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galene-gothic · 3 days ago

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𝖸𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗈𝗎𝗅

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⊹ ! ೀ Pile 1 ꒱

(Mostly explicit messages)

So recently, you’ve been feeling horny all the time. Like, I’m literally getting that you feel horny even after you’ve orgasmed. Your body gets turned on without any external stimuli and you start feeling knots in your thighs, making you crave a release. Maybe for most people, even short orgasms cut it but for you even average length ones don’t seem to do it. If your orgasms are short or average length, you might be too sensitive to masturbate right away but you aren’t satisfied and crave a longer, and more satisfying one. You want your orgasms to be something that you experience for a longer time and ones that you experience with your entire body. Right now, you seem to be learning a lot about your own sexuality. I’m so sorry but I’m not getting any other messages except sexual ones here. Your soul is likely a very sexual one? Another thing is that no matter who you are, your nipples are extremely sensitive. They’re so sensitive that many of you may be scared of touching them yourselves. Even if you do touch them, the mere idea of pressing onto them makes you feel tingly all over but in an uncomfortable manner. However, here’s the interesting thing, you may not know it yet but you would really enjoy nipple play of some sort. It does not have to be something too extravagant, could literally just be the other person sucking your tits while touching you. Many of you might not finger yourself and might simply just rub your clit. Even if you do finger yourself, the clit is very important to you. This is not how I was intending this reading to go, I’m not sure what’s going on because this is supposed to be a soul reading and I was expecting anything but this. However, I’m just rolling with it because sexual pleasure seems to be very important to you 😭. I’m trying to look into something that’s not about sex, masturbation and orgasms but I’m not getting anything yet. I think that unless I finish whatever the spirit and your soul is trying to get through to you, I won’t be able to tap into anything else about your soul. So well, you liked to be talked through it and be taught things. You also want your sexual partner to learn from you and to press your pleasure points. Your clit is very important to you. You likely can’t imagine sex without the clit being involved in some way. Maybe sometimes you’d be fine with it but on most days and nights, you prefer being rubbed and licked down there, devoured actually. You want to see your partner pussy drunk. I’m getting a certain image in my mind, you want your future spouse to be unwilling to move their head from in between your legs even when you tug at their hair, try to pull them away, try to push them away or cry out. You want them to be addicted to eating you out almost, you want them to get lost during it. You also have a thing for seeing their tongue work its magic down there. It might sound gross to some of you and you might not admit it but you find the idea of kisses after oral really hot, and if you don’t, you will find it hot when it’s actually happening. You seem to like the tongue a lot so you might naturally like kissing when doing it. I believe that right now you crave to be able to take more care of yourself physically and sexually. You already are but it’s almost like you’re insatiable.

Some of you might have a roommate, might sleep with your sister or mother, or something like that causing you to not have enough privacy but even so, you manage to find ways to indulge in that pleasure in whatever way you can and whenever you can. However, there’s a desire to experience pleasure in a very grounded manner, more times than you usually do in a day and feel, and indulge in the sensation of being blissed out, and warm in your thighs, feet, genitals and stomach. You may want to have the time, space and privacy to edge for a long time and experience a long orgasm that feels very whole, and spreads throughout the body rather than just stays in the genital area. At your core, you’re someone who wants to learn and teach others, and have a respectful reputation. There’s something about wanting to work with others and naturally being cooperative as long as there’s a shared vision. Your soul is currently craving genuineness, self care and being taken care of. You want to nurture and receive the same nurturing back. You desire stability, security and assets of some sort, possibly land or gold. You’re also desiring a physical glow up and to be grounded enough to remain humble. You want to be someone who doesn’t break character easily and is self assured because you’re grounded rather than having a prideful self assurance that’s more fiery in nature. You want the best of the best for your soul. That’s what your soul craves and for that, you want to become the best of the best too. You’re someone who is more long term oriented and values things like ethics, values, morality, stability and commitment. Which is why despite wanting to be touched and experience orgasms, you settle for ‘self care’ because you don’t want to give your body away to just anyone. You hold yourself to really high regard to do something like that. Your soul craves to be more mature and to progress in life, and career. Also, to be in domestic and secure environments. Your soul wants you to take care of yourself from within. “Working out is not enough if you’re not watching your diet.” Not my words, that’s just what I heard. The vibe that I keep on getting is the queen of ants or bees who is looked after and not only everyone is set on taking care of her but also she’s the first priority. Like, if there’s danger, they move her to the safest spot. That’s what you want except that you’re human and you genuinely desire to nurture too. You’re either already very independent but because you closed off in the past, you’re learning how to be giving and nurturing, I don’t think this part ever left you but you still want to experience it to the fullest or you’re giving and nurturing learning how to be more independent, or you’re all three giving, independent and nurturing but because you know your worth, you’re not willing to give it away to just anyone but you’re able to do so to people who need it but you’re still genuinely fine with being alone and you’re self sufficient too. For example, underprivileged children or old people who are living in this world of capitalism and inflation. The third one is what your soul desires to be like. You want to be independent, nurturing and giving but fine with being by yourself, and in fact, content with being as such. Right now, you’re learning about your sexual nature and desires. Majority of the reading was simply about your sex drive so well, I’ll leave you to take care of yourself. I hope that you liked it. Thank you for reading, much love and take care.

⊹ ! ೀ Pile 2 ꒱

You’re someone who can be pretty in friendships and that’s because you mostly feel unwelcome or disconnected from groups of people. Even if they’re welcoming, you don’t feel that connection with them. Even so, you are able to appreciate people for who they are and connections for welcoming you even if you don’t feel that synergy with them. So you have two sides, one side of you is overindulgent in socialising while the other is more of a loner. You’re someone who may start disconnecting from a group overtime. Like when you first meet them, you might really vibe with them because you’ve experienced being left out so you try to include everybody but as time starts passing by, you start leaning into yourself and withdrawing. You seem to have dealt with gossip, falling out with friends, friends affecting you negatively, people misunderstanding you, excluding you or you yourself feeling like an outcast. Also, other people preferring someone else over you. You have dealt with betrayal in friendships and romance, specifically being left for or replaced by someone else. Your soul is desiring travelling and experiencing things that make you feel young, and alive i.e. adventure! For example, stargazing, camping, travelling to different places with different conditions like beaches, mountains, cities, etc. Also, some of you might have a decision to make. You might currently be contemplating leaving something or someone. Your soul knows deep down that you deserve better than this and it’s leaning towards you leaving. For some reason, if you make the decision to leave, it has to be sudden, almost impulsive but something that you don’t look back from. You might have a lot of memories with this situation or person (could be multiple people too), or even if that’s not the case, some level of familiarity is what is stopping you from letting go. You are being told to leave. For some of you, you’ve already left. If this is a person, i’m picking up on them making you feel like an option or choosing someone else over you, or something like that? The vibe that I’m getting here is more platonic than romantic but it could be a friendship that borders on romance i.e. basically someone who sucks you dry by taking all the benefits of a romantic relationship but choosing others over you. Hell, you might not even be treated like an option. There are many different situations coming through here. Some of you may be dealing with friends having turned against you and leaving you out. Some of you may be dealing with mistreatment at school, university or work and might be contemplating leaving. The common theme is that there are two paths here and your soul craves to let go, and seek more, to discover that the grass is greener on the other side. However, some of you have already made this decision, possibly even a long time ago and are craving to progress further.

Your soul craves to experience life in a pure and passionate way, by travelling, achieving your goals and being in environments, and with people who appreciate you, share similar visions and don’t make you feel bad. You have dealt with feeling like you’re not worth committing to, that others always have someone else they prefer over you, being treated as if you don’t have feelings, being treated as not even an option, being treated as an emotional punching bag, being used for your emotional labour, having friends turn against you, getting humiliated and mocked by acquaintances, etc. If you have left and let go already, all of you are different stages. Some of you may still be haunted by the emotions of the past if it’s still fresh, some of you have grown a lot and have found more emotional stability, and understand that it’s good that things are not the same but you still want more growth, passion and experiences in your life. All of you are headed towards growth. If you’re struggling with leaving, I’ve gotta tell you that the grass is in fact greener on the other side. You might have to walk for a bit in order to get to where the grass is green but you need to get there, that’s the only good decision that you can make for yourself in this situation. Currently, you’re learning how to let go of familiar people if they betray or hurt you no matter how long you’ve known them for. Physically for those of you who haven’t left yet and mentally for those of you who have. Many of you have made significant progress in this process of leaving, letting go and doing better. You might think about the past but it’s not something you want to ever go back to and for the most part, you have let go of many emotions that you felt back then because you’ve significantly matured and are craving something different, something more. When you look back, you understand that you deserved better than that so many of you do not even acknowledge them as people you cared about. You seem to have understood that you were taken advantage of and because you deserved, and do deserve better, you have removed yourself from those situations of the past, acting as though they never even happened and you have a resolve to make sure to never repeat history again. It’s not even denial or avoidance, it’s just that you have grown so much that you don’t identify with that version of yourself anymore. If you haven’t left yet, this is what’s awaiting you when you leave. You’re going to become someone who is not willing to and doesn’t feel the need to help everyone, and does not care about familiarity or memories and focuses on what people are doing in the present instead. Also, you’ll not think of the past as something grand when it comes to other people, you’re going to think of it as grand when it comes to you because it will have made you who you are and you’ll be proud of how you used to be too.

You’re not going to be happy about having been used but you’re going to appreciate how innocent you were, how loving you were, your own willingness to do and try until the end. There’s going to be a feeling of you not having lost anything while the other parties lost the best. You’re currently maturing and letting go of the past no matter who you are. Even if you have accepted that you deserved better and have stopped acknowledging your past, it’s something that you think about, and are still letting go of. You’ve forgiven the past especially yourself but you know that you deserved better so you’ll never forgive the people who did what they did and let them have access to you again. There’s something about leaving the home and adulting, it might happen within the next three years at most for many of you. You’ve already started adulting though and it has matured you significantly. You don’t mind weakening connections and even leaving them behind completely because you have experienced really bad things in the past, and have been stuck in the past and nostalgia in the past, and you even tried until the end, seeming desperate so you have outgrown that and know that nothing good is going to come out by trying too hard unless the other person is actively making sure to get somewhere with you as well. You seem to be healing trauma regarding your younger self i.e. childhood, school days, innocent connections like the first loves, etc. You see the past for what it was, the good and the bad, and so you do not idealise it but you do not exactly hate it either, it’s sorta bittersweet, many parts of it but you’re at peace to have grown into who you’ve grown into but you just want something new, fresh, different, familiar but mature. You want to share a close and comfortable connection with people, and share a natural bond that makes them feel familiar to you but you want more than what you’ve experienced, you want something real and won’t engage with them if they repeat patterns of the past for you because you’ve outgrown them. If not, you’re in the process of doing so. You’ve only become more pure over time. Your capacity to love has become more innocent but more mature at the same time so you may not consider things of the past to be ‘love’ as per se. You acknowledge what you’ve given but you don’t identify with your past self who put up with so much bullshit. You desire more and want better for yourself. In the past, you seem to have had lost your sense of fun and adventure due to experiences, and people depleting you. Instead, you were playing small and sticking with them out of familiarity but you’ve gotten your passion and curiosity back, and want to go from there, grow from there. I hope that the reading gave you clarity. Thank you for reading, much love and take care.

⊹ ! ೀ Pile 3 ꒱

On the soul level, you’re someone goal oriented who’s supposed to pursue your goals unabashedly and unapologetically even if it means upsetting or hurting others. However, despite this sort of drive and approach to your goals, you are a very soft person. You seem to lack assertiveness and do not even know how to fight back verbally. I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t even react. What seems to have happened is, you were very driven and ambitious growing up but somewhere along the way you lost focus, and lost your way. You became directionless and reckless, and developed almost like an inferiority complex. You’ve always low-key had one because you seem to have contradictory traits and two of those traits that contradict each other are inferiority, submissiveness, inability to speak up and lack of assertiveness, and extreme ambition, drive and a sharp ass tongue. It might sound impossible for both these sides to exist within the same person but they do exist within you. Let me put it like this, your soul is more action oriented than a talker. However, some of you fell victim to a ‘talker’ not realising that most people are not action oriented like you? This is not the case for most of you. So, because your soul is action oriented, when you were younger, you were self assured and more focused on getting things done than standing up for yourself, it caused you to have a more submissive side and image but on the inside, you’re the most driven person ever with a lot of aggressiveness and assertiveness, it’s just that it manifests differently. One example that I can give you that I believe all of you are going to relate with is that you can get very annoyed, impulsive, sharp with words or tone and firm when you’re bothered while you’re completing a task or doing your work. You hate distractions and want to be left alone during such times. You lack assertiveness but you’re action oriented and that’s how you assert yourself. You might run your mouth or did so when you were younger and excited, in regard to your vision, ideas, endeavours because you had the end goal in mind but standing up for yourself aggressively through words, that’s not really you. I feel like the main thing with you is that you struggle with aggressiveness and assertiveness with acquaintances, and those who you’re not close to but when you’re comfortable enough with someone or know them well enough, you know exactly what to say in order to hit a nerve. This is what I meant when I called you ‘sharp tongued’ earlier. When you lost your sense of direction and forgot yourself, you had no real purpose so it led to your confidence and self assuredness disappearing, and your inferiority complex getting stronger. When you were still driven, you didn’t really have an inferiority complex in an extreme way but it was more like, you knew that certain people had certain things in life and skills that you didn’t have, and because you weren’t much of a talker in an assertive manner.

It was something that intrigued you plus you were simply just curious about life because you were young. However, because you were doing your best and had a drive, a purpose in life, you didn’t feel as inferior internally but when you got distracted and lost your direction, your energy that was not well directed just ended up feeding into your inferiority complex. Also another thing that I’m getting that not all of you are going to resonate with is that you would be great at handling conflicts with your fists. You’re calm and seem almost submissive on the outside but internally very passionate and driven, and this drive translates to you needing a lot of physical release which means ‘orgasms’ xD. However, if you get back to finding direction and being yourself (many of you already have), you’re going to become self serving and self assured. You’re going to become someone whose actions are pretty unpredictable because you have opposing and contradictory character traits. You have a rude side to you too. It’s very interesting how many different sides you possess. A good trait that you possess is that you separate your ambitions from your personal life. For example, if your friend wants something you too want, you won’t hesitate to go get it and it’s not like you feel hostile towards them, it’s just that you are going after your goals with your own hard work and efficiency. Your soul is desiring one on one connections right now. There’s a craving to find true love, romantically and even platonically. You want to have a friendship in which you are so close that others don’t even stand a chance to come in between. A friendship so fulfilling that romance is not even a need but you’re also craving romance, you want mutual love that is full of respect and joy. You want to have connections in which people have your best interests at heart. You want to be with someone with whom you’re a unit, a team. One in which you mutually respect and even appreciate, and adore each other’s differences. You want connections that are open and honest, and everyone takes part with equal effort. The most important part of what I’m stating is ‘mutuality’, you need this kind of connection to be mutual, that’s what you crave. You value loyalty and think that consideration is the highest form of love, you consider those you love and you want them to understand that your go getter nature is not meant to threaten them. In the past, due to this go getter nature of yours, you may have failed to consider other people or even if you did, they didn’t see past all the times that you didn’t. It seems to be more of an ego thing for them. For example, you both wanted the same position and you got it then you both wanted to be friends with the same person, and you got it and then you both wanted the same guy but out of respect and loyalty, you decided not to engage with him but he grew to like you despite your lack of engagement.

It leads to others misunderstanding and growing aggressive towards you so you want a connection in which you’re understood, and are able to work with the other person’s best interests at heart because I won’t lie, I understand why your actions have been perceived as selfish in the past. You’re just goal motivated and oriented, it’s not malicious intent but just the fact that you go and get what you want. However, another side of you is that despite being this way, you’re extremely considerate in connections i.e. one on one ones in which you trust and feel a sense of loyalty towards the other person. Everyone who sees you as selfish would have done the same thing as you if they got the opportunity to. They were people who you felt like were competitive with you too whether they admitted it or not so you do not need to feel bad. You want to have connections in which you’d consider the other person and they’d consider you. You have a desire for intimacy and depth one on one connections, both romantic and platonic ones. You value quality over quantity. So you’d be fine if you simply had one life long friend and one life long lover, in fact, that’s what you crave, that’s what you want. You may hold connections to be sacred and want to experience divinity in the form of connections. Some of you fell victim in some sort of one on one connection to someone who knew how to talk a really good game and was incredibly manipulative but were a bum action wise at least to you, but you weren’t able to tell at that time because you were so action oriented that you assumed that everyone was. You seem to have either learned or are learning the lesson to recognise those who keep people around for person needs and in order to boost their ego. You are developing silent power or are growing a realisation of the fact that your power is in the way you’re not asserting yourself outwardly but have a steady heart with a strong drive, a controlled mind and are action oriented. You have struggled with overthinking and a hyper active brain, you still might but most of you have learned how to tame it or are doing so right now. You demand and expect respect from others, and are a quiet thinker who does not express all their thoughts or are learning how to be. You seem to have been acquainted with your inner truth and that’s helping you find power in who you truly are. Like, you may be understanding that you don’t have to stand up for yourself verbally if mistreated or disrespected, instead you can just remove yourself from such an environment and focus on your own life, and goals. You think that that’s a power because there are people who will stand up for themselves verbally but will continue staying in that environment, not removing themselves from such cheap people and situations but you’re not like that. You may not react but you know how to respond through follow through actions. I hope that the reading was enjoyable and offered you some sort of direction. Thank you so much for reading, much love and take care.

#pac #pac reading #pick a card #tarot pac #tarot pick a card #pick a card reading #intuitive readings #pick a photo #pick a deck

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kenyummy · 3 days ago

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✰ 04. the ballad of a bygone blight.

✰ ꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ platonic yandere batfam / spider! reader ꒱

✰ 04. fantastic four.

SYNOPSIS : being spidey isn't easy. being transported into an alternate universe where you're nothing but a shadow in your house, makes sneaking around a little easier... until you find yourself the apple of their eye... kind of.

note: had to wrack my brain to remember what math i was learning in seventh grade LMAO . sometimes i forget damian is just a little guy in like seventh to eighth grade. crazy. and please let me know if there's any mistakes with pronouns/gender!!! i want to keep this open to everybody so im always trying my best ❤️

also ive realised how chopped harry is in the comics after taking my rose coloured lenses off. basically he and mj have their look in the ultimate spiderman TV show (in my eyes anyway, i kind of just described their appearance based off tgat lmaooo)

prev. ✰ masterlist ✰ next.

School has never felt so bland for you. Sure, it was never your favourite thing in the world—except for maybe biology—but you'd think that discovering a whole new world in your last year would make it a little more interesting.

It didn't.

It's been three weeks since you crash landed here in Gotham. The most you'd gotten from your family was an awkward "how are you" occasionally, and a lot of staring.

You'd only shown yourself as Spidey a few times to the public, but never stayed for those pesky news reporters shoving their microphones into your face. You'd never liked interviews, anyway.

The only highlight of your long days were MJ and Harry. You'd gotten over the initial shock of Harry being in love with you—convincing yourself that it really wasn't you he liked; it was this world's original you. (Though—that fact still lingers in the back of your mind whenever you talk).

Apart from that, school truly was uneventful. Your kooky art teacher was the only one of whom you actually liked, and it seemed the education here was rather lax. Uncaring. Not good for your future, surely—but you wouldn't have a future here, and you're sure this [name] Wayne will be just fine.

Speaking of schooling—the people here really seemed to hate the Gotham Prep kids. More than what a petty rivalry should be—it was pure malice.

Harry was especially adamant about this.

"They're all dumb, entitled rich kids who use daddy's money to get whatever they want, you know." He stabs his fork into a dry cut of chicken violently. Then points, accusatory, at MJ—who already presents a sneer to him. "And don't you start lumping me in with them—you know I'm not like that."

Her face twists, but soon she grins cheekily. "Okay, fine. Yeah, you're totally not, otherwise nobody here would like you one bit. And who doesn't love Harry, huh?"

"Oh, be quiet," But still, he smiles—damn his head is big. He glances over at you. You're picking around at your soggy broccoli with a frown. "Hey, [name]. Don't two of your brothers go to Gotham Prep?"

You look up at your ginger friend, head tilted to the side before it clicked. Oh, right. Tim and that young boy—Damian, if you remember correctly. Tim barely ever went to school if your diary was still accurate, and Damian had little choice but to.

(Doesn't seem like he'd be the social butterfly type, though.)

"Yeah, they do." You nod, still fiddling around with that vegetable.

"Not that I'm not glad that you're here—but why don't you go to school with them?" MJ leans forward in her seat. "I mean, isn't it easier for siblings to go to the same school?"

Your eyes widen for a second.

There's a few ways you can go about this.

One—you tell them everything you know about your other self. About how you never felt included enough to ask. How you never spent time with them. How it always felt like everything and everyone else was more important than you. How you suffered silently—begging for their attention for years like a house pet becoming a stray.

Two—you could tell them you have absolutely no idea because you have none of your memories of anything from the past years of this life—how you don't even remember all your siblings names half the time.

Or three, and your personal favourite—you can just lie.

It doesn't take a serial genius to figure out which one you chose.

"I guess I just didn't like the rich private school vibe they had going on." A smile falls over your lips. "Plus—you guys were coming here, so it gave me even more of a reason to attend, you know?"

You're not entirely sure that's true. But—if these two were anything like the Harry and MJ you know—then this would probably be right.

Judging from their smiles, your detective skills haven't failed you yet.

"Man!" MJ lolls her head back, groaning. "Can't believe I'm friends with two rich kids who get to choose which school they want—the beat down public or sleek rich private."

"Don't go dissing this school just because you're jealous of their uniforms," Harry snickers, pressing his index finger into MJ's cheek. She huffs and slaps him away.

"Silence, nepo baby. Your dad is basically Lex Luthor if he wasn't bald."

Harry looks more confused than offended at her comment, "Okay, but my dad isn't an evil mastermind plotting against a red and blue suited superhero."

You press your lips together thinly and look to the side, eyes focused on anything but him. Oh, Harry—if only you knew.

Damian Wayne had never truly seen the point of highschool.

Raised by assassains all his life—he had little room, time, and desire to learn about all this nonsense. While he enjoyed arts and fine literature—he couldn't find it within himself to care about the American Revolution, or whatever other ridiculous thing happened in history.

His maths teacher was absolutely, indubitably pathetic. Always on his phone as he assigns mountains of homework (because he never bothers to explain the complex materials they're given) on the latest subject—whether it be those blasted simultaneous equations, or to factorise useless monic trinomials. Even calculating tax and interest on the stupidest of cases.

Damian found himself sitting in the corner of his class in silence, staring down, bored, at the book in front of him. He truly hated math. There's so much real work to be done—crime to fight, plotting organisations to take down.

But his father, as always, is unmoving in his conviction that school is important. For Damian especially, anyway; Drake can skip as often as he likes because he's a senior already. Truly, ridiculous.

For Damian, and—oh.

You.

Bruce always seemed especially insistent on you two going to school. Even when everyone but him knew you skipped every few days and simply come home to wait.

Wait for what? For them?

His brows furrow. Suddenly, the black and white equations on the sheet blur and he zones out. Thinking.

You always did. From the day he'd walked into the manor, you were always there. Unconsciously, he'd notice it. A trait of a good assassin is that they can spot everyone in the room.

A trait of a great assassin is that they can spot everyone inside and watching.

Always, you were watching. Those pitiful stares. Desperate like a unloved pet. If he cared a little more (if any at all), he would've felt sorrow for your state.

Always wanting, but never asking. Never taking. Simply waiting for it all to come to you. He would never understand it. He would never understand you.

He would never understand how somebody could allow themselves to be so weak.

Like everybody else—when he first entered the manor, he proposed to fight you. Assuming—being the child of his father, like he was—you were worthy. That you were strong.

He doesn't know how he could've been so wrong. You immediantly reacted, gasping and clutching your face. He'd nicked it with the edge of his blade after he unsheathed it. You looked at the blood dotting your fingertips, then back at him, eyes wide.

Immediantly, Bruce rushed to his side and pushed him behind his larger, imposing figure—telling you to not interact with him because he's different to regular people. Different to you.

He watched you storm off from behind his father's legs; anger practically blaring off your figure.

Later—he happened to overhear you and Grayson talking quietly. Telling you to not be too hard on Damian, because he's troubled. That he's had a difficult life. At first—he was a tad offended—but that offence could not compare to the absolute fury burning in your eyes.

Though, it all melted away when Grayson's hand ruffled your hair. Like a little kid, you stared up at him, soft and starry-eyed as you unconsciously murmured you'd forgive your new little brother.

Damian dry-heaved. You were so goddamn weak.

So weak, and so normal. Everything you did was completely regular. You were on the same wavelength as the civilians he saved from burning rubble. The same as people who walked down the street, talking about their favourite Justice League member. Who cowered in fear in front of villains—to be saved by those heroes. By him.

You were nothing, and yet everything he could never have been.

(What child does not long for normalcy?)

Damian always thought you were rather helpless, regardless of how regular you were—and seeing you with that bullet lodged in your shoulder—he was right. Not being able to dodge something like a bullet—there was no wonder you never become a vigilante. There was no wonder you needed to be protected.

... Though—he began to think back.

Who did? Protect you; that is.

Whoever it was, they did a pretty awful job at it.

Damian strums his fingers against the hardwood table rhythmically. Face blank but mind running rapidly.

It couldn't have been Todd. No—he seemed to be in a frazzled state of mania when carrying your bleeding body in your arms. Perhaps he too, believed you were safe with the rest of his family.

(Oh how wrong Todd was—he looked livid.)

... Grayson?

No. When he's not in Blüdhaven, he is almost always with the other vigilantes within the family. Not here nor there, and certainly not close enough to protect you.

Not Drake. He never cared enough, despite everything. Not Cain, either. Though the silent protector type—she had too much on her plate to worry about you as well.

Gordon and Brown had their own families to worry about.

And his—your father? The Batman? There was no time for a regular child like you in the Batman's life of vigilantism. Whom he sworn to protect in his crusade now lay bleeding out in his great failure's arms.

...

Did you truly have nobody?

...

Damian couldn't really imagine it. He'd always assumed you had many friends to fill the void that yoir family left with their civilian clothes. ... Perhaps you did. He wouldn't know.

You are his only half sibling. In this world, only he is truly your brother, and you are his only older sibling. Does that not give him the slightest of responsibility?

He'd always been taught to keep everybody at arms length—even his own family. The whole world is out to get the Demon's grandson, then he must fight it. But his father taught him differently.

To protect those who cannot protect themselves—to keep those he cares about safe at any cost.

What of you? He does not care for you in the way an ordinary sibling should. Seeing you so weak, defenceless against him—must mean you trust him in some way.

(It's hard for him to fathom being able to feel so unprotected in a world he was taught was trying to extinguish him at every turn).

Regardless of how you don't belong—or how frosty you act toward your youngest brother—he has a duty.

No matter how hard you try—you can never sever the blood you two share. The others do not have this duty—but he does, because in the end, you are his. None of the others bothered, so Damian must.

You are everything he could never be, he has realised. But in the end, you are blood. It runs thicker in the veins than any water, and that is one of the most important things to Damian.

Seeing that same blood—his blood—spill out of you carelessly—that is a sight he will never bear witness to again.

Damian was the first one out the door as soon as the bell chimed in his ear. His bag slung tightly around his shoulders and textbook under his arm; he rushed into the familiar sight of a sleek, large car.

He shuts the door as he climbs into the backseat (Bruce said he was still too short to sit in the front, much to his son's displeasure). "Hello, Pennyworth."

Alfred glances back at him through the rear view mirror. "Good afternoon, Master Damian. How was school?"

"Same as usual. A waste of time." He clicks his seatbelt shut as the car begins to move. Alfred only hums, keeping his eyes trained on the road.

"I'm unsurprised to hear you say so. I do hope you understand why exactly, you are enrolled in school, however. And why Master Bruce is so adamant about your attendance."

Damian knows. He's always known, because it has been drilled into his head like a mantra. Talia and Ra's Al Ghul weren't math teachers—and most of his time really was spent training and sparring to be the best he could be.

He was not illiterate, nor stupid. Rather smart, actually. However, he didn't exactly learn algebra and chemistry with the League of Assassins.

He grumbles. "I know, Pennyworth. Father cannot seem to stop reminding me that all these things are far more important than stopping the endless wave of crime in Gotham."

If he weren't on the road—Alfred surely would've given him a nasty look. "Master Damian, please—your sincerity is positively slaughtering me."

Damian rolls his eyes, opting to stop this fruitless conversation and look outside the windows instead. At the outside world—the sky already paling to deep auburn shades as they drive through the endless roads.

He watched all the cars moving past; hurrying to get to their destination. Each with their own story and reason for being there. Every single one with their own thoughts and worries. Some with children, others with pets, and some with piles of groceries.

All with their own, individual lives. Including him.

A bus, too. It stops for a moment at a sheltered space, then drives away, leaving a few people standing under the shade.

An elderly lady with a man, presumably her son, walking away with her. A woman with frizzy red hair and freckles dotted over her nose. A few schoolkids—some his age, some older. Clearly from the public school on the other side of Gotham, if only to judge from the scantily clad clothes some of the older students wore—

Wait, is that you?

He sits up—the car slowly coming to a stop at a red light. His eyes don't leave your figure as he presses his nose against the window; observing.

You look around at the people that pass by you—gripping your bag close to your side and rushing into the nearest alleyway.

He waits for a few moments. This red light feels rather long—but what feels longer is watching and waiting for you to come out of that alleyway.

You never do.

Even as the car begins to move once more, driving past the intersection, he crawls as far back as possible to even get a glimpse—but you never show.

Just today, he had decided to be the one to take up the mantle and protect you. Just today, during a boring math class, he has decided that since you are his blood, he must keep a helpless civilian like you safe.

And now you're gone. Are you dead, or something?

(Deep down, his stomach twists at the thought.)

"Pennyworth, pull over." Hid voice is more taut than he had imagined. "Now."

Alfred looks back, glancing at the streets around. He doesn't question the young boy, simply doing as he is asked and pulling over to a deserted parking area.

When he has parked the car, he turns around and sees Damian slipping his Robin mask on—somehow already fully suited up.

His eyes widen, "Master Damian, what—"

"I have something to do. Let Father know I will be back home late."

Opening the door, Damian rushes out and pulls out his grappling hook, swinging onto the nearest building's roof and looking around.

He spots the alleyway you'd run into. It is still. Absolutely no movement nor any looks from passer-bys. He rushes across the roves towards where the dark side seeped into the crack of the buildings.

Maybe you'd taken another way out?

But looking at the alleyway now, it's more like a dip between the buildings to stand in more than anything. It was blocked off on the other side.

So where...???

He drops down, landing on his soles and squinting as he stares around into the dark. There's nothing.

No people, nor bodies, and certainly not anything to indicate anybody was ever here.

Except...

He glances at the wall. Theres a white cocoon-esque oval webbed to the wall. Those same webs he'd seen all that time ago—from that spider. That would show up then leave immediantly. Never staying for longer than they had to.

Dodging all of his and Batman's attempts at asking who you were, and what you were doing in Gotham. Always swinging away into the distance before they could be subdued.

Now, he stares at their ball of webbing and wonders if it truly is an arachnid he's dealing with.

He pokes it, looking it up and down. Then, he sees it. Through the small holes in the webs and the translucent, silk-like material—he finally sees it.

Your bag.

He tears off the webbing faster than he can think, getting the sticky substance stuck to his gloves and clothes; he barely even notices it. He grabs your bag and stares it, swallowing hard.

His mind buzzes with an unfamiliar staticky feeling and he suddenly feels sick to his stomach. Despite all the noise in his ear—his brain is able to comprehend one singular question.

... What did that arachnid do to you?

Clothed fingers digging deep into the leather fabric of the bag—clearly worn down and fading. Old. He would get Father to purchase you another. ... When he sees you next. Because he will.

His jaw clenches hard.

Damian throws the bag over his shoulder and grapples up—swinging onto a building roof and running across.

Running for what, he isn't sure. But what he is sure of, is that once he gets his hands on that arachnid, it will not be kind.

To find out what happened to you—that is his duty as your blood sibling.

He decides that in this life, he will be your protector. In the next, if he is ever given a chance to be normal like you—he will become a doctor. Or perhaps a painter. Or a poet. Maybe he will ask you to help him decide when he finds you and that arachnid.

... Yes, that sounds good.

You cut through the cool wind as you swing through the city. Grinning widely underneath your mask—you don't think you've ever been so happy since you landed here.

You're sure nobody will take your stuff. Even if they do, you could always just get whatever else you needed again. You were far too excited to dwell on the small stuff right about now.

Landing on a rooftop, crouched—you walk down the wall of the apartment complex, and look around for civilians. As he told you—the streets around the back of the building were practically deserted.

You count the amount of rooms from the side, up and down.

"Row 5, Apartment block... 2..." You hum, and nod to yourself.

You tap your necklace and the nanobots all crawl off your body, leaving you in your regular clothes. You land safely on the balcony of the room you were given.

You smooth out your flared jeans and take in a deep breath. Then, you bring up your knuckles, and knock.

The glass screen door opens before you can say fantastic.

A small pair of arms wrap around your torso and knock you backwards—you fall on your ass and let out a loud laugh.

"Spidey!!! [name]!!!"

"Is that who I think it is?!" You tease, eyes squinted upwards and the young kid buries into your stomach. His giggles are muffled by the fabric and he squeezes you so tight you'd be inclined to choke—if it wasn't you. "Frankie!! How's my favourite Richard?"

"I can't believe you'd say that, [name]. That hurts." A familiarly sweet voice speaks.

"Sue!" You grin, taking in the sight of the blonde and her husband by her side. You get up—Franklin stumbles behind you—and crash into her arms.

She chuckles, patting your back and smiling down at you, "I missed you too, [name]. You always manage to find yourself in the strangest situations, don't you?"

Reed cradles his chin, "Well, we were technically the cause of this distortion in reality, Susan—"

But seeing the expression on both your and his wife's face; he stops himself. Only smiling sheepishly. "My apologies. It's great to see you again, [name]. I didn't think we'd find another familiar face in a different universe."

"You're getting better at this, Reed." You lift yourself from Sue's comforting cradle and grin brightly up at him. "I didn't think I'd see all of you guys again, either. When you all disappeared for so long—I was wondering if something bad happened."

"Hah! Ta us? You kiddin'? Ya more bug-brained 'den that spider that bit ya!"

"Ben!!!" You go flying toward the rock-encased man and wrap your arms around his comfortingly tough neck. He spins you around and lets you down with a loud laugh.

"'Ey kid, how're ya? Heard ya tackled ol' matchstick 'ere outta the sky!" He slaps his rocky chest laughing—in the corner of your eye, Johnny stands behind him, unimpressed.

He walks up beside you, swinging an arm around your neck and snarks, "Yeah—well, Spidey's always been known for catching people off guard, huh? Creepin' up when you least expect it."

"You're making [name] sound like a villain, Unc!" Frankin, who had found himself attached to the side of your shirt, sticks out his tongue.

Johnny recoils, face falling in pure horror as he dramatically points at the young boy, "UNC??!! I... I'm an Unc now...??? I'm not even 19! I can't be an Unc!!!"

You burst out into laughter at the genuineness of Johnny's expression, watching as he freaks out about being "old". Sue and Reed roll their eyes—while Ben is there with you, laughing his ass off like he'd just gotten a home run on Yancy Street.

Franklin looks at your laughing expression and starts giggling along—jumping up and down beside you with sparkling eyes.

"Stop laughing, [name]! We're the same age!" Johnny points, accusatory. "If I'm an Unc, you're a...!"

"Doesn't matter. I'm cooler than Uncle Johnny anyways, right Frankie?" You grin, picking up Franklin as he cuddles into your neck.

"Mhm!" He nods eagerly.

Johnny sends you a blazing glare, lips pouted out. "You and me. We're—" He gestures to the two of you. "—gonna have some issues, here. Okay. Everyone knows I'm the cool Uncle."

"No, that's Benny!" Franklin points to Ben.

The look on Johnny's face shifts into utter disbelief—Ben falls out of his chair laughing wildly.

"Gosh, I missed you so much, kid." You pull at one of Franklin's cheeks and chuckle. He stares at you in awe for a few seconds, before hugging the side of your head and giggling.

"I missed you too!"

That same warmth fills each crevice and pore of your body, as you huddle close to your dear friends and let yourself feel at home for this small moment.

Meanwhile, in the dark of night, a pair of azure eyes watches, sharp and unnerving in the back of your skull.

You notice it. Of course you do. Your mind is tingling with that buzz—but you want to enjoy this night of nothing but home, even if only once.

taglist: @hello-bina @cosmosluckycharms @1abi @yhin-gg @insideoutjulie @bluepanda08 @omnivirgo @vanessa-boo @dind1n @welpthisisboring @lunaetiicsaystuff @marsmabe @atanukileaf @findingjaxx @4mrplumi @bunniotomia @lostsomewhereinthegarden @bat1212 @gaychaosgremlin @bongwaterflavoredgatorade @randomlyappearingartist @cxcilla @spidermanluvr444 @cruzerforce4256 @mybones537 @xjesterxjacksx @nirvanaxx1942 @djpuppy-kittens @br33zy-blizzardz @moon0goddess @0sunnyside01 @mei-simp @redsakura101 @the-dumber-scaramouche @wizzerreblogs @lovemiss-vale @deathbynarcisstick @allycat4458 @wonmyheart @luckyangelballoon @one-piecelover @hartwyrm @horror-lover-69 @maria-trisha @4rachn3 @galaxypurplerose @duskeras @coffeeaddictxd @lithiumval @kaz-playz

tsglist is closed, sorry! but do try and keep up with updates thank you!!!

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jxwl4k · 2 days ago

Text

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Holding hands .𖥔 ݁ ˖

☘︎ . . . genre. fluff

☘︎ . . . pairings. bakugou x fem!reader

⤿ yn has a habit of holding her friends hands except for bakugou.

⋆˚✿˖° j speaking . . .

- this has been in my drafts since November and I’m only posting it now🥲

-this is inspired by a wonwoo oneshot it’s from tiktok and the author’s name is serenedust_ you can check it out in tiktok, happy reading, my loves! <3

YN had this little habit—one her friends were well aware of. Crowds made her uneasy, and whenever she found herself surrounded by too many people, she’d instinctively reach out, intertwining her fingers with whoever was closest. It was a small, grounding gesture that helped her keep calm.

Her friends had grown used to it over time.

“Ah, the famous YN hand-holding ritual,” Mina teased one day, giving YN’s hand a squeeze. “It’s cute, you know. Like you’re our little comfort buddy.”

YN laughed, a little embarrassed. “I just… feel calmer when I’m holding someone’s hand. I’m weird, huh?”

“Nah, we love it,” Kirishima reassured her with his usual bright grin. “In fact, you’re welcome to cling to me any time, YN. A pro hero should be able to help out with stuff like that, right?”

Mina nodded enthusiastically. “Totally! Besides, it’s not weird if it’s helping you feel better.”

YN was grateful for their support. She knew they didn’t mind her habit, and that only made her more comfortable reaching for their hands whenever she needed it. But there was one person she’d never tried holding hands with—Bakugou.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to. If she was honest with herself, she sometimes thought about it, imagining how it might feel to intertwine her fingers with his. But Bakugou was… well, Bakugou. He wasn’t exactly the “gentle touch” type, and she figured he’d probably find it annoying or weird if she reached for him in that way. So she always avoided touching him, keeping her hands to herself when he was around.

One day, as they sat together for lunch, Mina brought it up, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Hey, YN, have you noticed that you never reach for Bakugou’s hand?”

YN nearly choked on her drink. “W-What? I—uh…”

Kirishima chuckled, leaning in. “She’s got a point, you know. You hold our hands all the time, but not Bakugou’s. Are you scared of him?”

“Scared?!” YN stammered, her cheeks heating up. “I’m not scared of him! I just… I don’t think he’d like it, that’s all.”

Mina gave her a knowing look. “Oh, really? Because Bakugou here doesn’t seem like the type to get flustered over something as small as holding hands.”

“Shut up, Pinky,” Bakugou growled, though he didn’t deny it. His gaze shifted, and he avoided looking directly at YN.

YN could feel her face burning, but she quickly changed the subject, laughing it off. “Anyway! It’s not a big deal. I’m fine with holding your hands. It’s just… different.”

But her friends’ teasing lingered in her mind, making her hyper-aware of Bakugou’s presence. She had no idea that Bakugou, on the other hand, had been noticing her habit all along. He’d seen her reach for Mina’s hand, loop her arm with Kirishima’s, and each time, he felt an uncomfortable pang of jealousy. Why wouldn’t she reach out to him? Did she think he wasn’t as dependable as the others?

As much as he tried to brush it off, it bothered him more than he’d admit.

During UA’s annual festival, the crowded grounds buzzed with excitement. Class 1-A had been helping with setting up booths, and the noise and energy around them were overwhelming. YN could feel her nerves kicking in as they made their way through the busy festival.

“Whoa, it’s packed,” Kirishima said, glancing around.

“Tell me about it,” YN mumbled, trying to keep her breathing steady.

Sensing her discomfort, Mina grabbed YN’s hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. “Hey, remember we’re all here if you need us.”

YN nodded, grateful. They continued walking, and as the crowd around them grew denser, she instinctively reached out to grab another hand. Her fingers slipped through someone else’s, feeling warm and steady—until she looked up and realized whose hand she was holding.

Bakugou.

Her heart jumped, and she immediately tried to pull her hand back, stammering, “I-I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

But Bakugou’s grip tightened, refusing to let go. His expression was calm, almost unreadable, but his gaze was intense as he looked down at her.

“Quit squirming,” he muttered. “If it helps you feel safe, just… keep holding it.”

YN stared up at him, her cheeks turning a deep shade of red. “B-But I didn’t think you’d want to…”

“What, you think I didn’t notice?” he interrupted, voice a little rougher, though he wouldn’t meet her eyes. “You’re always holding their hands, but never mine. You think I’d mind?”

Behind them, Mina and Kirishima exchanged wide-eyed glances, grinning like they’d just witnessed the world’s biggest revelation. Mina’s voice echoed in a teasing whisper, “Ohhh, looks like someone’s finally holding Bakugou’s hand…”

YN was mortified, but Bakugou simply glared at their friends. “Mind your own business.”

They continued through the festival, YN’s hand still tightly wrapped in Bakugou’s. The warmth of his grip was both unfamiliar and comforting, and she could feel her anxiety melting away. For once, the noise of the crowd didn’t seem so overwhelming.

She glanced up at him, offering a small, grateful smile. “Thank you, Bakugou.”

“Whatever,” he mumbled, though his cheeks had the faintest hint of a blush. “Just don’t let go all of a sudden.”

Mina nudged Kirishima and whispered, “Think they’ll let go after this?”

Kirishima laughed quietly, giving her a playful nudge back. “Not a chance. I think we’ll be seeing a lot more of this.”

As YN walked with Bakugou, hand in hand, she realized she didn’t mind the teasing. In fact, she didn’t want to let go at all. And judging by the way Bakugou’s grip stayed firm and steady, he felt the same way.

Years into their careers as pro heroes, YN and Bakugou had seen more than their fair share of action and chaos. Tonight, however, was one of those rare, peaceful evenings, where the two of them could finally unwind together. They’d just finished a mission, and now they sat sprawled on Bakugou’s couch, swapping war stories over takeout.

As they relaxed, a comfortable silence settled between them until YN, lost in thought, let out a small laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Bakugou grumbled, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, nothing,” YN said, shaking her head with a smirk. “Just… I was thinking about that festival back at UA.”

Bakugou squinted suspiciously. “Which one?”

“The one where I, uh… accidentally grabbed your hand.”

Bakugou’s face turned pink, but he quickly masked it with an annoyed scowl. “Accidentally, huh? Keep tellin’ yourself that.”

“Oh, come on, it was!” YN protested, laughing as she nudged his shoulder. “I thought you were Kirishima! But then I looked up and realized it was you, and I was mortified. I was ready to disappear right there.”

Bakugou snorted. “Yeah, I noticed. Thought you’d drop dead from embarrassment.”

“Hey! You didn’t help by tightening your grip, you know!” YN shot back, giving him a playful glare. “You practically crushed my hand! What was that about?”

Bakugou shrugged, feigning indifference. “Thought you needed the support, or whatever. You looked like you were about to pass out.”

YN giggled, shaking her head. “Sure, sure, big tough hero just wanted to help.”

Bakugou cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well… I was waitin’ for you to do it all damn year, you know. You’d grab everyone else’s hand like it was nothing, and when it was me, suddenly you couldn’t even look at me.”

YN blinked, surprised. “Wait, you… actually wanted me to hold your hand?”

“Tch,” he muttered, crossing his arms. “Why do you think I always stood next to you in crowded places? Wasn’t a coincidence, idiot.”

Her laughter softened into a warm smile. “So all this time… you were jealous?”

Bakugou shot her a glare, cheeks bright red. “I wouldn’t call it jealousy.”

“What would you call it, then?” YN asked, smirking mischievously.

“A strategic maneuver,” he said, nose in the air. “If you got anxious, it was only logical that I’d be the one to handle it.”

YN snickered. “Right, because nothing says ‘tough guy’ like hoping someone will hold your hand.”

“Oi!” Bakugou growled, though his expression softened into an uncharacteristic smile. “You’re lucky I let you grab it at all.”

“Lucky, huh?” YN teased, leaning into his shoulder. “Well, in that case, I guess I’m lucky you’re still holding it.”

Bakugou’s fingers intertwined with hers, his grip firm but gentle. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t go getting sappy on me now.”

YN rolled her eyes but didn’t let go, letting the warmth of his hand remind her of that day at the festival—the beginning of something she hadn’t realized they both wanted.

And for the rest of the evening, every time she tried to pull her hand away, Bakugou would grumble, tightening his grip and muttering, “Strategic maneuver, remember?”

YN only laughed, realizing that some things really never change.

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odilesgrimoire · 1 day ago

Text

Bakugo doesn’t notice it at first. Not until one morning, when he walks into class and sees you sitting at your desk, head resting on your arms. You look tired. More than usual. Dark circles under your eyes, the slight puffiness, like you had been crying.

Something twists in his chest. He likes it.

He doesn’t know why, but the sight of you like this, vulnerable, affected, satisfies something deep inside him. It means you still care. That even if you’ve been ignoring him, even if you’ve been acting like you’re fine, you aren’t.

And that means… you haven’t moved on.

The thought settles in his mind, dark and selfish. He should feel guilty. Should feel bad that you’re clearly hurting.

But instead, he feels something close to relief.

Because it means you still think about him. That even after everything, he is still the one lingering in your mind. Not anyone else.

Him.

And for now, that’s enough.

But then—

"Are you okay?"

Midoriya’s voice breaks through his thoughts.

And just like that, the relief turns to rage.

Bakugo watches, eyes narrowing, as Midoriya crouches beside your desk. His brows are furrowed in concern, his voice soft, too soft. And you? You look up at him, forcing a small smile. "Yeah, just didn’t sleep well."

Liar.

Midoriya doesn’t believe it either. He pulls something out of his bag, his notebook. "Here, I copied the notes from yesterday. You missed a lot."

You blink, surprised. Then, a genuine smile blooms across your face.

And Bakugo hates that.

Hates the way Midoriya makes you smile. Hates the way he’s looking at you, like you’re precious. Hates that you’re letting him.

It doesn’t stop there.

At lunch, you sit with Midoriya and the others instead of the usual squad. Bakugo doesn’t care. He doesn’t. Except he can hear you laughing. Can see the way Midoriya nudges your tray closer when you barely touch your food. Can see how you lean into him when he whispers something to you.

And worst of all, he sees the way Midoriya looks at you.

It’s the same way you used to look at him.

The rumors start soon after.

"Did you hear? Midoriya might like her" "I mean, have you seen them lately? They’re always together." "Honestly… kinda cute, don’t you think?"

The words slip through the classroom like a slow-moving poison.

Bakugo isn’t even trying to listen, but the whispers reach him anyway, each one pressing into his skull like a dull, persistent ache.

His fingers twitch. Then curl. Then clench into fists so tight, his nails bite into his palms.

Why does it bother him?

Why does his jaw tighten every time he sees you together?

Why does it feel like a punch to the gut when you walk into class and don’t even look at him?

Why does it piss him off so much when he catches Midoriya blushing because of you?

—

The breaking point comes on a normal day.

Bakugo’s already irritated, he doesn’t even know why anymore. Everything just pisses him off. The way Kirishima laughs. The way Denki’s chewing too loud. The way you are standing so damn close to Midoriya near the lockers.

Then, Midoriya reaches out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

It’s a small gesture. Barely anything. But it makes something in Bakugo snap.

Before he even realizes it, he’s grabbing your wrist, yanking you away.

"We need to talk."

You stumble but quickly regain your footing, yanking your hand out of his grip. "What the hell is your problem?"

"What the hell is yours?" Bakugo snaps back. His eyes are burning. "You and Deku. Why the hell are you always with him?"

You scoff, crossing your arms. "I don’t see how that’s any of your business."

"You—" He grits his teeth. "You don’t even wait for me after training anymore. You don’t—"

And that’s when you laugh.

It’s bitter. Cold.

"Bakugo, are you serious?" Your voice is steady, but your eyes, there’s something sharp in them. "You knew I liked you, didn’t you?"

He freezes.

You tilt your head, studying him. "You knew. And you let me believe I had a chance."

The words hit him like a punch to the gut.

"Did you ever care?" you whisper.

Bakugo doesn’t answer.

Can’t.

Because the truth is sitting in his throat like a stone, too heavy to swallow.

You watch him, waiting. Just hoping a little that maybe, just maybe, he’ll say something that makes this all worth it.

But he doesn’t.

He just stands there, fists clenched, teeth grit, jaw locked too tight and, nothing.

And that’s when you know.

You exhale, something in your shoulders loosening. Not relief. More like… exhaustion. Like the last bit of hope you had has finally withered away.

"That’s what I thought."

You turn to leave, but for a second, just a second, you hesitate. Like you’re waiting. Like you’re giving him one last chance.

But Bakugo stays silent.

So you exhale, something in your shoulders loosening. Not relief. Just exhaustion. Then, you walk away.

Bakugo doesn’t stop you.

Doesn’t reach out. Doesn’t say a damn thing.

Just stands there, watching as you disappear down the hall, watching as you walk out of his reach.

And this time, you don’t look back.

This time, you won’t come back. Part 1

#bnha #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #mha #bnha x reader #bnha headcanons #bakugou katsuki #izuku midoriya #midoriya x reader #izuku x reader

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aninipanin1 · 1 day ago

Note

Lap pillows with Isagi? (I can imagine the rest of the guys getting jealous)

WHY HIM?

Notes: RAHHH I love Isagi so much, my loml, hope you enjoy!

"What the hell?!"

"Hm? Did you say something, Yukimiya-san?" You asked, tilting your head at the sudden outburst from the brunette player. You were busy tapping on your tablet, answering emails and other chores you were meant to finish as you ate in the canteen.

It was yet another day in Blue Lock, and the cafeteria was still empty except for you and Isagi until Yukimiya entered the cafeteria and found you sitting on a chair. Oh, but it definitely was not the one that caught his attention. Instead, his eyes glared at the slumbering striker that used the rest of the chairs as some sort of bed, with his head on your lap.

It definitely pissed him off, especially with how Isagi had his arms wrapped around your waist while sleeping away on your lap.

"How long has been here?"

"Oh, you mean Isagi-san? He was having a headache earlier, so I said he could sleep on me if he wanted to. So he did."

"Did he now?"

He swore to god that the veins on his forehead were so close to popping. What the hell was that bastard thinking? The shameless audacity to do this was just appaling to the brunette.

Okay, maybe it was because of the green envy running on his veins because he knows he does not have the guts to do this to you (he has a reputation as the gentleman to uphold) but damn, he did not know thag Isagi can be this...upfront.

Now, maybe it was you who offered to do this. It would not be surprising with your empathetic and caring nature, but are you thag clueless and oblivious, that you can let a random guy rest his head on top of your thighs.

"Damn, Isagi..."

He looked to be comfortable with it, too, softly snoring away and face nearly burying his face on your stomach.

It did not take long before the other guys also entered the cafeteria, and at first, it was all good and peaceful, probably because the exhaustion of practice wore them out. Though, they have yet to see the spectacle Yukimiya was currently glaring at.

But of course, it did not take long before the players searched for you. There you were, sitting peacefully, eyeing your tablet while eating, and on your lap was one Isagi...oh.

Oh.

"What the fuck?" Barou let out the coldest curse he ever mustered out as he took in what he was seeing.

"Yeah, what the fuck indeed." Niko blinked, glaring at the slumbering raven haired striker.

"Am I the only who has the urge to grab his hair and drag him out of his position?"

"Nope. Do it, no balls." Otoya answered a pissed off Karasu, who looked about ready to jump someone.

"I think you guys are overreacting..." Nagi pouted, feeling jealous as well, but seeing as he always finds himself resting on your thighs when he is feeling extra lazy, he was not as worried as the others were.

"No, we're not. Isagi is dead." Reo said, not even paying attention that it was his turn to get his food from the machines.

"Y/n-chan! What happened with Isagi?" Bachira hopped to the seat next to you, seeing as the others were still too stunned to overtake it (they would always fight for the chairs closest to you, its like a whole Olympic game itself, believe me).

"Hm? Isagi-san was not feeling well, so I let him rest here!" And as if you could not make them anymore jealous, your hand found itself patting and massaging Isagi's hair to try and help relieve any left over pain from his headache even if he is still asleep.

The whole cafeteria was quiet. It is much too quiet than it usually is. But if you could only stop being oblivious for once, the hawk like glare everyone was giving Isagi was noise enough to scare and bother someone who has mental and common stability.

Too bad most of the Blue Lockers do not have that.

"He must have saved the world to be this damn lucky." Chigiri rolled his eyes, before continuing to eat his meal.

"Are we even sure that the headache is real or its just a ploy of his." Aiku doubted. Damn, now he wants to know how it feels to also lay his head on your thighs.

"Dunno, that's unlike Isagi. But still, no forgiveness on him. Traitor." Hiori sassed. Oh, he is definitely getting back at him at practice when he feels supposedly better.

"Oh, wait. Isagi-san, wakey, wakey. You need to eat to better your headache." You said in a whisper, gently shrugging the boy's shoulder.

With a groan, Isagi opened his eyes before standing up, still a bit groggy from his sleep. As he adjusted, you took that time to get him his food as quick as you can before putting it in front of him on the desk.

"Here, eat up! Say 'ahh'." You raised up a chopstick of pork to him to which the boy blushed at, before shyly accepting the pampering treatment.

"Now I wanna be sick. Come on, someone sneeze on me." Lorenzo commented from another table, moving Niko by his shoulders urging the boy to do something as if he knows how to make someone intentionally sick in the first place.

"Wifey material. For real, for real." Shidou blabbered, being stopped by literally Karasu and Nanase from going over to you and Isagi and doung whatever the weird demon had in his mind.

"Feed me too, Y/n-nie!" Charles hopped from his seat to where you are, which pissed off Rin so much he started chanting some curses and insults under his breath that he looked like he was summoning dozens of malevolent spirits.

"Um...okay, Charles-san. But maybe after Isagi-san, since he is sick." You happily accepted, although a bit confused as to why he wants you to feed him too.

"No one is stopping me from stomping on Charles."

"Kunigami no-"

"Kaiser-san, please don't bully Isagi-san. He was not feeling well earlier." You frowned at the German striker who is once again, acting like the cliche mean girl towards Isagi who just glared back at the man.

"Oh, no. Listen, häschen, I have a score to settle with little Yoichi here." Kaiser, who was not present earlier at lunch, heard what happened through word of mouth, and needless to say, he was jealous and pissed that his number one rival in the sport, is also his number one rival in another area.

"Leave me alone, Kaiser."

"How about you do that first with Y/n? Not be a creep?" The blonde striker retorted back with a smug smile on his face. The rest of the Bastard players just entered the field and did not even blimk when they saw Isagi and Kaiser fighting again.

It was another ordinary Wednesday for the German Stratum.

Meanwhile, you just looked at the tension between the two with confusion, trying your best to understand what they are even arguing about again.

'Is this what they call sexual tension? Well, do they even swing that way?'

ADDITIONAL TIME:

"Repeat what I said again, Y/n." Chris smiled, coaxing the girl who looked at him with understanding and determination to obey his words.

"No man is ever worthy of me. Especially hormonal football teenagers. And...um...what was after that?"

"You...?"

"Oh! I deserve someone who is a man who will take care of me well, instead! And if I don't find one, its better for me to be a single, free lady."

"That's my kid!" The blonde coach laughed loudly, patting your head as you smiled back at him, happy that you pleased your mentor and father figure.

Growing up, your father was not the best paternal guidance you had. He does not care about your emotional and psychological needs, only there to improve your intelligence. He never taught you life lessons about the world and how to survive its cruelty.

But now, it seems like you have many father figures (and a maternal figure) to learn the things you were never taught about before. So of course, you paid the utmost attention to the coaches' words and obey them as best you could.

"You're dooming Y/n to a lonely life?" Snuffy raised an eyebrow at Chris, a little doubtful and suspicious of the English man's words.

"Oh, come on! As a man who has been a teen, I know how most teens' minds work. They have to learn how to be a man first in order to treat the princess right. And I'll be the one to make sure of that!" Chris retorted at the Ubers' coach, which just led to Snuffy sighing before patting your head as well.

"He is right at some points. But don't take most of his advice too seriously."

"Hey!"

I know its short guys but pls bear with me I am experiencing writer's block again rahhhh. I think its because its my summer break and my mind is wired to just sleep and scroll lmaoo. Hope yall enjoyed this still though

Blue Lock is WRITTEN by Kaneshiro Muneyuki and ILLUSTRATED by Nomura Yusuke. All credits to the both of them.

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art-of-a-ghostie · 2 days ago

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How I feel about this character: This man is literally a puzzle of every trope I adore (wizard, silly, cool magical skills, loud, low social skills, cool voice actor, just doesn't want to be alone, traumatic backstory, mystery...)! I would say that he is not my ultimate favorite character but he is very close to be one!

I LOVE how he is written, because all the hints about his past are there! He talks about him fighting witches! Being a talented wizard! Escaping from a mysterious country!! Except that you don't think about the "Why" or "How" because you are too focused on thinking "What the fuck is wrong with this guy". And Jello shows it to you and you cry.

Someone makes an animatic him with "The world's greatest actor" from Milk In The Microwave pls.

All the people I ship romantically with this character: Giovanni Potage is kinda the only guy I can think of. I also saw a sort of polycule between him, Gio and Crusher once (Like, they were both dating Gio but not each other) and I gotta admit that the idea is amusing. I will be honest, I mostly ship what I think it would be funny (I like to call myself a "bitshipper"(like, shipper but for the bit)) but I am not super passionate about it. I prefer platonic friendships.

My non-romantic OTP for this character: Literally any characters?? I'd say that I have been thinking about him & Naven & Yoomtah and him & Neo Trio often recently.

My unpopular opinion about this character: I don't think there's a real unpopular opinion except that I slightly fear he won't be used at his biggest potential?? I hope we explore more of his epithet but I don't know if we will have enough time.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: Let him befriend Sylvie and Giovanni's boys.

Also, I hope that the gag of people assuming that "Soulmates" is a romantic thing evolves into him introducing his epithet as "MY-TOTALLY-PLATONIC-EPITHET-WHO-HAS-NOTHING-TO-DO-WITH-LOVE! SOULMATES!! :D Don'tpepperspraymeplease :D!"

@dipskiff

GIVE ME A CHARACTER;

and I’ll break their ass down:

How I feel about this character

All the people I ship romantically with this character

My non-romantic OTP for this character

My unpopular opinion about this character

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon.

#epithet erased

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fireinmoonshot · 3 days ago

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all this time | joaquín torres x fem!reader

Pairing: Joaquín Torres x Fem!Reader Summary: Despite the fact that you're his older sisters best friend, Joaquín has always had a crush on you. Little does he know, you feel the same way. But how can either of you act on it when you can't hurt his sister? Warnings: Reader wears dresses, has hair long enough to at least reach her shoulders. Mentions of food. Joaquín being completely oblivious... other than that I think it's all fine! Word Count: 7.8k A/N: I think this is the longest fic I've ever posted on this blog (not including my multi-parters)... this was requested by a lovely anon and I started brainstorming the idea when I was at work the other day (plenty of time to think when I'm in the walk-in fridge) and then I got so hooked on the idea and it somehow became this almost 8000 word piece. I loved writing this one so much though. In this, I have named Joaquín's sister Catalina, nicknamed Lina – if this happens to be your name, feel free to just pick another name for her. It's just one I liked! I really hope everyone that reads enjoys this. It was a challenge to write but I loved every second of it! 💗

“It’s like the forbidden fruit, huh?” Marcos turns to Joaquin with a grin. He takes a sip of his beer and then points the bottle across the backyard towards where you’re standing by the back door of his parents house.

Joaquin frowns, his eyebrows knotting together and undoubtedly causing an expression to appear on his face that his mother would berate him about making in public. “What?”

Marcos points the bottle towards you again. “Catalina’s friend. She’s like the forbidden fruit. The most gorgeous girl here but the only girl that none of us can have, unless we want to deal with your sisters wrath. And no one wants Catalina’s wrath.”

For a moment, Joaquin simply stares at his cousin. He can’t say any of the things that are currently swimming through his mind. Though Marcos deserves to hear all of them, none of them are particularly family friendly and there are several people sitting around the two of them that he’d rather not offend.

“Don’t talk about my sisters friend like that,” is all he can manage before he picks up his own beer from the table and walks away, leaving Marcos staring after him, dumbfounded.

He shakes his head as he walks over towards the barbecue where his uncle has just started to grill some meat. How his favourite uncle managed to have a son like Marcos, Joaquin will never be able to comprehend.

“What did he say now?” Uncle Jorge says, glancing over at Joaquin as he turns over a piece of meat. “There’s only one reason you would’ve walked over here and it’s not because you want to talk to your favourite tío.”

Joaquin chuckles. “Believe me, you don’t wanna know.”

He looks around the backyard, taking in the scene. His family, neighbours, friends, everyone he really cares about all in the same place, except for Sam – he’d been summoned away to help his sister and his nephews for the weekend. Despite his absence, this is a rare occasion, and one he’s glad to be experiencing.

He can’t help it when his eyes catch on you. You’re still standing over closer to the back door of the house with his sister, a drink in your hand. The sundress you’re wearing suits you a lot. The colour compliments your skin perfectly. The breeze blows some of your hair back off of your shoulders and his breath catches in his throat. He’s well aware the situation is all very similar to a Victorian man seeing a woman’s ankles.

Joaquin has barely been able to take his eyes off of you ever since he first saw you arrive, and who can blame him when you look like that? To be fair… you always look gorgeous, but today you look especially gorgeous.

The words Marcos had said trickle into his mind again and he winces a little. He wishes that people like Marcos didn’t get to enjoy looking at you when you looked so beautiful.

“Joaquin, are you listening?”

He blinks, tearing his eyes away from you and back to his uncle. “Sorry, I got distracted. What were you saying?”

His uncle looks over his shoulder, looking exactly where Joaquin had been looking, and chuckles to himself. “Yeah, distracted, sure. Can you pass me the tongs over there?”

Joaquin passes him the tongs, ignoring the comment about him being distracted, and forces himself to look away from you. Even when he hears you laugh and he wants nothing more than to look at you and see the smile on your face. He loves seeing you smile.

Thankfully, his uncle doesn’t say anything more about catching him staring at you. Joaquin helps him with grilling up the rest of the meat, completely unaware that you are now the one staring at him from across the yard.

You can’t help it – Joaquin is and always has been gorgeous.

You watch as a girl around Joaquin’s age, a few years younger than you, walks up to Joaquin where he’s standing near the grill with his uncle and starts making conversation. The feeling that settles in your chest isn’t an unfamiliar one, but it is unwelcome.

“Catalina,” you start, getting the attention of your friend. “Who’s that Joaquin’s with?”

She looks up from her phone at you and then across the backyard to where you’re looking, right at Joaquin. “Oh, I know her but I can’t remember her name,” she says, thinking for a moment to try and remember it but failing. “She’s the daughter of one of the neighbours, I think they live three doors up.”

You make a noise of understanding to let Lina know that you heard her but you can’t manage to tear your eyes away from Joaquin and the young woman. They’re both smiling as they speak. It’s when she reaches out and touches his arm that you force yourself to look away. You take a long sip of your drink to try and push down the feeling in your chest.

Catalina looks at you, amused. “Why are you asking?”

“No reason,” you shake your head, sipping your drink again just for something to do. “I just thought she looked familiar, but obviously not. I wouldn’t have seen her before.”

You can tell that Lina doesn’t believe a single word that you’re saying. She’s been able to read you like a book for over half of your lives at this point. You just hope that she’s not intuitive enough to realise that you have been harbouring a major crush on her little brother for most of that time, despite your exhaustive efforts to stop it.

You’ve known Joaquin for as long as you’ve known Lina. When you’d met her at school, she’d introduced you to her younger brother not long after. He had just been a kid, then – a young boy who wanted to follow his sister around all day. It had been fine as children, Joaquin almost becoming like a little brother to you too, but once you’d become teenagers and you and Lina just wanted to spend girl time together, things had changed.

When you’d sleepover at Lina’s house as children, it was fine. You didn’t care about Joaquin seeing you in your pyjamas or in the morning when you’d just woken up. As a teenager, though, those were things that started to matter to you. For the first time since you’d known Joaquin, you’d started to care about the way he saw you. It had all been downhill from there.

“Yeah, no reason, sure,” Lina huffs from beside you, putting her phone in the pocket of her shorts. She’s heard the exact same question from Joaquin while referring to people who were talking to you more times than she can count. He’d never managed to come up with excuses as to why he’d been asking, though.

She reaches out and takes your now empty glass from you. You hadn’t even realised that you’d drained it completely while trying to distract from the conversation with her.

“I’m going to get us some refills,” she says, starting to walk back towards the house. “Go and talk to my brother, will you? He looks in need of saving, judging by the look on his face.”

You watch her, confused, as she retreats inside the house. It’s only when she’s gone that you look back over at Joaquin. His uncle, who was standing beside him, has now disappeared, and the smiles that Joaquin had been giving the young girl have turned to grimaces, despite his best attempts to keep his facial expression neutral.

You don’t waste time, knowing there’s not long until Catalina returns with your new drinks, and start crossing the yard towards Joaquin. He sees you in his peripheral vision not too long before you reach him. He notices instantly that you look even more stunning in this outfit up close.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” you start, sounding not sorry at all. “But your sister is looking for you, Joaquin. She asked me to come and find you.”

Joaquin looks between you and the girl. He’s so terrible, he can’t even remember the poor girls name. “Ah, duty calls,” he flashes the girl what he hopes is a genuine grin instead of the look that he’s sure was on his face before you arrived. “I’ll see you around.”

Smiling to yourself, you start to walk away, knowing that Joaquin will be following you. He falls into step beside you as you walk away from the grill and back towards the house. You feel his hand brush against your back, hovering behind you as you walk – a feeling you’re used to when you’re around Joaquin.

“Lina isn’t looking for me, is she?”

“No, but she did sense you were in need of rescue.”

Joaquin laughs softly. “Ah, so she sent you. My knight in shining armour.”

You glance over at him as you stop just outside the back door of the house, not far from where you and Lina had been standing before. “I see a damsel in distress, I don’t hesitate.”

Something passes between the two of you as you look at each other, but as quickly as it came, it disappears. You’re both aware of it, of the spark of energy between the two of you.

It’s the kind of feeling that you’d chased in several other men during your adulthood. None of your failed relationships had ever been able to create such a feeling, not even the best of them. Not even the one relationship you’d thought might turn into marriage and a future together. The one that Joaquin had seen you crying on Lina’s shoulder over when you’d had your heart smashed into a million tiny pieces.

Joaquin doesn’t like to think about that, though. Or any of your exes.

“So, are you enjoying the barbecue?” Joaquin asks in an attempt to break the silence.

You smooth your palms out on your dress, feeling them start to become sweaty with your nerves. You’re not sure exactly why you’re nervous – it’s just Joaquin, the same Joaquin you’ve known since you can remember. But there are tiny parts of him that are different. He’s an Avenger now. He’s the Falcon. He’d almost died a few months ago. The fact that you’re even here having this conversation still feels a little surreal to you. You remember sitting in the hospital waiting room holding Lina’s hand and trying to keep it together yourself when you were just as terrified as she was.

“Yeah, it’s nice,” you hum, meeting his eyes briefly. “It’s good to see everyone.”

Joaquin nods. “Yeah, it’s not often everyone gets together like this. I–uh– I’m really glad you could make it,” he stumbles over his words a little. “Lina said you had to move some things around in your schedule to make it work, but I’m glad you did. It’d be weird without you here.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Weird without me?”

He clears his throat. “Yeah, just cause… y’know… you’re practically part of the family.”

“Ah,” you nod, smiling a little. “I guess I am at this point.”

An arm drapes around your shoulder and you’re immediately torn out of the moment with Joaquin by Lina’s return. She hands your drink to you and smiles over at her brother.

“Did she save the day, little brother?” Lina asks, grinning at him.

You’ve always loved the relationship between Lina and Joaquin. They’ve had many an argument in your presence, mostly as teenagers, but as adults it’s fairly civil. Joaquin has always looked up to his older sister and Lina has always wanted to make a good impression on her younger brother. It made for a pretty happy relationship most of the time. It’s part of the reason you’ve never brought up your crush on him to Lina. You never want to come between them.

Joaquin nods. “Yeah, ‘course she did.”

“That’s our girl,” Lina says proudly, removing her arm so she can stand next to you properly. “How was your conversation with our neighbour? She’s cute, no?”

You look between Joaquin and Lina, a little surprised that she’s bringing up the girl when she couldn’t even remember her name and even more surprised because she’d sent you over there to rescue Joaquin from that girl.

He raises his eyebrows at his sister. “If you like that sort of girl, sure. You asking for my opinion, Catalina? I thought you weren’t interested in dating anyone at the moment.”

Lina scoffs and waves her hand dismissively. “Not for me, you fool. I’m talking about you. I thought you told me that you wanted to start dating again now that you’re all healed up from your accident? Sam told me you have women and men lining up for you now that you’re the Falcon. He was worried it would go to your head.”

Joaquin opens his mouth and tries to come up with something to say but eventually settles on a very weak, “I did not say that!” He looks at you and then at his sister, internally cursing her out for saying that in front of you. Not that Catalina knew any better. Joaquin was very careful about keeping his crush on you a secret.

“If you say so, little brother,” Lina shrugs her shoulders and then reaches down to take hold of your wrist. “I just saw Uncle Jorge put the burgers out on the table, let’s go and get some before my cousins raid the table and get them all first.”

Before you can say anything else to Joaquin, Lina starts dragging you away. You turn around and catch his eye as you walk away. Joaquin sends you a small wave, smiling at his sister and her ease to exit a conversation without a single thought. They’re more alike than Joaquin realises.

–––––

Later in the evening, after the barbecue is long over and most of the guests have returned to their homes or retired inside for the rest of the evening, you and Catalina are helping to clean up some of the mess that was left in the backyard. All things considered, it’s pretty clean except for a few pieces of rubbish here and there. Lina and Joaquin’s parents had insisted that everyone clean up after themselves and mostly, people had.

Joaquin had gone home a few hours ago, saying that he still needed plenty of rest after his accident since he was still recovering from it, and none of the family had disagreed with him even though none of them wanted him to leave.

He’d hugged you before he left, like he’d hugged all of the family. You can still feel the small kiss he’d pressed to your cheek out of pure habit after kissing the cheeks of his abuelas and tías. You hadn’t missed the way his cheeks had flushed a little after he realised.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” Catalina says as she puts an empty paper plate in the trash bag that she’s holding. “Penny for your thoughts?”

You look up from where you’ve been cleaning a spilled drink off the top of the table. “You wish I’d give you a penny for my thoughts, Catalina,” you chuckle, using her full name just to irritate her a little.

Lina rolls her eyes at you and then takes a seat at one of the chairs. She motions at you to take the other one and reluctantly, you do. You know that Lina initiating a conversation like this is never going to end well.

“I’m not going to beat around the bush on this,” she begins, making your stomach start to do backflips with nerves. You’re not sure why – Lina has never given you a reason to be nervous around her in the entire time you’ve known her. But for some reason, this time feels a little different. “I know you have a crush on my brother, querida. I know why you’ve been trying to stop me from finding out, but I know you and I know what I see.”

There’s no point trying to deny it. You know that even if you did try and deny it, Lina wouldn’t believe you for a second. That’s just the kind of person she is and always has been.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter sheepishly. “I won’t lie to you, Lina. I’ve liked him for a while now and I’ve been trying to get over him but I’ve failed a million times. And after his accident a few months back, I can’t seem to get him out of my head.”

Lina reaches across the table and places her hand over the top of yours. “You don’t need to be sorry. I kind of understand. I’ve been worried about him even more than usual since the accident. It’s made me want to spend every second with him that I can. It’s also the whole reason why I’m bringing this up with you now. I tried to start a conversation about it when Quin was there earlier, about him wanting to date again, but obviously he’s not ready for that conversation…”

“What conversation?”

“We almost lost Joaquin a few months ago, querida. Why waste more time? You don’t need it, but I’m giving you my blessing to pursue things with him if that’s what you want. You’re my best friend, have been ever since I can remember. If there’s anyone that I trust with my brother, it’s you,” Lina says. You can hear the honesty in her voice.

There’s still doubt in you, though.

“Are you sure?” You question, a little hesitant. “I mean… he’s your baby brother.”

Lina smiles. “Yeah, he is. Which means his happiness is one of the most important things in the world to me. And if he likes you back, like I’m pretty sure he does – call it sisterly instinct – then being with you would make him very happy. He’s obviously not going to do anything about it, judging by the way he deflected me earlier, but you just might.”

You look at her for a few moments before getting up from your chair and walking around to her side of the table, your arms extended. She laughs as she stands up, happily hugging you back. She squeezes you tight.

“Besides, if you and Joaquin work out, it would make you my actual sister… and I secretly always wished that I could have a sister instead of a brother when I was younger…” Lina mutters in your ear.

You laugh at her as you pull away from the hug. “I basically already am your sister, Lina.”

“I know,” she shrugs, picking up the trash bag again and starting to pick up the last few pieces of rubbish. “But this way, it’d be official. And… y’know, if Joaquin starts dating someone then it might make our parents stop asking me when I’m getting married.”

“Oh, I see how it is,” you pick up the cloth you’d been using before. “This is all just a ploy to make it so that Joaquin and I are the ones being pressured to get married so your parents will get off your back… fair play, Torres. Fair play.”

She flashes you a grin. “Come on, let’s finish cleaning all this up so we can go home.”

–––––

There’s an added pressure the next time you see Joaquin. Even though it’s not the two of you alone and there are other people there, the fact that you know Catalina is silently cheering you on and that she thinks Joaquin likes you back makes it a little more real.

It’s not just a little one-sided crush anymore.

Joaquin throws his hands up in the air and cheers as his bowling ball knocks down all ten pins and scores a strike. “Did you see that!?” He exclaims, walking back towards the rest of you.

“Well, yeah,” Lina replies, “We are all watching you.”

He gives her a look as he takes his seat beside you and one of your other friends, Jack, goes up for his turn. Joaquin pulls his phone out and takes a picture of his score on the TV screen above your heads.

“First strike of the night,” Joaquin grins, turning to look at you.

His thigh is pressed against yours, owing to the small benches at the Bowling Alley. You’ve squashed four people onto each bench when they’re really only made to sit three and have split your group into two teams – it’s basically you and Joaquin vs Lina, with your other friends split evenly between the teams.

“Oh, did you get a strike?” You feign surprise. “I must’ve been looking at my phone when you did it and I definitely didn’t hear you yelling about how excited you were afterwards.”

Joaquin laughs and nudges his shoulder against yours. “Shut up,” he says jokingly. “Have you been spending too much time around my sister? I might have to kidnap you and try and get rid of the mind-wipe she’s obviously done on you.”

“Who said spending time with your sister is a bad thing?” You reply, amused. “I never get to see you anymore since you’re always off saving the world so at least I still have one Torres around.”

It’s the truth. Joaquin is barely around anymore and you have to admit that you miss seeing him. You were surprised when he’d replied to the group text and said that he’d be joining you all at Bowling tonight.

Joaquin’s face drops ever so slightly at your words but he tries his best to mask it. He didn’t realise that you had noticed his absence so much. “Well, someone’s gotta do it,” he jokes. “And if Lina is such great company, why aren’t you on her team, huh?”

You look over at Lina, right as she stands up to go and take her turn. You try your best to summon some of her confidence. “Cause I missed you, that’s why,” you say, trying desperately to stop your voice from shaking. Telling Joaquin you miss him should not be this terrifying, yet it somehow is.

He looks at you for a moment, lips barely parted. You watch as his tongue swipes out, running across his lips, before he closes his mouth and nods at your words. “I, uh, I missed you too.”

You glance up at the scoreboard. There are still a few other people who have to bowl before it’s your turn again and if you’re going to flirt with Joaquin tonight, now is your chance. “You did?” You hum, raising your eyebrows at him. “How much did you miss me?”

Joaquin is pretty sure his brain is short-circuiting. Are you trying to flirt with him? Is that what’s happening right now? He’s no stranger to people flirting with him, especially since becoming the Falcon, but you? The last time you flirted with him was when you were teenagers and you both hadn’t quite figured out what your feelings were yet.

You can’t be flirting with him, though. You wouldn’t dare – especially since Catalina is your best friend. Joaquin is sure of that. There’s no way you’d even try something with him on the off chance you’d hurt Lina’s feelings. But there’s a look in your eye that Joaquin hasn’t seen there before and if he wasn’t internally panicking so much, he’s pretty sure he’d flirt right back.

“Uh,” he clears his throat. “Yeah, a bit.”

He stands then, taking you off guard, and excuses himself to the bathroom, leaving you confused and a little hurt at him brushing you off. Were you that bad at flirting or was he just not interested?

Lina finishes her turn and comes to take Joaquin’s empty seat beside you. She leans in close so that none of your other friends can hear what she’s saying. “What was that with Joaquin?”

“I tried flirting and he totally shut down,” you admit.

She rests her hand over yours and gives it a reassuring pat. “Remember what I said after the barbecue? About him not being ready for the conversation I wanted to have with him?”

You nod, the night coming back to you as clear as day even though it was a couple of weeks ago now.

“Give him some time to warm up to the idea,” Lina finishes.

She stands up and heads back over to her own seat just in time for Joaquin to come back and rejoin the group, sitting beside you again.

There is silence for a few moments as the last member in your team has their go. You’re trying to summon Lina’s confidence again when Alex finishes her turn and tells you that it’s your go again.

You stand, brushing your sweaty palms on the fabric of your jeans as you head to grab your bowling ball. You’re pretty sure it comes across as just trying to dry your hands before bowling, but you know that Joaquin has seen through that when you hear him cheer your name to try and hype you up for your go.

Jack and Alex join in with the cheering and you smile at them all over your shoulder as you walk up to take your turn. You don’t end up hitting a strike like Joaquin, but you do manage to take down a few of the pins and help in getting your team a better score.

As you walk back towards the group once your turn is over, Joaquin is walking towards you to take his own turn. He raises his hand for a high-five, which you give him.

“Great score,” he grins, grabbing his ball from the machine. “I mean, it’s no strike but it wasn’t terrible.”

You can’t help but smile at his teasing. Maybe Catalina was right, maybe you did just have to give him time to warm up to it all and you’d just come on too strong earlier. “Are you offering private lessons?” You ask, not intending to flirt but just trying to joke with him. You only realise once the words are out of your mouth that they sound much more like flirting than a joke.

Joaquin looks at you for a moment and then laughs, but you can tell his heart isn’t in it. Your stomach drops. “No,” he shakes his head. “No, I’m not.”

He walks away, heading up to take his turn, and you know that you’ve really put your foot in it this time. He’d basically just rejected you. No, I’m not. His words ring out in your mind. You’ve clearly misread the signals and so has Lina. If Joaquin actually really liked you, he surely wouldn’t have brushed you off so strongly.

Instead of heading back to your own seat, you head over to Lina. She eyes you, a little concerned just based on the look on your face.

“I’m not feeling too good, I think I’m gonna call it a night,” you tell her. “My turns are over anyway, it’s just the rest of the team to go. You can text me and tell me who won.”

Lina stands up immediately, knowing something is wrong. “You sure? What’s going on? Do you want me to come home with you?” She lowers her voice a little. “What did my brother say?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head. “I swear. I just feel sick.”

She looks at you for a moment and you can tell that she doesn’t believe a word but thankfully, she agrees to let you go. She walks you to your car and doesn’t leave until you’re in it and out of the parking lot.

–––––

The second Joaquin sits in the passenger seat of Lina’s car, he regrets not driving himself to Ten Pin Bowling. The game is over and your friends have all gone home. Joaquin’s team won, mostly owing to him throwing two strikes in his last two games, but he never really felt up to celebrating the victory once you went home.

It’s silent until Lina pulls the car out onto the road.

“So, do you think you’re too good for her now that you’re the Falcon or something?” Lina says, completely out of left field. “Cause it’s my job as your sister to humble you and believe me, I will.”

Joaquin’s jaw drops. “What the– Lina, I’m so lost here.”

She glances across at him before looking back at the road. If she looks at him too much, she knows she’ll get distracted arguing, and she is driving a car at the moment. That still has to be her main focus, even if she’s busy yelling at her brother.

“Why are you fucking things up with my best friend?” Lina is basically shooting daggers out of her eyes at him. “I’ve known that you’ve had the hots for her since you were like fifteen, Quin! So, why, after she shows an interest in you, are you brushing her off?!”

Joaquin is completely lost for words. His sister knows that he likes you? She’s aware that you were flirting with him tonight? He feels like he’s missing out on a lot of crucial information right now.

“Because she’s your best friend!” Joaquin replies, defensive. “Are you telling me that you want me to get together with her? Did you get hit in the head by a bowling ball tonight?”

Lina lets out a groan as she pulls up at a red light. “Ay dios mío, Joaquin.”

He stares at her, confused by how annoyed she is. Does she not care that he likes you? But why wouldn’t she – as a teenager she’d told him on more than one occasion that you were her friend and that he wasn’t allowed to even consider stealing you from her. Why, as an adult, would she allow him to basically do that very thing?

“Lina, would you please tell me what’s going on?”

She turns to look at him and he’s already a little afraid just based off of the look on her face. Catalina never looks at him like that. It’s the exact same look of wrath that Marcos had referenced at the barbecue a few weeks ago, the one he’d said no one wanted to deal with. And here he was, the very subject of it.

“She was flirting with you at the bowling alley tonight, Quin,” Lina sighs, clearly already exhausted from this conversation. “You’re the reason that she left early. You must’ve said or done something that hurt her feelings. She didn’t say anything to me, but she’s my best friend. I can tell when she’s lying to me, and she was.”

Lina looks back at the road as the light goes green and puts her foot down on the accelerator. She doesn’t say anything else after that, deciding to let her words sink into Joaquin’s mind for a bit.

He was the reason you left early? Admittedly, he had been a little confused as to why you were flirting with him tonight. He probably hadn’t dealt with that in the best way. But hearing you say things like ‘How much did you miss me?’ and ‘Are you offering private lessons?’ in the way that you did had left him all hot under the collar. How else was he supposed to deal with that?

You’re his older sisters best friend. You’ve been in his life ever since he can really remember. He’s been basically in love with you since you were teenagers, but he’s never let himself even consider the possibility that you weren’t the forbidden fruit Marcos had called you. That all along, Lina actually never cared if he liked you.

“I fucked up, didn’t I?” He looks over at his sister.

Lina nods. “You did, little brother. You really did.”

–––––

Three days have passed since the failed attempt at flirting at Ten Pin Bowling. You’ve seen Lina, going out for coffee with her twice. But Joaquin hasn’t so much as texted you, so you assume that he’s gone back to work with Captain America and try to get back into your daily routine.

You misread the signs and that was okay. Or so you’re telling yourself anyway. Even though every time you think about the way that Joaquin had shut you down, your stomach ends up in knots.

It’s late at night and you’re just about to get up from the couch and finally go to bed after staring at the crappy TV programmes for way too long when you hear a knock on your door.

Stifling a yawn, you head over to the door. You’re so exhausted enough from your long day at work that you don’t even think to look through the peephole on your door before you open it. If you had, you probably would have pretended not to be home.

Because Joaquin Torres stands on the other side of your door.

He’s dressed in dark jeans and a white shirt, his hands tucked into the pockets of the jeans. He has a sheepish look on his face, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking about him turning up here at this time of night, but all you can think about is the fact that he looks good… too good, really.

“Hi,” Joaquin manages.

He sounds nervous, which is strange. Joaquin Torres doesn’t get nervous, not really. He’s the most overconfident person you’ve ever met and you love that about him. You’ve barely ever heard him stutter or stumble over words.

“Hi,” you mutter. “What are you doing here?”

Joaquin is pretty sure he blacked out on his way to your apartment. He remembers getting out of his car, but the walk into the building and the elevator ride up to your floor is all a blur. He’s not sure what he expected to see when you opened the door, but seeing you standing there in your pyjamas, hair out and face make-up free, is not it. You look even more gorgeous than you did at the barbecue.

“I’m sorry. It’s late,” Joaquin blinks, the fact that you’re in your pyjamas finally hitting him. He’s hit with a memory, then – you’re sixteen years old, staying over at his house for a sleepover. He’s almost fifteen. He walks into the kitchen as you’re getting a glass of water early in the morning and all of sudden you’re whisper-yelling at him to get out, saying something about him not being able to see you when you’re in your pyjamas. He almost laughs at the memory and then composes himself. “Should I go?”

You shake your head. “No, you can come in.” You’re not sure what you’re doing. You’re letting Joaquin into your apartment at 11 o’clock at night? And you’re letting him see you in your pyjamas. Your sixteen year old self would freak.

Joaquin hesitantly steps into your apartment and closes the door behind himself, then kicks off his shoes. He notices that all your curtains are drawn and the main lights are off, the room only lit up by a few lamps. The TV is still on but the volume is so low he can’t make out what’s being said.

“You never answered my question,” you state, walking over and leaning against the arm of your couch. Joaquin tries not to look at the way your pyjama shorts rise a little as you sit.

He clears his throat and runs a hand through his hair. “I didn’t,” he nods. “I was thinking about that time in my old house where you yelled at me in the kitchen because I wasn’t allowed to see you in pyjamas. And here I am, seeing you in your pyjamas.”

Against your better judgment, a small smile makes its way onto your face. You and him had been thinking about the same thing, then. Funny, how even after all these years, things hadn’t changed in some ways. But in others, everything had.

“That doesn’t explain your presence today, Joaquin,” you hum, though you’re still smiling a little at the memory. “You said it yourself. It’s late. But you wouldn’t be here without a reason.”

He nods, crossing his arms over his chest. “I am here for a reason,” he confirms. “I wanted to say sorry about the way I acted at Ten Pin Bowling the other night. You were flirting with me and I got freaked out. Catalina was there and I was worried about what she’d say.”

“It’s okay, Joaquin. You don’t have to apologise. I should be the one saying sorry for flirting with you in the first place,” you shrug. “I misread the signs and I was wrong.”

Joaquin shakes his head and takes a step towards you. “No, don’t apologise either. I, uh… I got yelled at by Lina after we left the bowling alley. She was driving me home and she said some things that I didn’t realise I really needed to hear.”

Lina had filled you in on the conversation that she’d had with Joaquin on their drive home when you’d had coffee with her two days ago, but she hadn’t told you anything that Joaquin had said. She’d only explained to you that she’d tried to knock some sense into him, but that with Joaquin, it could have all gone in one ear and out the other.

Clearly, some of it hadn’t gone out the other ear.

“I’m listening.”

Joaquin takes another step towards you and then he begins.

“I started crushing on you not long before that morning in the kitchen when we were teenagers. I didn’t really realise what the feelings were at the time. All I knew is that I loved whenever you came over to hang out with Catalina and I loved when you both let me hang out with you, too. Then, when you were seventeen you started dating Bobby Hernandez and I discovered what it felt like to be jealous. I was so mad when I found out that Bobby had cheated on you with another girl in your grade that I would have beat him up if Lina hadn’t beaten me to the punch, quite literally.”

Your heart starts beating a little faster in your chest at his words. He’d had a crush on you as a teenager and you had no idea? Even when the only reason you’d started dating Bobby Hernandez was because you were so desperately trying to pretend you didn’t like Joaquin?

“When you and my sister went off to college, that was the hardest part,” he continues. “It was the first time in my life that I was really alone. I had friends, but learning to live without seeing you and Catalina every day was tough. Then, that first summer you came home and you brought your boyfriend home to visit. I remember his name was Seth and every time I saw you with him, it was like I was being punched in the stomach. As much as I wish I didn’t, I remember the name of every guy you brought home. I was trying so hard to pretend like I didn’t care. Catalina apparently saw through me every time.

I remember when I came home after being deployed and I met Gabriel. The first thing that my mom said when I saw her after you’d introduced her was ‘That’s the man our girl is going to marry’ and all I could think about was the fact that it was so wrong. He wasn’t the man you should be marrying. I remember coming around to my sisters house a few years later and letting myself in only to see you in tears on her shoulder. I left before either of you could see that I was there. It’s a good thing I never knew much more about the man other than his name and his job otherwise I probably would have done to him what I wanted to do to Bobby Hernandez, and that probably wouldn’t have gone down well as an adult.”

You have to keep reminding yourself to breathe as you listen to Joaquin talk, but every word he says seems to knock the breath out of you. Every word is as unbelievable as the last. His crush hadn’t just been when you were a teenager. It had lasted through your other relationships, through Gabriel. The man you thought you would marry. And all along, Joaquin had been there, knowing that you wouldn’t because he’d been hoping it was him.

“Why– why did you never say anything?” You ask, even though you already know why.

Joaquin smiles, slightly sadly. “You know why, angel. The one person that ties us together is the one reason neither of us said anything. Hurting Catalina was the last thing either of us ever wanted to do. But…”

“But she’s known all along,” you breathe.

“She’s known all along,” he agrees.

You look at him for a moment, then, noticing the way his eyebrows are drawn together, at the small, sad smile on his face. The way his arms look as they’re crossed over his chest, the way his white shirt accentuates everything you’re trying not to notice. The man in front of you, the one you’ve been in love with all this time, feels the same way about you.

“I only dated the men that I did because I was trying to avoid my feelings for you,” you admit, your voice soft. It’s something you’ve never said out loud before, not even to yourself. Before now, it’s only been a thought in your head, admitted to yourself only.

“Really?”

“Mmhmm,” you nod. “I really did think I was going to marry Gabriel, though. But I think it’s just because I convinced myself he was what I deserved. In the end, he hurt me just like Bobby Hernandez did. He would’ve deserved what he got if you found him.”

The whole time Joaquin has been talking, he’s slowly been walking closer towards you. Now, he’s so close that you could reach out and touch him. That feeling, the energy that runs between the two of you, you can feel it again now. It usually disappears quickly, but today it lingers as you both look in each others eyes.

“You still have his address?” Joaquin jokes, lips twitching up into a smile.

You huff out a laugh and roll your eyes. “What, now that you’re the Falcon you think you can just swoop in and kick his ass for me? You don’t have vibranium wings yet, honey.”

He shrugs. “I do have wings, though. I’d be gone for a few days at least, though. You’d have to live without me while I was gone. Do you reckon you could manage that?” He teases.

“Hmm, I don’t know. I might miss you when you’re gone.”

Joaquin takes a step towards you. “Oh, yeah?” He raises his eyebrows. “How much?”

“As much as any girl misses the man she loves.”

Upon hearing your words, Joaquin can’t hold himself back any longer. He closes the gap between you and cups your jaw in one of his hands before leaning down to press his lips to yours. Kissing you is instantly as easy as breathing, like he’s done it a million times before when in reality, this is one kiss over a decade in the making. He feels your hand on his waist, feels the warmth of it through his thin t-shirt, and the sensation urges him to kiss you deeper. His other hand rests on your back, holding you upright so you don’t tip backwards onto the couch as he kisses you.

The feeling of your lips on his is unlike any feeling he knows. Your lips are sweet, owing to the lip balm you’re wearing, and your skin is soft under his. He never wants this moment to end. He’d kiss you forever if it were possible.

But, eventually the two of you have to break apart to breathe and the moment comes to an end. You rest your foreheads against each others as you attempt to catch your breath. Your hand is fisted in his t-shirt and his thumb is swiping gently back and forth over your cheek.

“So, do you offer private lessons?” You manage to say.

Joaquin laughs, the sound like music to your ears. “That depends,” he replies. “Am I a better kisser than your exes?”

“I’m not even going to answer that question… just kiss me again.”

“Whatever you want, angel.”

His lips meet yours again and the sound you make as they do sets Joaquin’s heart alight. His hand grips your back tighter as he feels your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him in closer. Your legs in those tiny pyjama shorts. The pyjamas he wasn’t allowed to see you wearing as a teenager, the ones he’s kissing you senseless in now.

He’s not sure he’s ever going to be able to leave this apartment.

–––––

“Finally,” Lina exclaims, clapping her hands together as she sees you and Joaquin walking into the diner, your hands entwined.

You and Joaquin share a look, amused, before sliding into the booth opposite Catalina. She looks at you both, eyebrows raised, pressing you both to explain everything to her.

It’s the first time you’ve seen her since you and Joaquin had finally gotten together. That night had ended up being a particularly long one and Joaquin hadn’t left until the following morning. You’d had a lot of catching up to do, among other things, after discovering you’d been pining for each other for so many years without really realising it.

“We talked things out,” you state. “I don’t think you’d wanna hear all the details, Lina.”

Catalina screws her nose up. “Oh, please no. Gross. Don’t even plant images like that in my mind,” she shakes her head.

Joaquin laughs and strokes his thumb over your hand from where he’s still holding it. “You walked right into that one, Lina.”

She makes another look of disgust and takes a sip of her drink. “Anyway, moving swiftly on from that… when’s the wedding?”

It’s your turn to laugh, this time, but Lina stays deadly serious as she looks between you both. It’s only when you stop laughing that you realise that she wasn’t asking it as a joke.

“We’ve been officially dating for like four days.”

“Yeah, and you’ve been in love for what, fifteen years? Let’s go, chop chop,” she claps her hands in time with her words. “I want to officially be able to call you my sister.”

Joaquin chuckles. “You’re part of the reason we’ve wasted those years not being together, Lina. Forgive us if we want to actually date for the first time before the whole marriage thing.”

You squeeze his hand under the table and he turns to look at you, a smile on his face. He leans in and presses a kiss to your cheek, ignoring the sound that Lina makes at the public display of affection.

He’d almost died a few months ago without knowing your true feelings. You’d both wasted so much time trying to get over the other without knowing.

Joaquin is going to make sure he never wastes another second with you.

–––––

Joaquín Torres Tag List (Please ask if you'd like to be added!)

@sidkneeeee @dead-inside-but-happy @lay-lay-5 @marchingicenotes7 @phucboy @davinashifts333 @lomlbuckybarnes @laurenjbb @chansburgah @blackwidownat2814 @mischiefmanaged71 @madzlovez @marvelwitchergilmore @brittnicki @rheas-ripley @bcystar @victorsbathroomstall @giona45-5

#joaquin torres #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres x you #marvel #marvel x reader #mcu #mcu x reader #captain america brave new world #danny ramirez #falcon

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shaisuki · 2 days ago

Text

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗡𝗢𝗪𝗙𝗟𝗔𝗞𝗘𝗦 𝗢𝗡 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗦𝗛𝗢𝗨𝗟𝗗𝗘𝗥𝗦

— Zayne's an expert for fixing things including heart related problems and yours wasn't an exception. He can take apart your heart and fill the holes of your once shattered heart but can he really do it? When it is you who's refusing him now?

⁺₊❆⋆ — notes. thank you for sticking until the end. i apologize in advanced for where this fic is going. if you can tell, i'm dumb af in everything and it does not exclude my own writing.

⁺₊❆⋆ — taglist. @fandomenbylover @vurelliex @hi-itsmee28 @mentaltrouble2201 @agustdxjiminx @aboobie @samoankpoper21 @sylusgirlie7 @crazy-ink-artist @twilightsmissingfur @traumaramacenter @zeskyzed @lucifers-silhouette @milkmily @sillyfreakfanparty @babygirlarchives @what-is-this-fangirl-life @furinaaa1

⁺₊❆⋆ — content warnings. heavy angst + description of injuries + car accident + blood + hospitalization + medical inaccuracies + implied noncon/dubcon + arguments + stalking + possessiveness + sabotage + grave injuries + jealousy + arranged marriage + lots of crying + ooc zayne + yandere themes + lots of grammatical errors + rushed ending.

READ PART ONE HERE.

It was a drunk driver.

The collision caused by someone behind the wheel under the influence of alcohol. Multiple witnesses stated that it was swerving side by side. Hitting the concrete barriers before occupying the next lane where misfortune is bestowed upon you. The car drifted before crashing into your car. You didn't have the time to avoid it for your mind merely registered what was happening — struggling to grasp your situation before you can hit the brakes.

Zayne was about to clock out for the night. Petrichor lingered in the moist earth and along with it, comes the night breeze caressing his skin. Then, he hears the familiar wail of the ambulance. The blue and red light dances in his vision as the vehicle approached — the sound of multiple footsteps echoed in the once silent medical bay.

Although Zayne was familiar with the emergencies running in and out of the hospital — there's the undeniable twist in his stomach. The wind colder and shifts into something more sinister like there was a disaster to struck and that's when the paramedics came rolling the gurney. It was you.

The surgeon wouldn't mistake it as someone else's even it was a glimpse, there was no denying it was you.

Zayne moved before his mind can think. There was no hesitation in his movements. A thousand assessments running in his mind, expecting all the possibilities and how to save you. Forgetting for a moment that a doctor isn't allowed to make diagnosis nor operate to a patient when it's their loved ones or someone they're closed to.

The reputation he even held at the moment of having accomplished multiple medical breakthroughs didn't allow him to get to you. Greyson whirring past from him as he joined the others.

For the first time Zayne have never felt so scared in his whole life, not even the time when he lost control of his Evol. Helplessly watching you disappear between the double doors and to plunge into unknown. No assurance of what to come. He sees you on his mind. It wasn't the angry tears streaming down your face that you desperately wiped that keep repeatedly playing on his mind — it was you drowning in your own blood.

He didn't even notice the crystalline layer of ice creeping up on his arms and to his shoulders. Blooming like flowers in his neck and covering his cheek.

SURGERY IN PROGRESS — AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY

It's been hours and long surgery hours means the trauma ranges from severe to grave circumstances. It wasn't his first gig to tell how worst a injury is. It was the results and results is the only thing that mattered to him.

Patience was Zayne's strong suits but from how the clock ticks by, every second and minute passing by and the coldness circulating in the ward — he was slowly losing it.

Greyson emerged within moments later. Surprised at him lingering outside the operating room.

“Dr. Zayne.” Greyson paused in greeting. His nerves settling in at the man in front of him before clearing his throat. He knows Zayne didn't want the unnecessary thoughts or what. He simply wanted to know the details.

“She's stable for now....” Greyson drawls out, trying to discern Zayne's reaction but was meet with the same stoic reaction. However the green in his eyes seems to darken and Greyson suddenly feels uncomfortable. “The injuries she sustained were beyond what we hoped to repair.” The spectacled brunette continued.

“The impact were severe and we were informed that the airbag of her car didn't deploy during the impact. She took the full force of the crash — multiple rib fractures caused internal bleeding we have to intervene before it got worst.”

Greyson paused again. His words dying out before coming out again. He feels like an intern again being poked out like a laboratory specimen under Zayne's cold gaze.

“The next hours will be critical for her, Dr. Zayne. She will be monitored closely and we will see how her condition progress.” That's all Greyson needed to say before leaving. He glances behind him. Dr. Zayne was really capable of showing stronger emotions. Greyson pondered while he walked. All the years he worked being an assistant to Zayne — is the first for seeing him like that. He's capable but to those who manage and it wasn't you.

Perhaps it was guilt that ate him up and Greyson couldn't care less about it. It wasn't his place to judge someone, not to Dr. Zayne.

Zayne made his way towards your room before going to his usual rounds with the other patients. His footsteps echoing in the quiet ward. It was barely morning when he came. A few hours reduced in his sleep when his nightmares consists of you — behind the steering wheel.

“You wanted this.”

He hears you say in his dreams. Blood bubbling up in your throat and the corners of your mouth trickles with the crimson liquid as you cough up more of your blood. Staring at him with your eyes slowly being drained of life. Your body riddled with cuts and your blood flowing from your arms as it drips in the concrete road. You drowning in your own pool of blood.

It was two days before the accident after your outburst. He was disconcerted after that when his gaze meets the cold hard door that you slammed shut. He never seen you so hurt before or he got used to you being silent and having to bear the burdens of him brushing you aside.

He was selfish. Taking you for granted and failing how you slowly turned miserable in this arrangement. He knows no love would bloom in this agreement for his heart belonged to someone else before he knew it and you knew it too.

In your own little ways you loved him without realizing and it destroyed you in the end.

The door slides automatically. Zayne had gotten used to the smell of disinfectants and clean linen in rooms but the never the sight of you laying still in the bed. Dead to the world outside. You would hate to see him being in the same room.

The room's dim and cold. Curtains shut cause it was needed for patients like you.

He checked your vital signs. Stable but never awake. Zayne thinks you're floating in your consciousness without planning to wake up cause he was with you. Waiting and watching. But how could you wake up when within a few hours of the surgery the night you were brought in. A bleeding in your brain was found causing seizures.

His colleagues have said that it was a miracle that you pulled through. Operations after operations was done and if you were weaker — you would have died before the next complications start.

The soft beeping of the monitors can be heard along with the air conditioner.

The cardiac surgeon pulled a chair nearby. He takes the sight of you. Bandages were wrapped around your head and there's more under your clothing. A few thin cuts in your face that was starting to heal. There's a jagged wound in your arm too. A glass shard was embedded inside upon impact. The bruises in your body were darker already entering the stages of healing.

It's already been a week now. His gaze soft towards you. He places his hand above yours. Clasping it gently and letting the warmth of your hand seep in the coldness of his own. Zayne looks back at you again and his hand holding yours. It's been long since he held it.

Should he have held your hands more? Should he assured you of what little security you needed with him? Or gave you the attention that you deserved?

None of it mattered. There's no use of pondering things that he should have done to you and for you to end up hurt by the consequences of his own shortcomings.

Zayne glances at the clock. It's time for his daily rounds with the other patients. He caresses your hand again before letting go. Adjusting the pillows for you to lay comfortably and gazes at you one last time before going out.

You woke up a month later.

It feels like you were in a deep sleep and to be awoken so suddenly. You squint your eyes for a few times. Slowly registering your surroundings. It was surreal. Weren't you just driving moments ago? And why can't you breath?

Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes as you desperately claw the tubes connected to you. Ripping the IV line in process that your arm began to bleed out. It only stopped when multiple hands came to hold on you. Nurses rushing to your side as the alarm blares from you yanking the tubes.

It was so sudden. You were scared and confused before the pain settles and burns the entirety of your body. Everyone was a blur to you and the lights blinded you.

That was a few days ago. You've gone multiple tests to check your recovery. Aside from the few broken bones. A risk of possible seizures that was assuredly ruled out. The latest technology for medicine have worked for you minus the coma that your brain have to do. You were healing nicely.

Zayne have made his appearance after you woke up. Staying by your side and barely left you. He takes your hand in his when you wanted to walk. Assisting you in your bathroom breaks and far as going to clean you up.

“A nurse should be doing this, right?” Zayne remains emotionless. His coat draped in one of the chairs and his sleeves are rolled while he gently wiped your skin. You were still in the midst of recovery. “Yes, it's theirs but as a doctor our duty doesn't limit on surgery and medical advices.” Your lips form into a tight line while you stare at him.

Your brain may have jumbled and bleed but you still remember the night where you poured all those bottled feelings to him and it still hurts. You wished you've gone what most comatose patients undergo through after waking up is that having their memories temporarily wiped or maybe completely.

Ignorance is bliss. That's what you lived for and you're about to abide by it — again.

Zayne noticed the tears pooling at the corner of your eyes. He puts the damp cloth aside. Examining your face for any signs of discomfort. “Are you feeling any pain?” He asks softly and you shaked your head. “Just tired.”

I'm so tired of you. Of us.

It feels you were back to square one again. This time your tolerance for pain must upped cause it doesn't hurt anymore than it used to aside from the pain of your wounds healing. “I want to be left alone.” You mutter. Pushing yourself to the bed and propping against the pillow. Zayne pulls your blanket to cover you. He longingly stares at you and nods.

“You can call me anytime you want.”

You just closed your eyes and pretended you didn't hear him.

After a week of multiple scans, therapy and rehab, you were discharged. A follow up check-up were needed. You didn't care about it. All you can think is you're out from the hospital and you won't be seeing Zayne again or you hope so.

“I can take myself home.” You protested. Standing outside of Akso Hospital waiting for a taxi, Zayne beat you to it. His white coat long abandoned and was replaced by a darker one. You assumed he was just taking you outside until you see his familiar black Audi A6.

He didn't leave room for any arguments as he placed your bag in the backseat. He's assisting you even being seated in his car. Zayne hears you huff and see your round cheeks puffed up. You weren't good at hiding your frustrations. He paid it no mind before starting the engine of his car and he drives you home.

The car came to a stop outside of the black familiar gates. You raised a brow at him. “Do you need to pick something from your house?” You fiddle at your seatbelt. Zayne gave you a curt answer. “No.” Opening the door of his car, he turns around to open yours.

“What do you mean?”

“You are still recovering. A bed rest is needed for you to recuperate fast.”

Your brows scrunched up. “Then I can do that at my home. I don't want to be here.” Zayne ducks towards you, a click can be heard as he pulled the seatbelt. He shakes his head, unconvinced.

“Multiple rib fractures, a brain that is still at risk for developing future seizures. You need a professional to be with you and I'm more than capable of taking care of you. It's also beneficial for us to live under the same roof since we're about to be wed.” He say without stopping. Stating the pros and cons on what about to come and clearly, you didn't have a choice.

The last part made you snort. Bubbling in your throat before studying his expression that remains the same.

“Wed? You're going to torture yourself and me by continuing that? Come on, Zayne. It's not too late for us to end this. We'll have our separate ways and you will get your happy ending. Don't always try to play the thoughtful son. I'm sure daddy and mommy will understand you and so are mine.” You sighed, shaking your head in surrender.

“We're both adults.” You muttered under your breath but enough for him to hear it.

“We should save this conversation for another time.” Zayne's voice the same sharp tone and you sighed.

The vast garden wasn't enough to cover the whole residence where Zayne lives. The large windows occupy most of the walls. Letting the natural sunlight in, creating a atmosphere for relaxation. A spacious living room greets you. The color schemes mixes of white and gray with a touch of greenery in the corners. There's also a mezzanine which you assume is Zayne's office. A glass window were also placed there and he can see the entirety of the living room.

This is going to be your home. Temporarily.

You won't be staying in a house that doesn't feel like home with him. Someone who's heart belonged to another. Home is where the person is and you were a stranger but a intruder is more befitting way to call it.

Zayne hovers behind you as he guides you upstairs. Afraid that you'll trip or lose balance. Although he's against of you being discharged so early in the hospital. Knowing the risk and complications that your body have to suffer due to your internal injuries but you can be so headstrong at things and to avoid certain complications he gave up to your wishes in exchange that he's supervising your whole recovery.

He stares at you. Trying to gauge at your reactions but met with the same gaze as you scan the room. Muttering a small thank you under your breath again. Resigned at your current situation with him. As someone perceptive, Zayne knows what's currently going on your mind. You were tired and is still on the process of recovering. The wounds may yet to heal on your skin but deep inside your heart was long shattered and even he's in the expertise of curing heart diseases he can't fix what he broke.

Was he this dismissive and cold towards you during the times when you tried to initiate things? Of making efforts to gain his attention? Of trying to know him since although the match is wasn't you both wanted, you wanted to have a common ground with him and only to ignore you.

“Is the bed comfortable for you?” He asks, following your movements as he watches you take a seat in the edge of the bed. “It's fine.” You shrugged. “Can you leave me alone now? We both have a long day.” Shooting him a glance before looking down to your clasped hands in your lap. “I'll be back later.” Zayne curtly nods before he stops in his tracks like he's about to say something and then decided it wasn't worth it. You hear the door shut.

After a dinner meticulously prepared by him and watching you like a hawk while you eat. Making sure you were taking spoonfuls after spoonfuls of food that your body needed. You were back in your bedroom, dressed in loose pajamas. It was engraved to you to dress in loose clothings since it was needed for better access when doctors and nurses check your vitals. It was easier and you're not putting Zayne in more work and to stay longer with you.

The few buttons of your top were undone. Zayne methodically moves the diaphragm of his stethoscope pressed in your chest. “Breathe slowly.” He instructed you and you did. You weren't embarrassed nor insecure as he listened to the sound of your heart. You were literally poked and prodded while you were undergoing surgery and Zayne have probably seen you naked during your stay at the hospital. “Breathing's good. However I advice you to be in bed rest in the next days and some light exercise will do.” Spoken like a true professional. He takes his stethoscope and you button your pajama top.

“You can call me anytime, (Y/N).” You weakly nod. Your head hitting the pillows and pulling the covers up.

“Goodnight, (Y/N).” Zayne says to you as he reached your bedroom door. He was only meet with silence.

In the years of Zayne being a doctor, it was common for comatose patients to experience withdrawal and he understands what you're going through at the moment. You were in coma while the world continued to spin and everyone getting on with their lives but it wasn't just withdrawal you were experiencing. There comes the fear and the guilt after your outburst. He knows you were shaken up by the moment those words left your mouth.

It was his fault. He never should have made you feel the way of never being enough for him. He should have made his intentions clear towards you and not let you run around circles. Throwing you in a loop and only to destroy what left of your respect towards yourself. The conversation earlier in his car replayed in his mind. You wanted him to call off the engagement and go in separate ways. You were contemplating about it for a long time and finally have the courage to tell it to his face. There was no happy ending for this arrangement but Zayne was willing to try. Start over again with you and pick up the broken pieces of your heart. That leaves him to a question, is your heart still intact for him?

Dr. Miles Peterson — Chief of Trauma Surgery.

You briefly glanced at the name plate placed in his glass table before returning to your gaze at the man that was one of who operated you after your accident. Normally, the chief isn't typically involved with the check ups but since you're the fiancee of the esteemed cardiac surgeon — Dr. Zayne, the VIP treatment was there and it doesn't bode with you well.

“So far as good, your reflexes are back to normal and after the follow up scans everything seems fine. Are you—”

Before the trauma surgeon could continue, the glass doors opened and revealed Zayne. “Excuse me.” He greets, his gaze landing on his fellow surgeon before yours.

“Oh, Dr. Zayne.” You can hear the slight waver of his voice. Clearly intimidated by Zayne's presence. It wasn't also the age of the cardiac surgeon intimidated his peers but his achievements and pioneering on his chosen field of expertise although they were different.

The trauma surgeon, Dr. Peterson gestures for Zayne to sit down in the seat across yours. “Please, do not mind me.” Zayne speaks in his professional tone. The same even and measured of his voice still commands authority even in the simplest of conversation.

“So going back, Miss. Have you been experiencing any discomfort or lingering pains in the affected areas?” Dr. Peterson continued to ask you.

Zayne can see the slight hesitation in your face. The twiddling of fingers in clasped hands rested on your lap and he can see how you swallow. There's still the nervousness when you get to be questioned with certain doctors.

“She does.” Zayne cuts you off. The trauma surgeon's full attention was on him. “There's episode of phantom pains, the brain interpreting the affected nerves as signal for pain but there's no mistaking that her thoracic region is still affected by the injuries and is still in the process of healing. Aside from that the tenderness of her abdomen is long gone and is functioning well.”

“That's expected. It may take another months for it to disappear. Don't worry, Miss. With the right medication and therapy it will be gone in no time.” He explains and Dr. Peterson noticed the glare you were giving Zayne.

Uh, oh. Is there trouble in paradise? He thought to himself. It was the same look his wife gave to him. Sensing the tension in the air, he briefly ends the discussion.

This one was new scene unfolding in front of him. The great Dr. Zayne is having trouble with his relationship. He guessed not all relationships have the perfect touch of happiness and since Dr. Zayne is young, it was bound to happen. He lets out an exhale. Relationships sure takes hardwork.

“You don't have to accompany me in every check-up. I can manage it on my own.” You started, Zayne was starting to annoy you with his constant hovering over you.

“It is necessary. I need to know everything that happens to your body since I take care of you.” Zayne calmly explained as you walked besides him. His white coat abandoned and underneath that coat he usually wears is his three-piece neutral colored suits.

“I'm going home.” Spinning your heel around towards the nearest exit but before you can take a step, Zayne stops you. “No, I'm taking you home. Let me grab my things and we can go home.”

Fuck. Why was he so adamant in being this around to you? It was suffocating. If you were the same person before you got tired of him, of chasing him — you have jumped out of joy earlier but now, you want to be treated like air again.

It was difficult.

Zayne pushes the shopping cart while you walked besides him in the aisle of the department store. The grocery was quite depleted since you started living with him and Zayne was the one who usually picks up the needed stuff in the house along with a warm meal — it was the first time you both did it. Mindlessly and silent walking while you both take a look on the available items displayed in the shelves.

He was about to turn around when a familiar voice called out to him. It was familiar to you too. How could you forget that voice. Your body turns rigid. A lump forming in your throat. It was immediate. The tears forming at the corner of your eyes, pooling at your eyelids. You desperately fluttered your eyes in a series of blinks. Stopping the dam that was threatening to spill.

She didn't notice you. You can walk away and not see how they would lovingly gaze at each other. A silent romance that bloomed between them before time existed. You felt like a intruder. A villain who stopped them from getting their destined fate. Breaking them apart and no matter how you destroyed their bond. They will always come back and find each other.

“Zayne! Fancy seeing you here. I came to the hospital but you left early.” She cheerily greets him, her voice bubbly with the genuine air around her. She was so nice.

Sensing that you were about to run away again. Zayne firmly holds your hand in his and no matter how you tried to discreetly take your hand off him, he keeps the tight grip on yours.

“I apologize, I was accompanying my fiancee, (Y/N).” It was your time to finally meet her this close and with that, you keep your tears at bay. “Hello, nice to meet you.” Politely greeting her and even you wanted to cry, you muster the most sincere smile you can offer.

Concern was plastered to her face when she noticed the misty glazed in your eyes. “Are you okay?” She asks. You smiled at her gently. “Don't worry. It's just allergies. No biggie.” You assured her.

“Oh, I should be going to the restroom. Zayne can talk to you now.” You yank your own hand from him. Tapping his shoulder and smiling back again to her. You walked away from them with your held high and the tears that was threatening to spill earlier came rolling down your cheeks freely.

Thankfully, the restroom was vacant. Your tears were dried up, the moment you entered. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You look ghastly. Shabby compared to her. You look at your sweater. Stained with the droplets of your tears. What are you a kid?

You reach our for a tissue. Dabbing it to dry the sweater. You look so stupid every time you look at her. The ugly insecurities that keeps surfacing after you buried showing up again and again. Everything's so stupid at you. Fucking choice of clothing. A oversized baby blue sweater and long dark denim skirt with white sneakers while she looks so chic in her red ruffled hem top with a open black sleeve shrug and a tight black jeans with her black combat boots.

She's everything you're not.

She's beautiful with all her charms. She holds Zayne's affections. We're you really that bad in your past life that you need to be punished so bad. To witness a love that transcends time without knowing each other and ending up in every timeline.

The texture of the tissue being repeatedly rubbed raw to your dampened cheeks caused it to sting. The tears continuously flowing and no matter how much the tissue soaks of your tears, it continues. The sink was filled with tissues soaked with your tears.

Your reflection was mocking you. Did the gods cursed you and granted you to be this ugly. You look so dumb right now. Crying your eyes out in front of the mirror and you convinced yourself you weren't hurt anymore.

By the time you were done crying, it looks like life was drained out of your face. Moisture was drawn out and your eyes are red in the rims. That's what you get for crying. You turned on the faucet and let the cold water run in your palm before splashing your face. You slapped your round cheeks. Taking a few deep breaths and checking your reflection again. Making sure your face are not that puffy than it's usual puffiness and your eyes weren't that red anymore.

It's okay. It won't hurt anymore. You tell to yourself. You'll break free from this farce of an engagement.

Zayne followed your retreating form and you got your eyes glossy again. The sight breaking his heart all over again. He looks at her. “I apologize, you can reschedule your appointment again. I must go.” He didn't wait for her response and followed you. Leaving a puzzled her and the abandoned shopping cart.

He take out his phone and presses the tracking app. It was needed. You have the tendency to wander off in your own and from the coordinates of your location you were still around the area. You weren't lying when you said you needed the restroom and Zayne waits for you outside.

“(Y/N).” Zayne calls out to you. He takes your hand in his. Linking it to his once again. “Let's go home.” Your brows furrow. “What about the groceries? What about her?” He shakes his head. The strands of his hair swaying to the movements of his head.

“It's nothing. We can do it another day. I'm sorry for forcing you out here. You're tired. Let's pick some takeout, okay?” He suggested and he pulls you closer towards him.

Was your hands were always this soft? Plush and gentle, a contrast to his own calloused hands. The slender digits perfectly fitting in your own pillowy ones. He should have held your hands more. The warmth of your own palms seeping through his colder ones. Providing him the safety of being yours.

That night, Zayne have watched you climbed up in the stairs. Shutting the door of your room. You didn't join him at dinner that night.

When Zayne made sure you were asleep. He slowly opens the door. He can make the outline of your plush body under the covers. Sleeping soundly after being jaded out by today's event. The bed dips by his added weight. Leaning towards your side. His elbow propped above your head.

He studies your expression. Gently gazing at the softness of your features. There's your eyes shut but cried so many tears because of him. You were not her. Although he feels they shared many lifetimes with no memories of it. She feels like home. The jasmines will always reminds him of her but what about you. You weren't at fault here. You loved him genuinely and in exchanged he hurt you.

Love must know sacrifices. He knows it very well. He did — a thousand times.

However when the night you were on that gurney, bleeding and unconscious. It was the first time he felt what it was truly to lose someone.

His fingertips grazes at the surface of your plump cheek. It was warm. “I keep hurting you,.... don't I?” He whispers. “I'm sorry.” It was a apology for being unfair to you.

“Mmm....” Your eyes fluttered open. Your voice riddled with sleep. “Stop hurting me, Zayne. Stop hurting us.” You slowly blinked and your breath goes back to the same steady rhythm and when he grasp your cheek. A tear rolled down from your eyes.

Of all the things he could have done. He presses a kiss to your temple. Staying for a minute by your side while he listens to your heart beat. Thump..... thump.... thump.... the sound of your heart beat, slow and steady. You were alive in his arms and the thumping of your heart lulls him to sleep and for the first time, he slept peacefully that night besides you. No nightmares to haunt him.

It must be your brain playing tricks on you or it was the side effects of your brain being squished from the accident. Last night, you went early to bed with your stomach grumbling but the tiredness washed over you then something cold grazes you. A voice whispering and you see Zayne. You mumbled something and then the drowsiness took you again and brought you back to your dreamland.

The images were eerily vivid and you can't differentiate if it occured on last night's bout. You only shrugged it off.

There's the faint sweet scent of pancakes drizzled with maple syrup as you slowly descended down from the flight of stairs and in the kitchen you see Zayne plating the warm pancakes.

He takes the glasses and placed it along besides your plates in the respective place. The steam from his mug filled with coffee dances.

“Good morning.” You greeted out of courtesy.

“We should eat together. You must be hungry since you didn't eat last night.” The neutral monotone voice of his is tinge with softness.

“Don't you need to be in the hospital now?” You asked out of curiosity. Lately, Zayne's been acting more hands on to you despite the speedy recovery and it totally weirded you out.

“I've got an hour before I go and you must eat. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day and should not be missed.” He says, pulling out the barstool under the counter. You sit besides him.

Zayne watches you take a bite of your breakfast before starting on his. There's only the subtle sound of utensils clinking and a beat of silence before you broke it.

“Zayne?” You asked without looking. Focused on the delicious meal in front of you.

The surgeon pauses and then hums in acknowledgement. “I'm continuing my work at the museum.” You revealed to him and it's not like he can dictate what you want to do.

Working in one of the biggest museums in Linkon as a curator wasn't your dream job but it's something you certainly enjoyed. You only told him as being civil to him since you live in the same roof and you can get away from him.

Your fiance puts his cup down. The green in his eyes flickering with hardness before returning to its usual pallor. “Although I'm against the idea of you being back in your work, I must say it's better for the sake of your health. You've been cooped up here for too long.” There's a tinge of reluctance in his voice but you ignored it as you angled yourself to look at him.

He meet your gaze and you offered him a small smile. It didn't reach your eyes, Zayne noticed that. It was a look of politeness and resigned at the same time. Your eyes seems dull since that accident and the unexpected meeting with her.

His fingers twitches. The slender digits rising to reach yours but forms into a curl. He knows he's making it worst towards you.

The breakfast ended with no words being exchanged after the brief conversation.

That was mistake. A poor judgement in his part.

It was a logical reason on his part to allow you back. You have your freedom and a career during the duration of your nonexistent relationship with him. Arranged but never engaged to each other's lives. It's his own words but you made the efforts to support him and be involved in his life. In which he falls short of. He treated you like you were his obligation.

Now, he's getting the taste of his own medicine.

Zayne have been staring at his phone for the last thirty minutes. Barely glancing at the reports needed to be typed, the consultations that needed to be scheduled and doing his rounds. Waiting for the text message that will never come.

It was slow. The usual things you do for him slowly disappearing right before his eyes. His desk felt empty and devoid of any bright color that usually occupies his desk. There's always a sprig of jasmine in the corner. The one that you always brought with you when you visit him. Knowing the significance of it on his life.

How painful must it be to you that the flower was a symbol of his affection towards her and you kept giving it to him as reminder of their many shared lives.

A spectator. Silently watching while your heart breaks at any given moment. You didn't beg and wistfully respected his wishes. What truly hurts you is when the times he acted like he was being forced to be in your presence and you kept silent about it. Blaming yourself entirety for his shortcomings.

Zayne takes off his silver wired glasses. He sees the time in his clock and it was time for him to clock out and pick you up.

The museum where you worked at is one of the biggest buildings in Linkon. He parks outside near the exit where he knows you'll be appearing anytime soon.

It didn't take too long for him to wait for you. He was about to open the door when suddenly a man approaches you, holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers. You were startled at first and from the looks of your relaxed body language, you knew the person. Accepting the flowers with a grateful expression before bidding a goodbye.

You saw him but you didn't bother to hide the flowers in your hands. You only greeted him and went to his car like you always did when Zayne started picking you up after hours of your work.

You stare at the space in front of you before looking at Zayne who was doing the same. His eyes fixated on the bouquet of flowers resting in your lap. “Who is he?” Zayne asks you nonchalantly. Studying your expression with a shrug you answered him. “It's Theo from work. A colleague.” Absentmindedly stroking the velvety petals.

“Why the flowers?” He clears his throat. Gripping the steering wheel before igniting the car, there's the faint thrum of the car and Zayne began to drive. You paid no mind to his question, not finding any sense or malice and it was harmless.

“Just celebratory flowers, I guess. Me coming back to work and recovering from the accident.” Your voice soft and sincere, he glances at you before returning his gaze to the road.

“And you don't see anything more to it?” You raise a brow at his question. There's a underlying meaning to it but it could be just your imagination.

“Yeah. It's just flowers and I think it's nice to receive them.” Focusing your gaze on the road.

“I see. He must have put a lot of thought on them. It seems he likes you..... A lot.” His tone wasn't accusatory but the usual same monotone voice and there's a weight on it.

“Why do you care? It's not you to meddle with my affairs. I'll admit I like Theo but it's the not the way you think of it. He's cool and the typical friendly colleague you'll find in a certain work jobs and I know there must be in yours too and I don't care about your relationship with others.” You let out a slow, heavy sigh. Something between frustration and disbelief.

“I apologize for upsetting you and implying that you're invested in your colleague's behavior towards you. It didn't strike me that you're fond of flowers.” Gods. Zayne was getting in your nerves these days and if it wasn't for his constant hovering, this one took the cake.

“I'm not and thank you for noticing. It doesn't hurt to receive flowers once in a while without asking.” You replied sarcastically, you didn't even realize that you were gripping the stems of the flowers before loosening. Apologetically caressing the almost wilted flowers.

You asked Zayne once about giving you flowers but that was your mistake. You thought girls asks for that kind of stuff but if he wanted, he could. It just didn't matter to him and that was the last time. You received flowers, many times but it doesn't mean anything special if it wasn't from Zayne, it's meaningless.

He knows but he didn't have the capacity to give it to you and you were stupid and naive for entertaining the idea that you're special to him. It was a well wasted time begging for his attention.

The ride all the way home settled in a silent one. You didn't even notice his hard grip on the steering wheel.

The peonies were a nice vibrant shade of yellows and pink. It was a nice arrangement with baby's breath being added and from the looks of your contented smile, you loved it before the familiar unshed tears glossing in to your dark eyes.

The twitch in your hands, the familiar rubbing of your thumb and index fingers together in your clasped hands. If he speak even a single word, you'll break again. That's why he remained silent. Seeing you cry because of him was painful enough and he's only giving you more reasons to be hurt — again and again.

He doesn't love you. Though the sight of you with a another man brought a sensation that he wasn't familiar with. His ears burn more like a tingling feeling. The sudden tightness of his throat and his chest felt like it was being weigh down by something heavy. A nagging voice echoes in his end although no words were said. The more he sees you smiling from the thought of your supposedly colleague who may have or have not feelings for you that is not entirely professional than what you think.

Is it jealousy he was feeling? It was such an ugly feeling. A cancer to one's being and he didn't like it one bit when you're close to someone who's not him. You can be distant to him as anytime you like but he can never tolerate you being close to others.

He finds you later at night in the kitchen. Clutching a piping bag as you carefully put dollops of batter into the parchment tray. A perfect circle for his favored baked goods. The sight feels of warmth. Seeing you wearing that apron dusted with flour and the other dry ingredients.

After tapping the sheet pan a few times to remove air bubbles, setting it aside to let it rest as you moved to make the filling. It was quite tasking, singlehandedly whisking the ingredients and Zayne joins you to your little baking session.

“You're going to develop carpal tunnel if you bend your hands like that while whisking.” He takes your hand from behind. His thumb gliding over to your wrist before holding the back of your hand. Gently guiding your own in small circles before putting enough speed and not to strain your wrist. He places his other hand to the other that holds the mixing bowl.

You didn't protest. Quite taken aback at the sudden gesture. You feel the hard planes of his body behind you. His gaze following your every move that he holds on his own. “You ought to teach me sometime.” He casually commented. Keeping his grip firm on yours. You didn't respond and it's only the sound of the whisk scraping the contents of the mixing bowl.

It took a few minutes before the filling reached the desired consistency. Zayne slides his hands above your arms before pulling. When he steps back to give you space, you turn around. Without warning he reaches forward. He gently lifts your face to meet his gaze.

He feels you stiffen under his touch before using his thumb to wipe the flour smeared to your cheek. “You got something here.” He caresses your round cheek. His touch lingering on your skin, mesmerized by the softness before his gaze landed on your lips. There's a slight tremble to your lips and he let go.

None of you dared to speak. Funny, he's taking interest now. You snapped and he made the efforts to reach out to you. To know you better. He's making up for the past neglect and you weren't angry anymore at him.

A small bitter smile is drawn to your lips as you take the sight of the baking tools cluttered in his kitchen counter. It was desperation when you first learned how to bake. Wanting to impress him with his favorite sweets once you learned he has a sweet tooth. It took trial and error. Then what once act of desperation turned into a hobby that you greatly enjoyed.

You realize all of your life was built on trying to get the cardiac surgeon's attention to you. From certain interests to personal choices.

Or perhaps it was his guilt that telling him to act this way. Turned the tables to care for you.

“You're really acting weird, Zayne.” A deep frown being etched in your face. You brushed the advances he did after the accident. You weren't in no mood to deal with those kind of affections.

“How so?” His voice gentle towards you.

“You never bothered to do stuff with me before. You always brush me off and now, this?” Your hand covers your stomach. Rubbing your side to comfort yourself. He follows your movement.

“Are you feeling guilt after the accident, Zayne?” His fingers twitched. His jaw clenches and something dark clouded over his eyes before returning to their normal. He was silent for a bit.

You take his silence as a cue to continue. “I got hurt days after my drunken outburst and you think it's your fault this happened and you're feeling guilty — You should stop doing things that should have made me happy if I were still my stupid self. I don't need you looking after me because you think you're responsible for all of this. I don't want to be treated like I'm a task that you can't get rid of.” You avoided his gaze. Nibbling on your lower lip.

The words stung. Part of it was true and the other half was a lie. Zayne did truly care for you. The nightmare that vividly appeared on his dreams while you lay unconscious in the hospital bed came surfacing.

You are his responsibility. Whatever the consequences of your actions or what happened to you is his to carry since you were about to be his wife.

He takes your remarks seriously. He leans in close towards you. “I admit it was guilt but I was wrong. I was scared. I was afraid that I've truly lost you and what I feel for you right now is entirely different.” He brushes his knuckles along your round cheek.

Zayne looks at you straight in the eyes. There is some emotion you can't recognize behind them but it spoke volumes of sincerity and tenderness. “You are not an obligation. You are my responsibility. The moment our marriage was decided, I vowed to myself that I'll take care of you. I apologize if it's not what you wanted. I'm not quite versed in this kind of things.” His voice trails off like he was unsure of his words.

“But when it came to her, it all feels natural doesn't it? Like it was meant for her.” You retorted. There was no harm in it. It was merely the truth.

“I'm not chastising you for it and I really don't blame you. I accepted it a long time ago. You don't have to pretend, Zayne.” You take his wrist before putting it to his side. Shaking your head slightly. A serene calm washing over you. It stung a lot but you weren't upset about it anymore.

“I'm not pretending, (Y/N). My relationship with her is strictly professional. That's all.”

Truth be told. Zayne was losing feelings for her. He made her relationship with her as nothing but a physician to his patient. There wasn't any outdoor activities besides the confines of his office. It was all for the sake of check ups and nothing more. And if he cared, it's the kind of care a doctor will give to his patient and nothing more.

He was honest. The moment the words left his lips, the realization dawns in. There was no longing or hesitation nor the conflicting emotions swirling behind his words. It was hard for you to accept it.

“It's all in the past now. What I want is in front of me.” His voice sincere, dangerously and surprisingly tender. Your eyes widens and he presses a kiss to your forehead. His arms wrapping behind you as he holds you in his arms. Your head on his chest. You didn't return his hug, your arms hanging in your side.

Despite all of that gestures, you can't shake the feeling that you were trapped now.

Zayne entered your room after knocking and he finds you sitting near the cushioned area by the window. Curled in the spot and your cheek is pressed in the glass window. Absentmindedly staring at the rain drops rolling down in the window pane.

You turned your head slightly to glance at him. Barely acknowledging his presence already used what he's about to do. The mandatory body checkups before you go to bed. He's on his sleepwear.

He sits across you, you have a enough space for him. You can feel his body heat through your pajamas. Warming your cold legs. “Is something the matter?” He inquires. Joining you in watching rain drops racing down. The downpour was still heavy outside.

You look at him, resigned. “Yeah.” His gaze softens, his gaze flickers to your plush body. The pajamas you wore fits to your body perfectly. He looks at you before you can notice his gaze wandering.

“I'm going to return to my home.”

“You are home.” His voice flat. Leaving no space for you to argue but your emotions were stronger.

“I'm not. I think it's the right time for us to talk, Zayne.” His heart skips a beat, not liking where this conversation is going but his face remains the same stoic look.

“You don't have to take care of me anymore and I don't want to be married to you.” You say it — loud and clear.

“Is this what you truly desire? What about your parents?” You didn't notice the way his gaze darkened.

“Yes. My parents will understand and yours too. We're both adults that won't be tied by their wishes and don't act like you don't have a choice. You'll figure it out.” He can see clearly the misty glazed of your eyes.

“It didn't have to be this way. We can both work it out.”

“No, it won't. I don't want you to only pay me attention when I'm injured or I'm in my death bed or I'm spewing curses at you. I don't want you being this sweet, clingy, possessive guy who gets upset at me being with others. You can be controlling too even you don't realize it.” You shifted from your position, standing up like his presence suffocates you.

“I don't want that, Zayne. I don't want to get tied to you. I don't want to be with you anymore.” Your voice cracks at the last line. Zayne stands up, approaching you.

“It was nice knowing you and I must have been lucky for a short amount of time for the way you took care of me.” You mutter under your breath and Zayne hears every syllables of your words under the silence of the room. He hears all of it. The small sighs you emit.

He cups your face in his hands. His expressions unreadable.

The roundness of your cheek, a perfect fit to his palm, like it was meant to hold you. A bitter smile appears on your face. A crystalline clear liquid flows down from your eyes before he wipes it with his thumb.

“Set us free, Zayne. I don't want to be hurt by you anymore and I don't want to hurt you. There's no point for staying in each other's lives.” The sound of your voice rings in his ears. He doesn't want to do it. He's into deep to let you go now. What once denied is being accepted and Zayne would rather drive himself into madness than let you go.

He leans to kiss you but you avoided his kiss before he can touch your lips. He only kissed your cheek and his eyes darkened.

“I won't.” There's a pregnant pause before he continues. The sudden drop of temperature made you shiver and you didn't know if Zayne was using his Evol. “ I won't let you go. You're mine. You were promised to me and I'm going to fulfill it.” He presses his body to your soft body.

“What are you doing?” Panic streaks to your once resigned voice. His touch rough. Gripping your pillowy waist with strength that borders on painful. There's a certain urgency on his voice.

“I'm showing you my undivided attention.” The room got colder as he spoke those words. A shiver running down your spine. You meet his gaze and to meet with those same flecks of gold in his green eyes swirling with emotion you can't discern. The coldness and was it darker than the usual?

You turn around to run but his hand caught your wrist. Forcing you to get back to him.

A cry rips from your throat as Zayne pushes you down in the soft duvet of your bed. He holds your head behind to soften the blow as your body collided on the bed and within seconds his hands pins your own.

“Zayne, stop!” You begged, frantically scrambling to escape his deathly grip. “I'm not going to stop even you beg and cry. I'm yours and you're mine. I have every right to touch you as I please.” His voice colder than the usual and you feel the full blow of it.

Tears streamed down your eyes as he forcefully kisses you. His lips were cold and the contact of your lips in his made it warm.

“No!” He hears you cry again. Pinching your side and it made you gasp. He wasted no time shoving his tongue inside you. Swirling his tongue in places he can reach. Tangling the wet muscle of his own to yours. “Mmph... — hah” Kissing you deeply as he can to show you how he can mark you as his own. Claiming you as his.

He moves your arm above with his hand still pinned on you. Leveled on your head and putting the pressure that you can't move the right part of your body while he kisses you. His brain and body moves in sync. Letting go of your left hand, his fingers deftly unbuttons your top. Pulling the remaining buttons until they popped. Revealing the warm, creamy texture of your skin.

“Ssh, don't resist. It's going to feel good soon.” He assures you and despite the relentless begging for him to stop, he didn't. Continuing the assault, his hand wandering from place to place. Mapping every inch of your body. Committing every detail of your beauty marks on his mind. He studied a lot of human bodies but yours were different. Lush and full with warmth that only you can give.

His lips traveled down to your chin and to the side of your neck. Adorning you with his kisses despite the incessant squirming. He will never let his guard down or give you the opportunity to escape from his hold.

You're soft. Undeniably soft. Your skin reminds him of those fluffy cakes he used to indulge himself with. Sweet and warm. The words repeatedly plays in his mind while he tastes your flesh. He made sure to leave a mark on your neck.

Your cries goes weak by the minute. The soft gasps you desperately muffles spills the more his hand wanders. He pauses. Staring at your face stained with tears.

What was he doing? This isn't like him but if it's only the way you can stay so be it. He can later reflects his action.

He takes your hand in his. Kissing your knuckles. You squirmed at his touch and you dared to look at him.

“If I stop, will you change your mind and stay with me?”

You remained unmoving beneath him. Another fresh batch of tears rolling down at the corner of your eyes.

“No. It won't change anything.” You meekly answered. Trying to escape his grasp.

“Very well.”

That is what you last heard.

The surgeon could get used to mornings like this. Waking up next to you, your naked body pressed against his chest and watch you sleep. Last night's exertions was too much for you to handle and he did try to be gentles as possible to you but his feelings took over.

The dark bruises in your skin was the testament of it and there's nothing like quite like it. He presses a tender kiss to your shoulder. Nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck.

His cold hand caressing the exposed flesh of your body under the covers. His hand rests on your round stomach. It was a mesmerizing sight as he remembers it jiggling while he moves inside you. Kissing your tears goodbye, worshipping you like you deserved.

A thought crosses his mind. He don't mind having a child with you before the wedding. It makes his claim stronger towards you. A underhanded method that you won't ever leave him.

#♱ ⋮ shai's works⸝⸝#chubby reader #zayne love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader #lads zayne #lads angst #non mc reader #zayne x non mc #zayne x chubby reader #love and deepspace angst #love and deepspace #chubby reader angst #x reader angst

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alpali · 2 days ago

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You didn’t necessarily know what your relationship with Kei was.

If it was up to labels probably friends with benefits or a situationship.

You never really knew.

Neither of you have ever brought it up. But your reasoning was solely because you liked him and you were convinced he was only in this for the sex.

A drunken night was what spurred this up and after that the you both couldn’t stay away. A booty call away, a late night text message.

You were half expecting him to come tonight but you weren’t up for doing anything. You were tired. Physically and mentally.

In a cower of your own thoughts, you confessing like a normal human being didn’t please as an option for you. So you thought pushing him away was better. You knew things would end like this. In one person getting hurt. And since you assumed he wouldn’t have feelings for you, you’d rather be the first to leave.

As you lay in your bed, the moonlight makes its way through your curtains. The chill of the night caressing your face. You felt yourself slipping away.

Yet your door opens and you already know who it is. His tall figure casts a shadow in your room. The moonlight hitting his face so perfectly he looks heavenly. He slides in behind you, pulling your back flush against his chest. His big hand gliding across your tummy.

“M not in the mood Kei.” You whisper.

Your heart is beating rather fast and you’re sure that he could feel it. His movements freeze for a moment but he continues.

“That’s ok.” He whispers against the rim of your ear.

You shudder, your body not knowing whether to warm up or tense. You’re a little shocked that he stays, full heartedly expecting him to leave. You cast a glance behind you and he opens an eye.

“What?” He grumbles, closing his eye once again.

“You’re not gonna leave?” Which you agree sounds terrible but you didn’t mean any harm.

“Jeez, do you want me to?” He perks up and you shake your head.

“No. Sorry. I just thought you’d want to.”

His brows furrow.

“Why’s that?”

“Well, I don’t know I figured you’d just wanna have sex.”

Now he’s definitely confused and even offended.

“Is it really that weird for me to just stay over?”

You purse your lips, embarrassment getting to you.

“A little yes. You’re always gone by the morning.” You mumble.

“Because I have practice.” He says softly.

You sigh, your malicious thoughts getting to you. You both fall silent. Both of you to far in your head.

“Did you really think I just came to fuck?”

You gulp.

“Yea.”

Your voice is soft. Kei probably wouldn’t have heard you if he wasn’t next to you. But he does and that confirmation hurts him.

“Why?”

You’re growing a little frustrated or maybe it’s the embarrassment getting to you.

“I-I don’t know. We never talked about what we were so I just assumed you didn’t want anything serious.” You sigh.

“I do want something serious with you. But yea, we never really brought it up.” He blinks.

“Ugh you’re being confusing! How can you say all of this with a straight face.” You pout.

He sits up, looking down at you. He motions you to get up as well and he pulls you on his lap. Your cheeks are redder than ever, your eyes scanning everywhere except him.

“Look at me.” He says softly, cupping your cheek.

You meet his golden eyes, his glasses set on your table so you’re able to really look at him. Your arms wrap around his neck, playing with the hair on the nape of his neck.

“I like you, I’ve always have.” He whispers, a faint smile on his lips.

But you’re finally able to see it. The softness and adoration in his eyes.

All of it.

Just for you.

He kisses the corner of your mouth, letting his lips linger. He pulls away just enough that your noses graze eachother.

“I’ll take you out tomorrow after our classes. If my words aren’t enough.” He mumbles.

“It is enough Kei but I’m not opposed to you taking me out.” You smile so big and he looks relieved.

“There you are.” He laughs, meeting your lips in a sweet kiss.

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can-i-make-image-descriptions · 1 day ago

Text

[Image IDs: Image #1: Message from Pete Hegseth at 8:49am reading: VP: I fully share your loathing of European free-loading. It's Pathetic.

But Mike is correct, we are the only ones on the planet (on our side of the ledger) who can do this. Nobody else even close. Question is timing I feel like now is as good a time as any, given POTUS directive to reopen shipping lanes. I think we should go; but POTUS still retains 24 hours of decision space.

Message from S M at 9:35am reading: As I heard it, the president was clear: green light, but we soon make clear to Egypt and Europe what we expect in return. We also need to figure out how to enforce such a requirement. EG, if Europe doesn't remunerate, then what? If the US successfully restores freedom of navigation at great cost there needs to be some further economic gain extracted in return.

Message from Pete Hegseth at 9:46am reading: Agree

Images 2: Text reading: At 11:44 a.m., the account labeled "Pete Hegseth" posted in Signal a "Team Update." I will not quote from this update, of from certain other subsequent texts. The information contained in them, if they had been read by an adversary of the United States, could conceivably have been used to harm American military and intelligence personnel, particularly in the broader Middle East, Central Command's area of responsibility. What I will say, in order to illustrate shocking recklessness of this Signal conversation, is that the Hegseth post contained operational details of forthcoming strikes on Yemen, including information about targets, weapons the U.S. would be deploying, and attacking sequencing.

The only person to reply to the update from Hegseth was the person identified as the vice president. "I will say a prayer for victory." Vance wrote. (Two other users subsequently added prayer emoji.)

According to the lengthy Hegseth text, the first detonations in Yemen would be felt two hours hence, at 1:45 p.m. eastern time. So I waited in my car in a supermarket parking lot. If this Signal chat was real, I reasoned, Houthi targets would soon be bombed. At about 1:55, I checked X and searched Yemen. Explosions were then being heard across Sanna, the capital city.

I went back to the Signal channel. At 1:48, "Michael Waltz" has provided the group an update. Again, I won't quote from this text, except to note that he described the operation as an "amazing job." A few minutes later, "John Ratcliffe" wrote, "A good start." Not long after, Waltz responded with three emoji: a fist, an American flag, and fire. Other soon joined in, including

Image #3: national-security officials, including the secretaries of defense, state, and the treasury, as well as the director of the CIA. It should go without saying—but I'll say it anyway—that I have never been invited to a White House principals-committee meeting, and that, in my many years of reporting on national-security matters, I had never heard of one being convened over a commercial meeting app.

One minute later, a person identified only as "MAR"—the secretary of state is Marco Antonio Rubio—wrote, "Mike Needham for State," apparently designating the current counselor of the State Department as his representative. At that same moment, a Signal user identified as "JD Vance" wrote, "Andy baker for VP." One minute after that, "TG" (presumably Tulsi Gabbard, the director of national intelligence, or someone masquerading as her) wrote, "Joe Kent for DNI." Nine minutes later, "Scott B"—apparently Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent, or someone spoofing his identity, wrote, "Dan Katz for Treasury." At 4:53 p.m., a user called "Pete Hegseth" wrote, "Dan Caldwell for DoD." And at 6:34 p.m., "Brian" wrote "Brian McCormack for NSC." One more person responded: "John Ratcliffe" wrote at 5:24 p.m. with the name of a CIA official to be included in the group. I am not publishing that name, because that person is an active intelligence officer.

The principals had apparently assembled. In all, 18 individuals were listed as members of this group, including various National Security Council officials; Steve Witkoff, President Trump's Middle East and Ukraine negotiator; Susie Wiles, the White House chief of staff; and someone identified only as "S M," which I took to stand for Stephen Miller. I appeared on my own screen only as "JG."

Image #4: Text reading: At this point, a fascinating policy discussion commenced. The account labeled "JD Vance" responded at 8:16: "Team, I am out for the day doing an economic event in Michigan. But I think we are making a mistake." (Vance was indeed in Michigan that day.) The Vance account goes on to state, "3 percent of US trade runs through the suez, 40 percent of European trade does. There is a real risk that the public doesn't understand this or why it's necessary. The strongest reason to do this is, as POTUS said, to send a message."

The Vance account then goes on to make a noteworthy statement, considering that the vice president has not deviated publicly from Trump's position on virtually any issue. "I am not sure the president is aware how inconsistent this is with his message on Europe right now. There's a further risk that we see a moderate to severe spike in oil prices. I am willing to support the consensus of the team and keep these concerns to myself. But there is a strong argument for delaying this a month, doing the messaging work on why this matters, seeing where the economy is, etc."

A person identified in Signal as "Joe Kent" (Trumps nominee to run the National Counterterrorism Center is named Joe Kent), wrote at 8:22, "There is nothing time sensitive driving the time line. We'll have the exact same options in a month."

Then, at 8:26 a.m., a message landed in my Signal app from the user "John Ratcliffe." The message contained information that might be interpreted as related to actual and current intelligence operations.

Image #5: Text reading: Conceivably, Waltz, by coordinating a national-security-related action over Signal, may have violated several provisions of the Espionage Act, which governs the handling of "national defense" information, according to several national-security lawyers interviewed by my colleague Shane Harris for this story. Harris asked them to consider a hypothetical scenario in which a senior U.S. official creates a Signal thread for the express purpose of sharing information with Cabinet officials about an active military operation. He did not show them the actual Signal messages or tell them specifically what had occurred.

All of these lawyers said that a U.S. official should not establish a Signal thread in the first place. Information about an active operation would presumably fit the law's definition of "national defense" information. The Signal app is not approved by the government for sharing classified information. The government has it own systems for that purpose. If officials want to discuss military activity, they should go into a specially designed space known as a sensitive compartmented information facility, or SCIF—most Cabinet-level national-security officials have one installed in their home—or communicate only on approved government equipment, the lawyers said. Normally, cellphones are not permitted inside a SCIF, which suggests that as these officials were sharing information about an active military operations, they could have been moving around in public. Had they lost their phones, or had they been stolen, the potential risk to national security would have been severe. /End IDs]

This is possibly the most insane national security story in the last 50 years. Includes a massive text chain between senior members of the Trump admin gaming out foreign policy and war plans on Signal, and they accidentally added a reporter to the group chat.

#i made an image description

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noheadcanons-juststories · 23 hours ago

Text

Vampire!141 x fledgling!reader, who was found abandoned and starved. meeting 141

“Who called you?” you demand to know.

“Amos,” the man with the chops answers.

Boss called them?

“Are you from the Night Council?” you dread.

“Not at all. Amos is an old friend of ours, back from service,” he explains. His voice was soft yet weathered, like an easy thunderstorm on the countryside. “He informed us that one of his employees was possibly attacked. Asked us to come help.”

So these men were not from the Night Council as you feared. But you were still weary to open the door.

“I didn't ask for help,” you retort with a raggedy cough. “Whoever you are, just… just tell him that I won't be coming in anymore.”

“Listen, lass,” a new man spoke up, very much Scottish with a very nice mohawk, “Amos called us in fer a favor. But once he explained the situation, we let him keep it. He's worried, and ye need someone to take care o’ ye. So we're here to help you.”

“Please…” you beg. “I don't wanna be treated like some charity case. So unless you're gonna kill me, just leave me alone.” You were tired, in pain. You could barely stand anymore.

The tall man in the skull-plated mask approaches your window, looking you dead in the eyes. “You really wanna die, fledgling?” a rougher voice asks. “‘Cause I can arrange that.”

“Simon,” Chops quietly reprimands.

“No, Cap, we need to get this outta the way,” ‘Simon’ persists. “‘Cause m'not gonna come all the way here for a fledgie too weak to live.”

“Bit harsh, dontcha’ think, Lt.?” Scot frowns.

Simon ignores him. “The reason we're here is because our friend is worried about his employee,” he tells you. “He's fuckin’ cares about you. Now, we can be civil, and you let us in. Or we can cut to the end, and I put you out of your misery, quick and painless. So what's it gonna be?”

As he speaks, you slowly slide down to the floor. Pulling your blankets tighter around you. Truthfully, neither option sounds appealing. You don't know these men. Childhood lessons on stranger danger and accepting help from strange men never prepared you for the undead. But on the other hand, did you really want to go out a pathetic, dehydrated corpse? There's only two outcomes with two different paths leading to either. Die or find a clan. The Night Council does not guarantee anything except your immediate end. Meanwhile, Amos got a clan on speed dial for you.

John sits down by your window. “Listen, love…” he speaks softly. “We're here because Amos refused to call the Night Council on ya. And I don't blame him. They're diligent, but they're still pretty ruthless. Especially towards those abandoned. He called us because he knew we were the better choice.”

You lean against the wall. “You could've refused…” you whisper.

“Could’ve,” John shrugs. “But didn't want to.”

“Why not?”

There were a few reasons…

“‘Cause I’d hate for a fledgling to die without bein’ given a chance,” he responds.

…One of them being that he was once in the same boat as you when he was first turned, albeit through uglier circumstances…

“Regardless of how you got here, you need someone to show you the ropes.”

…He was looking to sire another vampire after Kyle, despite his own reservations about immortality. Amos just happened to call while he was brewing in his thoughts, surprised that the old faun still had his number…

“And it'd be a shame to lose a sweet soul like you.”

…And Amos had only good things to say about you, practically gushing as if you were his own kid. Kind yet firm with a bit of confidence, you were.

You let out a sigh, frowning as you reconsider your options. Your expression worsens when you remember that you only have two. “What's your name?” you ask the vampire.

“John Price.”

“What do you do, Mr. Price?”

“I hunt vampires.”

You giggle after letting the thought simmer for a bit. “You hunt vamps?”

“Only the bad ones,” he smiles.

“Do I… I don't fit that criteria, do I?” you question.

John shakes his head. “No. Not at all.”

“...Mr. Price?”

“Yeah, love?”

“I'm scared,” you admit.

“I know,” is all he says. “That's why we're here.”

Kyle joins John's side beneath your window. Then Johnny, who doesn't want to be left out, and lastly, Simon, who doesn't want to be left behind at all. The men sit underneath the glow of the Half Moon. Small chirps in the grass and distant hooting in the trees bring a peaceful ambiance to the evening. Coupled with the bipolar winds of Spring gently weaving through the grassy fields.

“Whaddya wanna do, lass?” Johnny asks you.

“I don't know,” you say, trying not to cry for the umpteenth time.

“Well then,” Simon speaks up again, “whaddya not wanna do?”

“...Not hurt anyone… and not die.

John nods once. “Alright… that's a good place to start… Think you can unlock the door for us?”

It's silent for a bit, but you don't go to the door. Instead, you unlock the window and crack it open just a tad. The four men look back to see you stick your hand out, pale and spindly, which Kyle takes into both of his.

“We're right here for you, fledgie,” he comforts you, gently squeezing. “And we're not leaving you behind.”

And for that moment, you believe him.

Role Call!: @boy-pussyyy

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starsinthesky5 · 1 day ago

Note

yail blurb idea maybe???

joe and reader trying to do literally anything and joe keeps making those jokes

like they could be working out and all hes thinking and saying is abt taking her back to the bedroom ( and he does )

here's a little something something since i couldn't get the fic up today for YAIL's one year anniversary ;)

perpetually horny joe below!

───────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────

it happens all the time.

they’ll be working out together, both of them focused—her in the middle of a set, joe spotting her, watching the way she moves, the little scrunch of her nose as she powers through. her ponytail swings with every rep, sweat glistening on her skin, and she bites her lip, determined to finish strong. joe tells himself to focus—spot her, don’t stare at her ass, spot her—but it’s impossible when she looks that good.

and then it hits him. the way her body moves, the way she exhales in little, breathy huffs, the way sweat beads at her collarbone, slipping down between the curves he knows so well, and suddenly, he’s not thinking about working out at all.

"you know," he says, his voice low and rough as she racks her weights. we could take this back to the bedroom. work up a different kind of sweat,".

she shoots him a look as she reaches for her water. "you’re ridiculous,".

"am i?" he steps closer, fingers ghosting over her hip, his body heat making hers spike even more. "or are you just scared you won’t be able to keep up?".

the challenge in his voice sends a shiver down her spine. she rolls her eyes, shaking her head. "joe,".

he just smirks, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck, voice like sin against her skin. "c’mon, baby, let’s see who’s got more stamina,".

she exhales through her nose, tilting her head just slightly as his lips graze the sensitive skin under her ear. she can feel the heat radiating off of him, the way his breath fans against her damp skin, the way his fingers skim along the waistband of her shorts.

"we’re supposed to be working out," she points out, but her voice is already softer, breathier.

joe hums, not convinced. "we are working out," he murmurs, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear now. "i’m just suggesting we take it to a more…private setting,".

she scoffs, shoving at his chest, but he barely budges. "you have no self-control, joe. it's 10:30 a.m,".

he grins, reaching for her water bottle, unscrewing the cap and taking a slow sip before handing it back to her. "not when it comes to you,".

the way he says it—all raspy and quiet like it’s a simple fact—makes her stomach flip. but she holds her ground, tilting her head as she smirks up at him. "so, what? you can’t handle me doing a few reps without thinking about bending me over the weight bench?".

his smirk falters for a fraction of a second, and she knows she’s got him.

"jesus christ," he mutters under his breath, scrubbing a hand down his face.

she grins. "thought so,".

but she should know better than to challenge him, because in the next second, joe’s grabbing her wrist, pulling her flush against him, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

"baby," he drawls, dragging his thumb over her pulse point. "don’t tempt me,".

her breath catches, heart hammering as she swallows.

he smirks. checkmate.

"now," he murmurs, fingers moving lower, gripping her hip. "are you gonna let me take you home? or do i have to throw you over my shoulder?".

her lips part, pulse racing. she hates how easily he gets to her. hates it, but loves it.

and, well—who is she to deny him?

"you’re paying for my post-workout smoothie," she finally mutters.

his grin is wolfish. "deal,".

or they’ll be out shopping—just running errands, nothing remotely suggestive about it—except joe still manages to find a way.

"you’d look real good in this," he muses, holding up some tiny little lace set he spotted while they were supposed to be picking up new sheets.

she lifts a brow, crossing her arms. "and what happened to being ‘smart with money’?".

"this is smart," he counters smoothly, holding the fabric between his fingers, eyes flicking between her and the delicate lace. "investment in our relationship. and we're like...mutli millionaires. this is hardly a dent in any of our pockets, even though i will be paying like usual,".

"you’re so full of shit," she laughed, eyeing the lacy red set.

"nah, baby." he leans in, voice dropping. "i just really wanna see you in it. and out of it,".

she smacks his arm, cheeks warming, but joe? oh, he just grins, because he knows exactly what he’s doing.

she rolls her eyes, shaking her head, but joe can see the tiny twitch at the corner of her lips. he steps closer, his free hand sliding around her waist, tugging her flush against him. "what?" he murmurs, all innocence, but his fingers are playing with the hem of her hoodie, slipping just beneath to brush against warm skin.

"we’re supposed to be buying sheets," she reminds him, though her voice is already softer, breathier.

"mm," joe hums, feigning thought. "and what if i want to get you something to wear on those sheets?".

her brows lift, unimpressed. "wear on the sheets?".

his lips twitch. "briefly,".

she snorts, pushing at his chest, but he doesn’t budge. doesn’t even wobble. just stays there, all tall and broad and warm, his hands staying, his breath spreading across her cheek.

"if i try it on," she says, tilting her chin up at him, "you’re not coming in the fitting room,".

his eyes flick down to her lips, then back up. "baby, i would never,".

she glares, knowing that's a damn lie, and he just grins.

she groans, snatching the lace set from his hands. "you are going to the register,".

he just smirks, watching her scurry off toward the fitting rooms, the little red number dangling from her fingers.

"gladly," he murmurs, already reaching for his wallet.

it happens at a friend’s house party—music playing, drinks flowing, bodies moving in easy conversation. she’s off chatting with some friends, her laughter ringing through the room, and joe? joe is leaning against the bar, nursing his drink, watching her with that look. the kind that makes her whole body tingle, like he’s already touching her from across the damn house.

he’s been patient. all night, he’s played it cool, nodded along to conversations, pretended like he wasn’t dying to have her closer. but now? now, with the way she keeps glancing at him, the way her dress clings to her like a second skin, the way she bites her lip around her straw—he’s about to lose it.

so when she finally makes her way back over to him, he doesn’t even give her a second to breathe before he leans in, lips brushing her ear, voice thick with heat.

"been thinkin’ about gettin’ you alone all night, baby,".

her breath catches, heat pooling in her stomach, but she refuses to give in so easily. she tilts her head, eyes flicking up at him, playful and knowing. "oh, yeah? that why you’re staring at me like that?".

his fingers find the small of her back, warm and insistent, slipping beneath the fabric of her top, skin to skin. his grip tightens, just slightly. "mhmm,".

she sips her drink, feigning nonchalance, though her pulse is hammering. "well, too bad," she teases. "i’m enjoying the party with our friends,".

joe just chuckles, quiet and knowing, his lips barely an inch from hers. "that’s cute, sweetheart," he murmurs, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles against her spine, flashing her those irresistible bedroom eyes.

her breath catches, but she keeps her composure—barely. the way he’s looking at her, all heat and promise, like he already knows exactly how this night is going to end, sends a shiver down her spine.

"cute, huh?" she says, tilting her head, trying to keep her voice steady despite the way her body betrays her, leaning into his touch. "is that what you think?".

joe smirks slowly, fingers pressing just a little firmer against her back. "mm," he hums, dipping his head so his lips ghost along the shell of her ear. "think it’s cute you’re pretending you don’t wanna leave with me right now,".

her breath stutters. his voice is all gravel and honey, thick with something dark and knowing, and it’s doing dangerous things to her determination.

she could fight it—keep teasing, keep pretending like she’s not two seconds from giving in—but the way his fingertips trace absentminded circles against her lower back, the way his voice drips with something wicked and irresistible, the way he looks at her like he’s already imagining all the ways he’s going to ruin her—yeah, she’s toast.

so she exhales, lets her fingers trail down his arm before slipping into his hand, lacing their fingers together. "one drink," she tries, but it’s weak at best.

joe chuckles again, squeezing her hand, flashing her that smug, lopsided grin that tells her he already knows she’s full of shit.

"sure, sweetheart," he murmurs, pressing a sluggish, lingering kiss just below her ear, his lips barely brushing her skin. "one drink,".

but they both know damn well she won’t be finishing it.

but the worst one—the one that really gets her?

the card game.

the air is stale with competition, both of them sitting cross-legged on the couch, knees brushing, a mess of playing cards scattered between them. her brows are furrowed, lips pursed in deep concentration as she studies her hand, determined to win. joe watches her, amused—she’s so damn focused, so convinced she’s got the upper hand. and honestly? she might.

but joe’s got a different kind of victory in mind.

he leans forward, elbows on his knees, his smirk mischievous, "you know," he drawls, voice dropping to that honeyed rasp that makes her shiver, "there’s a different kinda game we could be playing right now,".

she doesn’t look up, too focused. "joe, hush and pick a card,".

"nah," he shakes his head, grin widening as he tosses his card onto the pile. "i think i’d rather play strip poker,".

her head snaps up, eyes narrowing. "you are insufferable joseph lee burrow,".

"nah, baby," he counters smoothly, dragging his fingers along the curve of her thigh, slow, teasing, just enough to make her breath falter. "i just know how to have a little fun,".

she glares at him, but her body betrays her—the way her thighs clench slightly, the way her chest rises a little faster. joe notices everything.

"joe—,".

he leans in, voice dropping to a husky whisper. "bet i can make you fold real quick,".

his fingers trace higher, grazing the hem of her shorts, feather-light but willful. she swallows, heart hammering, heat pooling low in her stomach. she knows exactly what he’s doing—knows this is just another one of his games—but damn it, she’s already losing. "you're always horny," she mutters, but her voice wavers.

joe just smirks, slow and smug, eyes locked on hers as he pushes his luck, his palm spreading warm over her bare thigh. "mm, maybe," he murmurs, "but you love it,".

she exhales sharply, tossing her cards down. "you are the worst,".

joe chuckles, shifting closer, his lips grazing her jaw, his hands already slipping beneath her shirt, fingertips tracing along her ribs as he begins to move his hand to her back, inching towards her bra clasp. "nah, sweetheart," he breathes, his mouth finding the sensitive spot just below her ear, "pretty sure you love this,".

and she absolutely did. even if she put up a fight at first ;)

#joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #yail #yail asks #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow blurb #joe burrow fic

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bbywriter · 2 days ago

Text

between us | c. sturniolo

masterlist

summary: you and chris go meet matt's newborn baby

pairing: christopher sturniolo x fem!reader

warnings: none just fluff<33

notes: i really need to be studying but i just haaad to write this first

word count: 1k

—

The hospital room is still. A steady rhythm beeps quietly from one of the machines, interrupted only by the hushed conversations between Matt and his girlfriend. The morning sunrise filters gently through the curtains. It outlines the couple sitting on the bed with golden rays, completely wrapping them in their new little world.

Exhaustion is heavy in Matt’s features, but it’s soothed by something peaceful and soft. His girlfriend leans against him, her eyes half-lidded with a tired but content smile on her lips. And in his arms, held with the utmost care, is a tiny bundle wrapped snugly in a blanket, barely stirring except for the occasional sleepy wiggle.

Chris hasn’t taken his eyes off the baby since you walked in.

He’s been up all night, eagerly waiting since Matt texted at the early hours of 2am that ‘we’re in labour!!!!!’ to get the okay to come visit. But now that you’re actually here, he’s gone completely still beside you. Hands fidgeting as his sides, his earlier excitement is now replaced by quiet admiration.

Matt glances up, sending his brother a knowing grin. “You wanna hold her?”

The question pulls Chris from his thoughts and he hesitates, his gaze flickering to you for some sort of reassurance. You place a hand on the small of his back and nod, offering an encouraging smile. “Yeah, baby, go hold her.”

He looks back at his brother and lets out a shaky exhale before stepping forward. He carefully stretches out his arms, his usual confidence softened by a new uncertainty as Matt gently transfers her into his hold. For a second, Chris stands completely frozen, holding his breath. He’s afraid to move too fast or do something wrong.

But then as the baby lets out the softest little sigh and nestles further into his chest, his heart becomes hers.

“She’s so small,” Chris whispers. His voice is barely audible as he glances at his brother, and with a smile, Matt gives him a reassuring nod. Chris shifts naturally, adjusting his hold, his fingers tracing light, absentminded circles over the baby’s back. You can see the way his throat bobs and his lips part as if he wants to say something else, but no words come out. His eyes glaze over just slightly, and when he lets out a breathy laugh, your chest tightens.

You’ve never seen him like this before.

He's always been loving—caring in ways that go unnoticed, selfless and gentle towards everyone around him. But the pure adoration in his eyes as he stares at his niece is entirely different. It’s deeper and more profound and it stirs a warm feeling in your chest. You don’t think you’ve ever loved him more than in this moment.

Matt slings an arm around Chris’s shoulders, pulling him in as they watch the baby together. For a moment, neither of them speaks, just taking in the surreal moment.

Chris shakes his head. “I can’t believe you’re a dad.” His voice is full of disbelief, still trying to process his brother’s new title.

Matt chuckles, his gaze never leaving his daughter. “I know, dude, it’s insane.”

Just then, like she knows they’re talking about her, the baby stirs in her swaddle, her tiny fingers twitching as she shifts against the blanket. She cranes her neck ever so slightly before letting out a slow, sleepy yawn, her little mouth opening wide, her nose scrunching just a bit. The sight is almost too precious, and their reaction is immediate. An identical “aww” slips from their lips in perfect unison.

Chris leans in slightly, studying her sweet features. “You literally do that too with your nose when you yawn.” He smiles at the realization.

“Isn’t it so cute?” Matt replies genuinely, his voice laced with pride and awe at his baby’s simple existence.

But Chris doesn’t hesitate. “Only when she does it.”

Matt scoffs, shaking his head with a smile. He doesn’t argue, but giggles softly instead. Chris is already grinning as well when his own laughter bubbles up. And just like that, the’ve fallen into the fit of giggles that’s been second nature to them since they were also babies.

You watch them closely, and suddenly, your own eyes fill with tears. Their triplet bond has always been something you’ve deeply admired. And now, with this tiny new life between them, you can see it’s only growing impossibly stronger.

“___, do you wanna hold her?” Matt’s girlfriend asks, her voice gentle, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

All eyes shift to you, and when Chris’s gaze meets yours, a soft smile spreads across his face. His eyes flicker with understanding as he notices the tears welling up in yours. You let out a quiet laugh, feeling a little embarrassed by the surge of your emotions, and quickly wipe at your eyes. You nod with a smile, and he gently places the baby into your hold.

The moment her weight settles into your arms, cradled gently between you and Chris, it feels as though you two have also slipped into your own little world.

Without a word, he steps behind you and gently rests his chin on your shoulder, his arm snaking around your waist. His body presses against yours, warm and solid, the closeness both grounding and instinctive, like he needs to be close—to share this moment with you.

You glance up at him, expecting to find him still focused on the baby. But his eyes are on you instead, so full of quiet devotion, full of love, and it pulls the air straight from your lungs.

In the softest voice, just loud enough for you to hear, he whispers, “I can’t wait ‘til we have our own.”

Your heart stutters, unsure if you heard him right. You turn toward him, searching his face, but he’s already looking at you like he means it with every fiber of his being. The words urge a new wave of tears to fill your eyes, and for a second, you forget to breathe.

A slow smile tugs at your lips. You glance back down at the baby in your arms, swaying slightly like it’s second nature. “Me neither.”

Chris tightens his hold around your waist, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple, his breath warm against your skin. And although in this moment, you don’t know exactly what the future holds, it’s clear and without doubt that when the time comes, Chris is going to be the best dad.

—

a/n: thank you always for reading<3 ily guys<3 so much<3

#bbywriter ✍️#christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo

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abyssyby · 20 hours ago

Text

off guard on duty

— the big twins watch the little twins for a day and long for what they think they'll never have.

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: my babies my angels my loves ｡°(°.◜ᯅ◝°)°｡ sylus is just a dad of 4. here's a silly little fic about the big twins watching the little twins. they have a great time. let me know what you think of this one lol, it was super fun to make! enjoy! ❀-urs important heads up for context of this story: kyros and lucian are (my headcanon) sylus's twin boys. around 3 years old at this time.

kieran, luke, lucian and kyros highlight!! | sylus x reader | fluff, angst, softbabysitter!twins, mom!reader, sufferingdad!sylus, bigtwins are also sylus's sons change my mind?? tw: separation anxiety/tantrums, past abuse mentioned (pls let me know if I missed any!)

Don’t drop them.

Don’t lose them.

Dinner is at six.

Easy enough. They’ve gone through more difficult missions before. Covert ones, requiring meticulous planning and great improvisation.

Kieran prides himself in being able to execute seventeen different kinds of strategies to take down a group of thirty men within 5 minutes. Luke can persuade anyone into doing anything, and eliminate them— without a trace—if they don’t comply. Exceptional mercenaries. Isolated ghosts. Nothing is impossible.

Perfectly capable babysitters, if you ask them.

How they made the silent twin wail like a siren and the rambunctious one sit still was beyond them.

“Papa!” Kyros screams, blotchy red cheeks puffed and damp bangs stuck to his sweaty forehead. He presses himself against the heavy main door, as if forcing himself to walk through, stretching his little limbs and straining his ankles to reach the knob. “Papa! Papa!”

“Keero mad.” Lucian blinks, staring at his brother across the room, snuggled against his mama’s blanket. Your scent envelops him, helps him stay calm in your absence. You had left for your mission earlier that day, and Lucian has since finished his little tantrum, as evidenced by his own salt-crusted cheeks.

Luke and Kieran are a mess, to put it mildly.

“It’s okay, little boss,” Luke tries to say, pulling the toddler away from the door where Sylus had just left from. Kyros gurgles a desperate sound as he weighs himself down to the floor in protest. “Big boss will be back.”

“Papa!” Kyros cries, calming words falling on deaf ears.

“I don’t think he knows who ‘big boss’ is.” Kieran, equally panicked but hiding his racing heart behind calm breathing, offers. “Little boss, papa will be back.”

Kyros seems to scream louder at that, stomping his little feet and running off to the crevice by the door. He squeezes himself against the corner and sobs. Fat droplets of tears streaming down his swollen cheeks. Heartbreakingly resembling an abandoned hamster.

Kieran’s arms fall to his sides—how? How is this little one such an angel during play time and…? Have they done something to upset him? Does he not really like them? Is this how he finds out that a child can have preferences and can choose not to prefer them?

Before Kieran can spiral deeper in self-pity and throw Luke off with the swelling emotion in his chest, in their periphery, they see movement from the couch. Lucian, wrapped in his mother’s blanket, waddles over to his brother and gives him a little hug. “Squeezy-squeeze, Keero. No cry.”

Luke blinks at the sight. The realization comes to him in the form of a distant sensation— freezing cold cells, the deafening bang of a metal door and him, anguished and ashamed, crowding Kieran close to the corner of their room where they held one another—high on sedatives— after they had just torn each other apart to survive another day.

With that, he moves slowly, approaching the little twins with caution and then opens his arms. “Kyros?”

Lucian makes way, and at the sight, Kyros scrambles over to Luke and buries his hiccups in his chest. He engulfs him in a hug, mindful of the pressure he applies with his arms and how that would translate to a little body like Kyros’s. Pressure, deep, deep pressure tethers him back to them.

Kyros deflates, nuzzling his wet little face into the fabric of Luke’s turtleneck. He can’t be bothered by the snot, relieved that the boy has begun to stop crying.

“Papa will be back.” Luke says quietly, making sure to press his lips into the baby’s head so he can feel the sound. Something he’d observed you and Sylus would do to him. “Kieran and I are here.”

He exhales when he realizes Kyros doesn’t struggle. That he is allowed to comfort him like his parents do.

“Be back now.” Kyros murmurs, genuinely thinking big, strong Luke and Kieran can do something about it.

“Later.” Luke assures him. “Just out on a mission.”

“No, ‘ishun.” he shakes his head, eyes glassy and pleading. “No, pease?”

“Sorry, buddy, Papa’s work is important.”

“Maybe we can do something else? Like… hide & go boom?” Kieran offers, mirroring the quiet voice and lifting Lucian up into his arms as well. An effort to put them all on equal footing.

Lucian nods. “Yes.”

Kyros shakes his head. “Don’wanna.”

“Okay, that’s fine.” Luke nods, rubbing soothing circles on his back. “How ‘bout the hammock?”

Kyros shakes his head again, much to their disappointment.

Kieran racks his brain for ideas. Were it not for the devastation on the little boy’s face, he would have found it funny that he gets to see how Sylus would cry, if he were a small toddler. Lucian and Kyros look so much like Sylus, they might as well be triplets.

In the corner of his eye, he sees the coat closet open, and an idea is born. “Hey… wanna see papa?”

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

“Get out.” Kieran rasps, pushing his voice deep into his chest. He stands in an imposing pose, chin jutted out to accentuate his jaw and squinting his eyes to be half-lidded and bored.

On his shoulders was Sylus’s brown leather coat, on his feet were Sylus’s large shoes and on his head… was Lucian. Serving as a giggly white wig on his hair.

“Give us the brooch!” Luke demands, Kyros in a baby carrier strapped tightly to his chest. He wore your hunter gloves on his thumb and forefinger, far too small, and Kyros held an empty water gun.

“I hid it, go find it.” rasps Keiran again. Poorly hiding the cough that rips through his chest.��

“Where, papa?” Kyros giggles as he’s swung around. Luke makes exaggerated movements of disbelief.

“Here.” cough. “There.” cough, cough. He rubs his throat and swallows drily, brows knitting together as he breathes out with great difficulty, “Somewhere.”

Lucian— a sentient wig, apparently— points to the playroom. Kyros nods in understanding.

“Fine’da boots!” Kyros wriggles, willing Luke to march forward. Luke hobbles into the playroom and puts Kyros down, who dives into his toy box. Kieran follows with Lucian.

“Keero, no there!” Lucian says, scrambling off of Kieran’s shoulders, hitting him in the eye— both big twins wince— and sliding down his leg.

“Don’t tell him, Cian, we’re team papa.” Kieran chuckles, rubbing his eye as he sinks onto the floor to watch the little twins. Something swells in his chest as he watches the two executing his little mission— an affirmation that he’s done something worth their time.

Luke pauses from searching for a clue. He asks, because it matters to the story, “Wait. Does that mean we’re team mama?”

“Boots?” Kyros asks, holding up a toy fork.

Lucian swats it away, “No!”

Kyros continues his search, asking everyone if whatever he was interacting with was a brooch.

“Boots?” He asks, bouncing on the trampoline.

“Boots?” As he slides down the playset.

“Boots?” As he carefully stacks the colored rings into a wobbly tower.

Boots? Boots? Boots?

“I don’t think he remembers what the brooch looks like.” Luke finally says, after minutes of watching Kyros turn the place upside down.

Lucian has since joined, and the moment he pulls out the plastic bathtime boat and presents it to them with a hopeful, “Dis boats?”— Kieran is sure he has forgotten now too.

“No… uh…” Kieran thinks, lips quirking to the side. He tries to explain what the small, metal pin looks like to the toddlers again. They stare at him with wide, clueless eyes, feigning comprehension. “It’s black and has a bird— a small black bird in the middle,” he says, motioning towards Luke who points at the drawer it was in.

Lucian nods first. “Ohh…”

Kyros hops up with a newfound fervor. “Bird! Ya, bird!”

“Yes! Bird! Do you remember n— HEY!”

In a flash, Kyros has tugged his brother out the door and the pair sprint down the halls. Kieran scrambles to stand, feeling his knees pop at the quick motion while Luke slips and tumbles on the rug trying to get to the door. He blinks back the black and white dots from his vision as he runs.

“Wait, wait!” Kieran begs, listening to the echoes of laughter down the halls to follow. Luke is already swiping through the security camera feed to locate them.

The boss is going to kill them. You’re going to kill them dead.

The giggles resonate throughout the halls until they are confusing. Kieran swears he hears Lucian down the left and Kyros down the right, but Luke just saw them together on Camera 8.

“They’re—they’re teleporting!”

“Do they have evol? I’ve never seen them—did you hear that?!”

“Part boss? Did you spot wings?!”

“Quiet! Let’s…”

They stop. An argument between them brews just in the horizon when the silence swallows them whole.

“Where are they?” Kieran glances at Luke’s phone. His jaw sets. Swipe after swipe through the camera feeds, they finds no trace of them. Luke’s hand begins to shake.

Kieran’s comments don’t help. “… I don’t like that.” Camera 13— empty. “No, no, I hate that.”

Luke shakes his head as helplessness consumes him. “They’re invisible.”

“Stop it.”

Chills trickle down Luke’s spine as he hears faint laughter echo down the halls that he fails to localize. “Were they even real?”

Kieran shoves his brother. “Listen to yourself!”

Don’t lose them.

Before their hysteria escalates— praise be— they hear a very distressed squawking. With a look, they take off left. Boss’s office.

There they find Lucian balanced on his father’s chair— round belly dented over the head rest, stretching to reach the charging perch, little hands grabbing the mechanical bird by the neck. Kyros stares up, holding the other boy’s legs as to not let him fall.

“Kee-wan, bird!” Lucian says proudly, wiggling in his already precarious state. Kieran feels his life force in his throat as he rushes to get him down from the chair. Palms cold and clammy, fingers trembling and struggling to get a grip.

Don’t drop them.

“Boots!” Kyros proclaims in a shout. It still surprises them how loud Kyros can actually be. “Pisto boots!”

“Mephisto was not the br—“ Kieran’s mouth is slapped shut as Luke cuts him off with cheers.

“Little bosses found the brooch!” Because he can’t have them running off to find any other thing they think is the brooch again. He can’t do it. His head is still spinning from his wipe out. He curses under his breath, silently checking— just in case— for little wings.

The little boys scream in delight. Kieran softens at the sight, silently grateful his brother cut him off. Who would want to miss this?

He pries Lucian’s fingers off of Mephisto gently and places the bird back on the perch. “Nice job, kids.”

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

Dinner comes at six o’clock. Sylus had put his boys into a routine so well maintained that the sound of the clock striking six wasn’t a bell, but his son’s growling stomachs.

“Papa made you squash.” Luke says, taking it out the fridge and heating it. Meanwhile, Kieran buckles them in their ridiculously luxurious high-chairs. “And fish…”

Luke pauses at the note written on top of the bigger container of meat and potatoes. Reads: Big Twins in handwriting they’ve only seen on under-the-table-offers, bidding slips and ledgers. He tries not to let it get to him, takes it out and heats it as well.

“Papa home?” Kyros asks, although this time with more curiosity than despair.

“Not yet.” Kieran tells him, giving his shoulders a grounding squeeze.

It doesn’t escape them how they’ve been calling Sylus “papa” all day too. How it came so easily when the adjustment was needed. Somehow they can’t seem to stop.

Luke serves dinner. Two ceramic plates and two silicone-suction-cupped bowls.

Lucian’s nose knocks into a palm as his path to his food is blocked. Kieran chides, “It’s hot.”

Lucian blinks at Kieran, who is still wearing Sylus’s coat and shoes, and tilts his head in amusement. Something connects in his head and he giggles. “Like papa.”

Kieran’s face flushes, and Luke howls in laughter as he takes that in too. He hurls the silicone spoon at his brother like a javelin, and through his laughter, Luke catches it with ease. Straight to the sink it went and a new spoon is handed to Lucian.

An unspoken truth passes between the big twins, a dawning that settles in them like warm milk on a sleepless night, as they feed their corresponding little twin.

This is their life now— not just running errands, killing, and negotiating for Sylus, no matter how much they enjoyed that. How that put them into use. How that gave them purpose. A reason to exist in this world that hated them enough to maim them, and strip them of who they were only to throw them away. Because even then, they were still worth nothing.

Now, in the soft glow of the kitchen light, eating the food Sylus had prepared them, feeding their charges. They see, they hope: this—this is who they are. Not machines, not weapons—boys, brothers, parts of this family. No matter how fleeting it may all be.

They doubt it, but they feel it. In the way you check up on them when they come back from a mission, in Sylus’s silent but kind regard, in the little twins’ comfort and acceptance. Despite their shortcomings, their differences, they have found a place here. And maybe one day, the masks will come off and they will be nothing, thrown away once more— but what a wonder to have had this all the same.

“Kee-wan, Wook,” Lucian tells Kyros, pointing a chubby little finger at the wrong twin as he says it. Pulling the two out of their spiraling thoughts, different but grounded in the same soil.

Kyros shakes his head calmly, chewing on the soft squash Luke fed him. He points correctly, “Wook. Keewi.”

Seeking confirmation, Kieran gives Kyros a thumbs up. The little boy grins a proud orange smile, squash and all. Meanwhile, Luke teaches Lucian the differences— “Kieran’s head is this weird sha—ow!”

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

You’re still snickering at the video footage Mephisto sent you of Sylus lingering on the front door from earlier. Head devastatingly pressed to the wood, a white fist around the handle as his son screamed for him to come back on the other side.

“It was terrible,” he tells you. His hand hovers on your lower back as you both ascend the pathway to the base.

You offer him a sympathetic smile and squeeze his shoulder. “I know.”

“We’re back!” You announce as the door is pushed open. Sylus slips in behind you.

It takes a moment for the footsteps to emerge, but they do. They always do. Only it wasn’t just the two light-footed ones’ you usually hear. Accompanying them was the sound of loud, bounding leather boots.

“Mama!” Lucian screeches, little legs pumping to get to you. Leading the charge. Behind him, his brother— face scrunched in solemn determination, trying to catch up. Eyes zeroed in on his papa. And behind them…

“Stop! Ow, Mephisto! Kieran, get him!”

“I’m trying— He’s— OW!”

The mechanical bird nosedives towards the two larger twins who struggle to catch their wards and fight off the bird at the same time. You giggle at the sight, and you hear Sylus chuckle the faintest bit too.

Both on your knees, you each catch a twin, showering them with affection. Leaving the base for work has been harder than ever since these two gained the curse of existential dread and skill of object permanence.

“Papa home!” you turn at your Kyros’s voice, who pats his father’s hollow cheeks softly. Meant as a happy report rather than a guilt-tripping accusation. Still, it prickles Sylus’s nose red as he tries to swallow the emotion that rises with the memory of his son’s cries.

He presses his nose into his angel’s silver hair and breathes him in. “Brave boy.”

“Mama!” Lucian says, both hands on your cheeks, turning your gaze towards the fumbling big twins. He points, correctly this time to each. “Kee-wan. Wook.”

You squint, taking note of the differences despite their movement and then beam. “You’re right!”

He giggles like a pebble skipped over a frozen lake when you pepper his face with kisses.

“Mephisto.” At Sylus’s command, the bird ceases. It flutters to a nearby shelf and tilts its head as if nothing happened.

“Were Kieran and Luke good babysitters?” Sylus asks. Even if he knows, Mephisto having sent automatic updates on his twins’ mishaps.

The little twins nod happily in response, then came the litany of warbles meant to be a retelling of their day. Two baby birds with their mouths wide open trying to string together something coherent.

You and Sylus catch ‘keewi papa’, ‘boots’, ’boats’ and ‘pisto mad’. Understanding was half the battle when both your boys told stories with such vigor. You struggled to keep them in your arms as they ‘swoosh’ed and ‘fwish’ed, reenacting as if they could project their imaginations to the wall for mama and papa to see.

Sylus turns to the big twins who listened proudly. Given they had context, they seemed to understand more than the parents did. He raises a brow, squinting slightly at Kieran to make sure, then asks, “Are those my clothes?”

Kieran jumps, tongue in his throat. “I—“

“Looks good on you.” Sylus says so casually it was unbelievable. Lucian nods in agreement, “Like papa!”

“Wook squeezies.” Kyros mentions as well, pointing at Luke, who had calmed him earlier. He nods in approval, swinging his feet. “Like Wook squeezies.”

“Looks like you guys did really good,” you commend, walking over to the big twins. You brush a feather out of Luke’s hair, eyes sharp as you secretly check for scratches from their earlier bird-attack. Luke flinches at the contact, and you point at his forehead knowingly. “Ice.”

He hesitates, then gives a bashful smile. Rug. Right. “Oh, that’s… psh.”

You promise to get him some. And before you forget, you add, “Thanks, guys.”

“Faithful minions—“

“—at your service.”

The tired grins on their faces make your heart clench. That… doesn’t feel right. The silence that follows is hollow as the weight of their own words settle into the space between them. Is it possible for them to believe that’s all they are? Help? Followers only good for their hands to take orders? The mere thought settles like bile on your tongue.

You shake your head at the ridiculous notion and prop Lucian up on your hip. “Tell your brothers goodnight, Cian.”

Lucian extends his arms and Luke plucks him from your hold. Easy and familiar, Lucian presses his forehead on each one’s like a lion cub. “Na-nite.” He whispers.

And just like that, they feel the warmth that radiates off of the little one so overwhelmingly. Just as they do pain, they feel this too— this thing that neither of them have the words for yet. But it is heavy as it is true. Lucian’s hands touching their faces, the gentle repose of your eyes work wonders to cast away old, haunting thoughts of being lesser than or temporary.

Kieran holds him a little longer. Luke stares. For once, they have no strategy, no words, no logic or skill to make sense of the feeling. Standing there, in silence, they choke on something so difficult to swallow.

You make a mental note to treat them to something fun soon. Hang out with them like you did before the little twins came along. Maybe Luke would appreciate an opportunity to redeem himself in laser tag, or Kieran would like to play a video game again. You’ll make the time.

They freeze when you press a chaste kiss to each of their cheeks, then pass Lucian back into your arms. Without another word, you turn towards the kitchen to hunt for something frozen and something to eat. Nodding along and offering “ah-huh”s and “then what?”s as Lucian’s weaves a colorful, jargon-laced story.

Sylus follows after you, Kyros already snuggled to his chest with half-lidded eyes and fingers clutching his shirt. He pauses, just as he walks past the twins. A heavy air hangs between them, but it isn’t suffocating. Not tense, or harrowing. Come to think of it, they haven’t felt that in ages. Not since Sylus.

The air was just… firm. Stable and calm.

“Thank you,” he says to them, holding their gaze with a reverence that they’ve never noticed before—one they had only ever mistaken for dismissal. But now, really looking, they see it. What Sylus truly feels for them— proven in the trust he had placed in them. Gratitude in the way they cared for his kin, just as he once cared for them; taking them in despite their troubled beginnings.

Pride, in its full glory.

He is proud of them.

And as if Sylus sees the gears turn and lock into place in their heads, as if he has been welcomed into their twin loop at last, he smiles—careful and sincere. “Get some rest.”

Kyros waves a sleepy little hand at them as they go.

Alone, Luke and Keiran turn. Faces reflecting each other. Once never needing a mirror, now taking in the flustered, upside-down smiles pulling at the corners of their lips. They shake their heads at the impossibility of it all. And yet.

A home, a family. Despite their past, their sins and their scars—

They are enough.

Finally, they belong. 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ more sylus thoughts ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ more little twins ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

thank you for reading! 。゜゜(´ｏ`) ゜゜。

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