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heliosunny · 18 hours ago

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can you do yandere!Student council representative!Jingyuan troublemaker!reader?

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Yandere!Rep!Jing Yuan x Troublemaker!Reader

"Why is it that whenever trouble arises, it always seems to involve you?"

The sharp voice of the disciplinary officer echoed through the student council room. You stood in the center, arms crossed, your uniform slightly disheveled—evidence of whatever chaos you’d been caught up in this time. Behind you, two of your closest friends looked anywhere but at the fuming officer, their guilt written all over their faces.

And yet, despite the lecture, despite the serious nature of the situation, one person remained utterly unbothered.

Jing Yuan, the esteemed Student Council Representative, sat comfortably in his seat, chin resting on one hand, golden eyes half-lidded in amusement.

The officer continued their tirade, but you barely heard them anymore—not with the way Jing Yuan was watching you, like a lion indulging in the sight of its favorite prey.

Finally, unable to ignore him any longer, you turned your head slightly and met his gaze. That smile of his widened just a fraction.

Oh, he was enjoying this far too much.

The punishment was predictable. Community service under the watchful eye of none other than Jing Yuan himself.

You huffed, gripping the broom in your hands as you stood in the empty hallways of the academy. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the polished floors, and the only sound was the distant chatter of students enjoying their freedom.

Jing Yuan watched you with the same infuriatingly amused expression he always wore. "You’re surprisingly obedient today," he mused, tilting his head. "I expected more complaining."

You shot him a glare, sweeping the broom across the floor with a little more force than necessary. "Oh, trust me, I have plenty to say. But since someone made sure I ended up with extra hours, I might as well get this over with."

Jing Yuan chuckled, the deep sound annoyingly pleasant. "Don’t be so upset. I even cleared my schedule to personally supervise you. That’s quite the honor, don’t you think?"

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. "Yeah, an honor. I should be grateful to have the mighty student council president breathing down my neck while I sweep floors."

"Oh, I wouldn’t call it breathing down your neck… not yet, at least."

You froze for half a second, grip tightening on the broom. Jing Yuan watched you struggle for a response, then leaned in ever so slightly, just enough to invade your space. "I wonder," he mused, "if you'd get in trouble again just to spend more time with me."

"Absolutely not."

-----

You knocked on the student council room’s door before pushing it open without waiting for a response. "I'm done" you announced, stepping inside. "The halls are spotless. You could eat off the floor if you wanted."

Jing Yuan didn't even glance up. He was seated at his desk, surrounded by stacks of paperwork, his usually lazy demeanor replaced with rare focus. His brows furrowed slightly as he scanned the documents.

You lingered by the door for a moment, then, against your better judgment, took a step closer. "What are you even working on?"

"Schedules, budgets, disciplinary reports," he murmured distractedly. "Ah, and proposals for upcoming events. The usual burden of student council leadership."

You peeked over his shoulder and caught sight of one particular form—something about club funding allocations. A mistake immediately jumped out at you. Without thinking, you leaned down, snatched a pen off his desk, and scribbled in the correction.

"Oh?"

You met his gaze and shrugged. "I simply cause problem, not stupid."

For a moment, he simply stared at you, then he smiled. "Indeed, you aren’t," he said, clearly pleased. He leaned back in his chair, watching you with renewed interest. "You know… you should consider putting that brain of yours to better use. If you get a high score—perhaps even top of the grade—I could pull some strings and get your punishment lessened. Maybe even have you join the student council."

You snorted, crossing your arms. "Hard pass."

Jing Yuan raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You didn’t even think about it."

"I don’t need to" you said flatly. "Sitting around, drowning in paperwork, dealing with annoying teachers? No thanks."

He chuckled, tapping his fingers against the desk. "Shame. You'd make an interesting addition to our ranks."

"Exactly. Interesting. Which means you'd have even more excuses to keep me under your watch, and I’m not about to hand you that kind of victory."

Jing Yuan laughed at that, "Fine, I won’t push—for now."

You rolled your eyes, already regretting helping him. "Yeah, yeah. See you later, Rep."

As you turned to leave, you could still feel his gaze lingering on you.

----

The keychain was small, soft, and well-worn—clearly something Jing Yuan had for a long time. It landed on the polished floor without a sound, barely noticeable, but you caught it out of the corner of your eye as you swept.

"Oi, Jing Yuan!" you called out, picking up the white lion keychain and waving it in the air. "You dropped this!"

But he kept walking, completely ignoring you, his usual lazy stride unbothered. You frowned, watching him disappear around the corner. "Seriously? Does he have selective hearing or something?"

With a sigh, you stuffed the keychain into your pocket. It wasn’t like he was hard to find—you'd just give it back when you saw him in the student council office later.

Except, when you went in the afternoon, he wasn’t there. His usual seat was empty, the paperwork on his desk untouched. The other council members barely seemed to notice his absence, too busy arguing over event planning.

"Weird" you muttered under your breath. Jing Yuan, as much as he loved slacking off, never actually skipped his duties completely.

You only found out why when you overheard two students whispering in the hall.

"Did you hear? Jing Yuan’s out sick."

"Yeah, I heard he collapsed at home yesterday. Probably from all that work he procrastinated on."

That was all you needed to hear.

The next thing you knew, you were at the nearest bakery, tapping your fingers against the counter as you waited for them to box up a small cake. It wasn’t anything fancy—just something light and not too sweet. You didn’t even know if he liked cake, but whatever. It was better than showing up empty-handed.

By the time you arrived at his house, the sky was beginning to darken, the evening air cool against your skin. You stood in front of the door, cake box in one hand, Jing Yuan’s keychain in the other.

With a sigh, you knocked. "He better appreciate this."

There was a long silence after you knocked, enough that you wondered if he was even awake. Maybe you should’ve come earlier. Maybe he was asleep, or worse—what if no one was home?

You were just about to turn around when the door creaked open.

Jing Yuan stood there, leaning against the doorframe, dressed in loose loungewear instead of his usual uniform. His hair was slightly messy, his golden eyes hazy with fatigue.

"Ah" he blinked at you, clearly surprised. "Troublemaker?"

You scowled, holding up the cake box. "I have a name, you know. And it's Y/N L/N"

He only chuckled, voice slightly hoarse. "I must be dreaming if you’re actually here visiting me instead of causing chaos."

You rolled your eyes and shoved the keychain into his hand. "You dropped this yesterday. I was gonna return it at school, but since you’re dying or whatever, I figured I’d drop it off."

Jing Yuan looked down at the keychain, his fingers brushing over the worn fabric. "So you noticed"

"Of course I did" you huffed. "You always act like you’re paying attention to everything, but you’re actually kind of careless."

Instead of being offended, he just smiled "And you always act like you don’t care, but here you are. With cake, no less."

Heat pricked at your ears, and you quickly thrust the cake box at him. "Take it before I change my mind."

"Well, since you went through all this trouble, why don’t you come in?"

You hesitated. You’d already done what you came for. But something about the way he was looking at you—calm, expectant, like he already knew you’d say yes—made you click your tongue in annoyance.

"Fine" you muttered, stepping inside. "Just for a bit."

"Of course."

Jing Yuan’s house was exactly what you expected—spacious, neat, and just a little too perfect, as if even in his personal space, he was still playing the role of the ever-composed student council representative.

The only thing out of place was the blanket draped over the couch and the scattered tea cups on the coffee table. A telltale sign he’d been holed up here all day.

"You can sit" he said, setting the cake box on the table and opening it. "Or are you worried that being in my house will ruin your reputation?"

You rolled your eyes but dropped onto the couch anyway, arms crossed. "I should be worried. Who knows what kind of weird rumors would start if someone found out I was here?"

Jing Yuan hummed thoughtfully, slicing into the cake "Hmm… perhaps I should start one myself. ‘The notorious troublemaker personally came to nurse the student council representative back to health.’ That has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?"

"Try it and see what happens."

He only chuckled, placing a slice of cake in front of you before picking up his own fork. "So? What made you come all this way? Guilt? Concern?"

"Annoyance" you muttered, stabbing your fork into the cake. "Someone always acts so smug and untouchable, but then the moment he gets sick, he just disappears? How irresponsible."

"So you were worried about me."

"Don’t read too much into it. I just didn’t want to deal with an overworked student council president collapsing in the middle of the hallway next week."

He laughed, "I see, I see. You’re really bad at hiding when you care about someone, you know?"

You nearly choked on your cake. "Excuse me? Care?"

"Mm. But that’s alright. I don’t mind being the only one who notices."

You shoved another bite of cake into your mouth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

Jing Yuan only smiled, content to watch you squirm.

The rumors spread faster than you expected.

By the time you arrived at school the next morning, hushed whispers followed you through the halls. Some students gave you knowing looks, others smirked, and a few girls in particular shot you daggers with their eyes.

"Did you hear? They went to his house yesterday." "Brought him cake, too." "So that’s why Jing Yuan doesn’t punish them properly, huh?"

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "Unbelievable."

Still, you ignored it and went about your day. It wasn’t like you cared what people thought. If they wanted to waste their time gossiping, that was their problem, not yours.

By the time you were cleaning the student council room’s windows—an extra task Jing Yuan oh-so-kindly assigned you—the whispers had faded into background noise. You barely noticed when the door opened and a girl walked in.

But you did notice when something cold splashed against your back, soaking through your uniform in an instant.

A sharp gasp left your lips as you flinched, the shock of icy water running down your spine making you shiver. You turned sharply, already scowling, only to find a girl—one of the ones who’d been glaring at you all morning—standing there with an empty bottle in her hand. Her expression was a mix of satisfaction and barely concealed jealousy.

"You think you’re special, don’t you?" she sneered. "Just because Jing Yuan lets you do whatever you want?"

You exhaled slowly, controlling your irritation. "Seriously?" You glanced down at your soaked uniform, then back at her. "Real mature."

She huffed, arms crossed, clearly expecting you to yell, fight back, or maybe even run out embarrassed.

But you weren’t that kind of person.

Instead, you turned to the table where Jing Yuan’s tea sat, still warm in its delicate cup. Without hesitation, you picked it up.

And in one swift motion, you poured it over her head.

The girl shrieked as the liquid soaked into her hair and dripped down her face. It wasn’t scalding hot, but it was warm enough to be uncomfortable, and the sheer audacity of your retaliation left the entire room in stunned silence.

"You—you freak!" she sputtered, eyes welling up with frustrated tears. "You’ll pay for this!"

With that, she spun on her heel and stormed out, still dripping tea.

You set the empty cup back on the table with a satisfied smirk. "Fair’s fair."

Before anyone could say anything, Jing Yuan—who had been watching the whole scene from his desk, absolutely delighted—cleared his throat. "Well, I suppose I should excuse you early. Wouldn’t want you catching a cold from your tragic accident."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue, already heading for the door.

The next morning, the girl arrived at school early, long before the hallways filled with students. She moved quietly, sneaking into the classroom where your belongings were kept. Her eyes landed on your locker, and a smirk curled on her lips.

"Let’s see how untouchable you really are."

She fiddled with the lock, slipping a thin piece of metal into the mechanism. It wasn’t perfect, but she had been planning this—maybe to hide your things, maybe to ruin them. Either way, she never got the chance.

"Now, what do we have here?"

The girl froze. A cold shiver ran down her spine as she slowly turned her head.

Jing Yuan stood by the doorway, looking completely at ease—like he hadn’t just caught her red-handed.

"I—I was just—"

"No need for excuses" he said smoothly, stepping forward. "I do appreciate the effort, though. It takes a certain level of confidence to openly mess with someone’s locker the day after getting publicly humiliated."

Her face burned with embarrassment. "I wasn’t—"

Jing Yuan sighed, tilting his head. "But, you know… revenge is such a fickle thing." His smile sharpened. "It never really goes the way you want it to."

Before she could react, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He tapped the screen once, then turned it towards her.

A video played. A video of her trying to break into your locker.

"Oops" Jing Yuan drawled. "Seems like security cameras exist. Who would've thought?" He tucked his phone away, expression far too pleased for someone who just caught a crime in progress.

"Are you gonna report me?" she spat.

"Hmm," Jing Yuan hummed, as if considering it. "Tempting. But no, I have a better idea. I think you should apologize."

"What?"

"To Y/N. Properly" he said, "And maybe—just maybe—I won’t have to ‘accidentally’ send this video to the disciplinary committee."

Her face twisted in frustration, but she had no choice. With one last glare, she stormed past him, defeated.

Jing Yuan chuckled, watching her leave.

He glanced back at your locker, tapping his fingers thoughtfully against the cold metal. A little revenge on your terms, he mused.

He would have let you handle it yourself—he loved watching you fight your own battles. But every once in a while, he liked to remind people exactly who they were messing with.

----

You stood at Jing Yuan’s doorstep again, this time with a deep sigh and a stack of paperwork balanced in your arms.

"I can't believe I'm doing this."

The only reason you were even here was because he requested it—something about needing assistance since he was still "recovering." You wanted to refuse, really, but if there was a chance this would lift your punishment sooner, you'd deal with it.

With another sigh, you knocked on the door. It only took a moment before it swung open, revealing a woman with warm eyes and a gentle smile.

"Oh! You must be Y/N!" she beamed. "Jing Yuan told me you'd be coming by."

"Uh… yeah. I’m just here to drop off his paperwork."

"How responsible of you! Please, come in," she said, stepping aside. "You must be tired from carrying all that."

You hesitated but stepped inside. The warmth of the house was comforting, the scent of home-cooked food lingering in the air.

As you walked in, you noticed another presence—a man seated in the living room, flipping through a book. He barely spared you a glance.

You gave a polite nod. "Good evening, sir."

He acknowledged you with a slight tilt of his head but said nothing.

His mother, on the other hand, was the complete opposite.

"Ah, it’s so nice to finally meet you properly!" she said cheerfully as she led you towards the stairs. "Jing Yuan talks about you, you know."

That made you stop mid-step. "…He what?"

"Oh, just little things," she giggled. "It’s rare for him to show interest in someone outside of council work, so I was curious!"

You had no idea what to do with that information. Before you could respond, she gestured up the stairs.

"He’s in his room. Feel free to scold him for being lazy while you’re at it."

"Trust me, I was planning to."

With that, you climbed the stairs, still reeling from the conversation.

Jing Yuan, talking about you? What was that supposed to mean?

You took a steadying breath as you reached the top of the stairs. Doesn’t matter. Just drop off the paperwork, scold him for being lazy, and get out.

He was lounging on his bed, hair slightly tousled, dressed in a loose sweater and sweatpants.

"Ah, my favorite troublemaker has arrived" he drawled. "And here I thought I’d have to suffer in solitude."

You scowled, stepping in and dropping the heavy stack of paperwork onto his desk with a thud. "You wouldn’t be suffering if you actually did your work at school instead of dumping it on me."

He laughed, stretching his arms above his head like a lazy cat. "That’s what I have you for, isn’t it?"

"Excuse me?"

He sat up, leaning his chin on his palm, watching you with amusement. "I did say I’d help lessen your punishment. Consider this an opportunity to earn my favor."

"Unbelievable."

He gestured lazily toward the chair by his desk. "Sit. You might as well stay for a bit. My mother already adores you, and my father—well, he’s not the type to dislike anyone without reason."

"I don’t want to stay."

"But you haven’t left yet."

He wasn’t wrong. You could’ve dumped the papers and walked out, but you didn’t.

You clicked your tongue. "Fine." You plopped into the chair, arms still crossed.

As the minutes passed, you found yourself settling in despite yourself. His room was surprisingly cozy.

----

Again, whispers, accusations. The same kind of trouble you usually got into, but this time, it wasn’t you.

A mess of scattered files in the teacher’s lounge. Graffiti on the back wall of the school. The fire alarm going off twice in one day.

And somehow, every single time, your name was the first one on everyone’s lips.

"It has to be them, right? Who else causes this much chaos?" "Guess they finally snapped." "Jing Yuan’s been too soft on them. Maybe this time they’ll actually get expelled."

At first, you rolled your eyes at the rumors. It wasn’t the first time people assumed the worst of you, and it wouldn’t be the last.

But then the principal got involved.

And suddenly, you were standing outside the office, arms crossed as you stared down the teachers demanding an explanation.

"How many times do I have to say it?" you snapped. "It wasn’t me."

The principal sighed, rubbing his temples. "The evidence says otherwise. You have a history, Y/N. Even if you didn’t directly cause these incidents, you must have influenced someone who did."

Just as you opened your mouth to argue, a calm voice interrupted.

"I can vouch for them."

You turned your head.

Jing Yuan stood there, expression smooth and unreadable, golden eyes carrying that familiar laziness—except now, it felt deliberate.

"As student council president, I would’ve noticed if Y/N was behind these incidents" he continued, "I don’t believe they were involved."

The principal hesitated. "Jing Yuan—"

"If anything, I personally will take responsibility for watching over them" Jing Yuan added, smiling slightly. "To make sure this… pattern doesn’t continue."

The principal sighed. "Fine. But if anything else happens, I won’t be as lenient."

----

At first, it was just a feeling.

A gnawing doubt at the back of your mind when Jing Yuan vouched for you so easily, so perfectly. It should have been a relief, but instead, it unsettled you.

The timing. The rumors. The way everything fell apart just enough to put you in trouble—but not enough to actually ruin you.

You started watching more closely.

And slowly, the pieces came together.

A student mentioning they saw someone suspiciously near the fire alarm, but their memory was foggy. A janitor complaining about files being scattered but swearing the door was locked. A teacher muttering about how it was strange that the cameras near the graffiti just happened to malfunction.

And then there was Jing Yuan.

Always nearby.

The realization hit you like ice water down your spine.

He did this.

Not just for amusement. Not just because he could.

He did it to keep you by his side.

And that led to now—standing in an empty classroom, heart pounding as Jing Yuan leaned lazily against the teacher’s desk.

"You’ve been awfully busy lately" he mused, arms crossed. "Looking into things that don’t concern you."

"Don’t give me that. I know what you did."

"And what exactly do you think I did?"

"You set me up." The words felt heavy on your tongue. "The rumors, the ‘pranks,’ all of it. You wanted me to be isolated. You wanted—"

"You."

"I told you before, didn’t I?" He stood up, took small steps toward you "I noticed you. And I wasn’t going to let anyone else have the chance."

You took a step back. "This is insane."

"Is it? Or is it just the only way to make sure you stay where you belong?"

Your back hit the wall.

"You have two choices" he said. "Either you decide to stay with me—"willingly"—or…"

"I’ll have to dirty my hands."

"Not that it would matter" he continued, "No one would believe you anyway. Who would they trust—the troublemaker, or the beloved student council rep?"

You knew the answer.

"You’re in your rebellious stage" he mused, tilting his head like he was merely observing you, not actively cornering you. "That’s fine. I expected as much."

"Expected?"

Jing Yuan chuckled, stepping back slightly—just enough to give you space to breathe but not enough to release you from his grasp. "Of course. You’re stubborn, after all. You wouldn’t just listen to me so easily."

"And what? You think I’ll just give in?"

"No, not yet. But I will give you a choice."

"You have two options. Option one," he held up a single finger, "you get first place in the entire grade. Not just top ten. Not just top five. Number one." His lips curled slightly. "Prove yourself to be better than every single student in this school, and I’ll—hmm, let’s say—I’ll consider leaving you alone."

Your brows furrowed. "What kind of—"

"Or." He cut you off, raising a second finger. "You don’t. And I’ll make sure we’re stuck together forever."

"That’s not a choice."

Jing Yuan smiled, "Of course it is. You could try for number one. It’s difficult, but not impossible. You’re smart, after all. I know that better than anyone. Or, you could stay just as you are. My troublesome, reckless, irreplaceable Y/N."

He tilted his head. "Either way, I win."

He was serious. No, more than that—he was certain.

"You’re insane."

"I’ve been called worse. So? What will you do?"

The days blurred together into an exhausting cycle—punishment duty in the morning, classes in the afternoon, and late nights spent drowning in textbooks.

You never thought you’d willingly care about school rankings, but Jing Yuan left you no choice. If you wanted him out of your life, you had to claim the number one spot.

And that was easier said than done.

You weren’t stupid—far from it. But competing against students who had spent years aiming for the top was another level of difficulty. Some subjects weren’t a problem, but others…

You stared at your notes, rubbing your temples. Your punishment work had already drained most of your energy—cleaning, running errands for teachers, fixing up the mess he set you up for. And now you were stuck on a ridiculously complicated problem that refused to make sense.

Your pencil hovered over the page.

Then, against your better judgment, you pulled out your phone.

[You]: I need help with something.

It didn’t even take a minute before the response came.

[Jing Yuan]: Oh? Has my dear troublemaker finally come to their senses?

[You]: Shut up. Do you want to help or not?

[Jing Yuan]: Of course. Anything for you.

A few minutes later, you found yourself seated across from him in the library, your book spread open between you. Jing Yuan looked entirely too pleased with the situation.

"You know" he mused, "you could always just let me help you in other ways."

You shot him a glare. "No. I’m doing this myself."

He chuckled, twirling his pen between his fingers. "How stubborn." Then, with an easy smile, he reached over, tapping the textbook. "Alright, alright. Let’s start here."

Despite his infuriating personality, Jing Yuan was a good teacher. His explanations were smooth, his patience unwavering, and—most annoyingly—he somehow made things click faster than when you studied alone.

But you also knew he was using this as an opportunity to chip away at you.

"You know" he said at one point, watching you scribble down notes, "you’re pushing yourself too hard."

You didn’t look up. "I have to."

"Do you? If you’re struggling this much, wouldn’t it be easier to—"

"Not happening."

Jing Yuan sighed dramatically. "I’m only saying you don’t have to go through all this suffering alone. Wouldn’t it be nice to have someone who can take care of everything for you?"

You narrowed your eyes. "You taking care of things is the reason I’m in this mess."

He laughed. "Fair point."

But as the session went on, you felt yourself slipping—just slightly.

Because he made it so easy to rely on him.

And that was dangerous.

When the results were finally posted, you could hardly breathe.

You pushed through the murmuring crowd, scanning the rankings with a pounding heart.

"Second."

Your name sat mockingly in the number two spot.

You clenched your fists. You were so close. After all the sleepless nights, the studying, the exhaustion—

It wasn’t enough.

And you knew exactly what that meant.

A familiar voice hummed behind you.

"Oh dear," Jing Yuan said, peering over your shoulder. "So close."

You turned to glare at him. He was smiling—of course he was. That calm, patient smile that always meant he knew something you didn’t.

"You planned this" you accused.

Jing Yuan tilted his head, amused. "Now, now. I did encourage you to aim higher. It’s not my fault you fell just short of the mark."

Your nails dug into your palms. "You rigged this."

"Did I? Or did you simply underestimate the challenge?"

Your chest burned with frustration. But before you could retort, Jing Yuan leaned in slightly, voice dropping to a soft murmur.

"Regardless," he whispered, "a deal is a deal, isn’t it?"

Jing Yuan straightened, his expression entirely too pleased. "Looks like you’re stuck with me after all."

You had tried. Really tried.

And yet—he won.

Jing Yuan extended a hand, as if waiting for you to take it.

"So," he murmured, "what will you do now?"

If you were stuck with Jing Yuan, then fine.

But that didn’t mean you had to make it easy for him.

Your first act of revenge was harmless—switching the sugar in his tea with salt. You watched as he took a sip during lunch, his expression barely changing, except for the slightest quirk of his brow.

Then, he smiled.

"Salty, hm?" he mused, setting his cup down. "How bold of you."

You scowled. He barely reacted.

So you stepped it up.

Loosening the screws on his chair just enough that when he leaned back, it nearly collapsed under him. Nearly. Because, of course, he caught himself, laughing under his breath as he glanced at you.

"Trying to kill me already?" he teased. "How cruel."

You didn’t stop.

You left fake love letters in his locker. Spread a rumor that he had a secret admirer. Stole his favorite pen right before an important meeting.

And yet—no matter what you did, Jing Yuan took it all in stride, as if he expected it. As if he enjoyed it.

Your frustration peaked one afternoon when you "accidentally" swapped his neatly written notes with a stack of completely useless doodles.

He flicked through them with mild amusement, then looked up at you.

"Do you think this will make me let you go?"

"Because if anything, it just makes me want to keep you closer."

This wasn’t working. No matter what you did, he remained unshaken.

If anything—

He was enjoying it.

It was time to change tactics.

If pranks and small annoyances didn’t faze him, then maybe something else would. Something that would actually get under his skin.

So, when your friend—someone completely uninvolved in the chaos of your life—offered to hang out after school, you took it a step further.

"Let’s fake date."

Your friend blinked. "What?"

"Just in public," you said quickly. "Just enough to make someone mad."

They raised a brow. "Someone?"

You didn’t answer.

And that’s how you found yourself walking down the street, laughing a little too loudly, leaning in just enough to make it look intimate. Your friend played along, nudging your shoulder, whispering things that weren’t remotely romantic but would look like it from an outsider’s perspective.

And, of course—

Jing Yuan was watching.

You felt it before you even saw him. When you finally glanced over, he was there.

His golden eyes were locked onto you.

And in that moment, you realized—

You had seriously messed up.

Your friend was still talking, still playing along, but you couldn’t focus. Your pulse quickened as Jing Yuan started walking toward you.

Step by step.

He stopped just a few feet away, gaze flicking lazily between you and your so-called "date."

"I wasn’t aware you had such… interesting tastes, Y/N."

Your friend tensed beside you.

"We’re just—"

Jing Yuan raised a hand, stopping you.

"You’re testing me," he murmured, voice dropping just enough that only you could hear. "How cute."

Jing Yuan took another step forward, forcing you to tilt your head to keep eye contact.

"But tell me, Y/N…" His smile widened. "How far are you willing to go?"

You knew it was reckless. Dangerous, even. But if Jing Yuan wanted to play mind games, then fine—you’d play, too. So, without breaking eye contact, without hesitating for even a second—

You turned to your friend and pressed a kiss to their cheek.

It was brief, barely anything, but it was enough.

You felt your friend tense under your touch, caught between confusion and amusement, but you didn’t look at them. You didn’t need to.

Because all your focus was on him.

Jing Yuan’s smile didn’t waver, but something in his eyes shifted.

For the first time, you saw the cracks in his carefully controlled mask.

And that’s when you knew—

You had won this round.

Or so you thought.

Jing Yuan exhaled slowly, stepping even closer, until there was barely any space left between you. Your friend stiffened beside you, clearly sensing something off, but neither of you dared to move.

"You really shouldn’t have done that....But don’t worry… I’ll make sure you never feel the need to do it again."

And with that, he stepped back, flashing you one last unreadable smile before turning on his heel and walking away.

Leaving you standing there, pulse hammering, as you realized—

You may have just made things worse.

You stopped going to school.

At first, it wasn’t intentional. You had skipped one day to clear your head, to shake off the lingering weight of his presence.

But then one day turned into two. Then three. Then a full week.

And you realized—

You didn’t have to go back.

Expulsion? Detention? Consequences? You didn’t care anymore. If staying away meant being free from him, then so be it.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you could breathe.

Until the knocking on your front door shattered that illusion.

You knew who it was before you even opened it.

And yet, when you finally swung the door open, Jing Yuan was standing there.

"You’ve been absent, I was starting to think you were avoiding me."

"What do you want?"

Jing Yuan sighed, slipping his hands into his pockets. "I came to deliver a message."

"What message?"

"Your friend."

Your breath caught.

"They got into a little accident yesterday," he mused. "Nothing too serious, of course. Just a little… fall."

Your fingers clenched around the doorframe. "You’re lying."

"Am I?" His gaze was unwavering. "You would know if you had been there."

Jing Yuan leaned in further, "Do you really think disappearing will make me forget about you?"

"I don’t mind waiting" he murmured. "But if you keep running…"

"…I might have to start pulling more people into this."

"You wouldn’t—"

Jing Yuan chuckled, straightening up. "Wouldn’t I?"

"I’ll see you at school tomorrow."

Just as you were about to slam the door shut, a hand shot out, stopping it effortlessly.

Your breath hitched as Jing Yuan stepped forward, closing the distance in one smooth motion. Before you could react, before you could even breathe, he leaned in—

And pressed a kiss to your cheek.

When he pulled back, he was smiling.

"Consider that my payback"

"You—"

"No need to look so flustered. You started this, didn’t you? See you tomorrow... And don’t be late."

Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there.

The next morning, you found yourself walking through the school gates because no matter how much you wanted to deny it, you knew. You had lost this game long ago. And when you reached the student council room, pushing the door open, Jing Yuan was already there, waiting—smiling like he knew you’d come. Like he had never once doubted it. As if every struggle, every rebellion, every desperate attempt to escape had only led you right back to him.

And the worst part?

You weren’t sure if you had walked in on your own—or if he had guided you here all along.

#yandere x reader #yandere #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #hsr x you #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr x reader #jing yuan x you #jing yuan x y/n #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan #hsr

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drdemonprince · 1 day ago

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I see you post against the global blackout on insta and I understand the sentiment, that it doesn’t make a difference but actually we’ve got major Palestinian civilian advocacy groups saying This is what we’re doing and why, and it feels like the West goes “oh there’s no point let’s not bother”. But in actual fact it’s Something. Which is better than nothing. It’s so easy for us to say it’s not worth it. Because we don’t want to give up a day of paid work, social media and online shopping. But when people in Palestine and the major charities actually on the ground working with them want this, isn’t it actually a show of solidarity regardless of our views on it, the actual impact, and our own in inconvenience? Regardless of impact.

Not shopping for one day isn't all that inconvenient. I don't know about you but I have no buy days all the time. It's not much of a sacrifice, if a person wants to do it and feels that it's a good exercise or symbolic or what-have-you, they should do what they feel is right. But showing respect to a people and a cause means being willing to discuss tactics, express disagreement, identify whose political ideals are in alignment with yours, and convey what one personally thinks is right.

Just because a person is Palestinian doesn't mean that their political ideology or theory of how political change happens aligns with your own, or with any kind of leftist politics. There are a great many Palestinian public figures who are not in any way revolutionary or liberationist. The majority of the charities that exist in Gaza are created and controlled by people in imperial countries, and all these charities operate with harsh restrictions placed upon them that limit how challenging to the existing status quo they can be. Many of them have explicit policies of normalizing the apartheid regime.

And just because a person is affected directly by the genocide doesn't mean they have expertise in tactics or economics -- in fact, it is outrageous that the entire Western world is relying upon a people who are actively being genocided, still, to give us our marching orders and plan our wing of resistance for us. Solidarity isn't just standing around waiting for a people in crisis to tell you what to do. It's organizing and tacting action, lending your support, your expertise, your money, your time, taking a stand for something, asking questions, suggesting alternatives, proposing new acts, participating actively in resistance on every level.

It's also important to keep in mind that the calls we see that come from Palestinians the most often are the ones who have been elevated to the status of Influencer or Head of a Nonprofit-- with all the competing motivations and financial and social incentives that involves. We are not hearing from a lot of Palestinian people on the ground who lack a sizeable platform, who do not have internet or phone access, and whose organizing and resistance take forms that are not social media friendly. The call to "listen to Palestinian voices" is a lot more complex than simply doing what a person on social media -- even a number of popular figures! -- has to say. No person or group can speak for a whole people, or a whole movement.

I believe that taking a single day off from shopping is appealing because it asks so little. It demands almost no organizational work or effort from Americans. It's inert and ineffectual, provably so, but something a person can pat themselves on the back for doing and then go back to their day. It's like almost every form of "activism" that has been promoted on social media for years now -- and it's telling that people won't learn, won't build the infrastructure necessary to make something more dramatic or longer-lasting happen, that members of the imperial core just keep sitting around on social media expecting other people to tell us what we should do to end the imperialism and genocide we are complicit in.

We need to do a whole lot more than not shopping for one day, and we need to do a lot of things that cannot be posted about on social media.

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sheepispink · 2 days ago

Text

Is this a Date? ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི lt ghost x baker!reader, part of the Sweet as Sugar Series

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི Summary: after your past hesitance, Simon asks you out on more of a silly date than a romantic one. Nonetheless, he begins to realise just how much you two really feel for eachother

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི a/n: fair warning that all the arcade games in this are based of the ones i go to, which are british obvs, so accurate? yes. particularly fun? probably not. Also i said chips but i know some of yall will call it fries. chips is the british word thanks for coming to my ted talk <3

PREV NEXT

———

Finally, Simon would be taking you out properly, just like he’d been trying to hype himself up to do for nearly three weeks. He gave you some time since you confessed your anxious thoughts to him, but you’re already feeling a lot better, practically radiating like the sun.

”Are you busy this week?” He considered texting you the question, but he was sitting in the cafe with you again and he just couldn’t wait any longer, half tempted to drag you out with him today.

You’re sitting opposite him in the empty shop, the closed sign bumping against the door. “Hmm.. don’t think so. My parents are taking over to give me a break.” He watches you eye the biscuit tin you leave out for him no matter how many times he insists that he doesn't always eat them, and passes you a bourbon. Your lips quirk up, a soft grin as you take a large bite into the chocolate biscuit, crumbs on your lips.

”A break huh? Well, if you haven't planned anything yet then why don't we go out?” You perk up instantly at that, a light clang of the teaspoon you just dropped on the table echoing out as the possibilities run through your head. Sure, you went to the farm and the winter festival with him, but actually going out? ..Is this a date?

“Where would we go?”

Before you know it, it’s Thursday and he’s wrapped you up in his jacket, the one he knows you love. Since you seemed to have such a great time at the festival, he figures he’d play it safe this time and take you to everyone’s favourite destination— the arcade. His decision is right, of course, confirmed by your eyes brightening as you step out of his car and he has to convince you to let him lock the car first before you start dragging him inside.

“Oooh! Let’s do the shooting!” You exclaim, pulling him along to the little booth and he picks up the fake gun, eyeing it with slight distaste. It’s not close to a real gun in the slightest, but he pushes that thought away as you grab the gun and pull a playful pose, pretending to look through the scope. “Alright, alright.” He places the coins into the slots, watching as the zombies start to approach.

Turning his brain off becomes increasingly easier with you, especially as you aren't afraid to express yourself or act the slightest bit silly, yelling at him to get the ones approaching you on the right. “Simon! I’m gonna die!” You squeal, still pretending your very best to act like a proper fighter as you dramatically move the gun around to aim at all the approaching enemies. “Got your back, love.” He mutters, already forgetting that these games are practically light work compared to anything he’s ever done before, his eyes locked onto the screen as he destroys anything coming your way. By the end of it, you’ve got your hands in the air as you cheer and even he’s grinning wide as possible.

What he didnt expect for you to call out to a random stranger, the woman’s head turning to your voice. “Excuse me, can you take a picture of us?” He has no time to argue, you’re already pulling the fake gun up to your face like some kind of secret agent all while he can hold it across his chest like he does on missions. The woman smiles and returns your phone, only for you to drag him away before he can say anything else.

The pair of you continue through the arcade, him even laughing when you fail to keep up with the dance game you insisted you were brilliant at. It’s not your fault he sneakily picked the hard mode to watch you scramble to get all the notes, but he won't admit that. Next, you drag him over to the air hockey table, a mischievous look on your face as you begin to rack up points like they’re nothing (only because you screamed “Ow!” and he immediately dropped his pusher). “That’s cheating.” You watch his eyes narrow and his stern voice comes through, and you immediately panic like a deer in headlights, eyes so wide you don't notice him pushing the puck straight into your goal. “Hey!”

This time he pulls you along, leading you to a new side of the arcade since it recently got refurbished and towards a booth that has a target behind the barrier. Curious, you raise an eyebrow before looking at the sign above. “Try beating me now.” Damnit, you know he’s smirking behind that mask and you’d be damned because watching him hurl every axe to the centre of that target had to be the definition of attractive. Unlike you, where the axe bounced off the target altogether whilst he tried his best not to stifle his laugh. It really was quite comical, the way you huffed under your breath as it continued to miss, only grazing the edge before bouncing off again. “I-it’s not funny!” He’s had to turn away from how hard he’s laughing right now, and you’re half tempted to give him a fake punch for that though you know he’d only just laugh harder. “Sorry, i’m sorry, i’ll teach you.”

He steps behind you, his hands curving over yours to help fix your lousy form into one that will definitely produce some better results. Well, at least it sticks this time.. on the edge of the target that is. “Simon!” You exclaim as he bursts out laughing again, thankful for his mask as his face is practically burning hot now. “Okay, okay—“ He adjusts you again, helping you tilt your arm back enough and aim it at the centre. Slowly stepping back, he signalls you to throw it. Your brows furrow as you concentrate, arm going a little further back before you throw it forward and it finally hits directly on the bullseye. “I did it! Look—“ You cheer, instantly spinning around to throw your arms tight around his middle as if it was something you’ve done a million times before, like it was something you’d have done for years. The touch immediately fries his harshly trained nerves, the muscles in his stomach tensing as he looks down at the sight of you squeezing him as hard as you possibly can— he can't say his stomach did not flip at least a little. You seem to notice, eyes quickly glancing up at him. Though, before you can stammer out an apology, he scoffs and pinches your cheeks. “Took you long enough.”

———

Exhausted from your escapades, he takes you to a diner. Well it’s barely anything like actual American diners but they make good burgers, so who can complain? You order your usual, and when Simon sees you eye the milkshake options for too long you end up with a tall glass of it in front of you. Meanwhile, he decides to go for something new for once, figuring the description was exaggerating, before he ends up with a giant hunk of a burger before him. “Oh.” The sight has you giggling far too much.

“Those two idiots knocked out right on me. You’d think they’re kids coming back from playcare the way they fall asleep anywhere.” He huffs, describing to you the less gruesome details of his recent deployment.

“Hmm.. Soap is the one with the mohawk right? And Gaz… the one who wears a cap all the time?” You ask, snickering from his story and he nods along, confirming your questions.

“Soap looks lively— well by what I've seen anyway. You said Gaz got his name for being quiet huh? I bet he’s one of those types who randomly have the best quips?”

Simon smiles behind the mask, intrigued by your new captivation about his teammates. Sure, he’s used to talking with you about whatever, just as he is with others. But he never really talked about himself much, at least not more than a few opinions on what he liked— he was far more interested in whatever you’d say. He just never considered you’d be so interested in what he’d say too. You’ve asked before, and he never paid much attention, but now you’re even remembering things from past conversations and expressing intrigue in his life. He might need to step outside to breathe properly again.

”Yeah, he’s definitely that type. Johnny barely wins an argument with him around; I think Cap’ even has a hard time defending himself.” You giggle again, stealing some of the ketchup from his plate with a swipe of your chip. “Do you see them all the time?”

“Yeah. Practically have our rooms right beside each other. We watch the football games in the common room.” He rolls his eyes when you coo at him, saying “aww” and smiling wide at him like he’s a kid who made his first friend or something. You really are an exception huh? He can’t even get all that mad at you when you look at him with curiosity swirling in your eyes.

“Why don't you come down with them sometime? You can bring them to the bakery.” You hum, licking the ketchup off your lip as you chomp down on your last bite of the burger. For some reason, he thought you were joking— would you really entertain a bunch of random men just for the sake of them being his friends? It didn't make sense; you didn't even know them, nor had you met more than one either. ”Pretty sure Johnny would eat all your pastries, love. It’s not worth it.”

“Well, I guess I'll just have to make extra that day then. I’m serious, y’know? Bring them around at your usual time, I'll have tea and the pastries ready.” Now that was unexpected; you were actually willing to give up some of your time to welcome his teammates, ones that he’s never even introduced you to before. Wait— did you think he was rude for not introducing you before?

”I did plan to introduce you at some point— they’re just… busy.” Wow, he actually fumbled his words for once, at this rate his chest will falter as well with the rate you keep surprising him with your genuineness. “Huh? I know, I just thought it’d be nice for them to relax a bit, have something sweet.” You hum, sipping your milkshake he bought for you, before passing the glass over to him and for some reason he doesn't hesitate, slipping your straw beneath his mask as he takes a sip himself.

He ignores the taste of your lipgloss that lingers.

—————

He drives you home soon after, walking you all the way up to your apartment door. You start slipping off your shoes, the time already growing late since you had only gotten to the arcade at five o'clock. He stands awkwardly in the doorway, knowing he should probably say his goodbyes and leave now— because he’s not yours, and you're not his.

Yet.

Your head turns, a brow raised at him curiously. “Won't you come in?” His words clog in his throat, wondering if he should accept the offer. Surely you’d be heading to sleep soon enough anyways, wouldn’t it only be an inconvenience to keep you up any longer? He’s conflicted, wanting to leave you be but ever since the last time he was here, he’s thought about your home more than he’s yearned for a second of rest, which is very often.

“It’ll be late if you drive all the way back to base now. You can just crash on my couch again.” Your hand finds his sleeve, pulling him inside before he can utter a sound against you, and closing the door behind him. “Thanks for today by the way. ..Do you wanna get brunch tomorrow too?”

He thought dating was meant to be taken slow, something that’d develop over weeks and dates were planned apart. Well, that’s how everyone said it worked. Now here you were, not even parting for him and asking for more of his time. Trying to hide the swelling of his pupils is impossible and he has to bend down to undo the laces on his shoes just to try. “Is that even a question? Of course.”

He stands once more, but you’re looking at him with lovestruck eyes, affection pouring out of every crevice as you grin and hug him again for the second time that day. “I knew you wouldn't say no. I’ll make us some tea after I get changed.” Your eyes crinkle again sparkling with something you don't even attempt to hide before you step on your tiptoes, pressing a kiss to his cheek where the mask doesn't quite cover.

Oh, so that’s what that look was—cheekiness, huh? Especially when you run away after that, scurrying into the bathroom as you snicker to himself. He looks up into the mirror in the hallway, realising his eyes have been struck wide.

————

You wander into the kitchen to start brewing the kettle, dressed in your favourite pajamas already whilst he heads to the bathroom to freshen up. He stares into your mirror, lingers of black paint still clinging onto his lashes. Should he take off his mask? It’s not like you haven't seen him sipping from his drink before, or even that time he fell asleep on the couch without pulling it down again. His fingers linger on the fabric, hesitating as his heart churns with the need to drop everything right now for you. His brain screams at him to act rationally but his gut tells him to take it slow, else he scares you off altogether. He sighs, conflicted, before a flash of light appears in the corner of his eye. Your phone had been left behind on the windowsill, a notification lighting it up. He picks it up so he can hand it back to you, only for it to flash again, the lock screen the picture of the two of you posing with your fake guns, your hand doing bunny ears behind his head. His own sits in his other hand, the picture of you with his stupidly oversized burger held up to your mischievous face flashing to life.

Maybe not today. But he’d definitely get you back for the surprise kiss, stepping out of the bathroom to sneak up behind you as you grab the milk from the fridge.

————-

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Taglist:

@hidden-treasures21 @bieberismysoulmate @gallantys @tessakate @galactict3a @krispymagazinepizza-blog @silas-aeiou @kupids-arrow @enfppuff @oydan @keytofu @vogueprincess

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost x you #simon ghost fluff #ghost fanfiction #ghost x you #ghost x female reader #ghost x reader #ghost x y/n #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #cod fanfic

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ak319 · 22 hours ago

Text

Dark A.M x fem!reader

-- ★ The Word of Claim ┃ ─𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟓─

Warnings/MDNI: Angst, slight fluff, abuse, extortion, mentions of non-con. // I don't condone such beheviour irl! Syno: Reunions you didn't expect. ✰ 9.2K.

★ Prev I concept m.list

Charles drove the wagon with steady precision, fast but careful. While you sat in the back, your body was frozen from the pain, and Grimshaw's firm grip was the only thing keeping you upright. The sharp, searing ache in your hand drowned out everything else, past grievances, and future fears. The only thing that existed was the torment of the present. The pain of the wound that you felt in your soul was more than physical.

At one point, as the wagon jolted over a rough patch, you caught yourself thinking, half delirious, half desperate, that maybe they'd have no choice but to amputate. The thought although exaggerated perhaps, wasn't entirely unwelcome. A missing hand might finally convince him to leave, to see you as damaged goods, no longer worth the effort. And no other man would dare approach you either.

But the idea of Arthur walking away, cutting his ties with you at last, made you laugh bitterly through clenched teeth. The absurdity of it. You knew better than to hope for an escape so simple.

You begged them, though, pleaded through the haze of agony. "Drop me off somewhere. Anywhere. Please." Your voice cracked, the words tumbling out in a rush, desperate to find even the faintest sliver of mercy.

But you already knew what the answer would be.

"We can't," Charles muttered, his voice steady but laced with quiet regret.

"Wouldn't do any good, you need to stop clinging on that hope. The sooner you accept....the less you suffer like this." Grimshaw added, her tone sharp this time, though there was something softer buried underneath, something she refused to show too openly. So she had finally said this too huh? Had become frustrated at your whining?.

Not surprised at all.

And deep down, you couldn't blame her. Grimshaw risking her place, her family, her sanctuary, for you? It wasn't a possibility.

When they finally laid you on a bed, the voices around you blurred a distant hum against the pounding in your head. The sheer relief of being off that wagon, of being around people, new people, people outside the camp, lulled you into the edge of sleep. The muffled chatter of the town filtered through the walls, a strange sort of comfort amidst everything.

But then...

Wait.

That voice. It tugged at something deep in your memory, something warm and long-forgotten. It couldn't be....could it?

Your eyes fluttered open as your body stiffened slightly. The familiarity of her tone, the way it carried... It was her. Edie. Your heart skipped a beat. Your Edie. A friend so close she might as well have been family once before everything fell apart. You had helped her financially and emotionally when she ran away from her family to pursue her dream of becoming a nurse, but never in your wildest dreams did you imagine she'd end up here.

Yet even as your soul surged with recognition and warmth, you forced yourself to stay still, to keep your expression calm. Pretend. Pretend you didn't know her. And damn her sharpness, because you knew she was clever enough to already be piecing it together, your circumstances, your forced silence. Her eyes didn't betray much, but you caught the faintest flicker of something. Understanding, surprise, sadness perhaps.

"What's happened here?. " she asked, her tone clinical but careful, as she put on her gloves.

Charles cleared his throat. "Uh... her hand. It's injured."

Edie nodded, her movements swift and efficient as she approached. Her eyes met yours briefly, just briefly, but it was enough to make your breath hitch. "I'll check, just relax." she said simply.

She took your injured hand in hers with a gentleness you hadn't felt in what seemed like forever. Her fingers worked quickly, inspecting, prodding lightly, and each touch sent sharp bolts of pain racing up your arm. You couldn't stop the hisses and whimpers that escaped your lips, but she shushed you softly, her tone soothing as if speaking to a child.

"Hm," she murmured, her focus entirely on your hand. "We'll need to set it properly. Possibly splint it, maybe more depending on how bad the break is." Her voice dipped slightly, quieter, as though addressing you directly. "Do you feel immense pain?"

Your voice came out barely above a whisper, trembling. "Y-yeah. Kind o-of....it's...it feels numb."

"Okay, this might hurt a bit but just trust me." Edie's voice was soft, almost soothing, as she prepared the syringe. The pinch of the needle barely registered in comparison to the ache that had taken over your hand. She moved efficiently, murmuring occasional reassurances as she began the procedure, but you couldn't focus on her words.

Instead, your gaze shifted to Grimshaw. She needed to be out of this fucking room.

Think (Y/N), think---

Your pitiful whimper grabbed her attention. "Yes, dear?" Grimshaw immediately leaned closer.

Thank God Charles was still in the lobby, out of earshot.

"I-I need... some cloth... y'know, for periods," you stammered, your voice barely audible over the pounding in your chest. "Some new ones... Charles brought less than I needed, so can you... go buy them? Arthur gave you money, right?"

Grimshaw's expression flickered with hesitation, her lips pressing into a thin line. "I understand, but-"

Before she could finish, Edie looked up from her work, her sharp eyes meeting Grimshaw's. She nodded subtly, a silent exchange passing between them.

"Don't worry," Edie said, her tone firm but kind. "We'll take care of her. This might take a while anyway, so she'll be in good hands."

Grimshaw hesitated, glancing between the two of you, but Edie pressed on, her words leaving no room for argument. "Also, how about you grab some herbal medicines from the store while you're at it? We're out of stock here, and trust me, they're excellent for pain relief."

She turned her head slightly. "Marlee! Can you give this woman the names of those herbal pain relievers?"

A younger nurse appeared in the doorway, a slip of paper in her hand. "Here you go," she said, smiling and handing it to Grimshaw.

Grimshaw looked at the list and then back at you, her mouth tightening as if she wanted to argue. But after a moment, she nodded briskly. "Alright, I'll get what's needed."

The moment she left...

You both hugged tightly, and the dam you had been holding back for so long broke. Tears spilled freely as you sobbed into her shoulder, gripping her like she was the only tether to sanity in your chaotic world.

"(Y/N)..." Edie murmured, her voice trembling with emotion. "Oh God! I had heard what happened, from Edna. She told me what happened at your wedding. Otherwise, I wouldn't have---God, look at me." Her words stumbled over themselves, her hands gripping your shoulders to steady you and to take in the sight of you. "What have they done to you?! God...you look so different. Did he do this?!"

A faint nod was only what you could muster.

"Oh...my..." Edie's voice broke as she hugged you again, her arms wrapping around you with such ferocity, as if she could shield you from the horrors you had endured.

"The things they're saying about you and him back there-"

"D-don't! NO! Please!" you whimpered, pulling back, shaking your head frantically. "I don't wanna, I don't wanna go through this again! Please..."

Her face softened instantly, guilt flashing in her eyes. "I get it. I get it. I'm sorry. So sorry," she whispered, her hand brushing soothingly over your hair.

"Li-listen to me," you stammered, gripping her wrist tightly, desperation lacing your voice. "I'm gonna tell you the location, and you're going to my parents and telling them where I am, alright?"

Her eyes widened slightly, then hardened with determination. "Hm, got it. Got it, (Y/N). I'm with you."

"Have you been in contact with them though?"

"No," she admitted, frowning. "All of this...all the information about the tragedy, I got it from Edna through a letter. But don't you worry, okay? I'll go to Sable Creek today, right away. I promise."

And with that, you gave her the directions, which she quickly noted down before returning to bandaging your hand. Her voice dropped to a hush, soothing and steady, both of you painfully aware of Charles' presence just outside.

"Listen, take this too."

Before you could question her, Edie slipped something into your pocket, quick, deliberate, and leaving you no chance to inspect it.

"W-what-"

"It's for preventing pregnancy," she whispered sharply, her eyes darting to the door.

"Wha-" Your voice rose, but she cut you off with a firm glare.

"I'm doing this for you. What if you can't come back-"

"No, I get that, idiot," you hissed back, shaking your head. "But why would you even think, do you really think I'm gonna let him touch me? No way in hell!"

Edie's gaze softened, though her expression remained grave. "(Y/N)...speak facts here. What if he does? Would you be able to stop him?" Your eyes welled up as a shiver ran down your whole body. Painful whimpers shook your body. "I don't wanna hurt you but I am helping you by telling the truth. So be practical. It is for prevention and it is...taken after...God forbid-."

Your throat tightened due to fear and disgust but also realization as you had totally overlooked this part, and you couldn't stop the trembling in your voice. "G-got it. Thank you so much-"

"Shh...it's fine. Relax. Just take these herbs in a little amount with tea. Remember , little amount."

The door creaked open just then, and both of you instinctively fell silent, slipping into the facade of normalcy. Susan stepped in with a warm, reassuring smile, her voice soft as she began asking questions about your health.

And just like that, Edie had to step away.

When it was time to leave, you couldn't even say a proper goodbye to her. The ache in your chest was unbearable, but you swallowed it down, telling yourself it was fine. It had to be fine.

Because soon...soon, you would be free.

❀˖°

The shopkeeper glanced from the quiet, starry night outside to the tall, broad-shouldered man now examining a rack of ladies' clothing. It was an odd sight, this burly figure flipping through fabrics and inspecting delicate jewels as if weighing their worth.

"Need a hand, sir?" the shopkeeper asked, more out of curiosity than necessity.

"I'm good," the man replied, not looking up.

Fair enough. The shopkeeper watched as the man added a few dresses to his growing pile. This was turning into quite the shopping spree. Last customer of the night, and judging by the variety of items he was grabbing, jewels, perfumes, and now clothes, it seemed like he was sparing no expense.

Finally, the man strode up to the counter, dumping his haul unceremoniously. Without missing a beat, he pointed at a shelf behind the shopkeeper.

The shopkeeper followed his gesture. "The shampoo? Which one, strawberry or vanilla?"

"Both."

Damn.

"Your lady's a lucky one. Here you go," he remarked, handing over a neatly folded scarf as requested.

"She ain't. I am. Why you think I'm buyin' these?"

The owner chuckled at the response. "I bet, sir. Anything else?"

"Total."

The shopkeeper began tallying up, muttering numbers under his breath before hesitating. "All of this would be well... $200-"

Click.

"Now?"

"I-s-sir, don't-"

"Now?" Arthur lifted the revolver just enough for the shopkeeper to see the glint of silver, all while keeping it angled away from the store's windows.

The shopkeeper's face paled. "F-f-free!".

Arthur chuckled, a low, menacing sound. "That's what I like to hear. Now pack 'em. And properly. Otherwise, you're the one getting packed tonight."

"I-uh-yes! Please don't-" The shopkeeper's hands shook as he hurriedly wrapped everything, his eyes darting nervously to the gun and then to Arthur's face, hoping for some sign of mercy.

When the parcels were finally ready, the shopkeeper slid them across the counter. "T-there you g-go, sir."

"I'll take some chocolates too on the way out... if you don't mind of course." Arthur holstered his revolver with deliberate ease, taking his time as he gathered the packages. "Good night, Mister," he said smoothly, tipping his hat with a smirk before entering the cool night air.

❀˖°

Arthur went through the motions clinging to the routine like it might steady him. A nod by the fire. A stop at the camp fund box, tossing in whatever he had. A quiet word with Dutch, though neither of them really said anything, and then to Ms. Grimshaw...

"She'll be fine," Grimshaw said when he mentioned you, when he asked, low and almost ashamed, about your hand. "The doc said it'll heal, but it'll take time." She paused, a flicker of sympathy softening her sharp tone. " She's been... quieter. More than usual. Not eating...and just...holed up."

Arthur nodded solemnly, muttering his thanks, but the guilt in his chest only grew heavier.

Time. Healing. Pain.

He hated every damn word of it.

"Bill," The man glanced over from the fire, raising an eyebrow. "What?"

Arthur stopped a few paces away, crossing his arms. "Anything happen while I was gone? Any fights? Any trouble?"

"No. Ain't been much of anything. The camp's been quiet." He took a swig from his bottle and shrugged. "You'd think it'd be good for once, but it's been downright dull."

"You're sure?"

Bill sighed, waving a hand. "Yes, I'm sure. Nobody's said or done nothin'. Least, not that I know of."

Arthur didn't answer right away. He glanced back toward the tent, then shook his head. "And (Y/N)?"

"No screamin' or fightin' this time."

Arthur huffed at his words but nodded and finally, he reached his tent.

He stepped inside, bracing himself, his hands heavy at his sides. But instead of finding you curled under the covers, as he'd expected, you were sitting upright on the edge of the cot.

You didn't look up when he entered. Your shoulders were hunched, your bandaged hand resting in your lap as your uninjured fingers absentmindedly toyed with the edge of the fabric. Suki lay curled beside you, her head resting on your thigh, but you didn't seem to notice her either.

Arthur froze, his throat tightening. Seeing you like this, quiet, defeated, looking so damn small, hit him harder than any blow he'd ever taken.

Now what?

Stop being a coward, Morgan.

He cleared his throat, a low, awkward sound breaking the heavy silence. "Hey," he murmured, his voice softer than he intended.

You didn't flinch, but you still didn't look at him, your eyes fixed on your lap. And that, somehow, was worse. He took deliberate steps toward you, his thoughts muffled as he sat down beside you. Clearing his throat gently, he murmured, "I'm back... much to your dismay." He awkwardly held up the bags of gifts, his grip tightening as he noticed your lack of reaction.

Suki perked up, her tail curling up faintly, and Arthur nearly smiled. At least she seemed calm.

His eyes drifted to you again, your figure still hunched and quiet, and his heart clenched. "(Y/N)? You... okay?" He reached out hesitantly, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face, his hand lingering near your cheek. What surprised him most was that you didn't recoil, didn't push him away or claw his hand off. The absence of resistance stung more than rejection.

"I... lost myself that night," he muttered, his voice thick with regret. "I... I am sorry. You jus' said his name and I-how can I just...listen to that. You need to understand. That is not something I will tolerate-"

"You were right." Your voice was steady but hollow, each word cutting through him like a blade. "Remember what you... said? That I had nothing.....That was true."

No.

His heart twisted painfully.

"I... I was a fool," you interrupted his spiraling thoughts, your tone flat and resigned. "A fool to think that as a woman... I could have anything."

"That's....not true," You have me. Arthur rasped, his hands curling into fists, but you didn't seem to hear him.

"I thought... one day, I'd be sitting where my dad is now," you continued, your gaze fixed on some far-off point as if you were speaking more to yourself than to him. "I thought I'd build something... be someone."

Arthur froze, his hands curling around the bags as his chest tightened. He didn't know what to say. Stop it. The pain he felt hearing the emptiness in your voice was too much. He didn't like this. He didn't like it one bit seeing you like this. It broke him more than he ever thought it could.

"Please..." he murmured, his voice soft and almost desperate. "Look what I brought for you." His movements were rushed, almost clumsy, as he went to the hamper like an eager child, pulling out items and presenting them to you with trembling hands.

"Look, everything you told me you like," he said, his voice gaining a pleading edge. "Your favorite chocolates, the ones you liked as a child, they were so hard to find but I got em', and... look at this. This set. It's yours." He held it up, a delicate piece of jewelry, then a neatly folded fabric, but his eyes weren't on the gifts anymore. They were on you, on the way you sat there, unmoving, fragile. That's when it hit him.

You looked...weaker.

"Did you eat at all when I was gone?" His voice dropped lower, tinged with worry, but you didn't respond. "(Y/N)? Look here, at this stuff while I go and bring food, okay?"

He waited for a moment, hoping, praying for even a flicker of acknowledgment. But there was nothing, and his patience snapped.

Arthur hesitated for a moment outside the tent, running a hand over his face. Something wasn't right, he could feel it in his gut. You hadn't spoken much, barely reacted to his presence, and now that he thought about it, the whole camp felt quieter than usual. Your silence was the loudest thing he encountered till now.

"Arthur! C'mere!."

"Yes...Dutch?" Arthur's reply was quieter, his eyes darting to Molly, who sat quietly on the cot behind Dutch, who returned his nod.

"Well, you weren't here...and the girl, y'know, I just couldn't bear to see the state she was in. So...I took her to see her parents. Hosea and I handled it."

Arthur's stomach dropped.

They what?

"Dutch--but why?-"

"What? Got a problem?"

"No- I just-"

"She needed that, Arthur. A proper closure. And... needless to say, due to certain rumors now circulating about you two... well, it's affected them. They think she should stay here. For the better. And that's all it took for her father to say this and for her to shut herself...." Dutch trailed off, but the implication was clear. "She hasn't eaten or spoken since."

Is that why you said all that..?

Arthur felt the blood drain from his face. He wanted to yell, to demand why Dutch had taken such a step without him, but... what could he say? Maybe Dutch had meant well, he always means well, and maybe it was for the best, but knowing what you must've heard, the rejection from your family, the weight of those rumors... it crushed him. How could you bear it? He couldn't fathom. He should have been the one who took you. Guess, it was for the better, it would have been worse if he had been there.

"Yes... Dutch," Arthur muttered, barely finding his voice.

Dutch's hands clapped onto Arthur's shoulders, his grip firm but meant to be comforting. "I care for you all, alright? She's part of us now, Arthur. And I want you to be happy, too, son. Just... take care of her. Make sure she's eating, resting, and you need some rest yourself."

Arthur nodded stiffly, his lips twitching into a broken semblance of a smile. "I will."

"And, um..." Dutch paused, tilting his head slightly. "Also, Mr. (L/N), well, I came to know he's facing some problems with the O'Driscolls. So I figured it'd be best to offer some help. And the price would only be that he stops funding Pinkertons to find us. What do you think about that?"

Arthur blinked, his breath hitching. "W-what? Since when?"

"Just some days ago before the girl's wedding was about to happen. When we went to meet him, he brought it up. Turns out, it's true. So, what do you say? We help him out? After all, they're your in-laws now, aren't they, boy? And getting rid of those pieces of shit is always worthwhile."

Arthur swallowed hard, forcing himself to nod. "Yes, Dutch. 'Course. I'll do it myself if I have to."

But the words felt hollow, like he was agreeing to something he couldn't quite understand. All he could think about was you, what you'd heard, how you felt, and how he could even begin to make it right. But somehow he also felt responsible and protective of your family. It's the least he can do...after this. Protecting them...was protecting you, you were once a part of them.

"I know you can. But remember the boys and I are here as well so when things get too much, we are available. Maybe (Y/N) will appreciate that too, y'know. See? We can be all nice when we wanna be." Dutch leaned back with a satisfied smirk. "I'll keep you updated if I hear anything about the 'Driscoll boys. Now, go on, go to your girl."

Arthur gave a brief nod, his jaw tight, and turned on his heel. He grabbed a bowl of stew from the fire, his movements mechanical as his thoughts churned.

He appeared back at the tent but you were under the covers already....and somehow he expected it...

Arthur hesitated for a moment, the bowl trembling slightly in his hands as he stood over the cot. "Here," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "You need to eat. Please, they told me you ain't swallowed a single bite. At least half...please."

Again no response which only left him the option to sigh and put it aside.

He wanted to say more, to bring up the meeting with your parents. But the words caught in his throat. How could he comfort you about something that, in some twisted way, he had set into motion? The rumors, the whispers, the decisions made without you or him, it all tied back to him, to his mistakes.

He took out his journal, desperate to get these thoughts out of his mind as he began scribbling.

"I miss you, (Y/N).

Miss your smile, your laugh, the way you’d go on and on about things and make jokes out of anything.

I know you miss it too. The life you should be living. Not this. Not with me. You should be wrapped in silk and drowning in gold, not stuck in the mud beside a man like me. You should be surrounded by normal people, not outlaws and killers. You should be sleeping in a fine bed, not lying awake beside the same bastard who ruined you.

But don’t you see? The more you fight it, the more you tear yourself apart. And I can live with a lot of things. I can live without your laughter, without your warmth. But I won’t live with you shutting yourself away from me.

And you, you, should’ve known better than to utter another man's name..."

His pencil halted as he realized what he had written. His mind had gone in another direction. The other side. The one he hated to acknowledge but couldn't ignore. A primal side that found a grim satisfaction in the fact that your parents had pushed you away. That closure, painful as it was, came from them. Maybe now, with nowhere else to turn, you'd stop clinging to the past and start... accepting this. Accepting him. He hated himself for the thought, but it lingered all the same, buried beneath layers of guilt and shame.

It was necessary.

Shutting his journal he laid down beside you. He wanted to reach out, to hold your hand, to apologize, hell, to beg if that's what it took.

"I know... it ain't easy," he murmured after a long pause, his voice rough with emotion. "But... I'm here, alright? Always will be."

But who was to tell him that the real truth was a trip that had resulted in you having a gun barrel pointed at your head.

❀˖°

Few days ago.

It was the third day since he had left and thank God he still wasn't back, nobody told you when he would be and you didn't give a fuck to ask anyway. The camp was...empty almost. Dutch, Hosea, and the women resting in their places. The boys had been sent away to different jobs. Oh yes, Bill was here too.

That's why you now sat beneath the shade of a tree, a book resting in your lap, one you had finally felt sane enough to read. Suki lounged by your side, her soft purring a rare comfort. She got it so easy huh? Free to go wherever... whenever. An animal is in a better place than you. But even as you tried to focus on the words on the page, your mind refused to stay quiet.

Did Edie make it? Did she tell your parents? And if she did...why-

A sharp cough pulled you from your spiraling thoughts, accompanied by the faint smell of a cigar. You didn't even need to look up to know who it was, the shadow looming over you confirmed it.

One bitch out of camp, so what? The bigger one's still here.

"Ms. (Y/N), there. Happy?" Dutch greeted, his tone casual as he crouched down, extending a hand to pet Suki, who sniffed him indifferently.

"I wanted to..." He trailed off for a moment, the smirk transformed into a complete look of shame, shocking you.

"To ask you something," he finally continued, his eyes meeting yours. "I feel like maybe I was a bit harsh that day. So, as a form of compensation...How about I take you to meet your parents?"

No way.

"Wh-what?"

"Yeah. You ready?"

"But--Arthu-

"He isn't here and he won't be for a few more days. I figured you both needed a break, so I sent him for a good amount of time. No need to thank me." He stood up with a gentle smile.

"See? I can be nice. Now, missy get up and I'll be waiting for you at the stables."

Slowly, you made your way back to the tent, Suki trailing at your heels. But as the hope began to settle, so did the gnawing pit of anxiety bubbling in your stomach. What if this was some trick? Or worse, what if this wasn't?

You sank down onto the edge of your cot, your hands trembling slightly. For a minute, you just sat there, staring at nothing in particular, trying to calm the storm that raged inside you.

Wait.

What if... you go there and, like-

Breathe.

Your mind spiraled, the what-ifs circling like vultures. If Edie had already informed your parents, you shouldn't even be here right now. This could have been the perfect time for help to arrive. Arthur isn't around, but now Dutch is offering to take you there himself?

But then again... what if Dutch finds out about Edie through your parents?

No. You shook your head, forcing yourself to breathe deeply. You're overthinking. Relax. Your parents aren't fools. They would know how to handle themselves.

Just... get ready and leave.

Still, the pit in your stomach didn't ease. It churned with a deep unease, one you couldn't shake even as you tried to calm yourself.

You sat stiffly behind Bill as the three of you finally reached town. The journey to Sable Creek had taken half an hour or so, but your home was still a few minutes away. The familiar surroundings should've been comforting, but the unease bubbling in your chest refused to settle. How would your parents react and...how would you calm yourself in front of them?. The pain was bubbling over the surface, ready to be spilled in the form of tears and broken words in their embrace.

"Why are we stopping here?" you asked, your voice cautious as you slid carefully off the horse, mindful of your injured hand.

Dutch dismounted gracefully, tying up his horse with practiced ease. "A work needs to be done first. C'mon."

You shared a hesitant glance with Bill, who offered a grunt in response, ignoring you completely.

The building in front of you came into view, and your brows furrowed. A notary office?

You knew the place well enough, Mr. Mason was the officer, and you'd been here before for work-related errands. But what on earth could Dutch, of all people, want at a notary office? The man and legalities seemed as mismatched as oil and water.

"Appointment?"

"You can go in now. Mr. Mason is awaiting you," the receptionist announced to him with a polite smile.

As the three of you entered, Dutch greeted Mr. Mason first. "Oh, Ms. (Y/N), a pleasure to meet you," Mason said, gesturing awkwardly toward a chair. "Um, please, have a seat."

Warily, you lowered yourself into the chair opposite Dutch, who was already leaning back with somewhat a serene expression. Whilst, Bill lingered quietly near the wall.

"So," Dutch began, exhaling a puff of smoke from his freshly lit cigar, "let's get to business, shall we?"

"What is going on here?" you interrupted, turning your gaze sharply to Mason. "Mr. Mason? Care to explain? You know him?"

Mason hesitated, smoothing the papers on his desk with trembling hands. "Well, yo-u could say, Ms. (Y/N), that we are... acquaintances-"

"Excuse me?"

"Now, now," Dutch cut in smoothly, waving his cigar like he was conducting a symphony. "Calm yourself, missy. Let's just get the work done, shall we?"

Before you could respond, Mason pulled out a stack of documents, sliding them across the desk toward you and Dutch. Also, you didn't fail to see a certain...a certain fearful look in Mr. Mason's eyes too, the most jolly man you had come across. Your stomach churned as you reached for them instinctively, your fingers trembling as you flipped through the pages.

Dutch, unbothered, leaned back in his chair, puffing his cigar as if this was just another leisurely evening for him.

Your eyes darted across the bold lettering,

PROPERTY TRANSFER AGREEMENT

Grantor: Ms. [Y/N] [L/N] (hereinafter referred to as "Grantor").

Grantee: Dutch Van der Linde (hereinafter referred to as "Grantee").

Your breath hitched.

"What. The. Hell. Is. This?" you demanded, glaring at Mason, then at Dutch, who remained infuriatingly calm.

"Huh!?" Your voice trembled, the words barely forming as your eyes scanned the papers again. "What is this?".

Your hands trembled as you scanned the document again.

Your land. The plot in Cinderpoint. Nearly an acre of pristine property, yours. A perfect spot, rich with greenery, near the railway. And you knew exactly why Dutch was doing this.

He could afford to buy land elsewhere, hell, in the Heartlands, where an acre went for as little as fifteen dollars. Even this plot wasn't much more, maybe four hundred and fifty at most.

But this wasn't about money.

It was about being on the safe side.

He wasn't buying it and being a criminal he couldn't, that was too risky and too much work but having it "granted" ...it couldn't be easier.

And by having the deed, in his name, Dutch gained three things, legal cover of course, on paper, the land would belong to him, resale power, he could do as he pleased with it, and worst of all, long-term security if he planned to develop it, which you feared was his real goal.

No. This can't be happening.

"Now, (Y/N), listen," Dutch began smoothly, leaning forward with that predatory calm that made your stomach churn. "What we're doing here is mutual business. Since you live with us now, it's only natural, makes sense, really--that your property remains safeguarded. With us. With you. No?."

"You son of a bitch!" You exploded, slamming the papers onto the desk with your uninjured hand. "You think I'd hand over my assets? To you!? Are you out of your damn mind? This is mine! And what the fuck do you mean by 'safeguard,' huh? Just say it, say you're fucking looting me! You need it because then the law can't arrest you for illegal occupation!"

"Ms. (Y/N)-" Mason began nervously, his voice faltering under your glare.

"No! You---shut up! How can you do this, Mr. Mason? You... you know Dad, right? I've-I've worked with you. Please, don't listen to these people."

Dutch chuckled darkly, dragging his chair closer with a deliberate scrape against the wooden floor. "I'd say the sooner we get done with it, the better, darlin'. I am doing this for all of us. Including you. And looting? I prefer the term, 'acquire'."

He leaned in, his leg brushing against yours, boxing you in completely. You were trapped between his looming presence and the desk, his cigar smoke curling lazily around you like a noose.

Just then, the door burst open.

Another man entered, blond, with the weirdest mustache you'd ever seen.

"Ah, Micah, come on in," Dutch drawled, not even glancing up. "We just got started."

Micah smirked, his sharp eyes flicking to you like a predator sizing up its prey.

"Did the bitch agree yet?"

Your breath caught in your throat. The sheer disgust and fear this man evoked made your skin crawl.

"W-who th-!"

Before you could finish, the back of his hand cracked across your face. The impact sent you reeling, stars bursting in your vision.

"P-please, don't treat her like this," Mason stammered, standing abruptly. "Please-"

"Did we ask for your permission? And I am gonna do much worse to your wife Masey, now sit down!"

Your ears rang. The world tilted, your vision blurred by pain and humiliation.

Then, warm breath ghosted over your ear.

Micah's hand gripped your chin, forcing your face upward. His voice dripped with mockery.

"Arthur must be coddling you like some baby, but not us, sweetpea. We are, you could say... a bit tougher. So how about you be a good girl and sign-"

"Go to hell."

With a sharp snarl, you clawed at his hand, drawing a hiss from him.

You didn't hesitate.

Your fingers darted for the pen on the desk, gripping it tight, ready to stab-

Click.

"Sweetheart, cursing ain't gonna get you anywhere." Dutch's voice dripped with mockery, smooth and unbothered, as if this were all just a friendly transaction.

The cold barrel of his revolver pressed hard against the side of your head.

He winked at Micah, who stood right behind your seat, his hands gripping the back of the chair, fingers just barely grazing your shoulders.

Bill remained silent. Micah, on the other hand, let out a wheezing chuckle.

Your pulse pounded in your ears. Never in your life had you felt so... degraded. So helpless. Locked in a room with three men who could do whatever they wanted with you.

"It's just paperwork," Dutch continued, as if the gun against your skull was merely a formality. "Sign it, and you can rest easy knowing your little patch of paradise is in safe hands."

Safe hands.

"I am not doing it. I am NOT giving you as-sholes anything! You tricked me into coming here?! How low can you possibly go?!"

Micah clicked his tongue, then suddenly grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back.

You flinched, a sharp gasp escaping you as you thrashed against his hold.

"Now, now, Micah," Dutch drawled, not even looking at him.

Micah scoffed but obeyed, his grip loosening before he shoved your head forward again.

"As you say... boss."

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to steady your breath. Your heart told you to fight, but logic whispered otherwise. You were outnumbered. Cornered. And Dutch still had his gun pressed against you.

For now, you had no choice but to play along.

But for now wouldn't last forever. You prayed. God is with those who are patient, right? You have to remain strong.

Be strong...please.

"We're not leaving this building until you sign. And as for Mr. Mason here, well, sweetheart, it doesn’t take much to bribe a government officer… or to persuade him through other means." He exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, letting it curl in the air between you. "So, what’s it gonna be? Are we doing this the civil way, or…" So that's why Mr. Mason looks disturbed. The bitter scent of his cigar filled your lungs, making you gag.

"You don't know half the things I'm capable of. Don't worry, though, you'll learn everything soon enough and then you will be thanking me. Now, sign the papers, or I'll blow your brains out right here. And after that... let's just say that poor little cat back at camp won't be so lucky either-"

"Don't! Le-eave her outta this! Ple-ase!.."

"Sobbing isn't going to change anything, so quit it. Just. Sign. The. Damn. Papers."

"You'll regret this. One day... you'll pay for t-his, you animals."

With trembling hands, tears streaming down your face, you signed.

...Done.

Just like that?

Your heart pounded, a dull, heavy ache in your chest as Dutch slid the pen from your grasp, his smirk stretching wider, the smirk of a winner.

"Wasn't so hard, was it now, pumpkin?" Micah sneered. His voice, his breath, everything about him made your skin crawl. He finally stepped back, standing behind Dutch this time, watching him sign with a look of twisted satisfaction.

When will this end?

"There. All done," Mason muttered, clearing his throat. His movements were stiff, reluctant, but he stamped the papers nonetheless, finalizing the transfer of your land.

He slid them across the desk. "There you go, Mr. Van der Linde."

Dutch leaned back, examining the documents with a pleased nod before turning his gaze to Mason. "And the security matter?"

"Handled," Mason confirmed, though his tone lacked enthusiasm. "You won't have any problems with the law. My contact's taken care of it, and your real name won't be on record.. Just present these original documents, and that'll be proof enough. After that, you can use any alias you want, so if the law comes sniffing around, they won't have a clue. And even if you use your real name, they can't just arrest you for owning this land."

Dutch grinned, tapping a finger against the papers.

"Perfect."

Your head remained frozen in time.

Memories blurred into the present, forcing you back to that day, the day you turned twenty. The day your father handed you the deed with a proud smile. You had visited Cinderpoint once, offhandedly mentioning how much you liked it. That was all it took for him to make it yours.

And now... it was gone.

A sharp knock broke through the silence. The trio stirred, but you remained motionless, no more than a hollow shell in your chair.

Dutch chuckled, his voice thick with amusement. "Mhm. I think it's who I think it is. Well, gentlemen, let's give Miss (Y/N) some privacy. She does deserve this sweet reward now, doesn't she?"

Their laughter echoed as they shuffled out, the door creaking shut behind them. Muffled voices faded into the distance.

Your father who rushed in, didn't speak right away. He just looked at you really looked at you as if memorizing every bruise, every tear-streaked inch of your face. His lips parted, but whatever words he wanted to say never came. Instead, he reached out, hesitantly at first, before pulling you into his arms.

The moment his embrace tightened around you, he broke. A choked sob escaped him, his body trembling against yours as he buried his face into your hair. His breath came in ragged gasps, and you felt his tears soak into your shoulder.

"I failed you," he whispered hoarsely. "God help me, I failed you."

You wanted to tell him it wasn't his fault, that there was nothing he could have done. But the words wouldn't come.

Your hands clenched weakly at the fabric of his coat, gripping it as if holding on for dear life. He held you for what felt like forever, gently rocking you back and forth as your sobs wracked through your body. His calloused hand ran over your hair, smoothing it down like he used to when you were a child frightened by anything.

"Shh, my girl, my sweet girl. You're safe now. I'm here."

His words, meant to soothe, only made your chest tighten further. Safe? When had you last felt truly safe? His arms might have shielded you now, but what had been stolen from you, your land, your dignity, your freedom...it was too much...

You felt him take a deep, shuddering breath, willing himself to calm down before pulling away just enough to look into your eyes. He cupped your face, his thumbs wiping away the lingering tears on your cheeks. "Breathe with me, sweetheart," he whispered. "Just breathe. I am here."

You tried. Slowly, painfully, your ragged gasps evened out into something steadier. Your father did the same, his forehead pressing against yours for a fleeting moment of quiet understanding.

And then, at last, he spoke.

"Just... a month before your wedding, I began having trouble with some of my merchants and clients being robbed on the trade routes. I kept it a secret as I didn't wanna worry any of you, especially you. It was the O'Driscolls," he started, his voice heavy with regret. "So, of course, I began funding the Pinkertons to deal with them..."

He paused, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "And... after-" His voice broke as he wiped away a tear. "After they took you away from me, I began paying for you to be brought back too but...I was also suffering a lot of losses in business. The agency was demanding too much from me and doing so little. Then Dutch...came, and he told me I needed to stop. Instead of wasting my money on Pinkertons, I pay him half to...fight the Driscolls. If I didn't stop interfering, if I didn't pull them back, then the next shipment to disappear wouldn't just be goods. Dutch will also start looting my clients. Will kill them. It'd be...bloody. My men. My family. And especially you, (Y/N)...even you and I just-- I couldn't!"

His voice cracked slightly, but he forced himself to go on. "So I had a choice. Keep funding the Pinkertons, who were looting me in their own way, keep fighting against Colm who already had me by the throat, and risk losing everything... or cut my losses and trust that Dutch, twisted as he is, would at least keep to his word that he'd deal with the O'Driscolls himself for me...." He exhaled sharply as if disgusted by the words leaving his own mouth. "It wasn't much of a choice at all."

So...he is valuing his money right now? Is that what it is? You just can't understand anything at this fucking point.

He looked at you now, his eyes pleading. "Please, (Y/N)... you have to understand. I didn't just fold because I was scared. I did it because there was no winning against him. Not like this. And I want you to be safe among those vultures! I can't sleep knowing that...they might do something to you!"

"Stop it, Dad," you interrupted sharply, your voice trembling but firm. "Just stop."

He fell silent, his shoulders slumping as though the weight of it all had finally crushed him.

You reached for the glass of water on the table, the cold liquid doing little to soothe the fire raging inside you. Setting it down with a clink, you stood up, your gaze distant.

"You're giving up, aren't you? Edie must've come to you, and that's why you didn't send...any help? Because business is everything to you? You just believed his....silver tongue? He manipulated you Dad! That's all he did! That's all he knows to do!"

"(Y/N)-"

"You were my ideal dad." A whimper escaped your lips as you stepped back, your voice trembling with pain. "So perfect... I felt like the luckiest girl in the world. You weren't just my dad, you were my best friend. And now? You kept me in the dark about this?" You gestured around you, the betrayal evident in every movement. "Tell me, was staying here, this business, this country...was it worth more than me?"

"(Y/N), when I make decisions, I have to think of everyone," he replied, his tone heavy with pity and pain.

"Your mother-who, I might add, is still in trauma-and Rayan-"

"Was it worth it?!" you interrupted, your voice rising to a shout that reverberated through the room.

"Leaving and starting over from scratch isn’t easy. And right now, with the recent robberies, it’s even worse. My most valuable clients… they’ve lost trust in me, (Y/N). And of course, they’ve heard about the whole incident." He exhaled sharply, frustration lacing his words. "Now they think I was in bed with outlaws all along, that I’ve been using them to loot, to scam them, God, it’s all a mess." His voice wavered, quieter now, but no less burdened. "That I gave you away… as some kind of prize-"

"Stop."

"Not just me, (Y/N)… you too. You were my partner, after all. They’re raising questions-"

"Were?"

A heavy pause.

God...

Your chest burned with the new, agonizing reality that settled in, your breaths coming in shallow bursts as you stepped back, as far from him as you could, though the room felt like it was closing in. The space between you both, once filled with warmth and trust, was now an abyss you couldn't cross.

"These people... they may be heartless," you continued, your voice trembling, "they may have destroyed me because that's what they do. They're criminals, Dad. Bu-t you? You were supposed to be my father. You were supposed to p-rotect me."

He opened his mouth to speak, but his words faltered, breaking on the edge of his throat. "I still am, what more can I do?! I am stuck here." he pleaded.

"No, you're not! You did not..." The words tore from you like a scream trapped in your chest. "If you had, I would've been in my house. In the arms of Mom. Not with a gun to my head, not being tossed around like a ragdoll by a man who calls himself my husband! I thought...you are the most capable man to do that...Dad. There must have been a way! You always had a s-solution for everything! Taught me everything and yet... " Tears blurred your vision as you looked at him, your voice trembling with fury. "Do you see this? He-he did this! And now this? You're giving up everything for this?" You gestured wildly, as though you could point to the ruin of everything he had once stood for.

His face twisted in pain, the guilt heavy on his brow. "Forgive me, but... I can't. You have to accept reality, (Y/N). If you don't--if I don't-then we're all dead. At the hands of either Dutch or that bastard Colm. I can't suffer more losses. I don't even know anymore what's right or wrong. These people--they're targeting everyone. And you...you were too supposed to be sensible. Did I raise you to hang around with an outlaw? And tell me... tell me why? Why did you--Doreen told us about you meeting Arthur! Why did you? Why did you let it go that far? Your mother even warned you! Do you know how disappointed she is? Where were your senses at the time?! How can you be so foolish (Y/N)?! You took advantage of our trust!. And this went on for a whole year?! Then what the hell did you expect?!". His voice cracked with now anger and confusion.

The rush of guilt hit you like a wave, and your hands shook, gripping the armchair in an attempt to steady yourself. You shook your head, frantic. "I--I know! It's ALL MY FAULT, isn't it?!" The tears came then, hot and fast, as your chest heaved with the helplessness and sorrow you couldn't contain. "Oh my God. I can't..." Your vision blacked out for half of a second making you nearly fall on the table.

"(Y/N)?!" His voice cracked with concern, and he moved closer steadying you. "I'm sorry. Please, don't..."

"No....I am sor-ry...M' so sorry. I shouldn't h-ave..."

Your words, your hurt, they couldn't be contained. And so, you let them spill out in a torrent, once again in his chest, not caring anymore whether he understood or not.

"Omar?" Your voice softened, cracking as you remembered the horrifying day once again. "Omar, Papa-?"

"Dear..." His voice faltered, a tear slipping down his cheek as he tried to explain. "He--he tried. He tried to find you. But his family... they weren't having it...weren't happy he was in contact with me and the law regarding you and just....took him to another state with them. They left. But he... he did try. I know he still loves you."

Not for long...he'd find someone else, a normal woman, with good reputation, with no connection to any gang and live happily ever after...

"At least he... tried," you muttered bitterly, pulling away from him. Your chest tightened, the ache inside growing deeper, suffocating you.

He pulled you closer, his fingers trembling against your arms. "Please, (Y/N)... one day, things will be different. I promise. I-I’ll find a way. When I can afford it. These people will be caught, and you’ll come back. I know you will. We will never turn you away."

Empty words. Promises...

"So… it’s your clients, then? Your business. Society mattered to you, after all-"

"Yes, one way or another, it does. It was a tragedy the first time, something we could all move past. But this time, you chose to be part of it. You shouldn’t have, dear. You shouldn’t have."

You see it now. He isn’t fighting for you, he’s asking you to accept it. To wait. To bear it for as long as necessary. Maybe forever.

It's over.

"Do you--are you hearing yourself? I can't take it... papa. I ca-n't-"

A loud smack on the door made you both jump. It was no less than a siren, indicating your return to hell.

This is it then...

A strained silence filled the room as you both matched eyes one last time, your heart heavy, more broken than it was before. There was nothing else that could be said to lessen the pain, no wish to be made, no comfort to be found. And here you thought you might have had a peaceful reunion with your family...

"Tell Mama and...Rayan...I love them."

❀˖°

The ride seemed endless, the hooves pounding against the dirt road a cruel rhythm to the vile words surrounding you. How long were you supposed to endure this? These men... these animals.

It wasn't until the camp came into view that he cornered you again, this time pinning you against Bill's horse. And you, despite the trembling in your hands, met his hardened glare with all the strength you could gather.

"If he can break one hand, I can do worse."

"Dutch!? What are you, stop it! And you both--fuck off!" Hosea came running, intervening immediately. He stepped between you both, and his voice panicked. He shoved Bill and Micah away. "Why didn't you inform me before leaving Dutch?! I was gonna go too! You couldn't let me-" But Dutch silenced him with only a lift of his hand.

"Not everything needs to be handled with gentleness, Hosea. And make sure she understands," Dutch said, his voice cold. "Listen here now, Arthur, he's not to get wind of this. Nobody does. You keep it to yourself missy. He'll know when I want him to know."

"Now you see everything, don't you?" Dutch's voice dripped with mockery. "Your father is practically grateful to me for agreeing to defend his caravans from the O'Driscoll boys. So you'd better be grateful, too. Because if your family can eat and sleep safely to this day and comin' ones, it's because of me."

"You see these people?" Dutch gestured toward the camp. "They have my name attached to them. You are a Van der Linde first and a Morgan second. That means you listen to me. And you'd better damn well listen because if you think for a second I can't harm your family, you're sorely mistaken."

His words hung in the air, suffocating and filled with poison. They twisted the air around you, wrapping themselves around your chest, making it hard to breathe.

"But trust me, you'll come to realize this is all beneficial for you, too. When I build on the land, I'll make sure you and Arthur get the most spacious room. After all, you deserve nothing else."

A gasp of pain escaped you as Dutch left, Hosea's voice drowning around you. His hands reached out to comfort you, but you violently shrugged them off, backing away, further and further, until you were now curled into a cocoon on the cot, shaking like a leaf.

Vultures.

Selfish.

Greedy sons of bitches.

That’s all they are. That’s all they will ever be.

❀˖°

The night was deathly quiet, the kind of silence that gnawed at his insides. Arthur lay on the cot, staring at the ceiling of the tent, listening to the faint rustle of the wind outside and the soft, uneven sound of your breathing. You were finally asleep, or at least, he thought so.

He couldn't stop seeing your face from earlier, the emptiness in your eyes, the way you barely reacted to anything he said or did. It haunted him. That hollow look, sunken eyes, that broken silence, it wasn't you.

Arthur shifted, propping himself up slightly to look at you. Your hair was a mess, splayed across the pillow, your bandaged hand resting limply near your face. Even in sleep, your brows twitched, as if the hurt followed you there too.

It was unbearable.

His hands trembled slightly as he moved closer. He didn't care if you woke up, didn't care if you lashed out, screamed, hit him. Hell, maybe he deserved that. But he wasn't going to let you lay here like this, drowning in whatever torment--- the world, had handed you that day.

Arthur slipped an arm around your waist, his touch cautious at first, but then firm. He pulled you into his warmth, pressing you close, his chin resting lightly against the back of your head. His heart pounded against your back as if it could somehow beat hard enough to protect you from the woe and despair that were clawing at you.

You stirred slightly, before settling again. Arthur's breath caught, but he didn't loosen his grip. He couldn't. He wouldn't. Even if you woke up and pushed him away, even if you cursed him for this, he couldn't let you go. Not when you needed this, even if you didn't want it.

He tightened his hold, his hand smoothing over your arm in slow, steady motions, as though trying to will away the hurt through sheer proximity. "I gotchu," he whispered against your hair. "I gotchu, darlin'."

You're not gonna sleep so broken. Not after whatever you heard back there.

─AN: Interactions are always appreciated and I will always love reading your guys' comments. To be added or removed from the tag list you can mention it. I hope this chap fed you guys well-〒▽〒 (●'◡'●)

★ tag list: @m1stea @warmsideofthepillow03 @thatoneraeder @marzintears @nxttaru @cazzacarm @she-is-my-unrequited-love34 @nulixity @poll-u @bajabish @cheesycheddarr @luzzbuzz @dilfsarelife @ninastyless @claire-is-here @raeraypoca @hopingtoclearmedschool @lain3iwakura @bashfulcowgirl87 @catjsashrine @bipolarbitties @lizynownow @littlebirdgot @heloixe @summerdazed @meheheasasa @necktattooed @jbrownta

72 notes · View notes

aspenmissing · 2 days ago

Note

Jayce x Reader experience their first times in a relationship, like: Their first kiss / the first time saying "I love you" / The first time telling someone, that they're in a relationship / Etc.

With much fluff and comfort 🫶

ᴏᴜʀ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛꜱ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ || 3505 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ʙʀɪᴇꜰ ᴀʀɢᴜᴍᴇɴᴛ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ!! ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴜᴛᴇꜱᴛ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴇᴠᴇʀ! (ɪ ᴍᴀʏ ᴏʀ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴅᴏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ) ɪ ᴅᴏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ!!!

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ

FIRST DATE

Jayce had insisted on something simple. No extravagant dinners, no fancy galas—just the two of them, somewhere quiet.

So, they ended up on the rooftop of one of Piltover’s tallest buildings, a picnic laid out between them. The city glittered below, its golden lights stretching out in all directions, while above them, the stars flickered faintly against the vast night sky. The wind carried the distant hum of airships and the occasional burst of laughter from the streets far below, but up here, it was just them.

“This is nice,” Y/N admitted, leaning back on her hands, letting the cool evening air kiss her skin.

Jayce chuckled. “You sound surprised.”

She tilted her head. “I just expected something… grander. This is surprisingly thoughtful.”

He scoffed, nudging her with his knee. “I can be thoughtful, you know.”

She smirked. “I’m just saying, Councilman.”

Jayce rolled his eyes but grinned anyway. He watched her for a moment, something soft and unreadable in his gaze before he reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered just a second longer than necessary. “I just wanted to spend time with you. No distractions. No responsibilities.”

Y/N felt her heart stutter, a warmth creeping into her chest that had nothing to do with the blanket wrapped around her shoulders. It wasn’t like this was their first time alone together, but somehow, this was different. More deliberate. More real.

“Well,” she murmured, a small smile playing at her lips, “mission accomplished.”

Jayce exhaled, something like relief flickering across his face before he leaned back on his elbows, staring up at the stars. “You know, when I was a kid, I used to think the city lights were brighter than the stars. That they were better somehow.”

Y/N turned her head to him, curiosity flickering in her eyes. “And now?”

He was quiet for a beat before glancing at her, his warm brown eyes reflecting the sky. “Now, I think they don’t even come close.”

She swallowed, her fingers curling slightly against the fabric of her sleeve.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The city hummed beneath them, a world of expectations and duty waiting below, but up here, it didn’t matter. Up here, they could just be Jayce and Y/N, two people caught somewhere between what was and what could be.

Jayce shifted closer, his shoulder brushing against hers, and she found she didn’t mind the closeness. In fact, she welcomed it.

Maybe this thing between them was still new, still uncertain.

But in this moment, under the starlit sky, it felt like the start of something neither of them would ever want to forget.

FIRST "I LOVE YOU"

It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t grand. It just… happened.

Jayce was hunched over his desk, deep in thought, his brow furrowed as he muttered under his breath. The dim glow of the lamp cast warm shadows across his face, highlighting the exhaustion clinging to his features. He had been at it for hours, tools scattered haphazardly around him, notes filled with scribbled equations stacked precariously to one side.

Y/N, watching from the doorway, sighed softly. She knew how he got like this—wrapped up in his work, pushing himself past reason. Without a word, she stepped forward and set a warm cup of tea beside him.

Jayce glanced up at the quiet gesture, his tired eyes immediately softening at the sight of her. He reached for the cup, fingers curling around the warmth, and let out a slow breath.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he murmured, the words slipping out so naturally, so effortlessly, that he barely noticed them. Then, without a second thought—“Love you.”

The pen in Y/N’s hand nearly snapped in half.

Jayce blinked, suddenly registering what he had just said. The gears in his head ground to a halt, panic flickering across his face. His grip on the cup tightened.

“Uh—”

“I love you too.”

Silence.

Thick and brimming with something unspoken, something fragile yet overwhelming. The weight of those three little words lingered between them, hanging in the air like static before a storm.

Jayce stared at her, stunned, before his lips parted, his expression shifting from shock to something softer—something so utterly full of warmth it made her chest ache.

Then, he smiled.

Not his usual confident grin, not the smirk he wore in the Council chambers or the easy one he flashed in passing. No, this was different. It was wide and bright, filled with something raw and real, and it made Y/N’s heart stutter in her chest.

“Yeah?” His voice was quiet, almost hesitant, like he needed to hear her say it again.

She let out a breathless laugh, shaking her head. “Yeah.”

Jayce exhaled, relief and happiness flooding his features, and in the next second, he was pulling her into his arms, burying his face in her shoulder. His body was warm, solid, his embrace something that felt like home.

“You just… said it,” she mumbled against his shoulder, half in disbelief, half in awe.

He huffed a laugh. “You did too.”

Y/N smiled, closing her eyes, breathing him in. Maybe it hadn’t been planned, maybe it hadn’t been some grand declaration—but maybe, just maybe, this was better.

Because it was them. And it was real.

FIRST KISS

It happened during one of their late-night walks through Piltover’s upper districts. The streets were quieter at this hour, the usual bustle of the city dimmed to a peaceful hum. Gas lamps lined the walkways, casting a golden glow over the cobblestone streets, and the crisp night air carried the faint scent of metal and oil from the distant workshops.

Jayce had been rambling about something—an experiment gone wrong, a prototype behaving unpredictably—but exhaustion clung to his voice, slowing his usual enthusiasm. Y/N had been content to listen, enjoying the rhythmic sound of his voice, until he nearly tripped over his own feet mid-step.

She caught his arm instinctively, steadying him before raising a smug eyebrow. “Wow. I knew you were tired, but this is a new level of tragic.”

Jayce groaned, rubbing his face before shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his coat. “Unfair. How do you look perfectly composed while I’m out here fighting for my life?”

Y/N smirked. “Maybe you’re just a mess.”

He huffed, kicking at a loose stone on the path. “Or maybe you always look flawless. It’s annoying.”

She snorted. “Flawless? High praise, Councilman.”

“I mean it.”

The weight in his voice made her pause. She turned to him fully, expecting to throw out another teasing remark, but the way he was looking at her made the words tangle in her throat.

Jayce was not a subtle man. He never had been. When he wanted something, he made it clear, whether it was a new invention, a seat on the Council, or—apparently—her.

His gaze was steady, unwavering, the usual playfulness in his expression giving way to something softer, something almost hesitant.

“Can I kiss you?”

Y/N blinked, momentarily caught off guard, before rolling her eyes. “You’re asking now?”

“Hey,” he said, a lopsided smile tugging at his lips, “I like to be respectful.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You—”

But before she could finish, he closed the space between them.

His lips met hers, warm and eager, a little clumsy in the way first kisses often were. It wasn’t perfectly timed, nor was it practiced—but it was real. His hands hovered at her waist, unsure, as if he didn’t want to push too far, but the way he leaned into her, the way he let out the faintest sigh against her lips, told her everything she needed to know.

Y/N melted into him without thinking, her fingers curling into the fabric of his coat. The city faded away—the distant sound of an airship passing overhead, the occasional flicker of street lamps, the world beyond this moment.

When they finally broke apart, Jayce’s breath was warm against her lips, his grin widening as he searched her face. “So… was that okay?”

Y/N let out a breathless laugh. “You’re such an idiot.”

He chuckled, his hands finding hers, lacing their fingers together with an ease that made her chest tighten. “Yeah, yeah. But I’m your idiot now.”

And with the city glittering around them, their world just a little bit smaller, Y/N found she didn’t mind one bit.

FIRST TIME TELLING SOMEONE

Viktor was the first to know.

It wasn’t that they had planned to tell him first—he was just too damn observant.

Jayce was hunched over his desk, fidgeting with a prototype, but he wasn’t really paying attention to it. His fingers idly twisted a bolt between his thumb and forefinger, his focus entirely elsewhere. Across the lab, Y/N was sorting through notes, flipping through pages and occasionally tucking stray strands of hair behind her ear.

She probably didn’t even realize she was doing it, but Jayce did.

He noticed the way she bit her lip in concentration, the way her brows furrowed ever so slightly when she came across something particularly dense. He could watch her for hours and never get bored.

And apparently, he had been watching her for too long.

Viktor sighed loudly and set down his notes with an air of exasperation.

“So,” he drawled, tapping a finger on the table, “how long have you two been together?”

Jayce choked on his coffee.

Y/N, still flipping through papers, arched a brow. “What makes you think we’re—”

Viktor shot her a flat look. “Please. The way he watches you like a lovesick puppy, the way you pretend not to care when he does something reckless? You are not as discreet as you think.”

Jayce wiped his mouth, still sputtering. “I—what? That’s not—I don’t—”

Y/N smirked, folding her arms. “Lovesick puppy, huh?”

Viktor tilted his head, unimpressed. “Tell me, Jayce, when was the last time you looked at research notes with that much longing?”

Jayce spluttered, gripping his coffee like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. “That is not—You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Viktor snorted. “Oh, of course. I must be imagining things.” He turned to Y/N. “And you? The lingering glances? The way you subtly guide him away from his own worst decisions?” He waved a hand dismissively. “Completely unrelated, I’m sure.”

Y/N pursed her lips, feigning thoughtfulness. “Well… maybe he has a point.”

Jayce shot her a betrayed look. “Excuse me?”

She shrugged. “You are reckless. Someone has to keep you alive.”

“I am perfectly capable of keeping myself alive.”

Viktor scoffed. “Debatable.”

Jayce groaned, setting his coffee down. “Okay, fine. Yes. We’re together. It’s recent, alright?”

Viktor leaned back, smirking. “Congratulations.” Then, with an entirely too smug expression, he added, “Try not to be insufferable.”

Jayce rolled his eyes. “Too late for that.”

Y/N grinned, nudging his side. “You’re the one who kept staring at me.”

Viktor hummed, already returning to his notes. “Yes, do keep up the public displays of affection. It will make my work so much more enjoyable.”

Jayce sighed, rubbing his temples. “I hate both of you.”

Y/N chuckled. “Love you too, sweetheart.”

Viktor, flipping a page, didn’t even look up. “Yes, yes. Very cute. Now go be disgusting somewhere else.”

Jayce groaned, but when Y/N grabbed his hand and gave it a quick squeeze, he found that, honestly?

He didn’t mind one bit.

FIRST ARGUMENT

It started with frustration and ended in regret.

Jayce had been spending too much time in the Council chambers, drowning in politics, buried under the weight of expectations. The man who once spent his days in the lab, grease-stained and full of boundless ideas, was now tethered to long meetings and diplomatic battles. Y/N felt the shift like a slow-moving storm, creeping in until the space between them wasn’t just physical—it was something heavier, something unspoken.

She wasn’t one for confrontation. She wasn’t the type to demand attention, to force someone to make space for her. But when Jayce cancelled yet another evening together with a half-hearted I’ll make it up to you, something inside her snapped.

“You’re always busy, Jayce. I get it. But when do I become a priority?”

Jayce, still shuffling through papers on his desk, let out a sharp sigh. He didn’t even look at her. “Y/N, come on. Not now.”

Her stomach twisted. Not now. It was always not now.

She crossed her arms, refusing to let this go. “Then when?” Her voice rose, her frustration bubbling over. “Because I’ve been waiting. And waiting. And every time I think we’ll finally get time together, you have another meeting, another crisis, another—whatever the hell this is!” She gestured to the Council reports strewn across his desk, the documents that had replaced her.

Jayce dragged a hand down his face, his own patience fraying at the edges. “I’m trying to build something here, Y/N. A future. For both of us. Do you not understand that?”

Something in her cracked.

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “Don’t make this about me not understanding. This is about you not making time. For me. For us.”

His shoulders stiffened. He finally met her gaze, frustration flashing in his eyes. “I don’t have the luxury of making time whenever I want, Y/N. I have responsibilities! The Council, Piltover—”

She let out a harsh laugh. “Oh, of course. Piltover.” She threw up her hands. “How stupid of me to think I could compete with an entire city.”

His brows furrowed. “That’s not what I meant.”

“But that’s what it feels like, Jayce!” Her voice cracked, raw with emotion. “You fight for this city like it’s the only thing that matters, and I get it, I do, but when was the last time you fought for us?”

Jayce exhaled sharply, gripping the edge of his desk as if grounding himself. His jaw tightened. “I’m doing everything I can.” His voice was quieter, but still taut with frustration. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

“Then don’t make me feel like I have to!” She shouted, her own breath uneven, her heart hammering in her chest.

The words slammed between them like a force of their own, vibrating in the air.

For the first time, Jayce didn’t have an immediate retort. He just stared at her—at the hurt in her eyes, the way her hands trembled slightly, how she was barely keeping herself together.

The weight of it all crashed into him at once.

The exhaustion, the guilt, the fear of losing her.

His hands curled into fists, his breath unsteady. Then, with a deep inhale, he let go of whatever pride had been holding him back.

He took a step forward.

Y/N tensed, expecting more words, another excuse. But instead, she felt his arms wrap around her, his warmth pressing against her like an apology he didn’t know how to say.

Her breath hitched.

“I’ll do better,” he whispered against her temple, voice rough, like he was barely holding himself together. “I promise.”

She wanted to stay angry. Wanted to tell him that promises were easy to make and even easier to break. But as his arms tightened around her, as she felt the way his body sagged slightly, like he needed this just as much as she did, she let out a slow breath.

“…Okay,” she murmured, leaning into him. Then, after a beat, she added, “But you owe me dinner. A real one. No cancellations.”

Jayce let out a soft chuckle against her hair, his hold on her tightening just a little. “Deal.”

He held her like she was the only thing keeping him grounded, and in that moment, she believed him.

Because if there was one thing Jayce had always been, it was someone who tried.

FIRST TIME SLEEPING TOGETHER

They didn’t plan on it.

Jayce had invited Y/N over after a long day, swearing up and down that this time, he wouldn’t get caught up in work, that this time, he’d make time for her. And he tried—he really did.

They ordered food, talked between bites, let the warmth of each other’s presence ease the weight of the day. Laughter came easily between them, the kind that settled deep in their bones, smoothing over the exhaustion clinging to their bodies. Y/N listened as Jayce vented about the latest Council debates, his voice animated despite the tired lines beneath his eyes. She offered teasing quips, grounding him, making him forget about the weight on his shoulders for a little while.

The conversation drifted into quieter things. Their childhoods, their dreams, the parts of themselves that rarely got the chance to breathe.

And then, somewhere between the warmth of the fireplace and the steady comfort of being near each other, exhaustion crept in like a slow tide, pulling them under before they even realized it.

Y/N curled into his side without a second thought, resting her head against his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut. Jayce, for once, didn’t overthink things—didn’t worry about meetings, expectations, or anything beyond the steady warmth of her against him.

His arm draped around her shoulders, pulling her closer, his fingers idly tracing slow, absentminded circles against her back. She barely registered the touch, but something about it lulled her deeper into rest.

Neither of them noticed when their conversation faded into comfortable silence.

Neither of them noticed when their blinks became longer, breaths slowing in sync.

And neither of them noticed when sleep claimed them completely.

The morning light streamed in through the wide windows, golden rays stretching across the floorboards and casting a warm glow over the room. The fireplace had long since burned down, leaving only the faintest hint of lingering heat in the air. The city outside was already stirring, but here, in the quiet of Jayce’s home, time moved slower.

Y/N stirred, the weight of sleep still clinging to her limbs, and as she shifted, she became acutely aware of how warm and solid the body beside her was.

Her eyes cracked open, and realization set in.

She was completely tangled up in Jayce—his arm curled protectively around her waist, his chest rising and falling steadily beneath her cheek. One of her legs was slotted between his, and his other hand rested lightly on her hip, as if even in sleep, he refused to let her drift too far away.

For a brief moment, she simply existed there, letting herself savor the warmth of him, the way his body fit against hers so naturally.

It was easy. Too easy.

She tilted her head slightly, her gaze settling on his face—soft, unguarded in sleep, his normally furrowed brow relaxed, his lips parted just slightly. His hair was a mess, strands sticking up in a way that made him look boyish, and she felt something stir in her chest at the sight.

He always looked so much younger like this. Like the weight of the world wasn’t pressing down on his shoulders for once.

A small smile tugged at her lips.

She should probably get up. Should probably untangle herself from his arms, make some coffee, pretend like this wasn’t something that made her chest feel too full.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she shifted just enough to tuck herself closer, burying her face against his collarbone with a quiet sigh.

Jayce groaned slightly in his sleep, shifting before his hold on her instinctively tightened. His body curled in toward her, his breath ghosting against her temple. A deep inhale, then a lazy mumble:

“Mmm… five more minutes.”

Y/N smirked, her voice still heavy with sleep. “I wasn’t even trying to move.”

Jayce cracked one eye open, blinking at her with unfocused, sleep-drunk hazel eyes. His grip on her didn’t loosen, and if anything, he only curled around her more. “…Good.” He let his eyes fall shut again, pressing his face into her hair. “Stay.”

Her heart stuttered in her chest. He probably didn’t even realize what he was saying, caught in that half-awake state where thoughts and feelings blurred together without pretence.

But she liked the way it sounded.

“You talk in your sleep a lot, don’t you?” she teased, her voice quieter now, more thoughtful.

Jayce hummed, lips twitching into a lazy smirk. “Only when I’m dreaming about my amazing girlfriend.”

She rolled her eyes, but the fondness in them betrayed her. “Is that so?”

“Mhmm.” His arm flexed around her, pulling her impossibly closer, his lips brushing against her temple. “Though I gotta say… this is even better than the dream.”

Y/N huffed a laugh, shaking her head slightly as she let herself settle against him once more.

They stayed like that for a long time, wrapped up in warmth, in golden morning light, in something that felt almost too good to be real.

But it was real. And it was theirs.

Yeah.

She could get used to this.

#Arcane #Arcane Fandom #reader insert #jayce x y/n #jayce x reader #jayce talis x reader #jayce x you #arcane fluff

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gatorbites-imagines · 2 days ago

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I’m SO in love with your Dick x Wally x male Thanagarian reader HCs! I’ve read through them multiple times, and they’re stuck in my head 🥰🥰💖💖💖

I wasn’t the one who requested it, but would I be able to ask for more from them, with a mix of SFW and NSFW HCs? 🙏

Dick Grayson x Wally West x Thanagarian male reader

Headcanons

I’ve been stressing about my job situation since I quit my internship, as I still need an income, and all job postings around here I can do start in April. So, like any healthy person, im ignoring these feelings by writing.

You guys dating wouldn’t change too many things, as you guys were already close and spent a lot of time together. You guys become a lot more affectionate, which is new for you but not for Dick and Wally as they had already been dating for a long time.

They plan most of the dates in the beginning, as you are still trying to figure out what would work for your human lovers. Thanagar has different traditions and habits, so humans being so lax and creative is new even after this long.

Dick and Wally are both giddy when you decide to plan a date all on your own. You end up stressing yourself way too much, wanting it to be perfect, that you get help from some of the other titans.

I think your boyfriends would be happy with anything, even just going to your hideout and sitting around eating pizza and watching a movie. But seeing all the effort you put into it makes them happy.

On your guys one year anniversary, you give them rings made out of nth metal, possibly even made from small pieces of your wings, so you are always with them in one way or another.

This makes Wally and Dick both pout as they now think their gifts arent good enough. Of course, you don’t think so, anything they’ll give you is good, but they want to do something as meaningful as you did.

Expect something personal and sweet in the coming days. It doesn’t have to be expensive or anything, but its something that means something to all of you. You just feel flustered about it, but accept the pampering.

They of course don’t go beyond your boundaries, something you return as well, since you love your boyfriends as much as you can and they love you in return.

You don’t have any family on earth, there’s Carter and Shayera, but they aren’t really your family and you guys have different values. Luckily for you, your boyfriends have active families. It takes longer for the bats to welcome you, but at this point you’ve been on earth long enough to be trusted.

When it comes to the bedroom, Wally and Dick are much more comfortable than you are in the beginning. They already know each other inside and out, literally, and the first times you feel almost like an outsider.

They obviously don’t allow you to feel left out, and the first times you guys sleep together is a lot of just learning each other, figuring out what feels good and what you are all comfortable with.

I like to think Wally asks about you wearing your wings at least once when you guys are doing it, and you counter it by saying he should keep the flash suit on then. You hadn’t expected him to do it, but he does. Dick ends up doing it too, wearing the Nightwing suit. And who wouldn’t love that.

It lets you live out a couple of fantasies you’ve always had but never allowed yourself to indulge in, since you didn’t want to disrespect your friends and their relationship.

It’s pretty lethal to not have just one boyfriend with a lot of energy, but two. And one of those boyfriends has little to no rest between rounds. I could imagine Dick jokes about how its good that you came along, so you can switch out who’s fucking Wally so the other can rest.

They both love hickeys and you leaving them on them, since the whole being marked by you gets their blood pumping. They both love leaving them just as much though, so you end up starting to wear a high-collar outfit when you go out as your crime fighting persona.

It can be hard to find time where all three of you can spend personal time together. Theres always something going on in your personal cities, so there is a lot of one on one time. But I can imagine you guys make a habit out of calling whoever isn’t there, and letting them listen through their earpiece, if possible.

It gets kinda awkward for Dick a couple of times where the other bats, mostly Babs, checks in on his comms, only to hear Wallys needy gasping and whimpering and your deeper grunts and groans, as you describe in crude detail what you are doing to your shared boyfriend.

Babs might even be a bit impressed that Dick can keep up with his usual flips and kicks, taking out criminals like usual, and not letting what hes hearing distract him.

When he finally finishes up and gets back to wherever you guys are, Dick would dive right in, even if you and Wally had already washed up and were cuddling.

Luckily Wally is always raring to go, and it’s easy to get you worked up, just watching and listening to them. At the end of the night/early morning everyone is satisfied and happy, even if Wally has to be the one doing all the cleaning and morning cooking.

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gyllenhaalstuff · 3 days ago

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Hihihihi!! I’m not sure if you’ve ever seen ‘Brothers’ but I was wondering if you could to a fic with Tommy Cahill ??? I was thinking maybe he just got out of prison and reader has been with him for a while; so she comes with him to the family dinner at Sams house. Things get a bit heated by the end of the night between Tommy and his dad

Rage fuck at readers place after??

We need to talk about Tommy more cause God… I’d leave any man for him any day. One of Jake’s best characters honestly.

First day home

- Tommy Cahill

Summary: Your boyfriend just got out of jail and you celebrate by having dinner at his shitty father’s place. And well, Tommy gets pretty riled up.

Warnings: Established relationship, dysfunctional family dynamics, angry sex, overall rough handling, dom!Tommy, reader is basically a sexdoll, piv sex, unprotected sex, a little fluff at the end.

Word count: 1150~

Notes: Not super long but I wanted to put out something<3

· · ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── · ·

Your boyfriend finally got back out from prison. He hadn’t done anything that bad, but life is tricky, and he wound up there. You couldn’t be happier that he was back.

However, celebrating his first day back with his family was the last thing you wanted to do. Especially when the tension in the air was enough to give you a migraine.

Tommy's father was spouting nonsense at your man. How he should be more like his brother and serve his country. “If you stayed out of trouble and became more like Sam, well, maybe then—“ Tommy slammed his fist against the table before quickly apologizing, afraid he had scared his nieces. He shot his father a death glare and went back to eating.

You shifted uncomfortably in the chair. Everyone seemed eager to get out of there. Tommy looked down at his plate, visibly frustrated by the way he gripped his fork.

“This was great, thank you.” You nodded at Tommy's stepmom, Elsie. She smiled warmly; she was actually a nice person, just a pushover in situations like this. “I’m glad.”

The sound of voices raising in the hallway caught your attention. You walked over and saw exactly what you’d expect: Tommy bickering with his father. “Well, if you hadn’t fucked over mom, you wouldn't fucking hate me, and I’d actually be good for something!” Tommy glared at his father, grabbed your hand, and opened the door. “Let’s go home.”

You got into the passenger seat of Tommy's (borrowed) car. He didn’t say anything about the dinner. He didn’t say anything at all. He turned the engine on and backed out of the driveway. Your eyes caught on him as he looked back through the rear window. God, you had missed seeing him and gawking at him outside of prison meeting rooms.

He drove in silence. You knew Tommy. If he didn’t talk, it was because he didn’t want to. So, even though the silence made you want to rip your hair out, you stayed put. In an ideal world, you’d be getting fucked in the backseat by now instead of nervously waiting for him to break the silence. His grip on the wheel was hard. He had a lot of anger in him that he knew was better squeezed onto the steering wheel than come out of his mouth and hurt you.

He pulled into the driveway of your shabby apartment complex. It almost looked like a motel with the balcony on the front and all the windows with the shades drawn. It was far from ideal, but all you could afford considering Tommy didn’t make a whole lot of money the time spent in jail.

You switched the hallway light on and took off your shoes. You watched Tommy do the same, standing with your back to the wall. “Can I do anything for you?” You couldn’t stay quiet any longer. In response, two familiar hands were placed on your hips, turning you around. “Just stay nice and quiet,” Tommy said, his breath wafting on your neck. He had missed you so much, maybe more than you had missed him. The scent of your shampoo hit him, and it made him want to crumble.

If there was one man you trusted, it was him. So, of course, you went along. Not only had he just argued with his asshole father, he hadn’t gotten to fuck you in months. And jerking off in jail wasn’t optimal, making him a hundred times more pent up than you, who just had to open your nightstand drawer and go at it.

Tommy pressed his crotch against your ass, making you feel how hard he was and had been ever since you opened the front door. He wrapped one of his arms around your waist, holding you tight to him as he ground his clothed cock against you.

His hand traveled up to your tits, squeezing them harshly before moving to shimmy down your pants. Once your clothes hit the floor, you could hear the sound of his belt unbuckling behind you and the sound of a zipper being pulled down. Tommy didn’t waste any time before pulling your underwear to the side and burying himself inside you.

He breathed a quick sigh of relief. He was home in his apartment and home in his girl; he couldn’t think of a better place to be. But once he took his next breath, the anger rushed back, and he slammed into you.

Tommy's hand crawled up your shirt and held onto one of your breasts, kneading it in his palm. His chest was flush against your back as he quickly thrust in and out of you. The sound of skin slapping, your moans, and Tommy's heavy breathing and grunts bounced around the room.

You turned your head around, capturing Tommy in a kiss. Desperate and messy, but how could it be anything else when you had missed each other so? And how could Tommy be happy with just fucking in the hallway? He turned you around, picked you up, and walked the short distance to the bedroom. He needed to fuck his anger out properly.

He threw you onto the bed and turned you on your stomach. His hand went around your waist and pulled you up on your knees, while your head stayed down in the sheets. Once again, you felt Tommy stretch you out and pound into you like you were a ragdoll. With one hand on your hip and the other pushing down your head, he had you seeing stars.

You gripped the sheets with all your strength and moaned cries with each move he made. He pulled your hips into him, making you fuck yourself on him, meeting his thrusts. Tommy's hands were rough and strong, hurting you with the anger in which he held onto you.

Once you came around him, Tommy followed not long after. You felt your insides get all warm, both from your orgasms and from his cum pumping into you.

He let go of you and pulled out, letting you fall down onto the bed. A gentle kiss was placed on your shoulder. “I’m sorry,” Tommy whispered against your skin. You turned around to face him, grabbed his stubbled face in your hands, and smiled. “I’m just glad to have you back.” You kissed again, sweeter now, passionate in the loving way.

Tommy laid his head next to yours and allowed you to run your hands through his grown-out buzzcut, petting him like a dog or a guinea pig. You snuggled into his chest, breathing in your boyfriend’s scent. It wasn’t long after that you heard light snores coming from him; finally, he could sleep in peace. You grabbed a blanket and buried both of you beneath it. Your boyfriend was back, and the place was a home again.

#jake gyllenhaal #jake gyllenhaal fanfic #jake gyllenhaal fanfiction #jake gyllenhaal imagine #jake gyllenhaal x reader #jake gyllenhaal smut #fanfiction #smut #brothers #brothers 2009 #tommy cahill #tommy cahill smut #tommy cahill fanfic #tommy cahill fanfiction #tommy cahill x reader

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skyward-floored · 20 hours ago

Text

Part two to the hdw fic where Link gets kidnapped and poisoned :) It got a lot longer than I was expecting though, so there’ll actually be another part after this (sorry). Please enjoy Volga doing a lot of panicking about his son.

(Warning for some blood, injury, and just a little vomit)

Part 1

————————————————————

Link stops responding, and Volga curses.

These blasted ruins are utterly confusing, his sense of direction getting all turned around in its twisting hallways and narrow passageways. Normally Volga thrives in such conditions, having lived in caves most of his life, but something about the collapsed stones and manmade walls throw him off.

Or maybe it’s just the panic beating inside his chest.

Link lets out a weak moan, and Volga tries to quicken his steps even further. He’d hoped never to have to deal with night safflina again; he’d made it a personal mission to burn any sprig of it he came across, destroyed any supplies he knew of. Yet despite his efforts, his son is fighting for his life against it in his arms.

Volga hisses to himself, cursing again. This is not something he can fight. He can’t tear it to pieces with his claws, burn it to a crisp, stab it with his spear. He is helpless in this situation, and the more Link fades in his arms, the more frantic he gets.

Link moans again, and for some reason Volga carefully adjusts him to a more comfortable position.

When did he get so attached to this boy? He didn’t even know that he existed up until a few months ago, and they haven’t spent much time together. Their relationship is a mess, and Volga can count on one hand the amount of remotely positive interactions they’ve had. Link had only just stopped regularly flinching when Volga made sudden movements towards him— which makes the fact that he’s currently curled into Volga’s hold and weakly clutching at him all the more unusual. Most of their interactions have involved them trying to kill each other.

Though... is this particular show of vulnerability so unusual? He still remembers how terrified Link had looked when he’d burst into the room, blood streaming down his cheek, knife held inches from his eye. Relief had quickly taken its place as Volga freed him, and though Volga may have been his enemy in the past, Link obviously trusts him to get them out of this.

...Or perhaps it’s merely the poison addling his senses.

Link’s head shifts minutely when Volga turns a corner, eyes half-lidded and in no way lucid. Volga knows shaking him didn’t help last time, but he tries it a little again anyway as he runs, calling for him to wake. Link doesn’t react.

Volga hisses and rips some vines out of his path, briefly wishing he had backup with him. If someone else were here then he would be able to drop Link off and go for the antidote, but that isn’t an option. And he can’t leave Link here alone with those men still around.

Perhaps it had been foolish to storm off the moment he’d heard Link had gone missing, scouring the land for any sign of him and rushing into the ruins by himself the moment he’d caught his scent. But Volga has never been one to hesitate.

And besides, if he’d come here any later, Link would be in much worse shape.

He looks down at the boy again. As it is, his current condition even apart from the poison is rather concerning, bruises beginning to show, blood in his hair, coating his cheek, and trickling slowly down his chin. Volga doesn’t have time to stop and clean or wrap it, but he wipes the blood off a little, cursing again the men who did this as he looks at the cuts still sluggishly bleeding. What did they even want with him?

...No, he knows the answer to that. They had safflina. This was always going to end in an attempt on his life.

As if as a reminder, he catches a faint whiff of the accursed plant on Link, a sweet, biting scent that burns his nostrils, and his stomach flips.

If Link were full dragon he would already be dead. Night safflina killed from the inside out, tearing through the blood and eventually constricting the heart. No matter what form a dragon was in, it was deadly within an hour.

Link’s Sheikah blood might be the only thing that will save him now.

Volga finally turns and finds himself in a hallway that’s familiar, and he breaks into a full sprint, leaping over broken stones and cracked walls, wishing he could slip into his other form. It’s too small in here for him to make much progress that way though, and he wouldn’t be able to comfortably hold Link anyway. He’ll have to figure that out once he escapes.

So far he hasn’t been stopped by any major obstacles, none of the men who’d captured Link daring to come stop him, only a few hazards for him to dodge. He’d had to fight his way in, but it seems as if there’s barely any opposition left to stop him from leaving, which is strange.

Another piece of this situation that doesn’t seem to quite add up.

Volga’s nearing the place where he entered now, more plants creeping in and less stone. A gagging noise comes from his arms, and he has to stop to let Link retch weakly onto the ground again, barely anything coming up this time except small strings of saliva and bile. Volga ignores the bit of blood at the corner of his mouth, Link pressing his face against his arm with a whine, and keeps running.

Only to come to a halt as he finds his path barred, a line of huge plants with teeth blocking his way to the exit.

Volga stares, certain the monsters hadn’t been here before. The plants spot him somehow, despite having no visible eyes, and send leering grins his direction, teeth bared, vines writhing. Poison drips from their leaves, a purple miasma rising off the floor, and Volga knows he doesn’t have time to fight them all.

Link doesn’t have time.

Fury boils in his gut. Volga doesn’t know how they got here, but they’re blocking his path, and every precious second counts right now.

Volga roars, rushing forward and blasting a huge plume of fire at the plant monsters blocking his path.

Leaves shrivel and he hears shrieking sounds, but Volga ignores them all, shielding Link as he darts through the flames and runs to the other side. Teeth gnash and something scrapes along his arm through his armor, but Volga ignores the flicker of pain, shoving his way through as he blasts more fire.

Something glints in his vision, and he looks down to see a small spray of scales trailing up Link’s arm that weren’t there before, revealed by the heat of the flames.

Volga shakes his head and keeps running, flames flying as he leaves the plants to burn. He’d nearly forgotten about that fight they’d had up on the sky island, where he’d seen Link’s scales for the first time. His memories of the war are sketchy at best, but he does remember Link’s halting explanation of being his son.

His son who he barely knows. His son whom he tried to kill multiple times.

His son who’s currently dying.

Volga roars again in fury and explodes out of the ruins, setting Link down and shifting back to his dragon form in the same movement. He’s careful to pick Link back up once he’s done, taking a moment to settle him in clawed talons, and then takes off for the army’s camp.

It’s not the most comfortable mode of transportation for Link, and Volga thinks his expression looks more pained than before, but there’s no time to figure out anything better. He holds Link closer, trying to shelter him from the cold wind, and flies as fast as he physically can without crashing.

Trying not to panic. Trying not to spiral into memories.

He focuses only on beating his wings.

(...)

The trip takes forever and yet passes in moments, and the Hylian army’s camp soon comes into view.

It’s late, but the area is a swarm of activity the same as it was when Volga left, Link’s disappearance sending the whole army into a frenzy. He only hopes Impa is still in camp and hasn’t left to join the search. He doesn’t trust any of the soldiers around to keep Link safe at the moment.

Volga folds his wings and makes a beeline for the first open area he finds, dropping into the middle of camp and transforming back in one swift movement. He startles the handful of soldiers around who look on with wide eyes at the bloody hero clutched to his chest, but he ignores them.

“General!” Volga roars into the night, and the moment he sees Impa appear across the clearing, he sprints for her.

Her eyes grow wide as she sees Link in his arms, and alarm crosses her face before switching to steely determination.

“What happened?” she demands, rushing to his side. Volga merely thrusts Link into her arms and only pauses long enough to make sure she has a firm grip on him before rushing away. “Volga!”

“He’s been poisoned, I need to get the cure,” Volga snaps back. “Keep him alive, I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“No, wait,” Impa demands, grabbing his shoulder before he can turn into a dragon and leave. Volga twitches at the pain it sends up his arm. “Volga I need more information, he’s barely breathing. What did they poison him with?!”

“Safflina,” he growls in a low voice. “A rare strain of it. I know how to counteract it, but I need to leave now or he will die.”

Impa goes as pale as her hair. “Is there anything I can do to slow it?”

Volga swallows, and looks down at Link just once, his son ashen-faced and limp, then looks at Impa, her face stricken.

“...Not that I know of,” Volga says more quietly. “Keep him warm. Keep him alive.”

Then he leaps into the air and turns into a dragon, flying as hard and fast as he can.

Link will not die from this.

He won’t.

...

Impa watches Volga fly into the night, then looks down at her son again, terror crawling up her throat.

Link is freezing where he lies limp in her arms (he’s always so warm, he’s never cold—), barely perceptible gasps the only sign he’s alive. There’s blood coating his hair and the side of his face, bruises on his skin, and flecks of vomit on his tunic, mixed with stains of blood. His eyes are rolled so far back in his head she can only see white with how little they’re open, and he’s pure deadweight in her arms.

Impa takes only a moment to process all this, them shouts for someone to find a medic. A soldier runs off, and Zelda appears at Impa’s side as she begins to move, her face horrified as she takes in Link’s condition.

“Link! How did— what—”

“Volga found him,” Impa breathes as Zelda helps her support Link so won’t be as jostled. “He said he’s been poisoned, he left to get the antidote.”

“How did Volga even— never mind, that’s not important now,” Zelda says with a shake of her head. Link lets out another weak gasp, and she touches his shoulder, face fearful. “He’s been poisoned?”

“Badly,” Impa hisses. “And that’s not all that’s been done to him.”

She briefly meets Zelda’s gaze, and sees the question in her own eyes reflected there.

How could we let this happen?

Link’s disappearance had been discovered a few hours ago, signs of a fight leaving his tent in disarray. Volga had left the moment he’d seen the blood on the ground, face furious, but Impa had stayed, determined to figure this out in a manner more precise then simply flying around and hoping she happened across their missing son.

A part of her hoped the traitors (for what else could they be inside their own camp?) were still nearby— the blood was fresh, and there were bootprints in the dirt, so it was likely they hadn’t gotten far. Impa had immediately begun tracking them, Zelda joining her, and they’d gotten all the way outside of camp and into the middle of the woods, when the tracks just... stopped.

They’d scoured the area, checking every nook and cranny, bush and tree, but there’d been no sign of Link or his captors. They’d seemingly vanished into thin air.

“...Magic,” Zelda had said finally, anger in her voice. “They must have had a mage with them.”

That meant Link could be almost anywhere, and Impa and Zelda had been able to do nothing but head back to camp, fear twisting sharply in Impa’s gut for her son. She knew that going out and searching herself wouldn’t do any good, not without any clue where he’d been taken, but she dearly wanted to rush out of camp and do something, anything.

They’d taken her son. And she hadn’t even realized.

Lana had stated she might be able to track the spell when they’d shown the area to her, given some time, but she didn’t know how long it would take. And without any clue of what Link’s captors were planning to do with him, Impa knew it might be too late by the time Lana figured it out.

So despite the fact that the last thing she’d wanted to do was to stay still, Impa had sent out scouts and begun organizing bigger search parties, gathering likely locations for them to search, and ignoring the anxiety squeezing around her heart in a death grip.

She hadn’t gotten very far when she’d heard Volga’s roar.

Link makes a sound in her arms, somewhere between a rattle and a moan, and Impa bursts into her own tent, her and Zelda setting him down as gently as possible on her cot. Impa starts with cleaning the blood from his face while they wait for the medic, and the pit in her stomach grows at the lines gouged into his cheek.

How could he have been taken right under their noses? How had none of them noticed? The mess in his tent had been fresh, but not as much as it could have been. She’d put it at over an hour old by the time they’d stumbled upon it.

How could she have let this happen?

Link’s head lolls to the side, eyes fluttering briefly, but they close just as fast. Impa smooths bloody, sweaty bangs from his face as the medic arrives, and she thinks he might lean into the touch just a little as the medic examines him, face only growing more grim.

“You said the dragon is getting the cure?” he asks finally, and Impa nods. “Any idea how long he’ll be?”

“No. He just said he would be as quick as he could,” Impa replies, and the medic sighs.

“I’ll do what I can without it, but I’ll be frank General, it doesn’t look good. I’d be shocked if he makes it another hour, no less the night,” he says grimly, and Impa closes her eyes as Zelda sucks in a sharp breath, the words drilling into her with a chill colder than a redead’s scream.

Then she reopens them, steadying herself.

“Then let’s do what we can. We’ll give him as much of a fighting chance as possible until we have the antidote,” she says with a confidence she doesn’t feel. “Whatever you can do to help him, do it.”

The medic nods, and he opens the bag he’d brought with him and begins to rifle through the contents, his face still grim, but with a hint of determination. Impa barely realizes her hand is still resting on Link’s head until the medic asks her to move it, and she slowly withdraws her fingers, hating how cold his skin still is.

He feels like death. Feels like countless soldiers she’s watched die, like her best friend’s hand growing cold in hers, a grief that still lingers with her even years later. It’s only the slight rise and fall of Link’s chest, the weak gasps he lets out that stop her from fully sinking into despair.

There’s a cure. Volga knows where it is. He’s getting it right now.

Link will not die.

A new voice suddenly gasps, and Impa turns to see Lana rush in, her hands covering her mouth in horror as she looks at Link. A winged glow of blue is right behind her, and there’s a shrill, jingly shriek.

“Link! Link!” Proxi wails, speeding for him and fluttering frantically around his face. “Link, wake up, please!”

Link’s eyes flutter, but he doesn’t move otherwise, and Proxi lets out a distraught noise, settling herself at Link’s shoulder. Her wings are fluttering with anxiety, and Zelda smooths a hand over them, reassuring her quietly.

“I’m sorry! I went to visit a fountain while Link was sleeping, I— Lana said he’d been taken while I was— oh Link,” she hiccups in a wobbly chime.

“You didn’t know Proxi, it’s not your fault,” Impa says quietly, and the fairy doesn’t anything further, huddling close to Link.

“What happened?” Lana asks in an surprisingly level voice, and Zelda explains what they know, the medic still working, another arriving and joining him. Impa doesn’t listen much, her thoughts spiraling in several directions, though she hears when Lana offers to try and heal Link a bit. She watches as the sorceress’s hands light up and ease some of the cuts and bruises marring his skin, though nothing else about his condition improves. Apparently even half of the guardian of time can’t heal poison.

Impa sets her hand over Link’s freezing one as she finishes, listening to the rasp of his breathing as Lana and the medics draw back.

Link is cleaned up now, injuries bandaged and blood scrubbed away, tended to as much as they can. Somehow he looks worse than when Volga pressed him into her arms though, pale as death, dark veins spreading across his skin, especially thick in one place on his arm.

Impa swallows. They’re in a waiting game now. They’ll do what they can to keep Link alive before Volga returns, but there isn’t a lot they can do. She helps tilt his body when he weakly retches, adjusts blankets and even sits beside him to try and warm his freezing skin, but there’s nothing they can do to stop the poison’s creep through Link’s veins.

All they can do is what they’re already doing, and as time drags forward, Impa feels like she may explode.

Link is dying. There’s no getting around it.

His strength leaves him more by the minute, his skin turning almost grey. Impa watches him fade and fade and fade, unable to lift a finger to help him, and she glances repeatedly outside, scanning the dark strip of sky she can see while Link grows ever weaker and her desperation grows stronger.

Volga, where are you?

(...)

It’s the longest night of Volga’s life.

It takes him hours to find the berries he knows will counteract the poison’s effects— they only grow in cold locations, which slows him down, and even then it’s the wrong time of year for the berries to even be ripe. The mountain he flies to is rife with icy beasts, which fall quickly enough to his fire, but it’s yet more delays to his goal.

Volga only half believes in the goddesses, but he tosses a short plea their direction anyway.

His ancestors were their servants. Perhaps that counts for something.

The moonlight is blinding against the layer of snow on the ground, casting sharp shadows wherever rocks stick up from it. Volga’s stuck to his dragon form thus far, deeming it quicker and warmer, but now he shifts back, the snow-covered undergrowth looking promising. He digs around in the snow, uncovering all the bushes and plants he can get his hands on, blowing small puffs of flame to keep his fingers warm.

It feels like hours go by as he crawls around digging through snow-covered branches, dirt catching in his claws, breath puffing into steam.

You’re taking too long, it’s been too long—

Familiar leaves suddenly glint in the moonlight, and Volga pounces, clawing almost desperately at the snow covering the bush’s form. He takes care not to hurt the plant beneath the snow, and gently lifts up a branch.

And sure enough, pale, yellowish berries reveal themselves, glowing almost like stars in the light of Volga’s flame.

Volga lets out a harsh breath of relief, wondering briefly if the goddesses really did listen to his plea. That or they don’t want their chosen hero dying on them. Such things are beyond him though, so Volga doesn’t waste time thinking about it and quickly picks every fruit he sees, tying them in a secure pouch at his hip.

The sky is beginning to lighten by the time he’s in the air again, and every beat of his wings seems to mark the minutes trickling away, more poison slipping through Link’s veins.

You’ve taken too long, he’s already dead, his thoughts hiss, but Volga thrusts them aside. Link isn’t full dragon. The poison won’t kill him as quickly.

But despite his attempts to reassure himself, the thoughts don’t go away, only growing louder the longer he takes. Volga watches the moon set, stars fading, and his mind starts to figure how many hours it’s been, surely too many for Link to have survived.

He must be dead by now.

Volga swallows. He wonders if it was quick, Link’s fluttering heart merely going still, or if his lungs had filled with fluid, drowning him on land, choking him in blood. Perhaps his throat had closed up, slowly suffocating him.

Volga doesn’t slow his speed at all at the gruesome thoughts, but there’s dread weighing down his wings, and no small fear at what he’ll find when he arrives. Will Impa cry? He’s only ever seen her truly cry once, and that had been more out of anger than anything. Will the loss of her only child be enough to break her stoicism? Will he cry?

What will he even do if Link is dead?

He may be his son, but Volga barely knows him. They’ve been enemies longer than allies, and a few months ago Volga was so entrenched on Cia’s side that he wouldn’t even have cared to hear he’d met his demise.

But... somehow now he does.

He barely knows Link, but the little he’s seen is bright and fierce and courageous, loyal to a fault, determined and with a spirit that refuses to give up. He has his faults surely, but overall he’s quite the formidable warrior, hero, even. Volga had no hand in raising him, but somehow he’s... proud of him, proud of the man he became while Volga wasn’t looking.

But all that likely doesn’t matter now. If Link is alive it would be a miracle, and Volga isn’t feeling optimistic.

He dives past a cloud, his wings beginning to tire from the long night. He hates this uncertainty. This ache in his chest, a tightness in his throat. It’s half his fault all of this even happened— it’s obvious Link was targeted at least partially for his relation to Volga. And now it’ll be his fault he’s dead, too.

Does he even have the right to mourn?

...

He doesn’t know.

Volga tries to fly faster with his stinging wings, squeezing his eyes shut, hating how much his heart aches.

He doesn’t know.

#sorry for the cliffhanger again but more is coming hopefully soon :)#hyrule warriors #hdw au #legend of zelda #loz Volga #loz Impa #tw blood #fic #writing from the floor #ta daaaah #my headache came back righ in the middle of editing this so if there’s glaring typos please tell ne #thank youy

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 20 hours ago

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Do you think that we are getting book 8 that will focus on Grim since we almost are on the end of book 7? And how do you feel if that what happened and we get book 8 that focus on Grim and Yuu like why are they here all of that? Do you want to see a specific thing that wasn't mentioned in the main story?

Last question how do you feel about twst ending? Would you stay in the fandom or find another interest? I'm not ready for that like if twst ended I will move to twst fanfics 🥲

But to be honest with how they are using the 3D animation as inspiration too now for the new events I have hope that even if the main story ended we will still have plenty of new events coming plus we have the anime coming too and manga chapters still going. I don't want this fandom to die as soon as main story end.

Honestly I don't mind if the game kept going forever 😂 not necessarily the main story but with events and talk about the world.

Imagine something like twst: The New NRC Generation like they did with many animes XD

Okay I talked so much sorry for the rambling.

As I have stated in the FAQ section of my pinned post (I kindly ask that people check that first before sending asks because I have been asked some variant of “what do you think about a potential book 8”/“how do you want book 7 to end” dozens of times; I don’t answer them because the answer is already out there but overlooked, but I feel bad for ignoring so many people 😅):

"I want to actually see Yuu going home and the current students moving on to the next year of schooling. We could focus on how the guys have grown and are growing, how these more mature versions of the characters interact with the incoming freshmen/first years, or the long-term consequences of their OBs (particularly Malleus's, which probably caused an international crisis). It would also be cool to learn more about RSA students after book 7, but I don’t want them to rehash the OB formula."

"As for a potential book 8, I don’t know if there’s enough evidence for it? Book 7 is cramming a lot in right now so it’s possible that all the loose ends will be tied up there. Book 8 also implies a strong focus on Ramhackle, which… I know we love Yuusonas and all, but the game cannot canonically fill in their backstory a ton or it will ruin player self-inserting/projection. That means we’d have to rely on Grim and Grim alone to be the emotional crux that somehow transcends even Malleus’s chapter. I think that’d be hard to pull off, especially since we'd be expecting book 8 to be even LONGER than the 290+ book 7 is. If there's a book 8 at all, it might have to be closer to prologue length...? Because even if they push the Mickey stuff and revealing Crowley's motives to a theoretical book 8, I can't imagine this would take up more parts than book 7 already has 💦"

Secondly, I don’t think “Twst ending” is… the best phrasing? It’s not like the game is going to shut down as soon as book 7 finishes. Live service games close when they’re no longer financially viable, not because they finished a main story arc. Several of these kinds of games continue the main story into a new arc—and while we don’t have any official confirmation of this for Twst, it would be just silly for a money and merch machine to be shut down for an arbitrary reason. If it's not broken, then don't axe it. I would be genuinely shocked if Twst just left the main story untouched after book 7, though it may take some time before new main story stuff comes out, as the writers would have to... you know, write. Running the servers based on events alone, especially when we are not guaranteed new story events every month, doesn't sound sustainable in the long term. There's still going to be new Twst stuff coming out for a long time between the manga, anime, and light novels too. That's at least a good couple of years.

dyugaoydaswqyb Anyway, I'll be staying in the fandom even once book 7 finished; it's very near and dear to my heart ^^ Like I said, I think Twst will probably continue its service for a while. And it's not like you can only have one interest at a time, right??

#disney twisted wonderland #twst #disney twst #twisted wonderland #notes from the writing raven #question #twst manga #twisted wonderland manga #twst light novel #twisted wonderland light novel #twst anime #twisted wonderland anime #Yuu #Grim #Malleus Draconia #Dire Crowley #Mickey Mouse

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buckleyflower · 22 hours ago

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Can I ask 34 and 59 mixed? ❤️

34. Scars

59. Touch-Starved

(I apologize because this ended up being much more longer than I expected and I could have gone on lmao thanks for asking, hope you like it💓)

Buck has always known that Eddie is gorgeous. The first time he glanced at him, Eddie was shirtless and showing his abs off, and they’ve been sharing a locker room since then, so, yeah, Buck is painfully aware of how hot Eddie is.

But, while they navigate through the new development in their relationship (that is shifting from best friends to boyfriends), Buck figures out something else: he is desperate to be touching Eddie at all times. He desperately craves to be held by Eddie, to be cuddling with him more than he wants to have sex with him. Or… well, maybe that’s not true but for the first time, Buck wants— or, actually, needs to lie down naked with another person not just because of sex or after or before sex.

He just wants to lazily make out with Eddie while they only have their boxers on, wants Eddie to hug him so close that it becomes uncomfortable, he wants— he wants Eddie to take his face into his hands and squeeze until the only thing he can focus on is his boyfriend’s gentle touch. And he wants to hold Eddie just as much. He wants to become one with him.

There’s only one downside to this whole thing, this newfound “desire”: to get all that, Eddie will end up seeing him, all of him. And it’s not like Eddie has never seen him naked, quite the opposite actually, Eddie has helped him shower after the firetruck bombing, and has spent so long with him after the lightning strike that he has Buck’s body memorized inch by inch. But… the next time Eddie sees him naked, Eddie will be looking at his boyfriend, so Buck thinks and thinks and thinks and… what if Eddie decides that he is not enough?

It’s ridiculous and Eddie would probably be surprised that such a thought has even crossed Buck’s mind, Buck knows. But he still hears that voice telling him he’s not enough every time Eddie touches him.

So it goes on for some time.

There’s this time, for example, when he’s sitting on one of his kitchen stools and Eddie is standing behind him, arms wrapped around Buck’s torso and his chin lazily grazing Buck’s shoulder while Buck scrolls on Amazon looking for something that Eddie has completely ignored in favor of draping himself over his boyfriend.

“Buck,” he whispers in Buck’s ear, making goosebumps appear all along Buck’s neck.

“Yeah?” Buck is trying his hardest to not give in to his desperate wish to be held, staying ramrod straight even if he wants nothing more than pushing back into Eddie’s chest.

“Wanna come to the couch?” Eddie offers, smiling sweetly.

“Uh- I- I have this thing to do, you can start the movie and I-”

Eddie knows that something is up, he knows that Buck is stalling but he loves him so he ends up squeezing his hips and kissing behind his ear, to put him out of whatever misery he’s put himself into and “Okay, I’ll be there,” says.

One other time, Eddie is lying on top of Buck, in his bed, when he slips one hand under Buck’s sleep shirt, to stroke the skin on his belly and Buck goes rigid under his touch, instead of relaxing, so Eddie takes his hand away but still says nothing.

Then, one night, it’s particularly hot outside and despite the fan, inside too, so Eddie offers Buck to lie in just his underwear. Why would he not, after all? But Buck refuses, telling him that he’s okay, even if he’s sweating, Eddie can tell.

Eddie knows that something is bothering his boyfriend but he doesn’t know what it is, if he should push or wait for Buck to come to him.

Things start to get weirder when Eddie notices that Buck tries to get changed whenever he thinks Eddie is not looking at him, both at the station and at home, but he still says nothing.

After all, Buck still finds every excuse to cuddle up to him, even if they’re at work and their teammates start teasing them, so what if they haven’t had sex yet or Buck seems to not want Eddie’s hands on him?

Eddie stays quiet, even if he has to swallow some hurt, until he can’t anymore.

It comes to a head when Buck gets hurt on a call. They were called to a park where a man was randomly attacking people with a knife. So it was just a medical call but Buck, because he has the worst luck on the planet or because he can’t just stay still, managed to get himself injured by tackling the man to the ground. So here they are, in the hospital, while a nurse stitches his arm up and Eddie hovers over him.

“Hey,” Eddie softly says, putting a hand on Buck’s knee and squeezing, “it’s okay.”

It’s just a straight cut on Buck’s left forearm, nothing major. It just needs a couple of stitches and he’ll be good as new. That doesn’t mean that Eddie hasn’t freaked out at seeing his boyfriend’s blood soaking white gauze, but that’s a story for another time.

So, in the end, Buck is okay and they are alone in this cold, antiseptic ER room, waiting for Buck’s discharge papers, something that will apparently take a little longer because of the ward being short-staffed.

“Buck,” Eddie tries again when Buck doesn’t move his eyes, fixed completely on his now patched-up wound.

He goes to sit on the bed next to him and gently uses a hand to turn Buck’s head towards him. “Baby,” he breathes out softly. “What’s wrong?”

Eddie’s heartbeat quickens because Buck’s eyes are full of unshed tears.

“Nothing…”

“Buck.”

Eddie interlaces their fingers and softly strokes his knuckles.

“This— this will, uh… leave a scar,” Buck eventually mumbles, dropping his head on Eddie’s shoulder.

“Okay…” frowning but carefully Eddie says.

“Okay? Eddie…” Buck sighs, looking like every ounce of fight is leaving his body. “This— I’m already—”

Eddie, for some reason, decides that that is a good time to get up, get between Buck’s thighs, and hug him against his chest.

“What’s wrong, Buck?” He asks while he buries his chin in Buck’s curls.

“I— Eddie, I—”

Buck ends up crying, or at least Eddie thinks he does, because he can feel hot tears wetting his t-shirt. “Come on, baby, what’s wrong? Are you hurt somewhere else?”

In the end, Eddie gives up and steps back to take Buck’s face in his palms, drying his tears with his fingers.

Buck seems so defeated, so small, so helpless that Eddie wants to wrap him up and never let him go, but he can’t, so he does the next best thing: he kisses his boyfriend’s head, again and again until Buck calms down.

“I love you,” he repeats.

Buck shakes his head, “this will be ugly, Eddie,” he whines, ducking his head quite adorably if only despair weren’t written all over his features.

“What are you talking about, Buck?”

“I— I’m covered in scars, fuck, do you even remember my leg?” Buck blurts out. “It’s— it’s—”

Eddie finally connects all the dots and wishes he had never done that because he feels like all the air has been sucked out of his lungs.

“Baby,” he softly whispers. “Buck.”

“Evan,” he tries again, squeezing Buck’s face. “Please don’t tell me you have been… ashamed? Of your scars? Of your body?”

Eddie sounds devastated, but Buck barely manages to meet his eyes.

“No,” he murmurs. “No! I mean… like— you deserve better than this,” he eventually deflates, pointing at himself with his good hand.

Eddie frowns so deeply that Buck fears it’ll become a permanent fixture on his face. “Buck, is that why you’ve been so… distant?”

Buck flinches. “Uh… yeah? I don’t know, I’m so sorry, Eds, now I—”

“You are the same fucking gorgeous man that I love, even with another scar.”

Buck collapses in Eddie’s chest, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

Eddie hugs him again, a bit tighter this time. “Let’s go home, I wanna cuddle with boyfriend, preferably naked,” he declares.

Maybe actions will speak louder than any words, and judging by the way Buck’s eyes light up, he thinks he succeeds.

#911 abc #911 on abc #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie #buddie fic #911 fanfic #buddie fanfic #buddie ficlet #evan buck buckely

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andy-15-07 · 1 day ago

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Hey :D

may I please request for a fic in which Pedro is our dad’s friend and we show him how much of a big girl we are😩 ( age gap! Reader in her 20s and Pedro around 40s)

A Big Girl's Awakening

PAIRING:Pedro Pascal x reader

WORD COUNT: 1988| requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

I’d always known that Pedro Pascal had been my dad’s friend since I was a little girl—a charming, enigmatic presence who filled our family gatherings with his witty banter and reassuring smiles. Growing up, I admired him from afar, a comforting constant in a house full of laughter and love. But tonight, as I sat in the warm glow of twilight in the guest room, I realized just how much I had changed. I was no longer the timid girl clinging to childhood memories—I was a woman in my twenties, eager to explore the desires that had been quietly building inside me for years. And I was determined to show him exactly how much of a big girl I’d become.

It all began at one of those familiar family gatherings. Dad’s house was buzzing with laughter, and Pedro’s deep, easy smile lit up every room he entered. I’d watched him from the corner of the room, the way he interacted with everyone, his eyes always kind but with a mischievous glint that made my pulse quicken. I couldn’t help but notice how, with each passing year, I’d grown into my own person—a confident, daring woman with a hunger for passion that I’d long kept secret.

During the barbecue one summer evening, as the golden light danced across the lawn, I found myself side-by-side with Pedro near the drinks table. The conversation started innocently enough—a playful exchange of small talk and shared memories. But as the night deepened, so did our dialogue.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his tone both teasing and earnest, “you’re not the same little girl I once knew. There’s something new in your eyes tonight. Confident… daring. I like it.”

I felt my cheeks heat as I smiled, meeting his gaze steadily. “Maybe I’m finally ready to show you just how much of a big girl I really am,” I replied, letting a hint of mischief slip into my voice. His eyes darkened with a spark of desire that mirrored my own, and the air between us seemed charged with unspoken promises.

After the barbecue ended and the guests slowly drifted away, circumstances aligned in our favor. Dad had to stay for work, leaving Pedro and me with more time than either of us had expected. With the house quiet and the night settling in, our earlier playful banter evolved into something decidedly more intimate.

That evening in the kitchen, as we prepared a late snack together, Pedro leaned in close. “Tell me, y/n… have you been thinking about that promise you made earlier?” His voice was low and inviting—a murmur of anticipation that sent shivers down my spine.

“Every day, Pedro,” I confessed, my pulse quickening. “I want you to see that I’m not that little girl anymore—I’m a woman who knows what she wants.” I stepped closer, our bodies nearly touching, letting my words echo the desire pulsing through me. “I want you to see just how much I crave this. How much I crave you.��

A slow smile curled on his lips. “Then let me show you,” he murmured, his voice husky with promise. “Let’s go somewhere more… private.”

Before I could reply, his hand brushed mine—a touch that ignited a trail of heat along my skin. Our conversation soon dissolved into whispered confessions and soft laughter as we moved toward the living room, where the ambient lighting set a sultry stage.

“You’ve grown up so beautifully, y/n,” Pedro murmured, his hand trailing from the small of my back to my waist. “Every inch of you tells a story of a girl who’s blossomed into a woman. I’ve always hoped you’d come into your own, but tonight, I’m witnessing something entirely breathtaking.”

I arched an eyebrow and laughed softly, a mix of nervous excitement and bold defiance in my voice. “I’m all grown up, Pedro. I want you to see that I can make my own choices. I want you to see every part of who I am now.”

He stepped closer, his gaze never leaving mine. “Then show me,” he whispered, the intensity in his tone leaving no room for doubt. “Show me that you’re ready to let go of the past and embrace every delicious moment of the present.”

Before long, our playful touches became a symphony of growing passion. We retreated to his softly lit bedroom, a haven where shadows played along the walls and every whispered word felt like a promise of what was to come. Standing at the doorway, I hesitated for only a heartbeat—my heart thudding in anticipation as I searched his eyes for any sign of doubt.

“Are you sure?” I asked, my voice a blend of excitement and vulnerability.

His hand gently lifted my chin, and I met his gaze, dark and unwavering. “I’m more than sure, y/n. Tonight, you’re mine, and I’m yours. Let’s explore every part of that desire that’s been building inside you.”

I swallowed hard, nodding as his words washed over me like a tide. “Then please… show me everything,” I whispered, stepping into his embrace.

Slowly, deliberately, he began unbuttoning his shirt, each discarded piece a symbol of the barriers between us falling away. As his toned skin was revealed, I traced my fingers along his collarbone, marveling at the contrast between the cool fabric and the warmth of his skin. With each gesture, our dialogue grew bolder, our words laced with the promise of intimacy.

“Tell me what you want, y/n,” Pedro whispered, his lips barely grazing my ear. His voice, low and intimate, sent delicious shivers through my body.

I closed my eyes, feeling the intensity of the moment wrap around us. “I want to feel every part of you,” I breathed, my hand slipping beneath his shirt to explore the heat beneath. “I want to be taken by you, to have you claim me completely—show me that I’m not the little girl you once remembered, but a woman who knows exactly what she needs.”

A spark lit in his eyes as he pulled me closer. “Then let’s not hold anything back,” he murmured, his tone shifting as the air between us crackled with raw desire. “I want to hear you beg for me. I want you to let me know exactly how much you need every part of me.”

The conversation shifted into something more explicit, a tantalizing prelude that sent our passion surging forward. His hand trailed along my waist, guiding me gently until we found ourselves tangled in the soft rumpled sheets of his bed. The dim light caressed our skin, highlighting every curve and every trembling sigh of anticipation.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, y/n,” he growled softly as his fingers explored the contours of my body. “Every inch of you is a promise, a secret waiting to be uncovered. I’m going to show you just how much you turn me on.”

I arched my back as his hand slid over my thigh, and with a mixture of nervous excitement and bold desire, I replied, “Pedro, I need you. I want to feel you all over me—take me hard, make me scream your name.” My voice was husky, laden with the hunger of a woman ready to embrace her true self.

His eyes flashed with an intense heat as he whispered, “That’s it, baby. I want to hear you beg. I want every moan, every whispered promise. You’re so fucking wet, y/n—I can’t wait to claim you.”

With those explicit words, the final barriers crumbled. Pedro’s hands were both commanding and tender as he carefully pulled me closer, positioning himself so that I could feel the promise of his desire deep within me. “Tell me, do you want me to make you mine completely?” he asked, his tone a delicious mix of command and caress. “Do you want to feel every thrust, every stroke?”

“Yes, Pedro,” I moaned, every fiber of my being aflame with longing. “I want you to take me hard. I need you inside me. I want to feel your strength, your passion—every inch of you.”

His response was immediate and fervent. “That’s it, y/n,” he groaned as he entered me slowly, each movement deliberate, every touch igniting sparks of unbridled desire. “You feel so fucking good—I want to hear you scream, want you to lose yourself in this moment.”

Every thrust was punctuated by his dirty talk—a heady mix of raw command and genuine adoration. “You’re so fucking perfect,” he murmured, his voice rough with need. “I want every sound you make—every moan, every cry. Tell me you love it when I fuck you like this.” His words wrapped around me, fueling the fire that blazed between us.

Unable to hold back, I cried out, “Pedro, please—fuck me harder! I need to feel you, need to know that I’m completely yours!”

His reply was a growl of satisfaction, “That’s it, baby. Let go—let me hear you, let me know exactly how much you want this.” The room filled with our mingled sounds of pleasure, our bodies moving in a fierce, unyielding rhythm as every whispered dirty word became a declaration of our desire.

“You drive me absolutely wild,” he panted, his hands exploring every curve of my body as he intensified his thrusts. “I want to hear you beg, to feel you shake with pleasure.” His words were relentless, explicit, and intoxicating—each one a testament to the raw power of our connection.

In that heated moment, as the cadence of our bodies echoed the truth of our desires, I found a freedom I’d never known. “I’m so fucking yours, Pedro,” I gasped, every word a mix of surrender and exhilaration. “Take me—show me how deep this desire goes, make me feel every part of you.”

Pedro’s eyes were dark and fierce as he whispered, “I’m going to make you feel things you’ve only dreamed of, y/n. I want you to remember this night every time you think of being desired—every time you remember how alive you truly are.” His explicit declarations punctuated the intensity of our union, and the raw, dirty talk became the soundtrack to our explosive passion.

The night stretched on in a blur of raw ecstasy and whispered affirmations. Every explicit word, every soft plea for more, intertwined with our passion until it seemed that time itself had stopped. The sheets were tangled around us, the air heavy with the scent of desire and the sound of our shared abandon.

When we finally slowed, collapsing together in a sweaty, tangled heap of satisfaction, the aftermath was filled with tender whispers and gentle touches. Pedro’s warm hand brushed my hair as he murmured, “Thank you, y/n. Tonight, you showed me what it means to truly embrace your desire—to be a woman who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to claim it.”

I smiled, still breathless and basking in the afterglow. “Thank you, Pedro,” I replied softly, my voice full of gratitude and wonder. “For seeing me, for taking me on this journey, and for making me feel so fucking alive.”

In that quiet, intimate moment, as the early hints of dawn crept through the curtains, I realized that this night had been more than just a passionate encounter—it was a declaration of my transformation. I was no longer defined by the timid echoes of childhood or the expectations of the past. I was a big girl now, a woman fully awakened to her desires, unafraid to explore every facet of who I was meant to be.

Pedro’s gentle smile and soft kisses as we lay together promised that this was only the beginning—a new chapter of passion, discovery, and unabashed pleasure. And as I drifted into a contented sleep, I knew that every whispered word and every explicit declaration of desire would forever be etched into my heart—a reminder that I had finally stepped into my power, and that no one could ever take that away from me.

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evilproxxy · 2 days ago

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hey babe, if you’re up to it i’d like something predatory involving night hunter. fem!reader is fine. suggestive/nsfw is totally up to you but i do love size kink. thanks for considering. 💚

thank you for the request!!!!!!! of COURSE I'm up for it! 😍

got a bit carried away so this ended up much longer than expected, but I hope you like it! 🙈

pairing: night hunter x fem!reader

rating: nsfw 🌶️

tags: dubcon (at first), size kink, smut (kissing/groping/fingering), a dash of praise kink, kinda enemies to lovers??

🔞MDNI🔞

Where's a damn battery when you need one?

Knowing your luck, one's tucked right there in the inky black room that stands before you. Probably nestled alongside the last key you need to finally kill that fucking snitch. That, coincidentally, is why your goggles are currently on life support. It's been almost half an hour now, you and your fellow reagents stumbling around getting shocked by booby-trapped corpses, failure, failure, failure.

The door sits open - is it an invitation, or perhaps a dare?

You'd heard him. The elevator siren had blared its shrill warning, and you hadn't seen the pulsing glow of fire nor heard the whine of compressed gas. No, you'd heard him - snarling, ranting, dread on legs.

The man with the x-ray eyes, as he likes to call himself. He's got those goggles drilled into his damn skull and the idiot doesn't know the difference between x-ray and night vision?

You've not had many dealings with the Night Hunter as you'd mostly tried to avoid him, but the most recent rendezvous had been a miserable one. He'd cornered you in a dark office, pouncing on you while you'd been focused on picking a lock, and you'd managed to get away with only one chunk of your flesh hacked into. Lucky you.

Still tender from the unhealed wound, stitches bumpy and tight under your sleeve, you steel yourself. You're going in. You have to. It's the only place you haven't checked yet.

If you just had one damn battery.

You try to shake off your nerves as you head inside, attempting to manifest some kind of bravado within yourself. There's no point even bringing your lifeless goggles down, so you try to adjust your eyes to the darkness instead. Your fingertips brush along a desk, loose paperwork shunting on the surface as you blindly navigate the void.

You wince when you hear one of your colleagues screaming out for help, followed by the pounding footfall of a big grunt in pursuit. The obscenities and threats being yelled into the air send a chill down your spine, and you fight the urge to turn and run out there, to create a diversion and rescue your fellow reagent - but you know you need to focus on the task at hand. Get in, find that key, and get the fuck out.

The silence in your own room is somewhat reassuring. Perhaps the commotion outside has drawn the attention of every ex-pop in area, and if the Night Hunter is still around then he's bound to be searching for them instead of you. With a sliver of selfish confidence, you crouch down in the darkness and continue your mission. One clammy palm presses against the tiled floor, the other reaching out into the darkness to blindly search the area. You find a few boxes full of junk, a glass bottle that you tuck into your belt, more discarded documents. No battery, and no key.

As you continue to feel around, what you're hoping to find is that elusive final corpse, some poor nameless soul reduced to a simple prop for your therapy session. What you actually find, however, is a pair of legs.

The small, amused hum above you makes your heart dissolve in your chest.

"Found what you're looking for, little mouse?"

You freeze, as if he somehow won't see you if you just stay still. You can't swallow the saliva pooling behind your teeth, nor the lump growing in your throat. Your breath is caught in your chest, strangled by the sound of that patronising voice.

"Hm, not gonna try and run this time? Don't wanna make it fun for me?"

You can't help the whimper that slips from your lips.

Do you run? You might make it out to the light before he catches you. It's unlikely, but perhaps it's not impossible. Adrenaline is a powerful motivator. But he's fast, unexpectedly agile for his size. You learned that the hard way last time. There could still be another grunt outside too, you might stumble out of the frying pan and into the fire. And that machete, it gives him a longer reach, another lesson you'd learned last time...

As your mind races through your panicked risk assessment, trying frantically to weigh up costs and benefits, you hear him laugh. It's not friendly. No, it's malicious.

So, you run. Your pulse skyrockets, your heart threatening to simply stop in your chest as you try to scramble across the tiles, fighting to get to your feet. The faint light of the now-distant doorway beckons you as you slam into a desk, crying out in pain as you stumble back against another.

He's on you in an instant. You knew he would be, if you're honest with yourself. You feel ashamed, a foolish little girl playing stupid, stupid games.

"What's the deal, glow worm? Trying to earn yourself another scar?" He snarls as he grabs you by the jaw, slamming you back onto the desk. You hear the glass bottle smash at your hip, your only chance at defending yourself now laying in shards. Your back throbs as your harness bites into the soft skin on your back, and the shadow of his large form looms over you as your hands raise defensively. The glowing lenses of his goggles are inches from your face, as though he's examining each little detail of your terrified expression. "You got away from me last time, didn't you? Slippery little thing. That won't be happening again."

Last time?

He slides your sleeve up your shoulder, and a long finger traces over the stitched up wound as you're frozen in place. It's as though he's admiring his work.

Surely he doesn't remember you. There's no way.

"It's a shame to taint such a sweet little thing, but don't you worry," he hums thoughtfully, leaning in to breathe against your ear, his chest pressing your E.S.O.P. harshly into your chest. "I'll leave that pretty face in one piece."

A scream builds in your chest and swells uncontrollably as it escapes your lips. You despise the display of weakness, but you can't help yourself as you cry out, praying that one of the others might be close enough to hear your pleading, but a large hand clamps over your mouth.

"Mmm, I missed that sound," he groans breathily, keeping his body pressed firmly against yours as he forces himself between your legs. You try to keep them together, your hands grasping at his wrists as huge hands hold you in a vice-like grip, but it's useless. He's got you pinned and completely overpowered. "Haven't been able to stop thinking about it."

He really does remember you.

"But I need you to be quiet now, little mouse," he continues, brushing his nose against the side of your face as he breathes you in. Your jaw is clenched so tightly that your teeth might just crumble in your mouth, your cheeks stinging under his crushing grip. "Because if any of your little friends interrupt us, I'll be redecorating this shithole with their insides."

Paralysed by the threat, you try your best to nod a tiny confirmation in his grip - it's barely noticeable, but he feels it nonetheless. His grip on your jaw loosens slightly, and the hand over your mouth slides away, seemingly satisfied at your compliance as he reaches up to stroke your hair.

"Such a pretty little glow worm," he sighs, and it's almost affectionate. "The moment I saw you, I just knew I needed to get my hands on you."

Your mind is spinning, horror and intrigue swirling in your mind as you listen to his frightfully saccharine words. You've never heard him sound like this before, the softness in his voice so foreign, and you simply can't make sense of it.

"I-I don't... don't understand," you manage to croak out, your tongue heavy in your mouth as you try to speak.

"What is there to understand?" He hums as he brings his face close to yours once again. "I wanted you, and now I've got you."

You try to swallow, but your mouth is unimaginably dry. "Are you... going to kill me?"

His grip tightens on your jaw again, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you brace yourself for a stab, a claw, a rip - but it doesn't come. He just speaks softly, calmly, as though reassuring a nervous dog.

"Now why would I spoil our fun by doing something like that?"

The words make your stomach drop, your hands going limp in resignation. It's impossible to read his expression, eyes concealed by glass, face mostly obscured by his goggles, and everything else drenched in an endless darkness.

"So..." you begin to ask, but you're not sure you even want to know the answer. "...what are... what-"

You're cut off by his laughter. "No, I'm not going to kill you, little mouse, but I am going to have a little fun with you."

You can't help the tears that gather along your lash line, nor the choked sob that leaves your trembling lips.

"Please," you start, but you don't even know what you're hoping for. Freedom? Mercy? You can't see either of those coming your way any time soon. "Please, just... don't hurt me again."

He exhales through his nose, and it's slow, thoughtful. "I'm not gonna hurt you. Not too badly, anyway. No, I'm going to make you feel so good that you won't even want to leave."

Despite all the shit you have to put up with in this place - the barbaric tasks you've had to complete, the rotten places you've stuffed your hands into, the shit you've been made to wade through - all in the name of therapy... you never thought you'd be contending with something like this.

"I- please, I don't want that," you whimper, hands trembling as your eyes strain to see him in the darkness. "Please, I- I just want to go... I shouldn't have come in here, I'm sorry, please just-"

"I like how it sounds when you beg."

Tears begin to spill down your cheeks, unable to contain them anymore. You shake your head - well, as much as you can in his grip - and he sighs.

"Don't cry, little mouse," he coos, but the words feel almost like mockery. "See, I just knew this place would bring you back to me. Had to make sure of it though. Needed a little insurance to help guide destiny along the right path."

His hand leaves your hair, and he reaches down into the darkness. Then, just in front of your eyes, he holds a key.

It was him.

He's the reason you're here. He orchestrated it, playing puppet master to your trial. He knew you'd waste your battery searching for the last key. He knew you'd have to go into the darkness, into his world, desperate to find the last puzzle piece. It all played out exactly as he planned.

You know it's useless, but you reach for the key anyway. As expected, he pulls it away.

"Ah ah ah, not so fast," he scolds, the grin evident in his voice. "This is the only way you're getting out of here, isn't it? Can't kill the snitch if you can't get to that last chamber. I'm sure that big nasty F grade would look hideous on your record, wouldn't it? I see how hard you work around here. I see how much you want to impress those white coats. I see everything." He taps the key against the edge of his goggles, the clacking sound loud in the silence of the room. "So, what's it worth to you?"

Your mouth hangs open, but no words come out. You can't even try to form a sentence, your mind a mess of confusion, frustration, fear, curiosity. Why would he go to those lengths, risk whatever repercussions he might face for tampering with a trial, just to get hold of you?

"Speechless, hm? I felt the same way the first time I saw you. You glowed so much brighter than the rest."

You're still trembling as his hand disappears, and with it your chance at escape. He presumably tucks the key away somewhere, its resting place far out of your limited vision as he presses his hips against you once again, harsher this time, almost needily. Your chest rises and falls quickly with each shallow, panicked breath - just like the little mouse he likes to remind you you are, locked in the talons of the great bird of prey. His long fingers release your jaw, and he tilts his head to one side as heleans in to press his lips against yours.

The feeling is surreal, the scarred skin of his lips jagged against your own, the heat of him unexpected, the aggression of his kiss less so. You can't pull away, head already pushed back against the desk, but you don't even try. You just lay there, mind racing, eyes drifting shut as you feel yourself becoming completely overwhelmed. The hand that had been gripping your jaw now wanders down your body, tugging the fabric of your shirt out from where it's been tucked inside your waistband. His hand feels gargantuan as it slides beneath the material, long fingers sliding up neglected skin, the coarse digits tracing up the curve of your waist as he explores you. He hums into your mouth as his fingertips graze against the plush of your breast.

"So soft," he whispers as he breaks away from the kiss, his breaths noticeably heavier now. "Softer than I could've imagined. Only soft thing in this entire God-forsaken place."

He kisses you again, more desperately this time, and you kiss him back. You're not sure why, but you're body responds without your command. You feel yourself strangely relaxing a little at his touch, his hands much gentler than his lips, and his palm slides over your breast, kneading at the pillowy flesh as he groans against you.

You feel torn. This should repulse you, and under any other circumstances it surely would. Maybe it's the cover of darkness, or your own primal urges acting independent of your conscious mind - even with a gun to your head, you're not sure you could answer the questions running through your head. So you bring your hands to his shoulders to push him back slightly and, to your surprise, he instantly pulls back.

"Why?"

While you can't see his expression, he seems caught off guard. The bitter aggression you're so familiar with seems to have thawed out into something more... human?

"Why are you doing this?" You press on, urged by something tangled in your chest that makes your heart feel like it might burst. "I don't even know what you're risking here, but... there's got to be something, right? Interfering with the trial, falling out of line... Why? What's all this worth to you?"

As his hand continues to caress your breast, his other hand comes back to your face, cupping your cheek. It's tender, and it seems to challenge everything you thought you knew about the man.

"I've been watching you, little mouse. The way you move, the sound of your voice, the determination on your face... I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. And I never think about any of you. Bunch of fucking cockroaches running around, begging to get squished. But you..." He pauses, thumb stroking your cheek as he thinks. "Last time, I came close, but you ran. If it were anyone else it would have excited me, made me furious, made me want to spill some blood. But it just made me hungry."

The air is systematically knocked out of you with each sentence. It stirs something inside of you, a feeling you can't quite describe. You barely think before you speak, your chest tight as you look up at those glowing lenses, imagining the eyes trapped behind them.

"Are you lonely here?"

He scoffs, giving your breast a firm squeeze that makes you gasp. "More lonely than you could ever imagine, little mouse."

He pushes your head to the side, pressing kisses along your neck and his fingers stroke at your nipple, gently squeezing it as it firms up at his touch. Goosebumps bloom across your skin, little hums escaping your lips as he touches you over and over. His kisses are clumsy, the bulky night vision goggles bumping against the table as he nips as the sensitive skin of your neck, and his hips jerk against yours involuntarily.

Your eyes flutter shut again as the friction begins to ignite a spark in your belly. It's been so long, too long, since anyone touched you like this either. Strangely, you feel special, a fucked up kind of flattery nipping at your ego. You'd be lying if the words weren't getting to you, that pet name sounding almost comforting, his relentless ministrations untangling any sense of restraint you were holding onto.

You take a deep breath.

"Make me feel good."

He freezes, as though he doesn't believe his ears.

"Take me away from here."

The words instantly spur him on, your acceptance of his advances seemingly flicking a switch inside of him, and his movements become more hurried, more passionate. The warmth in your belly only grows as his hand pulls away from your breast to start tugging at your waistband. You help him, sitting up a little to start undoing your belt as he stands up straight between your legs, towering over you. You blindly fumble with the buckle, releasing the garment as he keeps his gaze trained on you alone.

"Beautiful," he sighs, and there's hunger in his tone that sends shivers through you. He pulls you into a kiss, hooking a finger under your chin as he leans down to you meet your lips. Then, he breaks away, nudging your shoulder so that you lay back down on the desk. "Just relax, little mouse. Let me take care of you."

His hand slips under the fabric of your pants before pulling at the gusset of your underwear. He moves it aside, and a small noise of surprise leaves his lips as a thick, long singer slides between your folds.

"Didn't think you'd be wet for me," he hums, and your cheeks burn in an instant. "Seems you need this just as much as I do, hm?" You nod uselessly, a hand reaching up to cover your face as his finger glides over your clit, making you moan softly. "Let me see your face."

It's easy to forget that, despite your own blindness, he can still see everything. Every time your brows draw together, the way your lips part each time you gasp, the way your chest rises and falls. You feel a sudden pang of self-consciousness, but it's easily forgotten when his finger pushes inside of you. It feels huge, your body tensing around the intrusion as he pushes in.

"So small," he whispers, his other hand resting on the desk just beside your head. "Such a delicate little thing... can barely even fit."

You whine as he begins to slide his finger in and out, your arousal making it easier, but the stretch still undeniable. He leans in close, his lips pressing against yours once again, and it muffles your cry as he curls his finger inside of you.

"I know, little mouse," he whispers against your lips. "But we need to stay quiet, can't let anyone find us like this, can we?"

You give him a weak nod as he continues to stroke against that soft inner wall, biting your lip as you try to stifle the moan that's fighting for freedom. He kisses you again, before bringing another finger to your entrance. As he starts to push it inside, you slap your hand over your mouth to hold back the cry.

"You can take it, can't you?" He coos in your ear pressing a kiss against your neck. "My brave girl, my shiny little mouse, I know you can take it."

It burns just enough to be a little uncomfortable, and you try your best to relax your muscles to allow him inside, unable to help the way your walls desperately squeeze against him. You uncover your mouth, sucking in a deep breath as he continues. "Hurts- hurts a bit," you gasp, and he slows slightly.

"Mm, it's tight," he nods, kissing your neck again before pulling back to look at you. "But you just keep sucking me in, don't you? A little pain's never stopped you from getting what you want though, has it?"

He strokes his hand over the stitches on your arm as if to punctuate the comment before curling both fingers deep inside of you, and it makes your back arch off of the desk. He hums in approval before sliding his thumb against your clit, starting to slowly push both fingers in and out. You clamp your hands over your mouth to muffle a moan that would otherwise have been loud enough for the entire trial area to hear.

He strokes his thumb back and forth over your sensitive spot as he quickens the pace of his fingers, and you're shamelessly writhing under his touch. He brings his other hand down to pull your shirt up, the fabric bunching up beneath your E.S.O.P. as he reaches underneath it, kneading at your breast again.

It feels like your heart might just stop. You can feel it approaching, the sensation of your building climax unmistakable as you fall apart beneath him. You'd almost forgotten how it felt to be with anyone, nights spent pleasuring yourself with the cold, lifeless sex toys in your sleep room cell never coming close to the warmth of a lover. And even here, in the darkness of this shabby office, at the hands of someone whose role was always to be your enemy - you can't imagine anything coming close to this feeling again.

With his lips pressed to yours, long fingers buried deep inside you, a huge hand gripping your breast, you come undone.

Despite the darkness, you're seeing stars. He kisses you over and over as you come for him, your body trembling beneath him as he soothes you through your release. Little aftershocks, shaky breath, emptiness as he pulls his fingers out of you. Your mouth is open, but there are no words.

There's a beat of quiet, just the sound of your shaky breath filling the air, before he speaks.

"Come back to me," he says softly, and it almost sounds like a question. His hand returns to your hair, stroking it gently. "Need you to keep coming back."

You open your eyes to meet his, the circles of greenish-black glow watching you carefully, like you might just vanish if he looks away for even a moment.

"That'll be all for now, little mouse," he continues, almost matter of fact, like he's ripping off the bandage. "Can't to push you too far."

"But... what about you?" You ask softly, voice hoarse and quiet as you rest your hand against his chest.

You can almost make out a small smile in the darkness. "I'll take care of myself. Next time... well, maybe we can work you up to it. Need to be careful with my little mouse. Don't want to break you."

You sit up, body still shaky as you hold onto him. He tugs down your shirt before pulling you against him, just holding you for a moment as you breathe into his chest. Then, he reaches to his side, pulling back slightly and presenting you with that coveted final key. You'd almost forgotten about it.

"They'll be waiting for you," he says softly, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze as you almost reluctantly take the key, accepting that you'll be going your separate ways for now. "And so will I."

#this was so much fun #requested #my fics #the night hunter #night hunter x reader #outlast trials fanfic #fem!reader #MDNI

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amee-racle-ofmyown · 7 months ago

Note

Hey, Amee!! I hope you’re doing well <3

If by any chance you’re up to it, could you please write a fic about Heist Mark being super jealous of Yancy because he and Y/N clearly seem to be into each other?? I LOVE your art and writings and I couldn’t get this idea out of my head <3 (Obviously no pressure, though!)

I'm so happy to hear you enjoy my work, thank you🥺💖 and thank you for your request! it got me out of a terrible writer's block. on that note, sorry this took quite some time, I've been in a bit of a funk of on and off general creative block, and unable to finish any writing at all for even longer. this was a pretty fun challenge! I myself view Yancy platonically so I wasn't quite sure where to go with this initially, and I had to fight every urge to just make this heist mark x y/n dfsjsjsv. that said, it did end up being more heist mark-centric than maybe you intended? in which case, I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself😔 yancy is there but very briefly haha

Don't you tell me that you never even thought, 'maybe we could run'

2,603 words | Read on AO3

‘We're all gonna be rehearsing tomorrow so youse best get some sleep.’

You nod as you close the gate to yours and Mark's shared cell, stifling a yawn.

‘Goodnight, Yancy.’

You hold each other's gaze for a moment, before he turns and heads off, a tattooed hand over the back of his neck and a sweet smile still on his face. You watch as he disappears into the outer hallway and a guard appears to lock up your cell for the evening.

Your long-time accomplice and friend stands at the edge of your vision, arms folded.

‘Having fun with your new boyfriend, buddy?’ he asks, sounding unimpressed and slightly strained.

‘Oh, shush, Mark,’ you chide, but your stomach flips at the notion.

‘Yeah… Well, while you were busy playing Broadway,’ he glances to either side of the cell outside and continues in a lowered voice, ‘I've been hard at work hatching our escape. And I'm telling you, it's foolproof.’

‘Uh huh. As foolproof as your other three failed plans? I really don't wanna get thrown in solitary again.’

‘Please, that was one time! — and I don't see you bothering to come up with any ideas. Even though you pretty much got us into this mess.’

That accusation ticks you off, but you're quick to retaliate.

‘Are you seriously still hung up on that? How is this my fault? You couldn't fly a helicopter, why would you assume I can? You shouldn't have even presented it as an option!’

Your exclamation earns you a couple looks from other inmates slowly filing into their cells for the night.

‘Nevermind that now,’ Mark says, infuriatingly placatingly, ‘do you wanna hear the plan or not?’

The thread of uncertainty that you've been avoiding coils tight in your chest and you pause, wondering how to bring up what's been nagging at you for days.

‘Um, so, I've been thinking. What if… what if we don't try to escape?’

‘Ha ha. Funny joke, pal.’

‘I'm serious, Mark. We could just… stay here and wait out our sentence, if we play it safe we might even get our time reduced on good behaviour. We could be gone in like a decade. Or a few years! Maybe. Probably. Maybe.’ Wishful thinking, perhaps.

He scoffs, as if the idea isn't even worth considering.

‘There is no way you're genuinely telling me to just wait it out. Maybe you haven't noticed since you've been in la-la land lately, but we're not on vacation, we're in prison,’ Mark spouts, voice growing thick with agitation. ‘What was supposed to be the heist of a lifetime, would've set us up for decades to come, is still on the line! And we're on a bit of a time crunch here — I don't trust that warden guy one bit with the Box, or in general,’ he sneers. ‘I mean what kind of name is Murder-Slaughter? Ugh, do we even know for sure if he still has it?’

‘Yancy mentioned seeing it in his office the last time he was there, which was earlier today, so yeah, probably.’

‘Ugh, there you go again about Yancy. It's always Yancy this, Yancy that, blah blah blah, Yancy!’

‘Wh– I was just answering your question!’

‘Y'know what? I'm sick and tired of being the only one taking this seriously while you act like it's all a big party.’

He places a hand on his hip, the other poking a finger towards you as he speaks. It would be comical, if he wasn't acting like a jerk.

‘What's up with you?’

‘What's up with me? What's up with you? You seriously wanna stay in this— this shithole, ‘cause of what? Some pretty face you've known for all of like, less than two weeks??’

‘Oh my God, Mark, it's not that terrible, and Yancy is actually my friend, he's been nothing but welcoming and kind since we got here, and—’

‘Oh, did you forget that he tried to beat you up when you first met? Real interesting, how you let that little detail slip.’

‘We just got off on the wrong foot, he's really—’

It's then that you see it — something in the slight hunch in his gait, the furrow of his brow, his pursed lips and tense jaw — and you wonder why you hadn't noticed before. It's not just anger and frustration, it's something bitter and personal.

‘Mark… are you jealous?’

Bingo. His eyes only widen a sliver, for a fraction of a second, but you're so used to reading him that even the most imperceptible of reactions on his usually very expressive face have become familiar to you.

‘Psh. I'm not jealous.’

‘You so are jealous! Oh my god, you're super duper jealous,’ you say with a grin, revelling in this new information.

‘Shut up, why would I be jealous?’ he protests, trying to sound nonchalant. But it's too late. You've already seen through it.

‘Is that what this is about?’ you say with a laugh. ‘You just want my attention back or something?’

He stares blankly for a moment.

‘Are you serious right now? You actually think the only reason I'm mad is because some random dude just waltzes in and starts acting all buddy buddy with you and you fall head-over-heels,’ he jeers with his hands either side of his face, fluttering his eyelashes mockingly. ‘Hook, line and sinker.’

‘Mark—’

‘I mean, never mind your partner, right? You know, your best friend who you've known and worked with for years? Who cares what he thinks?!’

‘Mark, I—’

‘In fact, he can get punched through a wall for all you care! You won't even bat an eye, as long as there's a random spontaneous musical number immediately afterwards, it's all in good fun!’

‘Ok, that's not fair,’ you push back. ‘Of course I was worried! But I was also surrounded by violent criminals at the time, we've been over this!’

‘Oh, so they're “violent criminals” now? But they're simply “hurt, misunderstood souls” when it suits you?!’ he shoots back, making air quotes to emphasise his point.

‘They're people, Mark! They're allowed to be… multi-faceted!’

‘Lights out, everybody,’ comes a guard's voice, ringing through the hallway as it suddenly becomes dark, save for the glow of dim lamplight emanating from one or two of the other cells.

‘Whatever, let's just get some sleep,’ Mark grumbles under his breath.

‘You always do this!’ you whisper harshly, but inadvertently let the volume slip back into your voice as you feel your blood boil. ‘You try to cut things off and act like the “bigger person” just to get out of an argument that, newsflash, YOU'RE LOSING.’

‘Oh, whatever, what-f*cking-ever!’

‘You're being so damn overdramatic, Mark! It's not like I'm trying to break up our team.’

‘Yeah, well– well maybe we should!’

You don't know why it jolts you like a gunshot when he says it, but it does. His words, the force and resentment behind them, pierce you to your core. It stops any quick-fire response you had at the ready in its tracks.

Regret immediately flashes across his face, but he quickly attempts to cover it with a steely, hardened gaze. ‘Clearly, we want different things. So maybe it's for the best.’

‘Hey!’ one of the guards calls out from across the hall. ‘Lights out means quiet, you two. Don't make us separate you into different cells.’

With a frustrated huff, you reluctantly traipse off to bed, yours being the lower half of the bunk while Mark settles above you.

It really is a rather decent bed. The mattress is nothing special, but comfortable, and the soft blanket is accompanied by an oddly luxurious, fluffy pillow. Definitely above what you'd expect is probably average prison standards. Frankly, you don't know what Mark's problem is with this place. It's honestly not half bad. As far as you expect jails go, it surely could be a lot worse.

You lay back and let your breathing even out, trying your best to allow some of the bubbling anger to die down. Eventually, you hear the guards leave.

Time passes, it could be minutes or hours; it's not like the passage of time has felt right at all to you since that last heist.

It's silent, save for the sound of your breaths and Mark's above you. You're still upset with him, but the sound of him breathing nearby has always been oddly comforting. The two of you have had plenty of close calls as a pair — even times when you had to patch each other up after jobs that went particularly badly. If you got injured on a heist, you couldn't simply call an ambulance or show up at a hospital in an emergency and risk having your whole operation blown. That was simply the nature of your line of work.

At the worst of times, as long as you could hear those steady, even breaths, you could tell yourself he would pull through, and things would be fine.

You idly watch the mattress above you, letting the rhythm of your friend's breathing become a gentle white noise, and think.

You think about that heist and the Box. Ancient, coveted, mysterious. Sitting atop its perch in the museum vault, in all its glory and allure, practically asking to be stolen. The gleam of the gem encrusted in its surface. You wonder if the prize held within would be worth all of this, if you managed to get it back.

You think about Yancy, a little rough and a little troubled and not seeing much point in trying to kick old habits; but fun and soft and sensitive and full of remorse. You think about the feeling of your hand in his when you practise a routine with him, how his whole face lights up when he's excited or falls when he's sad or pensive. You think about how he has made this penitentiary into a home, and these inmates into a family.

You think about Mark. Silly, stupid, steadfast Mark, snarky and thoughtful and loyal. Who isn't actually as dumb as he lets on. Who is resourceful and quick-thinking when a plan needs to be formed. Who makes bad puns and trusts you whole-heartedly, and who always lets you decide which course of action to take, no matter how much he disagrees, simply due to his unwavering faith in you. Mark, your co-worker, your friend, your partner in crime. Who is maybe a little enamoured with you, despite you trying to ignore it. Who you half-heartedly agreed to go on a date with, not having it in you to turn him down, nor prepared for the guilt that would be eating away at you now.

You think about one of the first things he told you when you landed yourselves at Happy Trails: About how he doesn't belong here, but maybe you do. What if he were to leave and you were to stay? The thought breaks your heart a little.

Then, a whisper from above into the quiet, gently interrupting your thoughts.

‘Hey, you still awake?’

‘...Yeah.’

You hear his voice, soft-spoken, but clear enough that you can hear the sincerity laced into it.

‘I… I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get so worked up.’

‘Yeah, I'm sorry too,’ you reply, matching his volume.

‘And I didn't mean it,’ he says, and you think you hear the slightest tremble in the statement, almost as if he's fighting tears, and for a second you wish you could see his face, ‘what I said before, about uh, splitting up. I know I joke about that kind of thing all the time, and not coming back for you… But you know I don't really mean it, right?’

You've certainly had your doubts in the past, but those moments seem so far away now; footnotes in a slowly unfolding tale, stepping stones on the journey the pair of you have taken together as you worked your way from theft to theft to get to this point. As much as you'd butt heads over the years, you could always count on each other and you always stuck together.

‘Right?’

‘Yeah, I know…’

‘...And, alright, your lack of interest in breaking out aside, maybe I am kinda jealous.’

‘Ha! I knew it.’

‘Yeah, yeah.’ He sighs. ‘It's just… it took us a while to be like we are now and yet, you're suddenly so close to him when it hasn't even been that long, it just doesn't feel fair. I dunno, it's stupid.’

‘Nah, I get it. I'm sorry if I made you feel left behind.

‘And I'm sorry if I ever made you feel pressured into something you're actually just not all that into.’

You feel a bit of tension leave your chest as a small smile appears on your face. ‘I appreciate that.’

In some ways you're grateful for the small bed separating you and preventing you from being face to face. You think it makes this easier for both of you.

‘I don't want to lose you, y'know? I mean, we're supposed to be partners. Ride or die, remember?’

‘Oh, Mark… You know I still trust you with my life…’ You pause, considering your words. ‘For the first time in ages, things feel a little more complicated than just being about us.’

A beat, then you hear him inhale, and he says your name, foregoing any of his usual nicknames.

‘...Are you… happy here? Does he make you happy?’

‘There's things I miss about freedom, sure, but it's not so bad here. And let's face it, our crimes were probably gonna catch up to us eventually, one way or another, right? And Yancy…’ You let out the smallest huff of laughter, smiling to yourself once again. ‘You're right, it hasn't been very long… There's just something about him, I guess. I know he might be a little much at times but I enjoy being around him, and he honestly seems like he wants to make up for things he's done in the past by being here. Maybe nothing will come of this but even so, in a weird way, he kind of makes me want to do better?’

Mark breathes a good-natured huff of laughter as well, and the two of you take a moment to muse on the irony of that sentiment.

‘I just– I can't handle being stuck here,’ he finally says. ‘But you're right, nothing I've tried so far has worked, anyway.’

‘Y'know… Yancy knows all the ins and outs of this place. He could probably help us if we wanted it.’

‘Do you want it?’

Do you want to leave or stay? The real question beneath it all.

You're quiet again, and it feels as if every possibility is laid out before you, only obscured.

‘I don't know,’ you say eventually. ‘I need more time to think. I just don't want you to think I'm making a choice between you or him, there's so many other things I need to consider. That we need to consider.’

‘That's fair… Just don't take too long, ok? Not like we can pause or rewind time, haha.’

‘Right… In the meantime, could you at least try to get along with Yancy and the others? You might like them if you give them a chance.’

‘... Fine, I'll try,’ he acquiesces.

You raise a hand to your mouth to cover a yawn. A far more comfortable silence falls over the room, and you start to feel sleep overtake you.

‘... Hey, Mark?’

‘Yeah?’

‘We're still partners.’

If nothing else, you hope this will reassure him.

‘...Ok. Sweet dreams, partner.’

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tangents-within-tangents · 10 months ago

Text

Thoughts on Echo as amputee/disability representation

First and foremost, I am not disabled or an amputee and I don’t claim to speak for those communities (and if I was I couldn't speak for everyone). What little I do know mostly comes from this youtube channel (@oakwyrm), this post, and other research I’ve done for my writing (and like one amputee I kinda knew in passing). By all means correct me and add to the conversation, I just have some thoughts I want to share because I haven’t really seen this discussed anywhere

Overview

So Echo is interesting. He is a triple amputee which is pretty rare in media. His disabilities come from extremely traumatic circumstances: injured in a near-death experience, imprisoned and dehumanized as an experiment with no autonomy over what happened to his body.

There are a few moments in the shows where Echo is treated… questionably. Like this bit where Rex uses him as an example of the Separatists' evils to convince the locals to fight back:

To be fair, yeah Echo’s treatment does prove that the Techno Union is not neutral like they claim. The modifications that everyone is gasping in horror at here obviously weren’t made with comfort and accessibility in mind, nor with Echo’s consent. But you still just want to be sure that “They took away his freedom, his humanity, they tried to turn him into a machine” is about using him as a living computer, not the fact that he is missing limbs.

The Batch is also pretty insensitive toward him and his trauma imo, which is weird considering they've supposedly also faced discrimination for their mutations

Disabled people do have to deal with stuff like this in this day and age so I guess it can speak to those experiences. I think especially him being mistaken as a droid (and Hunter going along with it (bruh)) might resonate with some people.

Aside from that stuff, Echo isn't really treated any differently as a character/person which is really good (as low of a bar as that is).

We get this moment in CW where Echo contemplates that yeah things are gonna be different now

While also (imo at least) showing that he is still the same person regardless, evidenced by the fact that he just echoed Rex :,) I also think it's significant that he joins the Bad Batch on his own terms and we're given a really emotional scene to specifically show that he's not just like 'lumped in with the other misfits' but that it is his choice to go where he feels his place is.

A lot of people, myself included, are disappointed that TBB didn't have more time to explore Echo's PTSD, but I think the one panic attack scene we did get is really good. Even thought it's minor it at least is an appropriate reaction from a guy who was medically tortured (which is more than I've come to expect from Star Wars shows lol)

And it's really sweet to see Omega showing Echo some empathy and consideration.

It would have been nice to see more of his adjustment period, and other side effects like chronic pain and maintenance, but there’s a lot of daily life stuff the show never had time for (i.e. we don’t know if he removed his prosthetics to sleep, but we also never saw him sleep anyway). His disabilities might take on a background role (much like the character himself sadly) but for the most part they aren’t invisible or erased, nor do they define his character and arc.

Physical Appearance

Okay this one is bit dicey, bc on the one hand, yes complaints that Echo’s paleness (most likely caused by burns from the explosion or chemical burns from the cryo-chamber) is whitewashing are totally valid. But I also think you can draw comparisons to real life conditions that affect pigmentation/complexion (like you know burns). So while I understand why a lot of fanart will depict him with his original skin tone and with hair, consider that there are real people who have to live with temporary or permanent changes to their appearance, and the idea of “fixing" him by making him look more like his old self can be problematic.

It's also interesting to note that Echo could act as a reversal of the 'disabled/disfigured = evil' trope. He's pale and bald and wears black and red, which is so often visually associated with villains, but we all know Echo is the bestest boy™

The Headpiece

Echo’s headpiece is interesting because within the show we don’t actually ever learn much about it (idk if there is more info in books or whatever bc i don’t have them so?). He didn’t have it in CW so we know it didn’t come from the Techno Union and therefore Echo probably had more choice with it. We don’t know its exact purpose but it’s most likely related to his scomping abilities. When he is hacking with his scomp in CW, before he has his headpiece, it’s clearly very mentally straining:

We don’t see him struggling like this in TBB once he does have it (though that could be bc he got more used to it over time). There doesn't seem to be much of an impact when he removes his headpiece in s3 ep14-15, except that he gets stuck in the ports every time he uses his scomp which is not something we’ve seen before:

There might not be an exact real-world equivalent, but the headpiece is some kind of accessibility aid. It means that someone specifically designed a device to help him adapt to the changes the Techno Union made, as well as a helmet that integrates it. It’s removable and visually very present, much like a cochlear implant would be. (A lot of people actually headcanon it to act partially as a hearing aid, since it makes sense that Echo’s hearing would have been damaged in the explosion, but there isn't really any indication of this in canon.) The headpiece is never really acknowledged in the show, but I think that's a good thing. It's something he needs/wants and it just exists, completely normalized, and that's pretty cool 👍

Legs

Sigh... So from the very first episode of TBB I was really disappointed that the animation team or whoever completely visually erased Echo’s prosthetic legs (I think we all were, honestly, if fanart is anything to go by). It’s one thing when he’s in armor because he would probably want to protect his prosthetics, but we literally see him in his blacks and there is no indication whatsoever that he lost his legs even though it was not left up for debate at all in CW:

Like ??????!?

This is just really strange to me! Idk what went on behind the scenes with this decision but I don’t really see why it would be that much harder to animate or anything since it’s 3D and they've done it before. We do see some pretty sophisticated cybernetic technology in Star Wars canon that mimics real limbs:

But Luke’s fancy hand is technically 20ish years from now, so Anakin and Maul are more of a representation of what level we could expect here

So yeah, for no apparent reason, his leg amputation is effectively, visually and narratively nonexistent. Which is not great 👎

Arm!

The scomp on the other hand (uh lol!) is the complete opposite and I kinda love it!

At first I, like many others, thought it was a bit odd that they didn’t give Echo a prosthetic arm. Losing hands is basically a Star Wars tradition at this point, so robotic arms/hands are well established within the worldbuilding:

We aren’t necessarily given a canon reason for why Echo doesn't get a cybernetic arm (again unless it's in some lore book I haven’t read, sorry). General fanon explanations I’ve seen are that he either couldn’t because the Techno Union wired the scomp too far into his nervous system, and/or the resources to give him one were deemed too expensive for a clone (what about his legs tho?), or that he chose not to, usually because he thought the scomping was useful.

Regardless, I actually really love this choice (and it's the whole reason I made this post), because here's the thing: There’s a lot of problematic tropes out there that either erase/cure disabilities or compensate them with perks (like how pretty much any blind character is actually not blind by some sort of magic power). With amputees that is done with robotic arms. The character is still an amputee or course, and there is still value in that representation, if this story from Mark Hamill that makes me tear up is anything to go by:

but for the most part these characters function like anyone else, just with a limb that looks a little different. It’s no more than a video game skin, an able-bodied actor with a green screen glove. It “cures” the disability, or it actually makes the character even stronger than usual:

It usually makes sense within the world of the story, but the reason it’s not so great in my opinion is that in the real world we just do not have technology anywhere close to that yet. Prosthetics can more or less replace any mobility from lost legs, but not for all the complexities of a hand (and even if they could the average person wouldn’t be able to afford it).

I think it's actually really super cool that Echo’s scomp bypasses the canonically-established amputee erasure and functions much like a stump would irl. He integrates it into his movements and everyday life and it’s (as far as I know) a lot closer to an everyday amputee’s experience.

It doesn’t define his character, it doesn’t hold him back, he lives a full life, the other’s don’t treat him any differently, and he’s still a total karking badass

The only additional thing is that he sometimes uses it as a weapon (which given his story, I think it’s cool to see him taking back autonomy in a way, and we only see that like twice)

And also the scomping, which could be seen as the 'added/compensating superpower' trope. But narratively it's no different than if he was plugging in with a hacking gadget of some kind (he didn't necessarily "need" to lose his arm for it) and it’s not like Echo is completely defined by this skill. Personally, I think it's well worth the positives of him actually having a visible and realistically impactful amputation.

I see a lot of posts or comments out there that say stuff like “how come Echo doesn’t get a hand?” or fanworks that do give him one and I just think it’s a bit of a shame. If he did get a robotic hand, it just would have disappeared the same way his legs and Anakin’s arm did (aside from that one time he got yoinked by a magnet). When Echo did “get a hand” in the last two episodes there were comments like “yay he finally got a hand! but it doesn’t even work” but I was actually so relieved that it didn’t! Bc for one thing that wouldn’t make any sense, he grabbed it off a droid, it wasn’t designed to implement with his scomp, that would be really complicated. But more importantly because it again refused to erase/cure his disability! It functioned like a real-world cosmetic prosthetic (useless beyond appearance) which is exactly what he needed it for, so that he could blend in better with his disguise.

And he continually took it off throughout the episode and ditched it at the end. He only used it for the necessity of a stealth mission, he doesn’t feel the need to visually “fit in” in his daily life.

And, last but very much not least, he made a dad joke and from my intel that is very accurate representation!

TLDR: Echo’s scomp is actually really cool from an amputee representation perspective, especially within Star Wars, and I think that deserves some appreciation

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