sounds of your coupling fill the room, mixing with your moans and his growls of satisfaction.

"Cum for me," he commands darkly. "Show me how much you love being my wife." Mingyu doesn't stop as your walls clench around him, prolonging your pleasure until you're shaking beneath him. His dark eyes watch your face intently, drinking in your ecstasy.

"That's it," he growls, feeling your juices coat his cock. "So good for me." His rhythm becomes erratic as his own release approaches, his control slipping. "Fuck, I'm going to fill you up," he warns through gritted teeth.

With a final powerful thrust, he buries himself deep inside you, releasing his hot seed with a primal groan of satisfaction. His body trembles as he fills you completely, marking you as his inside and out. Mingyu collapses on top of you, both of you breathing heavily as you come down from your highs. His cock pulses inside you as he stays buried there, claiming his territory.

"You're perfect," he murmurs against your neck, pressing soft kisses to the marks he left earlier. "My perfect little wife." He rolls onto his side, keeping you close against his chest. The possessive arm wrapped around you shows no sign of letting go.

"Get some rest," he says quietly. "Tomorrow we'll consummate our marriage properly, with every inch of this mansion." Mingyu's smirk widens at your exhausted but intrigued expression. "You look so cute when you're tired and spent," he teases, tracing patterns on your back.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of you properly tonight," he promises. "Tomorrow I'll make sure every inch of this house knows who owns you." He reaches for the blanket, pulling it over both of you as your eyes start to drift closed. "Sleep well, darling," he whispers, watching over you possessively in the darkness.

[velaris-fic-repository]

What the Tide Brings In (Part 6)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

“This is a bad idea.”

“Oh please, what are they going to do? Kill me?”

Azriel made a noncommittal face, more of an upset feline expression than anything else.

“Come off it. I’ve already seen this gorgeous and peaceful city in the heart of the big, bad Night Court,” you comically emphasized the weight of the previous words before moving on.

“You’re supposed to be the scariest one. And lo and behold, you’re naught but a big softy.” You reached over during the moonlit walk the two of you were taking to boop your finger on the tip of his nose. A wise choice? No, but he didn’t retaliate or move away. Victory.

“I’m not a softy,” Azriel protested, lightly swatting at your hand leaning in for another assault upon his nose.

“Mhmm.”

“I’m not!” His voice got louder in emphasis as his wings extended momentarily, puffing himself up to look broader and more intimidating. Too bad you’ve already seen the heart of him. His childish response didn’t help either.

“Whatever you say, shadowsinger.” You surveyed him then said, more seriously, “Are you sure you’re alright introducing me? We don’t have to if you don’t want.”

You were incredibly interested to meet his family, the quartet you’ve heard so much yet so little about. It truthfully had nothing to do with their stations as leaders of the Night Court. These people were important to Azriel, and you wanted to meet them. But, if he wasn’t ready to share them with you, that was fine.

Unbeknownst to you, it had more to do with Azriel not wanting to share you with them.

He sighed in soft defeat. “No, no. They want to meet you too. Honestly, if we don’t do this now I’m sure they’ll find ways to orchestrate an accidental bumping into you.”

His shadows - who had slowly started seeping into the world until it felt like they’d always been there - shifted on his shoulders, reaching out towards you until one twined around your finger.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” you chuckled, playing with a shadow for a bit until it disappeared with the rest of its ilk.

“Busybodies, the lot of them.”

You snickered, “isn’t being a busybody, your entire job?”

Azriel looked at you, surprising you by snorting back, a small smile unsuccessfully suppressed. The laugh was undignified, boyish. His hazel eyes glittered in a way that twisted your heart.

“Unfortunately,” he sighed wistfully, “they’re going to love you.”

While your magic connected you to the wind and you lived by it on any ship you’ve ever sailed on, you have never been fully at the mercy of it. You always had the waves and current or the ground beneath you as a secondary element.

Sailing was in your blood. A free feeling that you had fought against your fear for and happily had returned to you. There was still a hollow, dread soaked feeling in your stomach when you spent too much time remembering the fateful expedition that brought you to Velaris, but you could step on a deck without fear and finally feel the sea breeze on your face again.

Flying was something else entirely, as you found out. Nothing but air currents whipping around you as you floated high above the glittering jewel that was Velaris.

A soft, “wow,” escaped you as you took it all in. Azriel’s low chuckle was right next to your ear, making it very hard for you to keep your reactions to yourself.

��I thought you would like it.”

“It’s amazing.”

“Better than sailing?” He teased as you felt his wingbeats and momentum start to slow down, the mountain House of Wind coming into view.

“You wish,” you teased back, earning you another laugh as the two of you landed.

You had another comment on the tip of your tongue, stalled by a male voice saying, “Finally, I thought you’d never get here! We’re starving!”

“Welcome,” Azriel quipped, shifting slightly into the quieter version of himself from when you met him. He was still at ease though, if not a little tense in the shoulders. Peaceful, just different, and maybe a touch nervous for this evening for obvious reasons.

You found yourself shocked to notice the little details, knowing exactly what each little piece meant. Then you remembered that golden little thread in your chest, still feeling nothing from the other side. He always seemed a little more relaxed when it was just the two of you.

You really had to stop looking at that. The bond would reveal itself to him in time, if he chose to accept it. His friendship was plenty, you thought. If you were deluding yourself, that was between you and The Cauldron. It’s not like you’ve lost sleep over it or anything. (Sure).

Introductions were easily made as dinner appeared before you all on the table. You had taken the seat next to Azriel, of course, but it was a humorous little race between Mor and Cassian for the other seat beside you. Ultimately, Mor won out, leaving Cassian to sit mildly uncomfortably next to Amren, Rhysand on her other side by Azriel.

“So this is the female we’ve heard so much about” Rhysand teased, a grumble elicited from Azriel.

You smiled though, “A pleasure to meet you all. You have a lovely home and city, if you don’t mind me saying, High Lord.”

“Rhys is fine,” he insisted, “and thank you. Your love of the harbor is very well known.”

“I meant the whole thing, but yes,” you chuckled, “the harbor is my favorite.”

Rhys grinned at you, violet eyes twinkling in that star like quality they seemed to have. “Azriel tells me you used to be a pirate?”

“Yup!” You said, “Hat and everything. Though I did lose the hat somewhere along the way.”

The conversation drifted by easily like this, you answering questions, offering questions of your own. Amren was curious about the finest thing your crew had ever stolen.

“We preferred to think of ourselves as privateers of the people. We didn’t really steal pretty things for ourselves, mostly food, clothes and money for fae who needed them more than those who hoarded them. That being said, we did have a few less than altruistic excursions.”

“Tell us more, please,” Mor said excitedly beside you.

“I think I’ll keep some of those stories to myself. Can’t give all my good ones away at the beginning, right?”

Azriel’s lips twitched up into a smirk, only causing your smile to grow brighter.

“You’re from Summer, you said?” Mor asked.

“Yes.”

“We have an interesting relationship with that court.”

“Please do elaborate,” you snickered.

Mor laughed with you, “Cassian got himself banned for life for knocking down a building in Adriata.”

You stilled, eyes flicking up to Cassian who shifted in his seat.

“That was you?” You asked, eyes still wide.

“…yeah.”

The whole table was silent, fearful, Azriel most of all. You’d never talked about that with him. He’d never thought to ask about it. What if you had people who had lived or worked out of that building. He’s sure it had been rebuilt but obviously it was a significant event if the ban had not been lifted. None of the Inner Circle was really sure what the extent of the damage was as Nostros had not given them a detailed reporting when it happened.

Azriel, not for the first time in knowing you but definitely the most serious case, had absolutely no idea how you would react to this information. All he could do was wait and hope he didn’t have to intervene in the next few heartbeats.

You raised a hand to your mouth, eyes still wide on Cassian and just sat there for a moment. Power thrummed throughout the room, every member present waiting to unleash something if the situation turned south.

But then, they heard a small snort. Followed immediately by a crescendo of laughter, louder and louder until your hand left your mouth and they all saw the blinding smile on your face.

Azriel was bewildered but found a smile on his own face in response to yours, as if your joy was his.

“You’re not… mad or something?” Cassian said tentatively.

“Are you kidding?” You asked between laughs, “That was one of the best weeks of our career!”

“Really?”

You finally tamed your laughter, smile still blinding like the Summer sun. “You have never seen a group of self-righteous nobles turn such a shade of purple! It was amazing!”

Rhys, happy to not have a brawl in his dining room, sent you an amused but authoritative expression. “It was an Inter-court incident.”

You leveled a roguish expression back at him, “No one got hurt! And I raise you, High Lord, as a Summer and Adriata native, those nobles were pricks preying on their people and they deserved whatever money and belongings they lost.”

Azriel snorted while Cassian joined you in your humorous hysterics, the whole table falling back into its easy rhythm from before.

Unsure what prompted it, Azriel reached over and grabbed your hand, squeezing it once. Oddly, he couldn’t bring himself to let go of it.

You pointed with your other hand at Cassian, “I think you and I are going to be friends.” He grinned, nodding.

“Do you ever miss Summer?” Cassian asked with a smirk, “and you don’t have to kiss our asses about it.”

“The scenery? Yeah. The people? No. I think I’d be hunted down if I went back, they hate me over there. Or at least those I’m charge do.” You paused, looking over at Azriel with a soft smile, “I’ve never felt more welcomed than I’ve been here.”

“Glad to hear our Spymaster has made a new resident feel at home,” Rhys said, clearly a brotherly barb tossed Azriel’s way. In answer, Azriel huffed, but said nothing, rubbing his thumb over your hand.

“Do you mind me asking about your family?” Mor asked. You smiled and shook your head.

“We weren’t really all that close. They didn’t approve of my swashbuckling, wild child behavior and then my chosen career path. So, we hadn’t been in contact for a while.” Mor and you shared a sympathetic look, your familial relationships not the same, but featuring echoes of some of what the other experienced.

You continued, “I suppose, like you guys, I found family other places.”

“In your crew?” Amren prompted.

“Yeah,” you answered and then stopped. For the first time since being here, you thought about them. Really stopped and thought about them. Maybe you had been mentally avoiding the topic to protect yourself, to keep the darkness at the edges of your mind at bay. There had been a lot of distractions to put between yourself and those names, those faces. No such distraction existed now, not when asked directly about them.

Sorley’s strong arms. Aviva’s smile. Auri’s boisterous laugh. Petra’s kind, wise eyes.

All of them battered and lost to the depths. Just you now. All alone.

What did you have that they didn’t? Why were you still here when they didn’t make it? Did you really deserve survival more than them?

Azriel watched your face fall, a darkness he had seen before settling back into you. He rubbed his thumb over your knuckles again to soothe you. He looked up, locking eyes with Rhys. There was a surprised and sorrowful look on his face as he looked between you and Azriel. It was all Azriel needed to know that his brother had seen inside your head. It didn’t appear like a fun place to be right now.

Azriel waited for Rhys to share mentally with him what he had seen. He wasn’t asking for the whole story, Az would never want to breach your privacy. But, he’d have been lying if he said he wouldn’t have at least liked a comment from Rhys, to give him an inkling of what you were dealing with. Rhys would never infringe on the privacy of a friend using his abilities, but if someone needed help… But he didn’t.

Rhys swallowed and cleared his throat, breaking you from the treacherous depths of your mind that he had seen. Someone would have to teach you about shielding but that would be a conversation for a different time. No one else could save you from the darkness of your own mind, but he could offer you a distraction at least while you figured it out or worked up the courage to ask for help. You were important to Azriel, that made you important to everyone else at that table.

“Your reputation around the ships really does precede you,” Rhys started.

“Thank you,” you said, returning to yourself.

“Our current Harbormaster is very old, even for us. He’s expressed interest in retiring from his duties. You seem more than qualified for the job, and you have the respect of everyone who’s stepped foot in the port. Not an insignificant feat for only being here a few months.”

You smirked, “What are you suggesting, Rhysand?”

A smile wormed onto Rhys’s face, “How would you feel about taking over as Harbormaster of Velaris.”

“I didn’t realize this was a business meeting,” you joked, “had I known I would have dressed better.”

Azriel, glad at least to see you smiling again, said with a fond eye roll, “no you wouldn’t have. You’re still a pirate in your bones.”

“Damn straight I am! But,” you said, bowing your head slightly in Rhys’s direction, “I promise everything I do will be above board should you put me in this position.”

Rhys smiled, looking down at your hand still held in Azriel’s, “I have no doubt. And if you need anything, please don’t hesitate to let us know.”

“Welcome to the family,” Cassian joked, “Azzie doesn’t make new friends often.”

“Guess I’m special,” you said, theatrically putting on airs to the humor of everyone assembled.

As laughter filtered back into the table, Azriel’s hand did not stray from yours, his attention almost solely on you all evening.

Special indeed, he mused.

I’ve had this done for a minute life just had me forgetting about it, hope you enjoyed! I think there are two or three of these left depending on how I split it up! Let me know what you think and as always if ya wanna join the taglist, just say so!

Series Taglist: @rcarbo1 @shylahstarzz @tele86 @bubybubsters @willowpains @breemitch15 @96jnie @polli05927 @starsidesigh @i-am-infinite @ashjade19 @lilah-asteria

[wol-fica]

-Oscar Winning Tears-

pairings - sabrinacarpenter x fem!reader

summary - With Sabrina being away in Europe on her tour, you just couldn’t keep up with your emotions

warnings - none

an - stripping fic is almost done, doing up the final touches before it’s yours <3

———————

Crying is a form of release, a way to let all your pent-up emotions out that have built up throughout the day. It is a quite easy option instead of losing your temper or being frustrated and sad.

Unfortunately, your body would not let you cry, for whatever reason.

It had been an awful day, and honestly an awful week, and all you wanted to do was just scream into your pillow and just let it all out. Things went wrong, people were upset, you pretty much got yelled at every day, and you had to come home to an empty house after.

Sabrina was in Europe, specifically Paris, while finishing up the last few shows of the tour. She wasn’t supposed to be home until mid-April, and normally you would never ask her to come back to you while she was on tour, but you really needed someone to lean onto and your girlfriend is always the first that comes to your mind.

The phone in your hand rang softly, your eyes focused on the screen as you waited to see if she would pick up. It was 2 AM for you, meaning it was an early morning for Sabrina, and she was usually getting ready for her show at rehearsals. She has always told you that she would prioritize your calls and do her best to answer, but it was never guaranteed while she was working, especially in the mornings.

“Y/N?” A voice sounded after the line clicked, soft and questioning, “It’s late hon, why are you up?”

You inhaled, your breath shaky and weak from the emotions piled up inside of you. Sabrina listened on the other line, waiting patiently for your response.

“What’s wrong baby?” She asked after a moment of silence, “Can’t sleep?”

“Yeah.” You mumbled, playing with the hem of your blanket, “I can’t”

A sigh came from the other end, not of annoyance but more of remorse. You heard her shuffle around, saying something inaudible to another person before the sound of a door shutting came through, the quiet chatter behind her disappearing.

“There’s melatonin in the bathroom, if you want to take that.”

“I know…I just…” Your sentence gave up on itself, struggling to find your voice to say what you felt.

“Baby.” Sabrina sounded firm, yet still gentle and loving, “Did something happen?”

Your bottom lip wobbled, the feeling of crying rising in your throat. Your hand clutched at your chest, trying to find the right way to breathe in the thick air around you.

“I just…I’ve had a r-really bad week.” You said shakily, trying but failing at steadying your voice, “I know you’re in P-Paris…but I just wish you w-were here...”

Your voice broke at the end of your words, your lip slipping between your teeth as an attempt to suppress your tears. You heard Sabrina inhale sharply on the other end, a sign of her realization and guilt.

“Oh, my love.” She cooed to you, a skill that helps soothe you, “I’m so sorry honey, I wish I could be there too.”

You nodded, a whimper passing through your lips at the thought and understanding of her being so far away. Her heart broke at the sound, her lips curling down as her mind raced with what could have potentially happened to upset you. She looked around the room as she pondered, trying to come up with a solution that would help you.

“I’m gonna come to you.” She said after a while, making up her mind, “The show can be postponed for a little.”

Your eyes snapped to your phone, wide and alarmed, “Babe no, you don’t have to.”

“Honey.” Sabrina interrupted you, her voice stern, “You need me; I’m coming home.”

You went to speak again, but the words died on your tongue as you heard her speaking to someone in the background about booking the soonest flight. You knew how incredibly stubborn she gets when she sets her mind on something, and arguing with her about leaving wouldn’t benefit anyone; Naturally, you gave up.

“Okay…okay thank you. Still with me baby?”

You nodded, wiping your eyes, “Mhm.”

“I should be home around 1 or 2, okay?”

“Ok.”

“Alright, can you do something for me?”

You nodded again, a small yawn coming through your mouth as you spoke, “Yeeaah.”

Sabrina giggled, making you smile slightly at the sweet sound, “Think you could throw on one of my tour hoodies and try to sleep?”

You hummed, carefully pulling the covers back before heading into your closet to steal the cozy article she requested, immediately sighing when the smell of her perfume hit your nose after you put the hoodie on. It was soft, warm, and infected with her aroma, your brain melting to slush at the stimulation it produced.

“Okay, I’m wearing it.” You mumbled, rubbing your eyes as you got back into bed, “…feel sleepy already…”

“That’s my girl, I’ll see you soon.” Sabrina replied softly, “I love you so much baby.”

“Mm…I love you too…” You whispered, now struggling to keep your eyes open as the hoodie was doing wonders for your insomnia.

“Sweet dreams my love.” Her voice sounded through the phone, your eyes falling shut at the sound of the line ending.

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

You groaned softly, peeling your eyes open to the sound of music playing softly downstairs. The sun was shining through your curtains, rays of light cast on the floor like angled pillars that of a coliseum.

With a groan, you pushed yourself up into a seated position, your head falling into your hands as you slowly woke up. You peeked an eye at your phone, seeing that the time was 3:30 in the afternoon, and started to stretch and exit your bedroom. A yawn fell from your lips; arms raised above your head with your eyes squeezed shut as you made your way downstairs towards the music. The sound of someone singing along filled your ears, a sweet and melodic voice that you knew all too well.

Once you round the corner, your heart skipped a beat from the sight. Sabrina stood at the counter, gently stirring a spoon in a saucepan while she swayed to the beat. Her hair was up in a ponytail, messily clawclipped together with her bangs settle just above her glasses. She was wearing one of your shirts, the oversized style completely swallowing her small figure like a dress, with a pair of fluffy pink socks covering her feet.

“Baby…” You whined, rubbing your hand over your eyes as you approached her.

She turned to you, a smile curved onto her lips from hearing you, “Hi beautiful.”

You grumbled something in response, the feeling of sleep still heavy on your body. She giggled at that, setting the spoon down and holding out her arms so you could fall into her. You burrowed yourself into her, your face falling to her neck as your arms went around her shoulders. She wrapped you up in her embrace, rubbing your back softly whilst leaving little kisses against your cheek.

“You’re home.” You mumbled, squeezing her gently, “Thought I was dreamin’.”

“Well, I am here! In the flesh.” Sabrina pressed her lips to your temple, “I missed you.”

Her nails ran up the back of your shirt, scratching gently at your skin. A low rumble sounded from your throat at the feeling, almost purring into her neck from her soft touch. She hummed at that, squeezing your abdomen before pulling back to cup your face.

You locked your eyes with hers, smiling softly when you noticed the subtle blush on her cheeks. She slid a little closer, her nose brushing your tentatively before you pulled her into a kiss. Your lips slotted into hers perfectly, soft, and long awaiting your attention from being away for so long. Fingers danced across her waist, squeezing and pulling her in as close as you could.

“Missed you too.” You murmured, nipping her bottom lip slightly as you pulled away, “Europe is too far; I’m going with you when you go back.”

Sabrina giggled, poking your stomach gently whilst nodding, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Long distance is always a struggle, but a few tears and some kisses does the trick; Fortunately, you have an amazing girlfriend who can do just that.

———————

honey? where’s my super suit?

[bitchinbarzal]

Opposite | M Kesselring

for @kellerfornia

-

You weren’t sure what hurt more:

the fact that he moved on,

or the fact that she was nothing like you.

Standing there, drink in hand, you watched Michael laugh across the crowded bar, hand casually resting on the waist of her — blonde, bubbly, and bold, every bit the opposite of you.

The kind of girl who looked like she knew every song playing. The kind who would never overthink a thing in her life.

You didn’t even blame him.

You knew how much you could spiral, how tangled in your own head you got.

Maybe this was easier. Lighter.

Still, it burned.

You turned away before he could see you looking, but not fast enough because seconds later, you felt a tap on your shoulder.

“Hey,” he said, soft, almost guilty.

God, that voice. It still had the power to undo you.

“Hey,” you managed, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

There was an awkward beat of silence. Michael shifted on his feet, hand raking through his hair — an old nervous habit you knew too well.

For a second, it felt like nothing had changed.

For a second, it felt like you were still his favorite place.

And then she was there, slipping her hand into his, pulling him back.

“Coming, babe?” she asked, her voice bright and easy.

Michael gave you an apologetic smile — a smile that said I’m sorry I hurt you but not I wish I could undo it — and let himself be led away.

You watched them go, heart heavy but steady.

Because you realized something, standing there alone:

He didn’t want someone like you.

He wanted something different.

Not better. Not worse.

Just not you.

And somehow, somehow — that made it easier to breathe.

Because if he wanted your opposite,

then maybe it wasn’t about you not being enough.

Maybe it was just about being wrong for him.

And maybe, just maybe — you could be right for someone else.

You set your drink down.

You walked out the door.

You didn’t look back.

At first, he didn’t notice it.

The way it felt different.

The way she felt different.

He told himself it was just new.

That’s what everyone said — new felt different.

You had to adjust.

But weeks turned into months, and Michael couldn’t shake the feeling.

The way conversations with her stayed surface-level.

The way he never felt quite known.

And when he laughed — really laughed — it wasn’t because she said something that caught him off guard.

It was because he remembered you saying something stupid at 2 a.m., face half-buried in a pillow, teasing him until he blushed.

He missed the way you listened.

The way you understood things he couldn’t put into words.

He missed you.

It hit him hardest when he saw you again — not at a bar this time, but at a coffee shop on a rainy afternoon.

You were tucked into a corner seat, hoodie sleeves covering your hands, lost in a book.

You looked up.

And for a second — just a second your eyes lit up, the way they used to when you saw him.

Then the light dimmed.

And you gave him a polite, distant smile.

It shattered him.

Because he remembered everything.

The way you used to smile so wide your nose crinkled.

The way you said his name like it was a secret you were telling the universe.

And now? Now he was just another stranger passing by.

He didn’t approach you that day.

Didn’t ruin your peace.

But that night, lying awake, he finally admitted it to himself:

He didn’t want someone opposite from you.

He didn’t want someone easier or lighter or shinier.

He wanted you.

Complicated. Soft. Overthinking. Brilliant.

You.

No one ever fit him like you did.

Weeks later, you got a text.

Hey… I don’t know if you’d even want to hear from me, but…

I saw you. I miss you. I’m sorry.

You stared at the screen, heart thudding painfully in your chest.

You didn’t know what to say.

You didn’t even know if you could say anything.

Because he had shattered you once.

Because you had stitched yourself back together without him.

You couldn’t deny it.

Some part of you — maybe the part that always knew him best — whispered:

He means it.

You took a breath.

You typed.

Maybe we can talk sometime.

You didn’t promise anything.

You didn’t pretend it would be easy.

But for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like you were drowning.

Maybe you weren’t opposites after all.

Maybe you were just finding your way back.

Slowly. Carefully.

Maybe this time, it would be different.

The coffee shop was the same.

Same worn leather seats. Same smell of burnt espresso and cinnamon.

The rain outside blurred the windows, the same way it had the last time you saw him.

You sat there, picking at the lid of your cup, waiting.

And then the door swung open.

Michael.

He looked… older somehow.

Not in a bad way. Just… heavier. Like life had laid itself across his shoulders since you last touched him.

He spotted you immediately — how could he not? — and froze for half a second before walking over.

“Hey,” he said, voice rough like he hadn’t spoken all day.

You gave a small smile. “Hey.”

He sat across from you.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. Just breathing in the same air again felt strange enough.

Then he leaned forward, elbows on the table.

“I don’t really know where to start,” he admitted.

You looked at him, really looked, and saw all the pieces he hadn’t let you see when things ended , the regret, the confusion, the sadness.

“You don’t have to,” you said quietly.

But he shook his head. “I do.”

He rubbed his hands over his jeans, searching for words.

“I thought… I thought maybe I needed different. Easier. I don’t know. I was scared. And I didn’t know how to handle loving you the way I did.”

You blinked, throat tight.

Loving.

Past tense?

Or just scared tense?

“I didn’t need someone different,” he said, voice breaking a little. “I just needed to grow up.”

You pressed your palms flat to the table to stop your hands from shaking.

“And now?” you asked.

Michael looked at you, really looked like he was seeing you for the first time again.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I just know I miss you. I miss us. And if you’re willing… maybe we could figure it out.”

You closed your eyes for a beat.

It would be so easy to fall back.

To pretend nothing had changed.

To pick up where you left off.

But you weren’t the same girl who cried herself to sleep wondering why you weren’t enough.

And he wasn’t the same boy who walked away thinking love was supposed to be effortless.

You opened your eyes.

“I don’t know either,” you said. “But… maybe we could figure it out.”

A soft, tentative smile spread across his face.

Not triumphant.

Not cocky.

Just hopeful.

He reached out . not grabbing your hand, not forcing anything — just setting his hand palm-up on the table between you.

An invitation.

You stared at it.

And slowly, cautiously, you placed your hand over his.

Not a promise.

Not yet.

But maybe

maybe

the start of something new.

Not the same as before.

Not perfect.

But real.

And sometimes, real was enough.

The light in the room was warm and golden.

Michael stood there, hands trembling slightly as he spoke, voice quiet but full of something unshakable.

“You know,” he said, a small, awed smile tugging at his mouth, “when I met her… I didn’t know what love was.”

He laughed softly, shaking his head at the memory.

“I thought love was supposed to be easy. Effortless. I thought if it scared me, it meant it wasn’t right.”

He paused, blinking against the weight of his own heart.

“But loving her was different. It wasn’t effortless. It was real. It was terrifying sometimes. It made me grow in ways I didn’t know I could.”

He took a slow breath.

“I love her because she stayed — not when it was easy, but when it was messy.

Because she chose me, even when I couldn’t figure out how to choose myself.

Because she taught me that love isn’t finding someone perfect — it’s finding someone who’s worth the fight.”

A soft smile pulled at his lips.

“I love her because even when the whole world felt too big, she made me feel like I belonged.”

He swallowed, voice thick.

“I love her because she’s my favorite ‘what if’ that turned into my forever.”

Michael lifted his glass, eyes locking with yours across the room — your wedding dress gleaming under the lights, your hand pressed to your heart.

“And if you ask me what the best thing I ever did was,” he said, voice breaking with emotion, “it’s her. It’s always been her.”

The room cheered, but he only ever saw you.

[bikananjarrus]

i'm just going to dive right into it, but i am so deeply upset and mad about cinta's death. not necessarily that it happened, but because i thought it was written so carelessly, and it just feels so deeply unfair to the character, to varada, to vel and faye, to the fans, who waited over 2 years to see cinta's arc only for it to be reduced to that.

of course i'm upset that cinta is dead, and i would like more than anything for her to be alive. i wasn't necessarily surprised by her death (the distinct lack of footage in the trailers was a clue, and then the very obvious foreshadowing dialogue in 2x06 sealed the deal). but i would be a lot less angry about her death if it had been given the proper time and consideration to fully play out and actually meant something for her character.

which, the way it was done - a stray friendly fire blaster bolt - is such a pointless death that that is the point. it was a meaningless death; it didn't have to happen that way. but because the ghorman rebel didn't listen to her and vel, because he thought he knew better than them, his carelessness got her killed. i completely understand what they were going for, and i don't necessarily hate the way she died. especially as this show has continually put emphasis this season on how hard it is to build a rebellion, and the rebel alliance we know.

so i get what they were going for; but to give her 30 seconds of footage where she didn't even speak in the first arc, and then only bring her back for ONE episode in the second arc, just to kill her off in the same one??? it's so disrespectful and unfair and just sloppy writing.

cinta's entire arc over the last two years now has been off-screen. we know nothing about how she hurt vel that caused them to split up in the first place; we know nothing about why luthen was so intent on keeping them apart, aside from personal feelings, even though they clearly work really well together?? (luthen also lets bix and cassian stay together; no shade to bix and cass themselves, but the writing choice to keep the straight couple together and the lesbian couple apart is hm. feels bad.) cinta tells us that she had a terrible injury that kept her down for a "long time," but we get no details other than that, and now we never will. (don't even get me started on the "i'll tell you about it someday" dialogue. anyone who's watched any bit of television knows that that's a dead giveaway for something bad is going to happen. and in a show that historically does subtlety very well, this was not that. it just felt a bit lazy.)

i, personally, am struggling a bit with the pacing this season (namely with the huge time jumps), and i don't think it did cinta (and velcinta) any favors at all. bringing her back, giving her some lovely heartfelt scenes, finally starting to break down her walls a bit and have her reunite with vel, only to kill her off right away just felt so sloppy and lazy. if it was always going to end with her death, it should've been spread out over the ghorman arc. she should've been in more than one episode, she and vel should've gotten the chance to start to really grow back together. and as much as i understand the friendly fire angle, a pointless death has been done before (especially when it comes to queer women). i felt like i've watched this very plot play out a million times before, which makes me so fucking irritated because i know andor writing is better than this! i've seen it!

vel's speech at the end was absolutely beautiful (faye and varada did an absolutely incredible job this episode), but i can't help but wish that a rebellion hero like cinta got more of a heroic death. a more meaningful death. if it had to be done, it should've been done with more respect and weight and not like it was just shoved on at the end to make some point about "rebellion requires sacrifice." both cinta and vel already know the rebellion requires sacrifice! cinta's whole family was murdered. and if this was supposed to be some lesson for vel about how she has to lose people to become a leader, 1) she's already a leader! and 2) she HAS lost people. she lost almost the whole aldhani crew! and you could already tell in this episode that her leadership skills had grown stronger; she was confident and taking no bullshit from the ghormans when talking to them. she didn't need the "lesson" of cinta dying to make her a better rebel. she's already a rebel.

and cinta, who said that she didn't really know herself, deserved the chance to get to find out who she was. what kind of rebel she really was. and preferably, if she'd gotten to live, find out who she was without a rebellion.

[inlovewithfionaapple]

Hey I LOVEE ur work and saw that ur requests are open could you do a fic or a series with a couple parts for Leah Williamson x reader who are childhood best freinds but become a lot more than that during their teenage years it’s a slow burn angsty fic of two bestfreinds who fell in love but there’s so much underlying problems because one is scared of how society is going to treat them if there situationship was to become public so there’s a big scare of making it a relashionship so it’s an ongoing back and forth argument as either is tired of being a secret to the other and one decides to call it off but it’s not really ever called off they always crawl back to eachother despite the initial agreement to leave eachother alone and then other people are also brought into the equation to make the other jealous so there’s so much heartbreak which gives them both a wake up call that they both can’t loose eachother and then there’s a big angry love confession and a promise of a new fresh beginning 🙏🙏🙏

the space between us

warnings: angst, but it'll be better in future parts

wc: 796

an: i got you, this will definitely be a series so look out

the first time y/n had met leah williamson was when both were eight years old and arguing over the last packet of tangfastics in the school tuck shop. leah had noticed them first, but y/n's hand had got there quicker. neither of them had ended up with the sweets—the boy behind them took advantage of the argument and strolled off with a grin on his face—but somehow they had left the shop laughing.

y/n always said that was how they knew they'd be best friends forever. leah just smiled and said, "that's how i knew you were stubborn."

years passed but that time, always stuck with them. they got through all of it together; the injuries, the gangly teenage years, family emergencies, exam stress, and leah's steady climb up the arsenal juniors. y/n no longer played football, not anymore, but was at every match they could find. they watched leah fall in love with the sport and struggled not to notice how, along the way, they'd fallen in love with leah too.

the night everything started to come apart began much like any other. summer was bleeding into fall, and the air was charged with a kind of tightness—thick and heavy, like something that was going to explode. they were on the roof of y/n's garage, where they had spent half of their teenage years looking up at the stars, listening to albums, or talking about nothing in particular.

y/n sat cross-legged, drinking from a can of coke. leah leaned back on her hands, chin lifted to the sky.

"it's amazing how quiet everything seems sometimes," leah murmured. "like the world's holding its breath."

y/n waited for her to answer. they were looking at leah, though. the gentle curve of her profile, the way the loose blonde hair hung from the bun, the sprinkling of freckles across her nose. they didn't know if leah noticed they looked at her like this sometimes, taking in each feature as if she would disappear.

"leah," y/n said softly, "do you ever wish things were different?"

leah rolled her head to the side, confused. "different how?"

"i dunno," y/n said, their voice dragging. "easier. like. if we didn't have to sneak around."

leah's frame tensed slightly, just enough to make y/n sense it in the air between them. the answer wasn't going to be easy.

"you know we don't really have a choice," leah said slowly after a pause. "not right now."

y/n spun their head away, chewing on the inside of their cheek. "it's been six months, leah. six months of stolen kisses when no one's looking. of following me three steps behind in the street. of deleting photos, not sharing a thing, pretending."

"you think i want this?" leah snapped, sitting upright now. "you think i like acting like you're just some friend when all i want to—"

"then why don't you?" y/n interrupted, voice cracking. "why don't you act like it? like i count?"

"you do," leah interrupted quickly. "clearly you do. but y/n. it's not that simple."

"it is," y/n gasped. "you just don't want it to be."

leah let out a harsh breath, rubbing a hand over her face. "do you know what it's like, living in the limelight all the time? everything i do, everyone i'm photographed with—analyzed, criticized, turned around. you've seen what happens to guys who come out. the rumors, the interrogation. i just—i'm not ready yet."

y/n swallowed. "and when are you going to be?"

"i don't know."

"that's not good enough," y/n said, standing up. they weren't angry, not really. they were just tired. tired of keeping secrets. tired of loving a girl who was too scared to say it back in the light of day.

"i've waited. i've been patient. i've said that what we have in the privacy of our homes is okay. but it's not anymore. because i don't want to be your secret, leah. i want to be your choice."

leah rose from her seat, begging, her hand extended. "please, don't do this."

"i love you," y/n stated, tears in their eyes. "but i love me too. and i will no longer make the choice for you if you will not return it."

leah did not attempt to hold them back as they climbed down from the ladder. didn't utter a word. she just stood there, immobile, with stars above and a hollow ache within her chest.

she stayed up on the roof long after y/n left, heart pounding, the quiet of night unbearable. and all she could do was wonder how love—true, ugly, beautiful love—had slipped away from her because she'd been too scared to hold on.

[inthelibrarybtw]

back to shore | r.c

pairing: bsfb!rafe x kook!reader

summary: A few hours could define anything and he wasn't going to let go that easily. He couldn't give up that easily, whatever the outcome was going to be, he was going to be there. Maybe the waves were going to be kind this time and allow him to bring you back. To bring his home back. part two of this.

word count: 3.9k

content: cursing, angst, inaccurate weather/ocean talk, Christian faith, prayer mentioned, talks of death, loss of a parent, CPR, medical terms may not be 100% accurate, crying, trauma.

authors note: I teared up again but this time it was for different reasons. I hope it makes sense I'm very tired, so excuse me.

Rafe returned to where the Coast Guard and the police had settled on the beach. It was around 2 AM, and he had decided he would go back home, grab his boat, and then look for you. He didn’t care if he died from exhaustion; he needed to know he at least did everything he could to find you. 

He was acting impulsively, but he also needed to be cautious. What if he found you? You would need medical attention. So, he went to tell Shoupe what he was going to do. Shoupe knew better than to try to reason with Rafe in this situation, so he gave him a radio to communicate with them just in case. 

As he drove back to his house, he felt the need to cry one more time. Your things were in his car just as you had left them, but you weren’t there. He took a deep, shaky breath and left your things right where you left them because you would come back and move them if you wanted. You were coming back. You had to come back. 

He got into his boat, and before he could even get the keys into the ignition, he cried one more time. “Please let her be alive… please.” 

He took another deep breath, wiped his tears, and drove away. He started close to where the police had already checked. But they could’ve missed you, so he checked again. He kept listening to the radio; he didn’t care because none of the words coming out were “we see something” or “we found her.” 

He stopped for a few minutes to gather himself. He was starting to feel desperate. Very desperate. It was supposed to be just a nice day at the beach, but nothing went as planned. It was like the world was playing him a cruel joke, laughing in his face because he took too long to ask you to be his girlfriend. If he had just asked earlier, he would’ve enjoyed more time with you as his girl. And now you were still his girl because you were alive. You had to be alive, or he was going to lose all sense of living. 

He wished he was joking or exaggerating. That statement was loaded, but you were everything he never thought he was missing. You were his reason to smile, to keep going; he would do anything for you. Anything but live without you, because a life without you was nothing. You had always been there; maybe he found you annoying when you were kids, but that was then. He was little; all the girls were annoying to him.

He loved you. He had always loved you; it took him a while to get there, but he eventually did. He didn’t know a life without you. He didn’t remember when you were born, but he knew he was two when you and Sarah were born. Some pictures proved it—pictures in which he was sitting between two baby girls: Sarah and you. Your mom and his mom were best friends, so, of course, having baby girls a month apart was the dream—best friends birthing best friends. At first, it was just a little joke, but it became a reality.

So yes, maybe there had been a time when he didn’t have you, but to be fair, he couldn’t even recall those times. He remembered meeting Sarah, vaguely, but he remembered. He recalled more when he was four and two little girls were babbling and running around, taking his toys. Or when he was eight and two six-year-olds wouldn’t let him be at peace. Or when he was ten, at a birthday party to which you had also been invited. You gave him his gift and a small hug that your mom had made you give him, but it made him blush, so he just left. He also remembered going to at least one homecoming with you in high school. Sarah had begged him to invite you because she was dating Topper, and she wanted to have her best friend close by just in case something happened, so he did. By this point, you two had started talking more, so he didn’t need much convincing. 

Again, Rafe didn’t know a life without you, even if he tried to remember those first two years of his life. You were there as a baby, toddler, kid, pre-teen, teen, and adult. He never wanted to know a life without you, so he prayed again and again, pleading with God to please keep you alive or bring you back to life. He needed to hear you one more time, to see you one more time. He just needed time. He just needed you.

He thought back to his mom. Losing her felt much like what he was feeling right now. He had been 19 when she died in a car crash, a drunk driver. He hated remembering that moment. He couldn’t lose the only person who had stood by him during that time, because now, who would be there for him? He would break. He wouldn’t be the same, and he didn’t think he would survive. Losing his mom had caused enough pain. He didn’t need to lose the love of his life too. That would be too much pain for someone to endure. 

He would love to have his mom at that moment. She would’ve gone with him in that boat. She would be there with him, looking for him. Maybe she was. He always told him that his mom was always looking out for him, keeping an eye on him, and helping from heaven. Because that’s where she had gone—heaven. Where else would his mom go? The best mother in the world, in his world, had to have gone to heaven. He wiped his tears again. Thinking back to his mom was not helping at all. He just wanted to cry more because it hurt. And it scared him to have to deal with another loss.

“Please, Mom, help me out here… She believed you were always with me, so I will believe. Help me, help her.” Lost in all his thoughts and talking to himself, he didn’t notice when he had gotten so far from where he had originally started.

—

You were coming in and out of consciousness. You didn’t know what time it was. Water kept hitting your legs. You were shivering. It was extremely cold. You remembered wanting to move, scream, and pee; maybe you had done it. Or had it been a dream? You didn’t recall. Everything was blurring together. You had dreamed of Rafe, your friends, and your family. That was the only thing you knew for sure. In the dream, it was a warm Christmas. Hot cocoa and cuddling with Rafe. Gifts, parties. New Year's. Fireworks—bright and loud.  

A flash.  

Light.  

Has that happened? Or had that just been your brain playing games with you? Had that flash come from somewhere, or was it part of your memories, and were you hallucinating? You wanted to move to check, but you felt heavy. It hurt to breathe, but you still did it, opening your eyes. Again, just rocks, water, and the sky.  

A light. A flashlight, to be more specific. With whatever energy you had left, you were going to try to scream or make some noise in hopes of being found, even if it meant dying. At least someone would find you.

—

Rafe pulled out his flashlight to illuminate the area further. There were many rocks, and the water was a bit calmer there, but it was still pushing the boat to the right. He kept directing the flashlight at the rocks.  

A splash. Not a water-hitting-the-rocks splash. An intentional one.  

A noise. An animal? It didn’t sound like one; it was a peculiar noise. He tried to see where those sounds were coming from. A small but strong wave hit his boat and pushed him further to the right.  

Another splash. Another noise.  

—

The light on your face. 

You scrunch your face, and you hit the rock where you were sitting once more. 

—

He pointed his flashlight at the source of the noise.  

Another splash.  

Time stood still, yet he reacted and brought his boat as close as he could. He got off the boat. The water was freezing, but he didn’t care. He needed to get to you, to ensure he wasn’t imagining you there, and to help you. God, he needed to make sure you were okay.  

You felt a surge of strength. Adrenaline, maybe. You tried to move, but your body felt numb from the freezing water you had been in for hours. In any other circumstance, you would make a joke about being left to marinate, but right then, you needed to reach for him.  

He got to your side and didn’t speak; he just reached for you, and you could swear your body sensed it before your brain could register that Rafe was there, and it was real. It was real because the pain was there, the numbness was there, and it was too cold for this to be a dream.  

He had no idea how he did it, but he got you to the boat. He felt your cold body against him and your arms wrap around his neck as he lifted you. He didn’t understand why you weren’t shivering anymore; you were freezing. Once in the boat, it was as if your body knew you were safe again, and you collapsed.  

Rafe’s eyes widened, and he grabbed the radio Shoupe had given him.  

“Found her,” he said in a shaky voice, “She—she collapsed, she…”

"Copy, we are sending people to your location."

He didn’t remember ever giving them the location, but at that moment, he didn’t care how they knew. The important thing was that they knew and they were coming. He got close to you again, softly tapping your cheeks. 

“Princess, wake up for me, please. Y/N, come on, baby, wake up.” He checked your pulse; it was weak. “No, no, no, you’re not doing this to me. Come on, pretty girl, wake up.”

You were breathing slowly, and your heartbeat was slow and weak, but it was there. He wrapped a towel he had in the boat around you to try and warm you up. The paramedics arrived quickly, starting to stabilize you and checking for major injuries. They removed the towel to use insulation blankets and placed an ambu bag over your face to help you oxygenate better.

Rafe didn’t hear anything they were saying; he was focused on you. One of the paramedics drove his boat back because he was not leaving your side. He wasn’t even processing what was happening. The only thing he heard was that you were alive, had some degree of hypothermia, and needed urgent medical attention.

He held your hand the entire ride back to the beach, throughout the ambulance ride, and only let go once you reached the hospital. They had also given him an insulation blanket, and one of the nurses brought him scrubs to wear as dry clothes. They were rolling you away on the gurney when your vitals started dropping. Rafe felt as if his heart had dropped to his feet.

After intubation and warm IV fluids, you were stable. You had some internal injuries—a concussion, some bruising, and water in your lungs—but with proper oxygenation and medication, you were going to be okay. The cut on your hand from the rock was cleaned and stitched up. Only two stitches were needed. What was more concerning was your body temperature, so they were working on warming you up so you could regain consciousness. But the most important thing was that you were alive.

After Rafe changed into dry, warm scrubs a nurse took him to your room. Seeing you with all the tubes and connected to different machines broke his heart. You were back, but it still didn’t feel like you were. He knew it was you; he recognized his girl, but this was just half of who you truly were. He was still worried for you because you hadn’t woken up. He needed to hear you, see your eyes again, to be able to breathe in peace once more.

—

Your parents had arrived, and the doctor filled them in on what had happened. Rafe hadn’t been made aware of your parents' arrival. When the doctor called him out, he reluctantly let go of your hand, but he knew your parents needed some time alone with you. When he stepped out of the room, he was met with the embrace of your mother. 

“Thank you for saving my baby girl,” she said, her voice a bit choked. Rafe didn’t feel like he had saved you; he felt like he had failed you by allowing this to happen. “You found her and she’s safe again,” your mother said, holding back her sobs. 

“I…” Rafe trailed off, unsure of what he wanted to share or say to your mom. It had been too much in a very short time. He was tired, both physically and emotionally. He needed to sleep; maybe he wasn’t completely aware of it, but his body was. 

“We can stay with her; go rest. She needs you to be well-rested.” Your mom squeezed his hand, letting him know it was okay. He just nodded before walking back to his car. He hugged your parents goodbye and made his way to his vehicle. 

One more time, he turned to see your things on the passenger seat. You were coming back to pick them up. This time it was certain; he didn’t know how soon, but it was going to be soon. He hoped it would happen soon.

—

Rafe got back home. How? He doesn’t remember, but he returned in one piece. When he entered his room, he saw something he had forgotten was there: a necklace, your necklace. Well… you were yet to know it was yours. After dinner, he planned to take you back to his place and give you that necklace. You had always told everyone that you wanted an initial necklace, but only if it came from the right guy. You had also mentioned that you wanted to receive it the day you got engaged to ensure it was a forever thing. Rafe knew he wasn’t proposing, at least not yet, but the necklace was a promise that he would propose someday.

The necklace was his promise to you: to love you forever, to stand beside you, and to eventually make it a forever thing. It was a promise that he not only wanted you as a girlfriend but also as his wife. He wanted to grow old with you and experience life by your side. There was no other person he wanted or needed. So whenever you decided to wake up, he would be there waiting for you, necklace in hand.

—

Three days. Three long days had gone by, and you were still not waking up. The doctor had said it was normal; your body needed to rest from all it had gone through, so it was just a waiting game now. Rafe was struggling with his lack of patience, while your mother kept reminding him that you were okay and doing better. You no longer had a tube down your throat to help you breathe; you had a cannula to maintain oxygenation, an IV to provide fluids, medication, and anything your body might need.

Rafe had gone back home after spending the morning with you. He kept busy with things when he received a call. Your mom was calling him, he picked up immediately.  

“She’s awake and asking for you.”  

He forgot how to breathe at that moment. You were awake and asking for him. You had finally woken up. You were okay. His vision blurred, and he smiled.  

“I’m going right now,” he said before ending the call. He grabbed everything he needed and ran to his car.

The ride to the hospital was something else. He was probably going to get a few speeding tickets, but he didn’t care; in fact, he was happy to pay the fines. Nothing could ruin this moment for him. You were awake and asking for him, so everything else was not important. Even in all the chaos, he bought you food and flowers. You had to be hungry.

He ran as much as he could, and as much as the nurses let him to get to your room. When he stepped in, it was as if time stood still. Your eyes met his, and you were faced with the very blue eyes you had fallen for; this time, they were as watery as yours. 

You both smiled and cried. Your mom grabbed the things he had brought and placed them on the table next to the hospital bed; afterward, she left the room so you two could have a moment. He didn’t waste time and sat on the edge of the bed to hug you. One hand rested on your back, and the other cradled your head, while your arms rested on his shoulders and were looped around his neck.

“Princess…” he said in a shaky voice. “You gave me the biggest scare of my life.” He pulled back and cupped your face. You held onto his wrists. “You’re here… you’re back.” You just nodded and gave him a sad smile.  

“I thought I was going to…” You couldn’t finish your sentence because you broke down. “I was so scared.” With that, Rafe broke. He held onto you as you both sobbed. He kissed the top of your head over and over again to comfort you.

“You’re safe, baby… I’ve got you; just let it out,” he rubbed your back in circles.  

“I didn’t want to die… I didn’t want to leave everyone. I was scared,” you said between sobs. “I—” he cut you off gently.  

“Baby… breathe with me. Can you do that? I need you to breathe,” he waited for you to mimic him, and when you finally did, he had you do it again and again until you were breathing better. “There you go…” he cupped your face again.  

“Are you okay?”  

“Baby, you are the one in the hospital bed; I should be asking that,” he chuckled softly. “Now that you’re awake, I’m good. How are you feeling?”  

“I’m alive…” you said in disbelief.  

“Yes, you are; thank God you are,” he said with so much emotion, and you nodded.  

“Yeah… He kept me alive, and then you found me…”  

“Yes, He did… He kept you safe just like I prayed for,” he confessed before kissing your forehead. “Fuck… I thought I lost you…” he said, trying not to cry again. “I can breathe again now that you’re back.”

—

That afternoon, he spent it with you, holding your hand, helping you eat, and just keeping you company. You still needed a lot of rest to recover from what had probably been the worst experience of your life. While you were sleeping, he pulled out the little velvet box that contained the necklace. He didn’t want to wait any longer; he had waited enough, but he also knew this wasn’t the best moment.  

“Hope this is not how you’re proposing,” you said as you began to wake up from your nap.  

“Hey there…” he said with a soft smile as he gently brushed away a strand of hair from your forehead. “Not proposing yet, princess, but I do want to give you something…”  

“Yeah?” you asked in a whisper, adjusting the bed to see him more comfortably.  

“Yeah… I can’t wait any longer. You have no idea how much I regret not asking you to be my girlfriend months… hell, years ago. I almost lost you, and we just started this. Y/N… I love you, and I know you know that, but I will keep saying it for the rest of my life. I love you with all I am, and I always will. I have loved you since before I knew what love was, but you are the only person I want to share the good and the bad with. I want us to grow old together, to fight, laugh, cry, and enjoy every little thing life throws at us.” He paused. “I’m not proposing yet, but I will. Eventually, I will, but this…”

He opened the velvet box, revealing the necklace inside. The letter "R" in the center made your heart melt, and you smiled, wanting to cry again but for different reasons. “Rafe, this is…”

“I know you said you wanted this the day of the engagement, but this is my promise to you that I will do it. In the meantime, you will wear this not because I own you, but because I know you and I love you, and I don’t want you to ever forget or doubt it.” You smiled and cried at the same time.

“I love you so much, Rafe,” you paused to take a breath. “I will never stop loving you; you are the best thing that has ever happened.”

With that, he kissed you ever so gently, scared he might break you. When he pulled back, he wiped the tears that had fallen down your cheeks. He smiled at you and helped you put on the necklace.

The journey to that moment had been anything but perfect, but both of you felt at peace again. Maybe the beach would never be your happy place again, maybe you would eventually walk by, but you would never set foot near the water again. Rafe would never let you go somewhere if you didn’t feel like going anymore, and this rule also applied to him.

He couldn’t risk it, not anymore. He needed you to be alive and safe, and he needed to be there for you. He was scared of losing you, but he was equally scared of not being there to protect you if you ever needed him.

 You were back, and he was going to make sure you never went away again. You were his home, and he was yours. He would never leave your side, and you would never leave his. The connection you two had was beyond comprehension. Your parents were shocked at how easy it was for you to do all the physical therapy when Rafe was around, and how easy it was for you to fall asleep when he was there. All the nightmares of that day at the beach were gone every time he slept next to you. He always said you were everything he never knew he needed, but it was the same for you; you never thought you needed someone like him until you couldn’t picture a life without him. 

Life without him was not life for you, and life for him without you was not life. This chance you had gotten to keep on living, you were not going to take it for granted. It was not just about Rafe; it was about the people you loved and about your hopes and dreams. So whatever was in your future, besides a life with Rafe, you were going to enjoy it, good and bad, surrounded by your people.

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Ｐｏｌａｒｏｉｄｓ

window - pt. 1

pairings: quinn hughes x fem!reader

warnings: slow burn, very dramatized (are some of these situations the most realistic? no, but it’s for the plot so just try to enjoy the whimsy aspect of it all 🔥)

word count: almost 4k (3,914)

summary: little y/n and quinn meet for the first time!

a/n: credits to @beenucks for this cutesy idea, and helping me with the graphics + storyline! it’s been in the works since like february 10th, so definitely thank you for your patience as well 😭 this is an AU INTRO! the masterlist for it is right → here! hope you guys enjoy!

Ontario, Canada 

Winter 2007 

You watch as the figures outside your window dance around on the beautiful ice rink. People laugh and skate in their own little world—a world you wish you could be a part of. 

The glass keeping you from the bustle outside fogs as you let out a disheartened sigh. It’s not really the window that’s keeping you… trapped. It’s your parents—or rather, what your parents are afraid of. 

When you were just a baby, you got extremely sick, and doctors were worried about the outcome. Thankfully, you made a successful recovery for the most part, but you were left with a very weak immune system. Since then, your parents have treated you like the most fragile thing to grace the Earth. 

“Y/n! Lunch!” your mother calls, cutting through your thoughts. 

You get up from your seat on the windowsill and make your way downstairs, taking it one step at a time. 

When your feet finally hit the first floor, you head to the dining room and sit at the table. Your mother serves you your food, and you say your thanks. After a while, as you eat, you decide to bring up the topic that’s been plaguing your mind. 

“Mommy?” you start. “Do you think I can play outside? The outside where the ice and the other kids are?” 

Your mother’s head snaps up, a surprised look flashing on her face briefly before calming herself. “Now, why would you want to do that, silly?” 

You think hard. This is your shot to convince her to let you go explore and make new friends instead of just observing like you’ve always wanted. 

“I like it out there. It’s nice,” is all you manage to get out under pressure. 

Your mother chuckles, amused. “What do you like about it, honey? 

“I like the tree by my window. And I like the ice, Mommy. I want to go on the ice. All of the people that get to play on the ice have a lot of fun,” you inform her, your voice filled with hope. 

Your mother brings your lunch over, setting it down in front of you. “It’s nasty out there. We’ll find something more fun for you to do where you won’t get sick.” 

The next day, you wake up early in the morning, a little more bummed than usual. However, you make your way out of bed and go sit at your window, like you do every day without fail. 

You sit and watch for a few minutes, zoned out and zoned in at the same time. You’re watching everything and nothing. That is… until something catches your eye. 

A small figure is stood still in the middle of the ice, waving. Surely, not at you. 

You look around, but nobody else seems to be interacting with him. You lean closer to your window to get a better look. 

It’s a little dark-haired boy, and he’s facing you with his head tilted up to your second-story bedroom. He is waving, and it is at you! 

You’re stunned for a good moment before realizing you need to do something back. Excitedly, you hold up your hand, moving it side to side quickly. You’re aware you probably look incredibly eager, but you couldn’t care less in this moment. 

The little boy smiles, and you can’t believe someone from out there is interacting with you like this. Usually, everyone is locked into what they’re doing, where they’re skating, and certainly not worried about you. 

This one is different. He’s different. He looks like he wants to be your friend. He’s not ignoring you the way the other skaters always have. He noticed you. 

The rest of the time he’s there, you watch as he moves around the ice. He goes around in circles and shows off his tricks that have you giggling with amusement. The entire time he’s doing this, he’s constantly looking back up at you, making sure you’re thoroughly entertained. 

After a while, the little guy waves goodbye, then leaves with a blonde woman and two other little boys—who you’re assuming are his family. 

You don’t see the boy for a couple of days after that, despite waking up earlier than usual to make sure you’re ready at the window during the exact time you saw him last. On the third day, as you lay in bed, you accept that it was probably just a one-time thing. 

However, when you finally get up and go to your window to peek out—there he is. He’s standing in the same place he was just some time ago. You let out an excited gasp, and when he sees you he perks up. 

He immediately waves, and you return the action. You’re overwhelmed with joy that he’s back. But suddenly, he begins to walk—and not away. He leaves the rink and walks the few feet it takes to get to the wall where your window is. 

Now, you’re caught off guard more than anything. The little boy stops right in front of where your window is and waves. You can only think to do one thing. You open the window. 

He smiles when you do, and calls out. “Hi! Do you want to come play?” 

“One second, please!” you yell back. 

The boy nods, and you shut your window. Opening your bedroom door, you start for the downstairs window that’s facing the rink. You don’t use this one as much. It’s got a pretty view, but you simply can’t see as much as you can from the highpoint that is your bedroom window. 

When your feet leave the final step you run over to the window that you can see the boy standing near, and open that one up. 

He notices, and turns to you, smiling even brighter now. “Hi. My name is Quinn.” 

“My name is Y/n,” you tell him, relatively shy. 

“I saw you up in that other window. Do you want to come play? We can skate, and look,” he says, lifting his hand to reveal that he’s holding a camera. “I got this for Christmas. It’s my first time opening it. My mom said I can bring it here. We can take pictures of anything.” 

You nod, thinking up a response to your complicated situation. “That sounds nice, but I can’t go out there. I’ll get sick.” 

“No, it’s okay. You just have to put a coat on, then you’ll be alright,” he says, his voice full of hope. 

You smile at him trying to help. “Thank you, but I’m not allowed.” 

“Ever?” he asks, his eyebrows raised. You shake your head no, and his eyes widen a little bit. “Uh… maybe I can come in there to play with you!”

You go to reject his offer again before realizing that it’s not a bad idea. Your mom has a problem with you being outside and playing with people because you’ll get sick, but she never said anything about playing with people inside. 

“I can ask my mom!” you say, ecstatic at the thought that this might be your first real friend. 

Quinn matches your smile. “Okay! I’ll ask my mom too. She’s just at the rink.” 

You nod and shut the window, turning to go ask your mother if your new friend can come inside, but Quinn stops you. 

“Hey, Y/n! Can I have a picture of you to show my mom?” he yells through the window. 

You come back to the window, smiling for a photo. Quinn takes it and watches as it develops with a wide grin on his face. He holds out a thumbs up to you before running off in the direction of his mom, and you do the same with yours. 

You finally find your mom doing laundry and tug on her shirt to get her attention. “Mommy? Can my friend come play with me?” 

“Um… sure, sweetie,” she says with a laugh, glancing at you before getting back to what she’s doing. 

You’ve always been a super imaginative, and honestly, quite the lonely kid. You’ve had “friends” before but they’re the kind that you’d pretend are there when playing, or that you’d blame something you obviously did on when you’re in trouble. 

You're a little surprised at her agreeing just like that, but you don’t question it and go back to the window waiting for your new friend, Quinn, to get back. 

When he finally arrives he’s got a huge smile plastered on his face, and you give him a thumbs up, pointing to the side of your house where the front door is. The boy quickly makes his way around the side of your house, and you meet him. You open the door excitedly as soon as you reach all of the locks and figure them out. 

“Hi, Y/n! We can play?” he asks, his eyes all lit up. 

You nod, opening up the door further to let him in. You watch as he steps inside, and sits on the floor of the foyer. He takes his skates off, then sets them up as neatly as possible. 

You watch his movements carefully, studying him almost. “Do you have fun on the ice outside?” 

“Yeah, I like skating! It’s for hockey… or it can be for ice skating. That’s kind of like dancing on skates,” he explains. 

You take in all of this information, then glance back to his skates that are sat on the floor. “Those ones are yours?” 

“Yeah, these are mine. You can hold them if you want, but don’t touch this silver part. It’s called a blade, and you could get cut on it,” he says, picking up one of his skates and holding it out to you. 

You take the skate in your hands. It’s heavier than you imagined, and you can’t seem to figure out how anyone could balance on a blade so thin. 

“I like your shirt. You wore one just like that last time,” you point out. 

Quinn looks down, then back up at you with a smile. “This is called a jersey. It’s for hockey players to wear. Or… you could wear one—anyone can, even if they don’t play hockey.” 

Once you’re done asking Quinn a million questions you decide he’s definitely hungry and you should make sure he gets something to eat. 

“Stay here, Quinn,” you order, and he nods. You leave the room and go find your mother again. 

She greets you with a sweet smile. “Hello, sweetheart. What do you need?” 

“Mommy, my friend… is hungry. He needs a snack,” you inform her, serious as can be. 

“Oh, does he?” she laughs, figuring this is your own silly way of letting her know you’d like something to eat. “I’ll be right out.” 

You nod, say your thank yous, and make your way back out to Quinn. He’s sitting on your family’s couch and you climb up to join him. 

The poor boy is bombarded with wave two of questions. However, he doesn’t seem to mind at all, answering every question with more enthusiasm than the last. 

Your moment of getting all of the info out him that you can is cut short when you hear your mom’s footsteps approaching. She finally comes out of the hallway, turning to glance at you but immediately doing a double take. You and your new friend watch as your mother stands there wide eyed—staring right back. 

“Y/n, baby… what… who… um… who is this?” your mother asks in a half-collected half-panicking tone as she walks closer. 

You look at Quinn then back to your mom. “My friend, mommy. Remember? You said he can come in and play with me.” 

“Right… your friend,” your mother repeats slowly, her eyes flickering between you and Quinn like she’s waiting for him to magically disappear

“He’s… actually sitting… on our couch right now,” your mother says with a nod and you swear you can see her eye twitching a little bit. 

You simply nod back to her, unsure of why Quinn sitting on the couch is so crazy. Your mom takes a deep breath and turns around, heading to the kitchen to make that snack, not knowing what else to do. When she finally brings the snack, she’s the one bombarding Quinn with all of the questions now. 

“Does your mom know you’re here?” 

“When have you got to leave?” 

“Are you… okay?” 

“What’s your name?” 

“How old are you?” 

Over the course of practically interrogating him, your mom does grow quite fond of the random little boy you’ve invited in. She lets you continue your play date, except now that she knows he’s real, she’s supervising. 

Your play date with Quinn is going very smoothly. You find that he’s very funny and very polite. Unfortunately though, your fun is interrupted when there’s a knock on the door and everyone, including your mom lets out a little gasp. 

“I think that’s my mom,” Quinn says a little defeated. 

Your own mom gets up. “I’ll go see, honey.” 

She makes her way to the door and opens it. You and Quinn stare at each other as all you can hear is mumbled talking, and you try your best to make out what is being said. 

“Quinn!” your mother calls after a little while. “Time to go!” 

Quinn’s shoulders slump and he sighs, turning to you and giving you a hug. “Bye bye, Y/n. I’ll come back, okay?” 

You nod your head and hug him back before he hops off the couch. You watch as he makes his way towards the front door and picks up his skates then disappears out of view. You turn around to watch out the big window as you see him leaving with that same blonde woman and two little boys. 

Quinn does in fact come back. He comes back a lot. The two of you become very close with time. Your mother and Ellen even start to really get along and hang out during playdates. You come to learn that Quinn’s two brothers are named Jack and Luke. Jack is rowdy, and Luke is constantly just trying to keep up with the chaos of his brothers. 

One day, during one of your many playdates Luke accidentally slips up. Your mom and Ellen are sitting at the kitchen island talking, Jack is nowhere in sight–probably getting into something he’s not supposed to, you and Quinn are sitting on the couch drawing pictures, and he is laid on the ground, eating Goldfish, and listening in. 

“Quinny, I think one day when we’re older maybe my mom can let us skate together,” you tell him, voice full of hope. 

Quinn smiles and looks up from his page at you. “Yeah, one day. Only when you’re healthy though.” 

“Wait… how will you skate together if we’re leaving?” Luke asks. 

Your brows furrow, and you look up at Quinn confused. “Leaving?” 

“Luke! Why would you say that?! You’re not supposed to tell her yet! I wanted to tell her! You ruined it!” Quinn raises his voice. You can tell this is really frustrating him, but you still don’t know what it all means. 

He sighs, then looks back at you. “Y/n, we’re all going to be moving soon… to a different place. We’ll still be in Ontario, but just really far. So, we won’t be able to see each other as much.” 

“But, I don’t understand. Why are you guys leaving me?” you ask, fighting back tears. 

As long as you can remember your world has only been the one outside of your window. It doesn’t go any farther that, because you can’t go any farther than that. Somehow, you had a good friend delivered to you right at your doorstep and it led to this. You’ve never been more grateful for anything in your life than you are the Hughes family. Now, your people are going beyond your world. They’re leaving your world! 

“Our dad got a job,” Jack answers, coming around the corner to sit on the couch. 

You sigh, shoulders fully slumped and a saddened expression on your face. “He can have a job here. Why can’t he just have a job here?” 

“I wish I could control it, but I can’t. Trust me. I’d stay here with you forever if I could,” Quinn explains. “Hey, don’t worry. It’s not the end or anything. I can still visit you. I’m gonna ask my mom every single day until she finally lets me. Then, when I get back, I’m going to bother her until the next time.” 

Your nerves settle a little at that, but your heart still hurts. “Everyday?” 

“Everyday, I promise.” 

You nod, starting to be semi-okay with the idea. It could be worse. “When are you guys leaving?” 

“Two days…” Jack answers, he puts a hand on your back and looks closely at your expression, feeling bad. 

Your face immediately changes to one of anger. “No! Not two days. That’s too soon! Why didn’t you tell me?! You’re not leaving in two days!” 

“I’m sorry. We didn’t want to upset you, but it looks like that didn’t really work either way,” Quinn says, a sympathetic expression on his face. 

You lean back on the couch, putting your head in your hands. “I can’t believe this.” 

All three boys look around at each other, unsure of what to do. Jack is the first to make a move. He wraps you up in a hug, laying his head on yours. That’s when it clicks for the other boys, and they join the hug as well. 

“We’re sorry, Y/n. We love you, and we’re gonna miss you. I hope you’re not mad at me,” Quinn says, and you could’ve sworn you heard a sniffle. 

You look up to check on him, but you can’t really see his face as he has it down. Finally, you hug them back. “I love you guys too. I’m not mad. I’m just… surprised.” 

The time for them to leave comes quicker than you’d like it to, granted, you only had two days to mentally prepare. They swing by your house one last time, kind of in a hurry. 

You tell Ellen, Jim, Luke, and Jack all goodbye. It’s absolutely heartbreaking, but when it comes time for Quinn you’re immediately in tears. 

He leans down, wrapping you in a hug. “I’m sorry, Y/n. I’m honestly so sorry. We can see each other soon! I’ll make sure, okay? It won’t be long.” 

“Okay…” is all you can get out, crying as you rest your head on his shoulder. 

Then, it’s obvious. It’s not a simple sniffle. You can hear him clearly this time. He’s crying. You’ve never seen him cry before. It’s an odd feeling. You don’t want him to be upset, but this isn’t something you know how to fix. 

“I love you, alright? You’re my best friend,” Quinn says, pulling back to look at you. 

You nod, staring right back at him. “You’re my best friend too. I love you. I won’t replace you.” 

As if you could. Once these boys are gone, you’ll have no one again. No one to drive your mom crazy with the yelling or making a mess. No one to come see you and stay for hours. Before Quinn and his family, you were all alone. You know what this means. You know that feeling will be back. How will you ever find a friend as great as Quinn? 

He noticed you when the world had never even come close to acknowledging you. He waved, he asked to play, and he wanted to be your friend. 

The goodbye is much longer than Quinn’s parents probably would’ve wanted, but they couldn’t bring themselves to make the two of you separate without being ready first. 

You watch out the big downstairs window as they drive off. And when you can’t see them anymore from there, you run upstairs to see if you can get a better look out of your bedroom window. You watch silently as your second family fades away. 

It’s painful.

You don’t know exactly what to do with yourself after that. You just sit at your window, and watch the people below. It makes you realize that you haven’t done this in a long time—since Quinn. Sure, you’d look out of it occasionally, but that was only when you were trying to see if Quinn had arrived at your house yet. Now, you’re really looking out again. You’re back to square one. 

It’s been months since Quinn moved. There hasn’t been a play date since then either. Your mom would always tell you that she’ll ask, but nothing ever comes of it. Is she even really asking? How would you know? 

You’ve still not got a singular new friend—not surprising considering you still aren’t allowed to go outside and play. You’re fed up. You’ve decided that it’s time you get to do something. You’re gonna convince your mom today. 

“Hi, honey!” your mom says with a smile when you come downstairs. 

You sit at the dining table watching as she cleans up the counters. “Hi. Can I skate?” 

“What?” your mom snaps her head to look at you, caught off guard. 

You nod your head, signaling that… yes, she did in fact hear you correctly. “I wanna skate. Quinn does it for his sport—remember, Quinn? Yeah, I want to do that too.” 

“Okay, well, Quinn plays hockey. You’re absolutely not doing that,” your mom says, catching your snappy tone. 

You huff. “Mom, it doesn’t need to be hockey. I just want to skate. Quinn told me that there are places like the rink outside but inside instead. I won’t get as sick! There’s one in Toronto. That’s what he told me. I want to go there.” 

“Do you know how far Toronto is? And besides, you don’t even know how to skate. You’ll hurt yourself,” she counters. 

You raise your eyebrows. This convincing thing is harder than you thought. “So then get me lessons. Plus, it’s still a car ride away! Isn’t it worth it for me to be happy? I don’t get to do anything.” 

“Oh, you’re gonna pull the sick card?” she says, annoyed. 

You cross your arms, not budging. “You do it every time I ask to do something harmless.” 

“Okay… I get your point. I’ll look into it. Now, go play,” she says with a sigh. 

You get up from the table, frustrated, unsatisfied. You’re sure she’s not really gonna look into it. Luckily, you won’t let her brush this off. You feel a little bad—it’s your mom and you weren’t the nicest, but you’re tired of being coddled and having your wants ignored. 

Safe to say, your plan to get your mom to let you skate worked. You’re hopping out of her car in your big pink jacket and new white skates, ready to go into the rink. 

When you step inside, it completely amazes you. You thought you knew everything about it from the things Quinn told you, but his words don’t do it justice. You cannot wait to step on the ice for the first time ever. 

You immediately sit down to put your skates on. You struggle quite a bit. Gosh, Quinn made this look so easy. You don’t even bother asking your mom, as she’s already in a bad mood about having to be here. 

“Hi, need some help?” a voice says, getting closer with each word. 

You smile at the offer, and look up to see who’s trying to do such a kind gesture. “Luke?!”

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creds to @beenucks for the polaroids 🙏

tags: @beenucks @nic0-hischier @azure-dawn81 @emsdevs @puckmedude @joesnumerouno @alex-wotton @puckfics @editzcp @r0wdymaize86 @ccomandercody @macklin-celebrini-71 @randomcuboidshape @when-im-with-you @quillycrow @rainyvalentines @alwaysclassyeagle @ruinix @greensnakegobblep @whitegirlsworld @dancerbailey3 @cheesecakeinahole @multifandom-2091

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