#would he stand out and be remembered? would he feel as though he would leave a lasting impact on everyone?

[yanderedrabbles]

Private Military Contractor - Yandere Noncon

Yandere Male x Fem Reader Heavily inspired by this incredible fic.

He took you. Plucked you straight off the street on the way back from class. He must have known your routine down to a tee, because he did it all with a casual, brutal efficiency. Parking his rented van on the quietest road on your route, stacking a ladder and some paint cans outside so you'd think he was just a regular workman. The door open and waiting just for you, though you didn't know it yet.

You remember greeting him ‐ a quick good morning to be polite - without stopping or even really looking at him. You walked a little bit past the van without realising he was following you. Oblivious right up until the moment he grabbed you, one paw against your mouth to swallow your scream.

He was quick. So ruthlessly quick. Yanking you inside the van and closing the door before you even fully registered what was happening.

He wants you around for one thing and one thing only. He made that abundantly clear on the first day, when you were scarcely through the front door and he was already tearing off your skirt. He would have fucked you in the van the second he took you if he thought he could get away with it.

He isn't gentle. He bends you over the couch with your wrists held together in the small of your back. If you squirm too much, he twists your arm so hard you scream that he's going to break it.

He fucks you dry. Shoving himself inside of you despite how tight you are, how unready and unwilling. He groans at the first thrust, so obscenely satisfied. Like he's finally tasting a prize long differed.

He doesn't last long during the first round. Spilling himself into you after less than three minutes.

He's big - too fucking big. The cum that drips out of your cunt is tinged pink with blood. If he notices it, he doesn't care. He just stands there for a minute, stroking himself hard again and then it's time for round two. Your tears haven't even had time to dry.

He fucks like a soldier in a foreign war zone. Taking, claiming, stealing. It doesn't matter that you're not his to have; he has his guns and his training and to him that's all the reason he needs.

He fucks like he hasn't had a woman in years. With all the pent up energy of long, lonely nights spent in the ugliest parts of the world. He fucks you like a man who's finally gotten his hands on the fantasy he's nursed through all the worst moments of his life.

He fucks like he's terrified of losing you now that he finally, finally has you.

You can't stand after he's done with you. Your cunt burning so bad you think you're on fire from the inside out. He doesn't care that you hang limp from his grip. He just picks you up and tosses you over one broad shoulder and takes you to his bedroom.

You come out of your shock only when you feel the handcuffs closing around your wrist. He's literally chained you to his bed.

You start screaming again then. Frightened and begging and finally realising that this is really happening. It's not a bad dream or a story on the news, it's actually fucking happening to you.

He ignores you, pulling off his heavy combat boots and locking his pistol in the draw across the room. Maybe he's waiting for you to tire out, for your throat to start hurting and for you to quiet down. You don't.

He sighs like you're nothing more than an inconvenience and then slaps you so hard your ears ring and white dots spark across your vision.

His use of violence is so causal, so easy. It's shock that keeps you quiet more than the pain.

Before evening on the first day, he fucks you four more times. He doesn't listen when you beg him to be gentle, beg him to go slow. He ignores you when you plead with him to fuck your mouth instead, as much as he wants, just so long as he gives your pussy a break.

Men like him exist on the knife edge between life and death. Is it any surprise that it leaves its mark? That he wants to take whatever pleasure he can because god alone knows how much time he has left?

He doesn't kiss you until the very end, when he's deep between your thighs and you've dug your nails so deep into his back that you're going to leave scars. He kisses you when you're too hurt and sore and scared to turn away. He kisses you and it feels like he's finally staking his claim. Like part of him didn't believe you were real until he'd fucked you again and again and there was no one to stop him.

The next morning, he shoves a bitter tasting pill under your tongue and keeps his hand over your mouth until he's sure it's dissolved.

"No kids," he says simply and it makes you want to laugh at the absurdity of it.

Yeah, you agree silently, no fucking kids. Especially not if you're the father. Especially not in a world where men like you exist.

He has an appetite that's borderline impossible to satisfy. Once he starts kissing you, he doesn't stop. Teeth nipping at your lips until you give in and even then it's not enough. He wraps one massive hand around your throat and squeezes.

"Kiss me back," he breathes, his lips just an inch from yours.

You kiss him and he takes it like you're everything he's ever dreamed about, the prize he's somehow earned.

After that, he spends a lot more time exploring your body. It's like he needed to get some of that desperation out of his system before he could think straight.

He's less feverish when he touches you, but no less impatient. He pries your thighs apart with one brutal yank and drops his face to your pussy. You try and jerk away from him, try and close your legs despite the massive forearms keeping them spread. You don't want him there. It's too intimate, it's too vulnerable. Hasn't he taken enough?

He licks you like he has no shame. Not even a little shy about having his tongue deep in your cunt. He tries different tricks - slow and sensual, rough, tight little flicks. He doesn't seem to care how you respond to any of it. It's more so an experiment to see which way he enjoys eating you out.

You cum on his tongue, your eyes screwed shut in guilt. You hope he won't notice, hope he'll just get bored and leave you alone.

He growls in a pleased sort of way, looking up at you with his mouth and chin slick. Oh, he definitely noticed.

You can't meet his eyes after that.

He's not a doomsday prepper. Or at least not exactly. But everything he has is off the grid. A house with its own solar panels and borehole, no technology except for his old fashioned satellite phone.

He doesn't talk much. Not even when he's fucking you. You might get the occasional good girl or a snarl for you to take it, take it just like that.

But he doesn't talk. Doesn't comfort you, doesn't insult you, doesn't even explain himself. (Though you suppose the way he holds you at night - tight, like you're going to be ripped away from him if he doesn't sink his claws in - is explanation enough).

He has money. Blood money you suppose. He doesn't go to work or leave the house much but still manages to buy you all sorts of expensive things. Silk negligees, satin panties, scented candles that melt into body oil. You aren't sure why he bothers. He's usually too impatient to appreciate any of it - most of the panties end up a torn, wet mess by the time he's done with you.

You look through his closet one day. There's a box full of military patches - Blackwater, Raytheon, MPR, a dozen more you don't recognise. And you know for a fact they aren't just some stupid collectibles, aren't there just so he can play out some militaristic power fantasy. He really worked for these companies. The patches feel real - their quality designed for hard weather and harder work. You understand him a little better after seeing them.

You don't know him. Don't recognise him in the slightest. He's a stranger to you - to the point you don't even know his name. At first you assume he took you because you were the only one stupid enough to get caught. But a few days with him and you realise that's not true at all. He knows you.

He feeds you your favourite cereal every morning, even though you can tell by his frown that he doesn't approve of your dietary choices. He has a closet packed full of your clothes. You thought he somehow raided your house but it's all new. He went out and bought exact copies of all your regular outfits, down to the tiny Victoria's Secret thongs that you like.

How? How could he gather so much information about your life while you didn't even realise you were being watched?

He takes you down to his basement one day, when you've been particularly insistent about asking him who he is. There are rows and rows of guns. Semi and fully automatic rifles, sniper rifles, shotguns. Shit you aren't even sure is fully legal.

You aren't sure why he's showing you this. Is he trying to scare you? Is he trying to goad you into escaping just so he'll have an excuse to punish you?

You look into his eyes - monster, monster in the shape of a man - and finally realise what he's trying to say.

No one is coming to save you. No one even knows where you are. But if by some slim chance they try and take you away, they'd better hope to be fucking bulletproof.

You stop asking him about himself after that.

He decides he wants anal one day in the shower. He's pressed up against your back and running his cock up and down between your ass. The tip keeps getting caught on your puckered entrance and maybe that's what puts the idea into his head.

You're too slow to realise what he's planning and he has one thick hand gripping the back of your neck before you can even think of running.

It's slow, painful going. He wants to shove himself in like he always does but the nature of it stops him. The tip is the worst part. You bite your lip so hard you can taste blood, your hands and tits both pressed up against the glass.

He presses his lips against your temple, watching your face screw up as he gets deeper.

"It's okay to cry."

There's a sick pleasure to his voice. He flicks your clit and your entire body clenches around him. He hums at that, amused and pleased.

And the worst part? He somehow makes you come. When he's finally loosened you up enough to start thrusting, he hits something deep inside you. He notices it - he notices everything about you. He laughs a little and slips his fingers into your pussy. That's all it takes to send you crashing over the edge, your whole body pulsing and aching all at once.

"That's what I like about you," he snarks into your ear when he's done, "I can make you come no matter how much you don't want it."

He turns you around and looks down at you. The expression on his face makes you want to vomit. He looks at you with a kind of loving softness. A tenderness that ignores all the awful, awful things he's done to you.

If you didn't realise it already, you knew it for a fact right then and there.

He's never going to let you go.

He takes your chin between his fingers and pulls you onto your tip toes to kiss him.

"Why?" you ask for the millionth time since he took you. And for once, he answers.

"Because I could. Because I can."

[syluriar]

please...help me - sylus x mc!reader. part 2

sypnosis: the aftermath of caleb catching you on the phone to escape him.

a/n: part 2 is finally here!! i apologise that this took me awhile, i just wanted this chapter to be right and i feel good about it now. there will be a part 3 to this, not sure about part 4 but we'll see how this goes.

warnings: some angst but with comfort. caleb being possessive and genually confused why you want to leave. mc (you) finally letting your fustrations out. sylus appears. caleb gets punched :) not for caleb girlies (sorry!)

word count: 3091 (insert spongebob exhausted meme)

taglist: @eternityjune @swissschees3 @notomyrr @jilly-xox7 @mizunareader @monticarlo @leiakitty @wiiieeeeeee @lynnaredfield3383 @idrkgurr @cms399 @ladycrown109 @capribun @crimsonlittlecrow @bi-goth-energy @rik0shii @letharue @sylusjinxedpaw @mcdepressed290 @kaeyasfuturewife @magicatemyvanishingdreams @deethedolly @beautifulthingsiadore @katykibbs @futuristicdefendorfart @qinluna @lemonn015 @magpie-the-goblin-girl @beewilko @thechaoticarchivist @aikonecrosis @gianchan-de @gamergirl31201 i think that's everyone? i apologise if i forget to tag you, there was a lot of people who wanted to be tagged which makes me fell so happy - thank u!!

When was the last time you ever felt this scared?

Perhaps your first time facing a real Wanderer? That time you had a creep not taking no for an answer when you were alone in a nightclub? Or maybe that time where you were walking alone and came across a thief with a weapon? 

But you had overcome them. The Wanderer died by your pistols, the creep getting punched in the face by your fists and thrown out by security, and the thief getting it’s weapon knocked out of it’s hand by you and arrested by the police moments later. 

The adrenaline that had rushed through you pushed it all away within those moments, and it was only after you had reflected on the experience that almost had you buckle your knees and grab the nearest thing to keep you standing, your heart bounding and your thoughts and absolute mess. It had taken you a while to calm down and look back on those moments without fear, and instead of what you had accomplished.

Unlike right now.

“Still not talking?”

You hadn’t spoken a word to Caleb after he caught you ending the call with Sylus, begging him to come and save you from the man you once felt safe and secure with. 

The tracker on your wrist reminds you of anything but those feelings and more.

Caleb sighs from his seated position in the kitchen and stands, the sound of his footsteps getting closer to you fills you with dread. He seats himself on the edge of the coffee table in front of you and you instantly move back so his feet don’t touch you, your eyes finding a spot on the floor to stare at.

He chuckles. “You won't even look at me, how mean of you.”

Retorts sit on your tongue that you hold still. Your already deep in trouble, you don’t want to know what will happen if you fall more. 

By the corner of your eyes you see him angle his head to try and catch your eyes, but you look away quickly. What would you see in them? Pity? Annoyance? Anger? Even if it was soft, you wouldn’t fall for it, your not that naive anymore.

You gasp as he grabs your chin and forces you to look at him, his told had a certain tightness to it that could choke you in seconds - you wouldn’t put it past him to do it, though it still scares you to know that.

“There we go.” He smiles, and everything about it screams it’s not the one from the past, the warm one you remember. “Now all that's left is for you to talk, but since you won’t do that, I guess I have to play a little guessing game.”

It doesn’t matter, you think. He can guess all he likes and you won’t answer him. Let’s see how he likes to be the one ignored now.

“Now who would you be calling at this hour when everyone is asleep, like you should have been.” There’s a mocking tone in his voice that makes you want to punch him. It should have made you worried about doing such a thing to someone you saw as a friend, but all you saw in front of you was a creature that enjoyed your torture. 

“It can’t be your dear Dr. Zayne, he’s too busy and has things far too important then calling you.”

It hurt you a little to hear Caleb talking about Zayne like that, the three of you had a good friendship growing up, it had amused you of the little arguments they would get into. You knew that no matter what happened you would always have them to fall back on and pick you back up. Zayne had greatly helped you ever since you thought Caleb had died, and the thought of the three of you being back together made your heart warm when you found Caleb again. 

How unfortunate that wouldn’t happen.

“Someone the Hunters Association? Hmmm possibly. But who exactly?” Caleb tapped his chin with his other hand, your chin still firmly held by his other that it was starting to ache. “No one there can come in here and sneak you out without anyone onboard knowing, even if a team banded together. So let’s rule that out.”

He clearly underestimated your Association. You might not know everyone there, but the only reason those people have been made Hunters is because they have the power to do so, they’ve all been through the hard training it takes and passed. You remember all the training you had to do and your sure Caleb does too, as you had called him after sessions, complaining about it all and the aches and bruises on your body.

“You keep complaining about it but I never hear you say that you’re gonna leave.”

“Of course I'm not! Quitting would mean that I’m not cut out to be a Hunte. You’ve said I am so many times, do you not think it anymore?”

“Not at all. I believe in you more than anyone that you’ll pass, and become the world's greatest Hunter.”

“Ok, not that much Caleb.”

He laughed then, full of warmth and joy. “Just keep going Pip-squeak, and before you know it, you’ve passed and got your license. Just don’t forget about me when you're off saving everyone from Wanderers, ok?” 

Does he still believe in you now? Do you even want to know? You’re still surprised he hasn’t told you to leave them and just stay with him.

“I guess that only leaves one other place.” He muses, and you feel like he’s close to the answer.

Just don’t react. Don’t let him know.

“But would you really call someone from there? And who? There’s not many good people in the N109 Zone.”

Your face remains neutral as Caleb scans it for any signs and frowns when there isn’t any. You hide your pride at this, though it probably thanks to him that your learning to mask your emotions well.

“Actually, scratch that, there’s no good people in that place. Illegal dealings and filled with violence and crime, there no better than Wanderers. Infact, I bet they’re worse than Wanderers. At least those creatures were someone innocent before turning, people in the N109 Zone have been black-hearted since the start. Like true monsters.”

You swing your cuffed wrists to smack him but they’re quickly caught in his free hand, a smirk now dancing on his lips. 

“Oh, it seems like I hit a spot. So your trip to the N109 Zone did have you in contact with someone there.” He pulls you forward by your wrists, noses just barely touching. His voice was laced with demand. “Who?”

A grunt falls from your lips as you try and pull your wrists back, but Caleb’s hold on them is strong.

It tightens.

“Who?”

You stop and look at him, his eyes so dim you wonder if they’ve truly turned black. You can see anything in them other than dark feelings that create goosebumps on your skin.

You swallow, a bit of courage coming to your throat. “I guess that’s round two of your guessing game.”

A thick silence hangs in the air and your ears pick up noises you don’t remember registering. The ticking of the clock on the wall, the sound of cars driving outside and the pitter patter of rain softly hitting the windows. Mixed with Caleb before you, it was starting to become stimulating, and you pray that Sylus will be here soon.

Caleb’s frown deepens. “Why do you want to go to him, hmm? Skyhaven is much more safer and secure then the N109 Zone.” 

“I have never feared more for my life than staying here.” You reply. To hell with staying silent, that’s what you’ve done more than anything since you’ve been here. You let Caleb have his way, let him ramble on and on and speak badly about a place - about a man you wanted to go back to more than anything.

You’re done with it.

“What can he possibly give you that I can’t?” He’s not glaring but close, he’s looking at you as if he just can’t phantom the idea of you wanting to leave. “How can you want to go to him when I’m right here?”

“Because he would never treat me this way!” You scream, and the look of shock on his face makes you keep going. “He’s never locked me in and he lets me have my freedom with no complaints or bargains. He never punishes me and never makes me feel afraid of him. He’s someone who treats me like I’m someone, not a possession. He's someone I can trust and go to without fear.” Your breathing heavily, the words keep coming out and your not stopping them, too fed up with the man infront of you. “He’s the opposite of you Caleb, and as soon as he comes here I’m going with him, and you can’t stop me.”

You didn’t realise you had stood up until you saw Caleb’s eye move to look up at you, for once you had gotten power over him, had made him look at you and made him speechless. 

Adrenaline runs through your body and you know you can’t let it go, no matter what happens next.

So when the look of shock vanishes over Caleb’s face and is replaced with a glare, you lock in and quickly pull your still bound wrists free from his hold, keeping them close to your chest. When he stands you step away instantly, creating space between the two of you. 

“And what makes you think I’ll let you leave?” His voice drips with venom. It’s a tone you’ve never heard before and almost falters you.

“Because she’s her own person.” a voice breaks out, one that’s so familiar that it makes your heart race. “Because she has the right to her own freedom.”

Both of you turn to the door that’s now locked behind a tall and imposing figure, his white hair gleaming in the ceiling lights. 

“Because she wants to.” 

He steps forward and the light shines on his face, that handsome face of your saviour. “Oh, and because I’m here to help her, isn’t that right, sweetie?” His gleaming red eyes fall on you, and you smile, hope filling you. 

“Sylus…”

Caleb sucks through his teeth, irritation clear all over his face. “How did you get in unnoticed? Every member had been alerted that you would be coming.”

Sylus shrugs nonchalantly, confidence oozing off him. “And despite that I didn’t get much of a welcome party. Your fleet needs more training.” 

The comment only makes Caleb’s irritation grow, and it brings some satisfaction to you. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m taking Miss Hunter home.”

Home. The word makes your heart swell. 

“She’s not going anywhere, especially not with you.” Caleb straightens and you feel his Evol approaching, it causes goosebumps on your skin once again and you instantly look at Sylus, who just looks bored.

“Seems like you need hearing lessons as well.” His own Evol floating around his fists, ready to release.

You knew there was going to be a fight once Sylus showed up, he would avoid it if he could if that’s what you wanted, but Caleb wouldn’t let you go without a fight. Even if Caleb hadn’t caught you and you managed to sneak past him with Sylus, he would only come and get you himself and cause a ruckus wherever you went to get you back. He would see it as you being kidnapped and brainwashed to turn against him.

Caleb needs to know that you want to leave on your own free will, and not just with words. The fact that you called for help should have already planted that seed somewhere in his head.

“Stop it Caleb. Let me go.” 

He turns to you, a flicker of disbelief in his eyes. “What?”

You stand straight, your voice calm as you speak. “I want to leave, right here, right now. So let me go.”

He stares at you, teeth gritted and brows furrowed, but his eyes are scanning you, hoping to find something he can use to make you stay, to blind himself that this isn’t your free choice of will. But he can’t find any, and his irritation and confusion grows. “Why? Why do you want to leave me? I thought after everything we’ve been through, you’d want to stay with me forever.”

And you had wanted that too. 

“I had never felt such relief when I found Caleb alive.” You tell him with a soft voice, the painful memories all coming back. “I spent night’s crying because I thought you were dead, days went past in a blur and I was always reminded to eat even the smallest thing because my mind wouldn’t register the simplest things that my body needed. All I could think about was you.” 

Tears brimmed at the corner of your eyes but you didn’t care to wipe them away, with showing Caleb your true emotions, you hope that he’ll finally understand. “Time passed and it got a little easier, but I still thought about you. I didn’t even think I would meet you here…and yet I did. I was so happy Caleb, I thought things would go back the way they were before. Always laughing and joking around, having you by my side to comfort me and give me strength…but you’ve done the exact opposite.”

Confidence flows through your veins as you take a step towards him, his figure still but has lost it’s tension. Your getting through to him. “The things I said before, about me being afraid of you, it’s all true. You keep me locked up and take away my things. You don’t let me have my freedom and even tell me when to go to sleep like I’m a child. It honestly scares me that you can’t see that your hurting me, hurting me so much that I want to escape from you.”

“I didn’t…” His aura falters, the dark and imposing man has been replaced with disbelief and confusion. “I never want you to be afraid of me, I didn’t do all those things to scare you. I want to protect you.”

“Was giving me medicine with the intention of me falling asleep protecting me?” You spat back, the memory of it still causing a shiver of unease down your spine. “I’m a Hunter Caleb, I don’t need this kind of protection. You said that you believed in me when I was doing my exams, but it looks like I’m weak to you.”

“You’re not! That’s…That’s not what I think!”

“I don’t care what you think anymore Caleb, except for the fact that I want to leave SkyHaven and I want to leave you of my own free will. That’s my choice Caleb.”

A noise leaves Caleb’s lips, something frustrated and perhaps sad. You don’t fully understand it but right now you don’t care. You take another step towards him, close enough to touch his chest if you reach out. 

You show him your bound wrists. “Take these off…please.”

He looks down at them, thousands of emotions dance through his eyes that you can’t decipher, but he waves a hand over them and you hear a click before the cuffs fall on the floor.

“Thank you Caleb…and I’m sorry.”

Before he can even respond you punch him square in the face, his body falling to the ground instantly, knocked out.

Whoops.

The slow clapping of hands erases the tense atmosphere from the room.

“An excellent performance, kitten.” Sylus smirks as he walks over. “You had him in your grasp and took matters into your own hands, just like I knew you could.”

There was something about his praise that brightens you, maybe it’s because you know he’s saying it sincerely that has your stomach filled with butterflies. You fight back the smile that threatens your lips. “I didn’t mean to knock him out..”

He chuckles. “Whatever you say, sweetie. You still wanted to punch him, not that I blame you.” His eyes scan over the unconscious body of your ex best friend, frowning at the sight. “I wanted to get some in.”

“You would have killed him then.” You commented, and despite everything Caleb has put you through, you didn’t want him dead - for real this time. “I don’t think the fleet would be too happy about that.”

“I don’t mind making a few more enemies, especially the ones that hurt you.” 

Air catches in your throat as Sylus turns back at you, his eyes looking at you softly. “Are you alright?”

Maybe it was because it was said so gently, full of comfort and genuineness, laced with true worry. that has you tearing up once more. “I want to go home Sylus.”

He gathers you in his arms, holding you close to his chest that you feel his warmth that engulfs you, bringing a sense of calm to your body. “It’s ok. I’m here, and I’m taking you home.” He lifts you in his arms that you don’t protest, you don’t ever want to leave his safe arms ever again. “Luke and Kieran have cleaned your apartment ready for you to come back.”

“No Sylus,” You croak against his neck, tears slowly falling down your cheeks. Apart from Skyhaven your apartment is the last place you want to be right now, there’s no sense of security that will calm you if you return back there. 

There’s only one place you want to be.

That mansion that started out cold that is now warm with your touches; the plushies on the sofa and the blankets on the bed. The fairy lights in his study and the colourful mugs in his kitchen, your skincare and make-up products sitting neatly in his bathroom cabinet and the photobooth pictures hanging by the vanity he had bought you.

“Take us home.”

He looks at you then, surprise written across his face that it almost makes you giggle. You never really called it home to his face, even with your things scattered across the building. 

Sylus smiles, it’s not the one his enemies see or the ones the twins get when they’ve pulled a prank. It’s a smile only reserved for you, and it shines brighter than any star you have ever seen.

“Alright, sweetie. Let’s go home.”

[tactical-jellyfish]

Wisdom Teeth (drabble)

I've been mean to y'all. Too much angst. Take some fluff for the winter (me having a test this week)

Warnings!: Wisdom tooth removal. Bloody spit, at one point reader is in enough pain to verbally request an opioid pill. Pain and pain medication. Fluffy <3 prob leads up to poly, they're fruitcakes about it.

The SAS teams have had to pause ops for a wide, wide range of reasons. The odd health complication is very much among them.

That being said, Price never thought he would have to pause a mission because one of his star players got a wisdom tooth infected.

You had been off on Tuesday, chewing on only one side of your mouth and not drinking anything that was even a little hotter than room temp.

Kyle gave you funny looks for it, but that was all.

Wednesday, you didn't leave your room for much at all, but that was fine. Resting up before an op wasn't uncommon. Simon did it all the time.

However, at some point between you disappearing and Johnny saying he heard crying from your room all bets were off.

The door was kicked in, to reveal a grown sergeant, teary-eyed and crying a little as they clutched their cheek with a hand.

Kyle was already at your side, trying to coax you to open your mouth for some painkillers. It wasn't working well.

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

You cried a little before the surgery. Maybe out of nervousness, maybe out of pain, but the nice nurse was kind enough to ignore it as she explained that you would be waking up in a few hours down four whole teeth.

She explained it to you as you sat in the stupid fucking chair, she repeated it as she gently tucked a I.V. with a small blister containing medicine into the veins of your arm.

"Alright, first the anti-anxiety drug will be administered, okay?"

She doesn't wait for your confirmation, but gently pats your shoulder and continues.

"You should start to feel a bit fuzzy, then, you'll sleep."

It takes a few sickening seconds for you to actually feel the drugs kicking in. You want to get out of this chair, to scream at something.

You never liked the dentist.

But then... the world starts to fade out. It's like you're being locked out of your body as your mind turns itself off.

You hear her counting with the surgeon–a much more awkward woman, though no less polite.

Three.

Two.

On-

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

The waking up is slow, and messy.

Cotton pads lie in either of your cheeks, and you can't do much but oblige as the nurse gently coaxes you into a wheelchair, giving instructions to the bearded man who's standing in the corner.

"Make sure they don't sleep for at least a couple hours, okay? I know it'll be hard, but try to have them keep pressure on the site."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Remember the usual course, and we're also giving you five opioid pills. Only in case it gets really bad."

"Affirmative."

You know this voice, but when you see the boonie hat and the slightly furrowed brows, a spark of muffled recognition fires off beneath the haze of anesthetic and misery.

"...Old man."

Your voice is slurred, foreign to even you at this point, but he seems to know it, because he sighs frustratedly before taking the chair by the handles and steering your down the hallway out.

"I swear to- mgh, olright. Better than Soap at least."

You're loaded into the back seat of the car with the most basic consideration.

Dumped in like a sack of flour, actually. Your butt hurts now, but there's Kyle.

He snorts when he sees you, reaches forward to wipe whatever is dripping from the corner of your mouth.

It's bloody spit, but he doesn't seem surprised.

The car ride back to base is quiet, but Kyle keeps you awake.

Beyond that, there's nothing you can remember. Not till the next morning.

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

Johnny is perched at your bedside, scrolling through his phone until he sees your eyes blearily opening, hears your groaning as you recognize a new pain in your cheeks, and he gently coaxes your mouth open to take out the bloody gauze.

"Och, there ye are, bonnie wee thing. You look like an eejit, just thought ye needed to know."

Your tired glare is met with a laugh, but followed shortly by a pat to the shoulder.

"A'hm kiddin', leannan. Just jokin' with ye. Brought ye breakfast."

He holds up a small container of yogurt, shakes it like one would cat treats to entice a stray. You grimace as much as your painfully swollen cheeks allow, but when you open your mouth to tell him off, there's a sharp twinge that makes you close it.

This seems to earn Johnny's sympathies, because he gently guides you so you're sitting up on the bed, holding one of your shaky hands as he peels back the foil on the cup.

"Easy. Still fresh, aye?"

Your wet-eyed nod is met with a sympathetic huff.

"Aye. Dinnae fash. I'll help ye."

You should smack him for implying that you need help eating yogurt, of all things, but... you kind of do need the help.

Your body is still lethargic, sluggishly stumbling through its tasks with hazy edges and poor motor control.

He raises a glass of water to your lips, and has you take a few sips.

Breakfast takes a long time, but before you fall asleep again, he gently sets a painkiller in your mouth, and tells you to swallow.

When you do, he smiles, and bends down to kiss your forehead while you drift back off.

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

So, here's something you didn't know before getting your wisdom teeth out.

You can't swallow for a couple days.

It's gross, yeah, but you're supposed to drool out the bloody spit in your mouth, so you don't get dry socket.

Thankfully, Kyle is there for this.

He sweeps your hair back as much as possible (to the point of getting bobby pins from the corner store for the baby hairs), and rubs your back as you drool out your toothpaste.

"I feel disgusting."

"I know, luv. You're not gonna feel good for a while."

Still, his mother's cure is the only thing he trusts himself enough to use on you. Warm, salty water. A childhood staple.

He's sympathetic to your plights, rubbing your back again as you clumsily swish it by turning your head to the sides, cheeks too swollen to move properly.

"Good job. One more."

A firm, warm hand pats your back again as you "spit" (if you can even call it that) for the final time, offering a sweet smile just for you.

"Perfect. Now you can lay back again, yeah? Nice n' easy."

You're not suffering like you were yesterday. It's new.

Your motor function is back, just sluggish.

No, no, your biggest issue right now is the swelling. Your cheeks were so puffy it hurt, and you had them on ice as often as you could.

This is where you have to thank the lord for John Price. Your captain, distant as he can be, must have at least three sets of cheek-size ice pads, because every time you come into your room, there's a new, fresh set waiting for you.

Kyle gently guides you to sit in your bed, offering a sympathetic smile as he eases you backward until you hit the pillow-ramp Johnny had built so your head would be upright.

"You wanna sleep, luv?"

"No."

Your voice is still quiet, limited by your stupid cheeks, but he smiles anyway, and sits next to you.

"You wanna hang out, then?"

"Yes."

The afternoon is good, for you.

Kyle is there. The whole time.

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

Of course, every surgery comes with the odd fuck-up.

No one should be up, but you're going insane with pain.

It's a sharp, stabbing thing, focused in the gum of your lower right jaw. Almost as sharp as the tooth's initial infection, but more than enough to bring significant distress.

Simon is an odd man, and you two have never been the closest, but when he opens your door in a t-shirt and boxers, you don't even care a little bit.

"Wha's happenin'?"

The Mancunian gruffs concernedly at you, watching as you hold your cheek and shakily take in vain breath in the hopes of calming yourself.

"Get an opioid, Lt. Please."

"Fawk."

Right after that, he's off like a horse to the races, and you're in the silence again, holding your cheek as you try to ignore the way your eyes swim with tears that you refuse to shed.

It's a mercifully short two minutes, even if it feels like half an hour.

Simon's hands are gentle, opening your jaw and setting the horse-pill on your tongue, looking into your wet eyes as he raises the glass to your lips.

"I know, I know. Jus' swallow."

He stays with you as you pant for the breath you've lost, wide, scarred hands on your shoulders.

He exaggerates his own breathing so you see the clear rise and fall of his chest. His lips lose their frown as you slowly start to mimic it.

The dispersal of the pain med is fast, thank goodness, but then Simon has a tired you to deal with, still trembling in the fingers from the sudden spike of debilitating pain, though you can't feel it.

"Are those skeleton boxers?"

He's starting to think your favorite pastime is asking stupid fucking questions, but still, some part of him feels relief.

You could have asked about the lack of mask, but you didn't. You just wanted to know about the halloween boxers.

"Sergeant."

His voice isn't as firm as it should be, but when he sees your exhausted look, he still sits down on the mattress with you.

"Stay. Jus' till I fall asleep."

You don't have the balls to ask for it. Not when you're this vulnerable. So you treat it like an order.

Simon won't be chewing you out for it.

Not now.

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

Kyle and Johnny stand in the doorway to your room, snickering to themselves.

Never thought they would see big boy Lt with the firecracker that drove him up the wall, surely.

Still, after taking a couple pictures (blackmail for Johnny, photo album for Kyle), they just... stand and stare a little.

"Ye ken... we could jus'... join in?"

Johnny poses the question. Kyle nods.

"Yeah. To make sure they're sleeping well."

They both know damn well that's not why. But fuck it, a cuddle pile never hurt anyone.

Especially not you, considering how gentle the pair are when maneuvering your sleeping form.

If Simon opened his eyes and just so happened to see this buffoonery in action, he closed them right back up after.

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

Price sighs in exasperation when he sees it, but smiles as he tips down his cap just a little.

"Fuckin' rookie. Gonna be the death of me."

But he knows you won't. Because he sees the way Simon's lips curve up in sleep, or the way Johnny and Kyle cling to you.

He should call Laswell, finalize your placement.

The boys wouldn't complain.

[fancyfeathers]

Thinking about Yandere!Justice League having children with their darlings and perhaps those children aren’t too keen on their relationship with their parents…

Set in the universe of Young Justice.

Includes references to my Yandere Batfam w/ Wife/Mother!Darling & Daughter/Sister!Darling & Always Prey But Never A Bird

Clark’s daughter grew up in Smallville after Clark married his darling, living near the same house her father grew up in. She is one of many children, including Connor who her mother immediately took in as her own even if her father was still struggling with his feelings about his clone (though Connor rarely comes by unless Clark is gone, otherwise he is back with the team). Between herself and her siblings there is one major difference, she doesn’t have powers, or at least they have not come in yet.

She feels herself isolated from her siblings, especially when she sees one of her brothers practice and train with their father or when she gets pulled from the soccer team since it is apparently not safe when she sprained her ankle during a game but her dad has missed half her games of the season because of being Superman, Justice League business, or something with her siblings because of their powers that they are learning to control.

He is so protective but he is never even there.

She gets fed up when it gets near to her high school graduation and she is looking at colleges and talk to her parents about colleges and Clark is not sure about sending her off.

So she decides to leave on her own, pack a bag in the middle of the night while her dad is off planet and walks outside, walking across the empty field and she hears…

“Heading out?”

One of her siblings had caught onto her leaving, but they are not going to stop her, instead offering to take her anywhere she needs because she needs to leave this place to figure out who she really is.

Of course there will be panic when Clark returns home and finds one of his children is missing and she is completely untraceable, how is she untraceable? Clark can not even hear her heartbeat, she could be dead!

But she’s not…

Hal Jordan’s twins don’t really know their father super well because of when he is off planet as Green Lantern but he still wants to be a part of their lives, but their childhood is spent running around the Watchtower and being babysat by other league members or other Green Lantern Corps members while their dad is off planet, and their mother is tired of reading two very chaotic teenagers. Hal is like that one dad who does not fully understand that his children have been growing back, he’ll come into his teenage daughter’s room, sit on her bed and ask if she wants to go practice softball pitcher throws but he doesn’t know the last time his daughter played softball was in middle school. Or offering to take his son to the beach but his son cannot stand the feeling of sand on his feet or how the sand can ruin his books.

He remembers them like when they were babies and he made constructs from his ring of animals and toys for his children to play with and now when he picks up his daughter up from school he does not even know the names of her her friends.

But one thing that will never change is the fact that he will protect them no matter what. All it would take is for Hal to witness one incident, say he has to save his twins as Green Lantern, he makes the decision that at the end of the school year he is pulling them out and moving them into the Watchtower full time, besides they already stay there when he is off planet.

The two pick up on this when they overhear their parents arguing about it in the night, it is far past their bedtime so Hal doesn’t think either of them are listening but both of them listen in and all it takes is for their dad to go to a Justice League meeting and the two have packed their bags and jumped out the bathroom window.

Diana’s darling is definitely a woman and I think if they were to have a child they would have adopted an orphan, one who perhaps lost their family in an accident and Diana saves them, a young boy, a preteen at the oldest. He has a semi normal upbringing, he doesn’t really have any powers. He has never been to Themyscira because of he is a man, but Diana trains him anyway because it is important he knows how defend himself and his other adoptive mother when Diana is not around.

But the day comes where every little bird has to leave the nest and Diana agrees to let him to go to college nearby, especially after hearing about his intentions to become a lawyer. But his true intention to pursue such a career is because when he heard the stories from his other mother about how the members of the Justice League did certain things to get their partners and he felt horrified, he may not have been the one who done such a thing but he would be damned if he was not the one to try and repair it. Besides Diana has no reason to believe her baby boy is a liar, so he never even gets caught and forced to tell the truth.

It is at school where he meets someone not too different from himself and the two immediately hit it off, but the major thing between the two of them is that she is fast… really fast…

Barry Allen is close to his darling little girl, especially since she inherited his speed, they found that little fact out when she was practicing for track team tryouts and she suddenly found herself in Arizona, that was an interesting conversation when she called up her dad, a crying and confused mess, and before she could hang up Barry was already there, kneeling down in his suit and explaining everything to her.

Most kids get a car for their sixteenth birthday, she got super speed.

But another thing she got from her dad is his intelligence, it takes a lot to be a forensic scientist so Barry is hardly surprised when he little girl graduates early, he knows that she used her speed doing homework when he told her not to but sometimes the achievement outdoes the actions to get there.

Barry is willing to send her away from home for college, after all he is never far. But while she is at school she meets a boy, a few years older than her, and they become fast friends. She trusts him so she reveals her powers one night when they are hanging out around campus, her hand literally phasing through the wall with how fast it is going, but after that all turn is revealed and her world is shattered.

That boy was the son of Diana and he tells her everything, the truth about her own parents and she feels like she can never look her dad in the eye again. She doesn’t even feel like she can go home again, but when the end of the school year comes up they do have to move out of their dorm rooms and go home, but neither of them have the intention of doing that.

When Barry comes to help her move out, she is gone, most of her stuff is still there but she is gone. Then he hears the same from Diana about her son and everything clicks into place…

They found out the truth.

Zatara has another child besides Zatanna, though not biological. When Zatara’s first wife died and he kidnapped got remarried to his darling, she also had a child, a little boy from a former relationship. The boy may not be his biological child but that boy is his son, so just like Zatanna, he teaches him about the mystic arts.

The boy is practically raised by Zatara as his father, especially when his mother falls into stockholm syndrome, but that just makes the sting so much worse when Zatara puts on the Helmet of Fate to save Zatanna. Sure by the time it happened his son is basically an adult, but it still hurts when his sister comes back home and tells him and his mother what happened. So while Zatanna joins the team and leaves home he is left to struggle with his emotions about what happened.

The young man is cleaning up some of his father’s things to tuck away in boxes because his mother is to grief stricken to even look at them, but then he found some of Zatara’s old journals where he wrote about his darling, when he was too young to remember, and he feels absolutely horrified about what his step father did. He thinks about asking his mother about it but he does not want to bring up any sad memories she might have lingering, and he is not going to ask Zatanna, because his sister is still in pain after what her dad did to protect her.

So he decides it might be best for him to leave so he can make peace with a few things.

He packs up his bags and does not even tell his mother or Zatanna that he is leaving, just leaving a note on the kitchen counter. He travels the world, becoming a mostly self taught magician, besides the few things his father taught him when he was younger. He calls Zatanna or his mother every so often and every time his sister sounds more and more worried, but he reassures her that he is not on a team of superheroes like she is, he is just trying to figure out where he belongs…

But that promise does not last long once he finds out about the rest of the Justice League and their darlings and he is enraged…

Arthur Curry’s son is technically a prince, but really he feels captive in his own home. His father may be half human but his mother is fully human, and so their son is mostly human, so one can imagine how hard it is for him to breathe underwater without some form of assistance. Arthur tried to get his son adapted overtime, but it just became too hard as he got older and he had to rely on assistance to breathe underwater like his mother. He would be the heir to the throne if it was not for having young siblings who were stronger than he was, truly he is not jealous but he is disappointed that he is seen as so fragile for being born into an environment his body mostly does not want to be in. He is hardly let outside just because his body already struggles enough being so deep underwater… he wonders if it would be different on the surface, he’s never been up there before.

By some miracle he convinces his retainers to let him explore, just for an hour or two, but then an hour turns into a day and a day turns into weeks. He feels so much more alive on land, his lungs don’t feel heavy like they are struggling to breathe.

But the Prince of Atlantis going missing is going to cause more than a few people to panic. Including Arthur himself.

With more children of the Justice League going missing they get more worried and stressed and begin a mass search for them if it was not for a certain someone…

Now Bruce Wayne’s daughter I have written about before, she was the vigilante know as Songbird in Gotham, she ran away years ago and in this universe when everything was said and done she went off all on her own, sure she based herself off Black Canary, but with most of the league like this she wants nothing to do with it.

She was the first one to run away from home and not being caught by the Batman is certainly a feat but she is certainly her father’s daughter, so when she hears the news about some of the children of Justice League members going missing because she definitely did not hack their server communications. So she finds each child of the Justice League and she helps them out, because to be honest they all want the same thing.

Setting up a place for everyone to stay safely after tracking them down one by one, she even went all the way to Paris to find Zatara’s son to convince him because he was doing a show there.

So she makes lead lined shirts for little Miss Supergirl so she cannot be found via powers. Then it gets get worse when she does finally get powers and being half Kryptonian hits her hard, especially when she has no one around to teach her how to control them, well almost no one. Luckily she has someone in her corner, who better to teach her than the daughter of the Batman who taught herself how to be a vigilante, it should not be that hard.

Each one wants to either help one of their parents or they straight up are doing this out spite. But trying to piece together a team of the heroes who have next to no idea what they are going to do. But becoming a team to spite their parents turned into them basically stopping villains before their parents do.

Extra things

I love the idea of Clark’s and Bruce’s daughters and Diana’s son be best friends who have never met, like the second the meet each other they just know that they are inseparable. The self trained vigilante, the boy raised by an Amazon, and the half Kryptonian girl. Then the training sessions and teaching Clark’s daughter how to control her newly gained powers almost always turns into just chatting and some sort of shenanigans.

I don’t know why but something about Zatara’s son gaining powers kind of like the Scarlet Witch from the MCU just makes sense to me. Also the idea of Doctor Fate having slight, or heavy, protective tendencies over him while Zatara is the host.

Also I did not put them down here but I also had ideas for Green Arrow’s & Black Canary’s daughter because they would definitely share a darling, and I might write a second part for them and a few others.

Then I also thought about Martian Manhunter and his darling having an adoptive daughter because she is a meta human with telepathic abilities, but then I got reminded of Charles Xavier and thinking that she would be just to similar and now that I am finishing up this post I don’t hate that idea.

[prettealolilol]

I feel like as a reader and someone who grew up poor, Jason doesn't really pay attention to was he uses as a bookmark. Of course he has a handful of those, birthday and christmas presents, or simply gifts from when Bruce first found out the kid loved reading and wanted him to feel at home. And since the man is rich and emotionally constipated, he bought Jason really expensive bookmarks, like one made in China with a really detailed dragon carved into the wood, or another one embedded with little diamonds from France. Jason doesn't really understand, because a paper would be enough, you know ? There was only one bookmark Jason had truly felt overjoyed to have : one that belong to Jane Austen. Needless to say, Bruce had almost cried when Jason hugged him tight, smiling like he was trying to rival the sun. (When Jason died, Bruce framed the bookmark and put it in one of his desk drawers. When Jason came back, and they were on better terms, he went to his son place and put back the bookmark. When Jason came home, he found a birthday gift awfully wrapped up on his bed. If he cried while holding the bookmark, no one needed to know.)

Back to the point, Jason doesn't really care about what he uses, as long as he doesn't lose his page (although he almost gutted Tim when the boy folded the corner of his book. Instead he shook him like a puppet, telling him about how disrespectfull he was towards books and writers.).

---

Tim, pocking his head in the kitchen, where Alfred is busy cooking and Jason is reading : Has anyone seen my budget report ? I left it on the table in the library this morning, and I can't find it.

Jason, not looking up, shrugging : No one cares about your reports Timbers, no someone would have move it.

Tim leaves, sighing. Later, when Jason goes to close his book and reach for the paper he was using, he realises he was holding said report. Alfred raises an eyebrow. He must have taken it when he picked up the book in the library.

---

Damian, barging the cave, clearly annoyed : Todd !

Jason, repairing his bike : What, demon brat.

Damian : Tell me this instance if you have taken my sketchbook.

Jason, looking up : Why the fuck would I have your sketchbook gremlin ? Your dog is more likely to have run off with it.

Damian stomps back into the manor grumbling about Titus being more polite that Tood could ever be. Jason decides to ignore him. Later, when he's done with his bike and picks up his current book for some well deserved reading time, something falls with a thud when he opens it. Apparently he was the one with the sketchbook and used it as a bookmark. He didn't even realised. He'll have to find a way to give it back without the baby demon knowing.

---

Jason and Cass are sitting on the couch when he remembers he left his phone in his room and is expecting some informations. He looks around for something that could keep the book open, finding nothing.

Cass is staring at him, signing : Looking for something ?

Jason stares at her hand for a few seconds, before shrugging. He takes her left hand, the closest one and put it on his book : Don't move just a sec, i gotta go get something.

Cass stares at his back incredulously. When he comes back and take back his book, she just shakes her head, a fond smile on her lips.

---

Bruce, walking into the living room where the kids are playing : Does anyone have 20 bucks I can borrow ?

Jason, snorting : Aren't you, like, the richest man in the country ?

Bruce : I need to pick up something and they don't take card. There was an issue with the bank so no money can be withdrawn. I put a 20$ bill in the kitchen but I can't find it.

Dick, standing up, taking his wallet : I've got you. You owe me now though.

Bruce, slightly smiling : Sure chum.

When Jason get back to his place in the next morning and drops on his bed, he pulls out the book Tim had recommended a few days ago (although nobody can know he's reading it). A 20$ bill slips on his bed when he opens the book. He takes it, putting it his back pocket.

Jason, grinning : It's sad he didn't even try to find it. It would have so satisfying to watch the great Batman look for a bill hidden in a book.

---

Jason is helping Alfred bring the groceries to the kitchen, because no one in the godforsaken rich family should be trusted with food or anything to do with cooking.

Duke, shouting from the library : Why is there a dictionary open in the middle of the library ? On another book ?

Jason, who hadn't had the time to look for a proper bookmark : It's so I don't lose my page.

Duke, still shouting : Why a dictionary though ?

Jason ignores him. He doesn't have to explain himself.

---

Dick, at Jason's door : Hey little wing, have you seen my blue swe-

Jason, looking at his phone on his bed : What ?

Dick : You're the one who had it all this time. Seriously Jay, why don't you just ask- Why is there an open book underneath ?

Jason, shoting up : Don't touch that ! You're gonna make me lose my page.

Dick, blinking : Don't you have like thousand of bookmarks ?

Jason : Shut up.

---

When Stephanie breaks in Jason's apartment, he is grumbling about babysitting while bringing his med kit. She reaches his couch and suddenly she's laughing so hard she ends up wheezing on the floor. Jason doesn't understand why, until she stands back up slowly, taking her phone out to take a picture. Jason doesn't know if she's laughing at the book mark that is in fact a mug, or at the mug itself. It's clearly holding on for dear life, put down in between the pages, absolutly not stable. He then receives a text on the children Batman kidnapped 's groupchat, seeing a picture of a mug with Batman's signature bat symbol and the inscription 'this mug survives longer than Robins' (actually, Tim has a matching one with the inscription 'bats don't kill... coffee might', but no one needs to know that.).

[cinnamontoastcrunch-15]

OKAY this was initially meant to be for the wolfstarmicrofic prompt unrequited (10th Feb), but then I got too into it, it's well over 1,000 words, and I gave it a day to figure out how to end it. It's now a oneshot that doesn't currently have a name (bear with I'll figure out what to call it haha)

Remus is in love with Sirius.

Everybody knows it. His friends, most of the students, the teachers, even Sirius himself. After one drunken confession that involved a lot of him crying and apologising, and Sirius pulling him into a hug to assure him over and over that it doesn't change anything between them, Remus has reached a pretty solid conclusion.

Sirius doesn't love him.

In all honesty, it's exactly what he had expected, and why he'd kept it a secret for as long as he had. Thankfully, Sirius wasn't lying when he said it wouldn't change anything. If anything, Remus has felt a hell of a lot lighter since everything happened. Sure, all of his friends know that he's hopelessly head over heels for his best friend, and that it's embarrassingly one sided, but none of them are judging him for it. They're all being really nice about everything. It's gotten to the point that Remus can make jokes about it and have his friends laughing, rather than halfheartedly trying to conceal their pity. It's a welcome relief, even if he still spends an unhealthy amount of time crying with his curtains closed around his bed.

Still, peaks and valleys.

Everything feels a little lighter than it did before and, hey, at least he knows where everybody stands now.

Well, he thought he did.

As it turns out, all it takes is a poorly timed joke to flip Remus' world on its head.

He's just chatting with Mary, walking back from class. In all honesty, he'd thought that his friendship with them would be ruined after they found out that he's in love with their ex, but honestly? It feels like they've gotten much closer since the whole thing came to light.

As the two of them get into the common room, it's as though Sirius just... appears in front of them. He makes Remus jump a mile, much to Mary's amusement.

"Hi. Hey. Could I, er... could I talk to you about something?" Remus watches Sirius' brow furrow in that way of his, and he knows that he's going to say yes. The ominous implications of needing to talk make him feel a little bit sick, really, but he's not going to say no to Sirius. He can't bring himself to do it. Especially not when he seems so... nervous.

"'Course." He turns to Mary. "See you around?" They nod, before turning to Sirius.

"Meadowes." Sirius nods at them.

"Black. Listen, hurt his feelings and I'll do something Azkaban worthy." They jab a finger at his chest, and everyone knows that they're not joking.

"Got it," he says, quickly raising his hands. They release him, then, shooting Remus a kind smile before disappearing upstairs. Sirius turns to Remus, arching an eyebrow.

"Yeah," Remus says, shrugging sheepishly. "They're still in the whole... feeling sorry for me phase."

"Ah. Right." The two of them start to walk up to the dorm together.

"It'll pass," Remus says gently, not missing Sirius' sudden uncertainty. "Everyone was like that at first, remember?"

"Yeah," Sirius nods. "Merlin, it was a sad few weeks, wasn't it?"

"Well, unrequited love is terribly depressing," Remus quips, hoping to draw a smile out of Sirius. Instead, Sirius gets into the dorm with clenched fists. He stops in his tracks, unclenching his hands and pressing the heel of his palm to his eye. He isn't facing Remus but, based on the shaking of his shoulders, Remus can tell that he's fighting tears. "Hey, what's...?" Sirius crumbles, burying his head in his hands and outright refusing to turn around. "Sirius... hey, c'mere."

He quickly moves in front of Sirius and pulls him into a hug without really thinking, hoping that he can hold him through whatever crisis is going on in his head. Thankfully, Sirius relaxes into the hug, tension leaving his body as he cries into Remus' shoulder.

"I'm- I'm so sorry," Sirius gets out, slightly muffled in Remus' shoulder.

"Sorry for what?" Remus asks softly, confused. "Last time I checked, you haven't done anything wrong."

"I- Moony, I'm- awful, I'm so awful." He holds Remus a little tighter, as Remus tries his level best to figure out what's going on.

"You're not awful," he says simply, firmly, hoping that it's enough to at least slightly dispel the panic that seems to be gripping at Sirius.

"I am. Fuck, I really am. I- I don't want to- I don't want to lose you."

"You're not going to lose me," Remus answers, even more confused than he was before. Sirius untangles himself from the hug, quickly wiping his eyes and taking a deep breath. "What's going on?"

"Remus, I- I don't know how to say it."

"Whatever it is," Remus starts slowly, carefully, "I promise I won't be pissed off."

"...You will be," Sirius says quietly. Remus practically wants to shake him, tell him that there's literally nothing that he could do that would anger him.

"I promise you," he says again, as Sirius looks up and meets his eyes. "I won't be." Sirius nods, taking a deep breath.

"I... well, Remus, I- I'm..." He stops himself, screwing his eyes shut. "I'm in love with you," he exhales in a rush, and-

What?

Remus' eyes widen, as Sirius chances a glance at him. For a second, Remus can't actually think. Every thought seems to have run out of his brain, his voice dying out, anything other than shock bolting from his system.

"I- I think I have been for a while, I just... I don't know, I was so scared. Hell, I still am pretty scared," he says with an empty laugh. "I just... I'd been pushing down this part of me for so long, I don't think I was thinking about how I actually felt when you... I was more thinking about making sure you knew that I didn't want to stop being around you. I mean... it took me until a few weeks back to even start thinking about what I want, which... it isn't fair on you, Rem, and-"

"You love me?"

"...yeah."

"You're in love with me."

"Yeah."

"This isn't a joke, is it?" He asks suddenly.

"What? No! No, it's not a joke."

"Because it's not funny."

"No, it's not funny. It's not a joke."

For a second, they just look at each other, both boys desperate to find something to say.

The issue is, no words are coming to Remus' head.

He needs to do something, though. He can't just leave Sirius standing here after that. Honestly, a big part of him feels like this is all just a dream, one that he's about to wake up from and mourn for a long time. There's no way that Sirius...

Fuck.

Sirius loves him.

This whole time, Sirius has loved him. He feels like he should be somewhat frustrated, after all of the time spent heartbroken, but he can't bring himself to be. Not at Sirius.

Eventually, Remus reaches his limit with the silence. He can't take just standing here with what he knows now. Words clearly aren't an option anymore, so Remus opts for the easiest option.

He pulls Sirius in by the jacket and kisses him.

After the initial surprise, Sirius positively melts. His hands reach out and cup Remus' face, as Remus winds his free arm around Sirius' waist and tries to tell himself that he isn't dreaming. This is real. Sirius right in front of him and tangible. Sirius kissing him like he's more important than oxygen.

Sirius kissing him.

After what feels all too short, both of them break apart, interrupted by the need to breathe. Remus wouldn't be able to fight the smile rapidly spreading across his face even if he wanted to. Thankfully, Sirius has a very similar smile infecting him.

"I love you," Remus says, watching Sirius blush more than he'd ever seen him blush before.

"I love you," he says back, and Remus gets the strongest urge to kiss him again.

Sirius beats him to it.

[emsdevs]

🎁 14 with quinn 👀

a/n: kirby my love, this one is for you 🧡 i know you love your angst

Prompt 14: "Please. Please just listen to me."

Birthday Celly 2025 Masterlist | masterlist

You never thought it would come to this. You thought you and Quinn were forever. Everything had been perfect until you had started seeing less and less of him. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been on a date, and he barely held a conversation with you now. You knew bringing it up would be difficult, but you hadn’t imagined it would blow up like this.

“Quinn, we barely talk anymore! When was the last time you kissed me? A real kiss, not some reflexive kiss on the cheek when you get home from a roadie!” you weren’t sure when it started, but the two of you have been shouting back and forth so long your throat is starting to feel scratchy.

“That’s not fair! Do you know how busy I am?”

“Oh, trust me I know! The only thing I hear about anymore is the Canucks! The team needs this! The team can’t do that! God, Quinn, even when you were hurt and had absolutely no business being on that ice, you couldn’t shut up about your team! Sometimes, it’s like you forget I even exist! Like I’m just some housemaid or someone to come to when you need relief! Except we don’t even do that anymore do we?”

“Maybe it’s because you’re so clingy! I mean, Jesus, I barely get a moment to myself! You’re so obsessed with me! This isn’t even that serious!” 

Your face goes blank the second the words leave his mouth. This isn’t even that serious? He didn’t tell you he wanted to break up, but with those five words, Quinn just ended your relationship.

“It isn’t that serious?” you’re fuming now, and he can tell by how level your voice is. “So what? You’ve been stringing me along for over two years? Let me move in? You remember me having to get permanent residency for this right? All of that and it’s not serious?”

“Babe don’t-”

“No you’re right, Quinn. I’m leaving. You can have your space back. I’d hate to take it anymore since you so obviously don’t want me here,” you head to what was a shared bedroom not even two hours ago. You pack all your bags, at least what you would need for a couple of days, and Quinn does nothing but stand there and watch. He doesn’t speak up again until you’re leaving the bedroom and heading for the front door with your suitcase in tow.

“Baby, c’mon. You’re being dramatic. Where are you even gonna stay?”

“Oh, no! Clingy and dramatic! Guess I really need to get out of your hair then. And where I’m staying is not of your concern anymore,” you roll your eyes, attempting to continue on your path to the door when he blocks it.

“Please. Please just listen to me. It doesn’t have to end like this. We don’t have to end like this,” he’s begging now, and as pitiful as he looks, you can’t find it in yourself to care anymore. You’re tired of sitting around, waiting for him to give you attention like some dog sitting at the door waiting for its owner to return. You have to get out.

“Just stop, Quinn. It’s done. We’re done. No second chances. I’ve given you too many to begin with. If you didn’t want this to end, you should’ve tried harder to keep me before it was too late. Hopefully, you can find someone a little less clingy and obsessive.”

You walk away, not looking back once the door is shut. You just closed a huge chapter in your life. Anyone else would probably be rejoicing right now, basking in the feeling of being free from a situation that wasn’t good. Somehow, though, you can’t help but feel like this might have been a mistake.

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[icycoldninja]

helloo, how have you been? silly mgs4 raiden loving anon is making a return. life has been hectic in a not so fun way, can i request some fluff between mgs4 raiden and a fem reader? a night of at home spa day where reader does Raiden's nails combat claws, picking up a new self care routine and sharing some soft kisses? ^^

I've been doing great but this makes me better

Pamper (MGS4!Raiden x Fem!Reader fluff)

Just like he'd done for the last several weeks, Raiden trooper tiredly through the front door, looking less like a living person and more like a Halloween decoration that had been left up and forgotten about until New Years.

"I'm home..." He rasped wearily, the sound akin to that of an old engine finally giving up. Blowing out a wheezy sigh, he sank onto the couch, creaking like a rusty hinge.

"Aww Jack," You began suddenly, rushing over to him as soon as you caught sight of him. "You poor baby. You look awful—beautiful, but awful."

"I know," He moaned, practically collapsing against you while you fussed over him.

"You know what you need?" You asked, already intending to answer for him regardless of how he responded. "What you need is a self care night. What do you think?"

Raiden couldn't answer you out of sheer exhaustion, but he managed to voice his agreement by letting out a rumbly "umpf". You figured that was enough, kissed his forehead, and hurried off to gather all the things you thought you would need. You returned several moments later with a variety of goods, from bottles of nail polish to a foot massager. Though it was unlikely the foot massager would work on Raiden since his feet were made of metal and he likely couldn't feel anything through them, you figured it was worth a shot anyway.

While he laid upon the couch in a position that would make a normal human cramp up in less than five minutes, you got to work plugging everything in and making sure all your supplies were present and accounted for. Once you were done with that, you grabbed one of his hands and began inspecting his nails—er—claws, which were badly scuffed after weeks of literal wear and tear.

"What're you doing?" Grumbled the cyborg, as soon as he heard you vigorously filing them.

"Fixing your nails, they're a mess," You answered firmly. "Now shh, lie back and relax. Here, put your feet in this." Without warning, you slid the foot massager under his feet, which were sharp, pointy in shape, and not at all easy to handle safely, and lowered the aforementioned appendages onto the device. Once the thing powered on, Raiden let out a soft sigh of relief, suggesting he might have nerves in his feet after all.

"How's that?" You asked, while furiously blowing the dust of his now-reshaped nails because you didn't feel like wiping them away.

"Good," Sighed Raiden, straightening up from his frightening position and groaning in enjoyment again, his vision drifting down to you as you meticulously slathered glossy, glittery grey nail polish onto his nails. "Are you doing what I think you're doing?"

"Yup." You answered without even looking up.

"OK...keep going..."

The next few minutes were spent in silence as you pampered his hands, even applying some cuticle oil despite the fact that he didn't have cuticles. Once his hands were done, you decided to polish the rest of him because the metal covering his body looked dull and boring. It deserved to be glossy and sleek, like his nails now were, and while it was difficult to apply the polish in some areas, (you had to leave for a moment to retrieve a bottle and paintbrush you remembered he had left lying around in the bathroom) you figured a way to get him thoroughly coated, and couldn't help but stand back, admire your work, and smirk proudly once you finished.

You would have asked Raiden what he thought of his new "paint job", but he looked like he'd fallen asleep, and you didn't think it was worth waking him up over. Instead, you took a seat next to him, arranged yourself in a comfortable position, planted a kiss on each of his cheeks, then snuggled up to him for a nap. No sooner had you done that did he suddenly flutter awake, mumbling something about how he was just resting his eyes, and then noticed how shiny he was.

"Thanks," He said, in between yawns, further demonstrating his gratitude by kissing your forehead. His metal jaw bumped against the upper part of your hose, but it didn't bother you, if anything, it was one of the things that made his kisses so unique.

"Wanna watch a movie?" You suggested, lazily handing him the remote that just convienently happened to be in your reach.

"Eeh," He said indifferently, taking the remote and flicking through your options before settling on some cheesy rom-com that looked vaguely interesting. Neither of you ended up paying much attention to it because at around 20 minutes into the film, you started trading kisses and paid less and less attention to the TV with each pasing minute.

Eventually, the movie was forgotten about entirely, left to play in the background while you cuddled up on the couch, giggling and kissing. Neither of you were the least bit embarrassed--why would you be anyway? You loved each other dearly, and were in the privacy of your own home, what did you have to lose? Nothing! Here, with each other, you could do whatever you wanted, be as lovey-dovey as you pleased, all while feeling the safest you'd ever felt in the history of your lives. There was really nothing like it, which made you long for more.

So, five more minutes on the couch turned into ten, which multiplied into twenty, then that turned into an hour, and before you knew it, you were sprawled out across Raiden's chest, the both of you fast asleep while the credits to that movie you had forgotten about drifted slowly across the TV screen, completely ignored once again.

[pilot-boi]

So I know this is probably a really out of date question.

What are your headcanons for Jinder after they get out of the ever after?

If you already did this, sorry, and disregard

AFTER Jinder gets out of the Ever After?

Well first of all, we need to establish what happens to them IN the Ever After. And heads up, this REALLY really got away from me

Jaune and Cinder’s souls never mesh, even when trapped in one body for decades. They each hate themselves and each other too much to truly sync (which then rebounds back on itself and makes it all worse)

Jaune hates Cinder and himself for killing Penny, for killing Pyrrha. Cinder hates Jaune for trapping her here, for helping Winter steal the powers, for getting in her way. They hate each other, and they hate themselves. With that much bad energy trapped in “one” head, it’s really a wonder they dont destroy themselves long before RWBY lands

The worst part, for Cinder, is the sorrow she can feel from Jaune’s ocean of a soul. Not for himself, for her. Even though she can feel his hatred, she can also feel how his soul can’t help but try to heal her

The worst part, for Jaune, is the terror he can feel from Cinder’s tattered remains of a soul. Terror at being trapped, and worst of all terror at the lack of control she has in this situation (The Grimm arm is missing. Will it come back if they unfuse? Can her soul handle the strain of that?) Even though he can feel her rage, he can also feel that Cinder has been terrified every day of her life

So they never truly mesh. Jaune’s soul keeps her trapped to protect the Afterans (and to protect her) Cinder’s soul clings to his to harness his Aura (and to protect herself)

Phenomal power, more Aura than any person to walk Remnant and nitro boosted Maiden powers on top of that. But their minds are fractured. Two souls were never meant to be trapped together for this long. The Wildfire Knight is truly a volatile force

Mentally, Jaune and Cinder actually come to an accords of sorts (twenty years of absorbing the thoughts and fears of another person will do that). The stepping stone for them for not battling in their minds constantly was their realization that they both want the same thing: To leave the Ever After

And eventually they do. There’s shenanigans along the way (I can’t recap all of V9 in this post, it would take too long)

When Ruby runs, Jinder is the first to find her

Their anger compounded against itself and they screamed at their friend-nemesis. Jaune’s guilt makes them stand, Cinder’s determination makes them move. The Maiden powers speed them after Weiss Schnee (Why did she stay? Why does she care?) They reach her, pass her, and dive into a dilapidated mansion

(Why did they dive between the Cat’s claws and Ruby’s unprotected chest? Why did they curl around the girl’s battered, screaming form and shield them from the Mad Hatter’s onslaught? Why didn’t they move faster? Why did they care? Why did it take this long to do something right with their life?)

Jinder finds themself standing in front of the Blacksmith

A Young Explorer left her knife for them. A shining blade to cut through the rusted chains binding two souls together. And for the first time in decades, Jaune and Cinder are alone in their heads

It’s not ascension. Not really. It’s more like rebirth

Jaune got to be the hero he wanted to be, but realized that he ran from the person he wanted to be along the way. Cinder got to be strong as she wanted to be, but realized that she was blinded by fear along the way

Jaune chooses to love. Cinder chooses to hope

When they open their eyes, they’re both as they remember before falling into the Ever After plus a few changes

Jaune has white streaks in his hair, and his leg is now missing as Jinder’s was. A humming white and gold prosthetic attaches in its place, melding so seamlessly that he can’t tell where flesh ends and synthetics begin. He can feel the fabric of his jeans, the pressure of his boots, even the warmth of his socks. He doesn’t know why he’s surprised. The Blacksmith forges people, a false leg must be easy as breathing to her

Cinder has hair streaks of her own, and she definitely doesn’t choke up when she sees that the Grimm arm is gone, she’s free. Wait, but something is different. She blinks, waves a hand in front of her face, blinks again, moves her head back and forth, and only then realizes that she has both eyes. A smooth glowing orb like a coal sits in her eye socket, surrounded by scar tissue like a starburst

They appear beside the Blacksmith’s forge together. Separate, but together. Yang, Blake, and Weiss are all immediately on guard when Cinder appears, but Ruby seems strangely at ease

Of course. She’s the only one among them who knows how liberating this feels

They’re apart now. They no longer feel another presence in their heads. They no longer feel a weight draining their soul, crushing their minds

Jaune and the others gather in front of the portal, and Weiss takes Jaune’s hand, interlocking their fingers and smiling up at him. Cinder rolls her eyes when he starts to cry and wraps the heiress in a hug. If there’s been one constant, it has been Jaune’s over emotionality

What she doesn’t expect is for Weiss to offer her other hand to Cinder, in a way that’s clear this is no accident, this is a deliberate decision. A snowflake trusting a fire not to burn it

Schnee’s blue eyes are ice cold, but somehow they’re warmer than Salem’s fire-red ones have ever been. She’s shorter than Cinder, slight, small, but somehow she’s a rock to the knight clutching her hand. Cinder remembers how easy it was to skewer her like a butterfly to a board. She also remembers how Jaune felt watching that happen.

Jaune is still holding the heiress’s other hand, and for once Cinder doesn’t scoff at the open expression on his face. He trusts her. He trusts her. Somehow, despite everything, despite the pain she’s brought him that she can still feel in the recesses of her mind, Jaune Arc trusts her

And Jaune Arc trusts Weiss Schnee. And Cinder lets the hope she chose guide her decision. She will not let fear take any more of her than it already has

Cinder takes Weiss’s hand, her real human hand touching another person for the first time in decades. Weiss’s face is impassive, but she seems proud, somehow. A first step. Why does she feel like she’s lighter than air?

The portal blazes in front of them.

Jaune and Cinder stand separated, apart, but held together. They’re really here. They never dared to believe it would happen, even as they fought day and night to get here

They’re finally going home. To love and hope, and fight and die. But that’s what being human is. And somehow, despite falling through worlds and fractured minds, they might actually get a chance to do the one thing they both agreed upon

Jaune and Cinder will live

[jade-len]

you know it's bad when i read svsss and tgcf, stories about just two guys falling in love and getting together, and think, "god i wish i were in between them."

gay little domestic cottage core life with binghe and qingqiu? please and thank you. being sandwiched by hua cheng and xie lian, two pretty men who are hundreds of years old? i am blushing, kicking my feet and giggling

and again, it's not even that i would want only one of them. like in both of the relationships, the two love each other too much to the point it'd feel wrong if they were separated! it wouldn't feel complete, so you gotta be with both of them!

but that's the thing; i just?? i feel so incredibly guilty whenever i think about being loved by these mxtx couples??? like it's so stupid but i feel like i'm intruding in on something and it's like, everyone else seems to just want them together only, not wanna be with them. like it's fuckin taboo or whatever

i feel like with any other character from any other media it'd be fine to simp for and write/read x readers of them, but when it comes to these books, it's off limits! no way, what are you, crazy? yes, yes i'm unhinged and desperately want their love and affection simultaneously. i want to be in a happy little poly relationship with these overpowered beautiful men with long hair.

i can't be the only guy or whoever to feel this way?? to wanna be kissed by these characters? sandwiched?? i have two hands for christ sake and they all look so happy together and im just like "lord i wanna be with them so much". someone tell me i'm not alone cmon <\3

[shalom-iamcominghome]

I never realized just how similar If I Was a Rich Girl sounds to If I Were a Rich Man

I was genuinely expecting her to go Ya ba dibba dibba dibba dibba dibba dibba dum instead of nanananananana

[sunmoontruth-stiles]

I need a completely rewritten teen wolf series with Derek Hale as the main character. I think it would heal me.

[willowpains]

we listen and we don’t judge

drew starkey x latina actress reader!

Drew was not a fan of social media.

Unlike you.

Chronically online was a term that was gaining fame to describe someone who spent quite some time on the internet, and who knew all the trends going on.

You weren’t exactly proud to be a part of that community.

But it kept you entertained.

And that’s how you ended up setting your phone up, ready to record Drew and you filming a new trend on TikTok.

How did you convince him to do it? You don’t even remember.

And after what felt like an eternity of explaining the dynamic to Drew, you both were finally ready to begin.

Both of you sitting next to each other on your couch, you looked at him with a mischievous smirk while he stared at you suspiciously.

“We listen and we don’t judge” you both said at the same time, Drew smirking at you.

“I’ll start” you said, looking from your phone screen to your boyfriend. “Sometimes, when I don’t really wanna cook, I get all dramatic and lie about us not having all the ingredients for the dish I was supposed to make, so you can offer to make something instead with what we do have” you say, giving him an embarrassed smile.

He chuckled at your words.

“I knew that love” he lets out a laugh. “You’re not good at lying to me”.

Your mouth opens up in shock.

“We listen and we don’t judge”.

Drew pauses for a moment, smiling at you.

"When you're showering, i close the door of our room so the sound of your music gets as muffled as possible" he admits.

You giggle as you nod at his words, you did like to shower with loud music.

“We listen and we don’t judge”

You look at him through the screen.

“I thought you hated me when we first met, so I would intentionally try to stay out of your way our first couple of working days together”.

Drew gives you a puzzled expression trying his best not to judge.

“We listen and we don’t judge”.

He clears his throat before speaking.

“I often fake coming home super tired and stressed so that you take pity on me and cuddle me while playing with my hair” he says giving you a cute smile.

You giggle at his words.

“That’s cute” you admit leaning to peck his lips.

“We listen and we don’t judge”

You take a couple of seconds before speaking, trying to be dramatic.

“I have a lot of edits of you saved on my favorites folder on TikTok” you look at him.

Drew covers his eyes while letting out a chuckle.

“We listen and we don’t judge”.

He looks at you mischievously.

“I get jealous of the guys in your books” he admits seriously.

You let out a laugh as you throw your head back.

“We listen and we don’t judge”

You giggle softly before confessing the next one.

“Whenever I feel sick in the middle of the night, I wiggle a lot in bed or move your body so you’ll accidentally wake up and ask me what’s wrong”.

He opens his mouth surprised at your words.

“We listen and we don’t judge”

Drew thinks a little before speaking.

“Ever since we met I’ve always been skeptical of your at home remedies for illnesses, even though they work every time” he admits.

You slowly nod while giving him a defeated look, knowing that already.

“We listen and we don’t judge”

You give him a playful look before speaking.

“When we’re cuddling, sometimes I have the urge to stand up abruptly because I get too hot and I feel like I can’t breathe because you’re too big” you say, barely getting out the words without laughing.

Drew looks at you with big eyes, moving his brows up and down at the double meaning of your last words.

You roll your eyes at him.

“We listen and we don’t judge”

He thinks for a moment before speaking.

“When I’m showering, sometimes I’ll use your shampoo rather than mine” he pauses as he looks at your baffled face. “It leaves my hair softer! And smells like you”.

Of course, there were a few confessions you had to cut from the video because your PR managers would hunt you down if they made it out into the internet.

“We listen and we don’t judge” you both say smiling at each other.

You smirk playfully at him before speaking.

“I cannot stand one of your friends and past coworkers” you admit, making a serious face.

Drew immediately throws his head back and lets out a chuckle, knowing exactly who you’re referring to.

“We listen and we don’t judge”

He clears his throat before looking at you.

“I don’t like watching F1 since you told me about that driver that slid into your dm’s” he lets out cockily.

You burst out laughing looking at him while he joins you.

“We listen and we don’t judge”

You make a thinking face looking at him.

“I wish you sent me more shirtless photos” you say giving him puppy eyes. “Or like, you took more of those with my phone, so I could look at them”.

He snorted out a laugh.

“That can be fixed baby” he says as he looks at you mischievously.

“We listen and we don’t judge”

He gives you a smile.

“When I travel for work and you’re not coming with me, I take a pair of your panties and stuff them in my suitcase” he says laughing.

You scrunch up your nose at him.

“Drewwwwww” you say covering your face, now knowing where those missing undies went.

“We listen and we don’t judge”

You avoid his eyes for the next one.

“Sometimes when I’m cold, I throw on one of your dirty hoodies that you used while working out, cause they’re sweaty and smell like you” you say, trying not to burst out laughing.

He gives you a grossed out look.

“We listen and we don’t judge”

You look at him waiting for him to speak.

“You know those sleeping shorts Brooke sent you cause she accidentally bought too many?” He says, making quotation marks with his fingers while saying sent and accidentally.

You nod at his words.

“I actually bought them for you because I love how your ass looks in them”.

Your mouth opens at his confession while you hit him playfully in the chest.

Drew laughs at your reaction.

“Oh my god baby, this is definitely not making it to the video” you say as you stand up from your position while laughing at him, walking to your phone to stop recording, while he stands back watching your movements with a smile.

Noticing that in fact, you were wearing a pair of those shorts.

“We don’t judge remember?” he said cheekily.

*

inspired by @valstranquility lando blurb<3

I love this trend on TikTok and I just couldn’t help myself

they’re just too cute I can’t

this was short n sweet hope you like it, if you have any other concepts you’d like to read let me know!

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: implied noncon, break-up, toxic relationship, crazy ex-boyfriend, intrusive thoughts, anger issues

♡ FEM reader

Thinking about gamer boyfriend who doesn’t know what he has before it’s gone…

You told him you were leaving, but it didn’t dawn on him that’s what you’d meant. He was deep in-game—he couldn't pay attention to your whining. He figured you went out to the store or something, but later, after midnight, he realized he was hungry, and you were nowhere. Not in the kitchen making dinner, not in his bed sleeping, and not in the bathroom either. 

Did you go home? He wonders, standing alone in the dark, empty silence—feeling a little put off at the sight of his room—how even in the dim light, it’s a clear fucking mess. You usually tidy up a bit for him, but you hadn’t this time—no, there’s old underwear and socks everywhere, shirts and hoodies too, empty cans and pizza boxes. It’s a bit gross, actually, he admits while scratching his neck. 

The drawer he’d dedicated to you in his dresser is open and empty. Did you take everything to get it cleaned? You are a bit of a neat freak—unlike him. Suppose that would be something you’d do. Weird of you not to take any of his laundry as well, though.

Oh, well. He shoots you a “gn bby” on his phone, then collapses on his bed and falls asleep—smiles a bit as he does so—it’s nice not having you here to tell him to undress and go shower first. Yeah, you can be such a nag sometimes.

He wakes up late in the day. You’re not there. Usually, you come over to wake him with some breakfast. He checks his phone—you didn’t reply last night. It isn't that weird—you were probably already asleep at that point. But why didn’t you answer when you woke up? There’s no way you’re still asleep, right? 

Fuck, he’s hungry.

“gm,” he sends—contemplates asking you what’s up but doesn’t. You must be busy with something not to have checked your phone yet.

The entire day goes by, and you still don’t answer. He doesn’t take it too hard. But he won’t deny being a bit miffed.

It’s when three days go by that he’s well and truly confused. He’s sent you several texts at this point, even called you a few times, getting a little worried something had happened to you before he got the message that he’d been blocked. 

What the fuck’s going on with you?

He thinks back to the last time he saw you. What did you even say? He can’t remember. Something about being tired—something, something—I’m leaving.

He swallows thickly. No… No way, that’s what you meant, right? No, can’t be. You love him. You’re his pretty girlfriend. The one that comes with his food and later comes back for his bowl. The one that sucks his dick under his desk as he goes on a kill streak. The warm pillow he uses when he finally drags his bad posture to the bed and falls asleep.

No. Where the fuck are you? Are you sick or something? Yeah, must be, right? So delirious you’ve managed to block him somehow. You were probably only trying to call him back. You were never so tech-savvy—a fever must have worsened it. He should go to you. He can bring his pc. Or no, he can get you and bring you back here. Yeah, that would be easier.

He calls your roommate, tells her he’s coming, and asks her to let you know to get ready.

“What are you talking about?” she says through a piece of gum—her voice all dull as if bothered to have picked up the phone. Or, rather, she sounds a bit drunk. There’s music in the background. “Girl broke up with you, didn’t she?”

His blood runs cold at that. A lump forms in his throat—a thick, unmovable lump that makes him think he’s about to throw up. “N-no, she didn’t.”

“Hey!” she calls out, not to him, though—she’s covered the mic with her hand. He only hears the muted distortion of voices and bass through it before your roommate comes back to him. 

“Sorry—she’s telling me a different story,” she relays, popping her gum in his ear before sneering—or, at least, that’s what he pictures. “Honestly, how long did you think she was gonna put up with cleaning up after you anyway? I know I wouldn’t last half as long as she has.” The lump in his throat grows thicker, swelling up until it's choking him. “Anyway, good luck.”

She hangs up, and he drops his phone. There’s a crack as it hits the floor. And then something wet on his face. Something hot. Something searing as it tracks down his cheeks and drops off like acid onto the floor. 

What should he do? What do you want him to do? To tidy up? He can do that! He’s not some imbecile like your friend makes him out to be who can’t even do the basics of chores. Of course, he can! And so that’s what he does—hands shaking as he tidies. 

It feels foreign, and he’s not even sure where to start. And it quickly proves to be a lot worse than what he’d thought. Beyond stinky clothes and dirty dishes, there’s trash, rotten food, sticky surfaces, and other things he can’t even put a name to. It’s gross, actually. Downright disgusting. How long’s it been like this?

Even after everything’s put in order, there’s a smell that lingers and no end to the dust he has to clean—cringing at the little insects that come crawling out of their hiding spots. Geez—has it really been this bad?

He falls asleep on the floor at some point—having completely forgotten to eat—then wakes up feeling awful the next day. The kitchen is barren, and so he orders take-out. Eats and then goes back to cleaning. There’s still a lot left.

It’s barely recognizable once he’s done. Nice and bright and tidy and clean. There’s a sum of a dozen large black trash bags in the hallway he needs to take out, but other than that, everything’s perfect—perfectly presentable to have you come over again.

Still, he gives it a couple of days. He knows you. You’re going to change your mind. You’re too sweet to be breaking up with him. Too nice. You wouldn’t just leave him, not like this. Yeah, you’re only trying to teach him a lesson—after a while, you’ll come back on your own. You’ll be ecstatic over what he’s done with the place—apologetic even as you tell him you were wrong about him—and then everything will go back to normal. Make-up sex and everything. 

But you don’t. No. You’re nowhere to be seen or found—even after a week’s passed. You’re still gone. And he’s starting to believe you might just be gone for real.

No. He sees what this is. You’re waiting for the grand gesture, aren’t you? He never knew you could be so petty—but it’s actually kind of cute. Fine then. He’ll play along—come crawling to you on his hands and knees with the best apology you’ve ever heard. And then you can end this whole thing.

And so he finds himself at your place, pressing the buzzer, not knowing if he’s catching you at home—if not, he’ll just try again tomorrow, and so on until he does. He hears someone at the other side of the door—they must be looking at him through the peephole. It takes a while before the locks click and open.

“Hey…”

It’s you. 

“Hi,” he smiles in return, happy to see you. He’s been so nervous, but somehow, your face and voice are enough to calm him down.

“What are you doing here?” you ask.

Oh, of course. You weren’t expecting him. Still, it feels weird of you not to gush happily over the surprise and rush him inside. It’s not every day he goes outside—you should be a little impressed.

But no, of course, you’re playing the part of fed-up girlfriend—acting hard-to-get. He’s got you—he’ll play his part, so don’t worry.

“I wanted to apologize,” he announces. “I haven’t been a good boyfriend—I see that now. But I’ll be better from now on, I promise—come over, and I’ll prove it to you.”

As far as apologies and promises go, he thinks that sounded pretty smooth—not too desperate, not too demanding. Pretty slick, if he can say so himself.

And so, why aren’t you smiling? He can understand being nervous—so is he—but why do you look guilty?

“That’s really nice. And… I’m really happy you’re looking better. But…” you start, and his gut’s already wrenching. “I think you need more time for yourself to just… enjoy what it’s like to be independent, you know?” 

No, he doesn’t know. What are you saying? And why are you holding onto the doorknob like that? Holding it steady as if you’re planning to shut it as soon as you can—why?

“Thanks for stopping by. It was nice seeing you—it really was. Take care of yourself, okay?”

It’s shutting—his plans—disappearing right before his face. He knows he isn’t owed a second shot, but this isn’t fair. You can’t be serious—are you?

“What? No, wait—” He stops you, weighing his own hand on the door, keeping it open. “Listen, I’m good now. I’ve pulled it together, you’ll see—I’ll come in, and we’ll talk about it.”

You resist, using both hands to almost push the door back on him. “I have company, so—”

“What’s up?” another voice announces himself—deep and presentful. He comes into view behind you—taller than you, taller than him—looking down his nose at him with a raised brow. “Who’s this?”

You look a bit panicked—no, embarrassed. “Oh, uhm—”

Why are you embarrassed? “Who’s that?” The bitterness in his voice surprises even himself—loaded with the same type of spite he seethes with when players use cheats to win.

“He’s an old friend, but he was just leaving,” you say, but you’re not speaking to him. No, you stroke a hand over the guy’s broad chest, looking up at him apologetically before turning back to him again, voice strict in a way he’s never heard, “Bye.”

“But—”

You shut the door. On him. In his face. 

His skin crawls—goosefleshed and chilled. Was that a date? No, right? You have a brother, don’t you? Yes, must be. No way you’re dating. There’s no way, right? It’s only been a week… no way you’ve moved on in only a week, right?

You looked really nice—wearing that sweet blouse with all the little bows and that cute little skirt you’d always wear out on dates. Damn, when was the last time the two of you went on a date? Must be months ago, if he can’t even remember. 

Come to think of it, the two of you would always have sex when you wore that skirt. Yeah, it’s your fuck-me-skirt. Are you going to fuck this guy too now? On the first date? Is it your first date? No, probably not—who has their first date at home? That’s more like a third or even fourth or fifth date, right? Were you dating him while the two of you were still together? Have you been cheating on him all this time? Laughing at him behind his back—talking shit with your bitch-roommate? About what a pathetic loser he is? About how he’s a slob who can’t take care of himself? How he needs you? Have you!?

He shouldn't be texting you all this from a random number. He knows that, but the full realization doesn’t dawn on him before it’s too late, and he’s sent you over a hundred messages, some small and others at such a length they take up more than what the screen allows. What the fuck’s he doing? He’d bought the new sim so that he could contact you in an emergency, not to spam you with accusations like some crazy ex. 

He starts deleting them—in some desperate wishful thinking, with the hope you wouldn’t see them, but then the dotted line starts beating, jumping in taunt. His eyes are wide as he stares at it, holding his breath. Ten seconds pass before it disappears—no message sent.

You blocked him again. And he can’t blame you.

And yet, he can’t let you go, either. 

He spends the first few weeks hauled up at home—his flat becoming as trashed as ever as he doomscrolls all your socials through a fake account. You’ve deleted all the pictures of him—even the ones of yourself when you’ve been with him. There’s no evidence the two of you were even dating.

How could you do this? How could you erase him like this?

He has questions, and he needs answers. You can’t just do this—the two of you haven’t even had the talk—he hasn’t even got to say his side yet!

He just wants to talk to you—why won’t you let him? He just wants you to hear him out. He deserves that much. But since you’re not giving him any option of contacting you, he’s had to resort to medieval methods—lurking outside your apartment like some creep, eyes peeled on your building’s entrance, waiting for you to show.

He’s there for hours, patiently—refusing to go home—thinking he’ll be there all night if he has to.

But then there you are—coming out of the complex, stepping down the alley, dressed all nice for the night. You seem to be in a hurry—are you on your way to another date? Well, wherever you’re going and whoever you’re meeting, they can wait.

“I need to talk—” he doesn’t get the words out.

You’d noticed him following you and tried to out-pace him—make him lose interest. But the area your flat’s situated in is a sketchy one—at least for girls, and you’d made the decision long ago that you’d never walk outside unprepared. And so, as soon as feeling the stranger's hand on your arm, you whip around to maze him right in the face.

“Argh!” he screeches and stumbles back, hands covering his eyes. “Fuck—ow-fuckin’dammit, shit—what the fuck did you do that for? Fuck—”

You were going to make a run for it, but the familiar voice has you halt—wait a minute…

You call his name, and sure enough, it’s him who looks up at you through the teary redness of your pepper spray assault. 

“Oh my god, shit—I’m so sorry—I thought you were a—” you stop yourself. “Fuck—never mind. Come—” You link his arm with yours and lead him back inside the apartment you just left. “I’ll help you rinse—I’m so sorry.”

You rush him to the bathroom, seating him atop the toilet lid as you wet a cloth and start soaking his face.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see it was you—” you apologize again. “Are your eyes okay?”

“Not really,” he hisses through clenched teeth, though steals himself soon after. “But they're getting better…”

His face unswells after a good thirty minutes, after which he’s able to keep his eyes open again—sore and no doubt bloodshot, yet fine, if not for that. You’ve moved him into the living room instead, having done what you could to rinse off your attack—having provided him with an apologetic glass of water. Now sitting with him, waiting for the effects to wear off.

It feels nice to be with you again despite the circumstances—but it’s awkward how you don’t speak.

“You look nice,” he says—trying to break the tension. It’s not as if the two of you are strangers, and so you shouldn’t act like it.

“Oh, I’m going to a party—roomie’s already there, so…” you say, sitting at the edge of your seat. “If you’re okay, I should probably head out… soon.”

A silence fills his head, as well as the room—a heavy stillness before a single word leaves him. “What?” His face sinks—part confusion, part offense, and something else—something that makes his voice come out accusatory and outraged, “You maze me in the face, and you’re just gonna fuck off to a party?”

Your eyes widen.“Well… it’s—”

“No—what the fuck?” He stands abruptly. His head’s so empty except for the blinding darkness slowly overtaking it—leaving him feeling boiling and all but nuclear. “That’s all I get? Are you fucking serious?” He’s shouting now—and then he’s on you, with one hand fisting your pretty dress and another around your throat. “First, you dump me without warning, assault me like some maniac, give me a lousy apology, and then tell me to fuck off? What the fuck’s wrong with you?”

You splutter his name and push, but it’s like fighting a wall.

“Where are you actually going dressed like that, huh? What’s so fucking important? Is it another date? What, with that same oaf I saw here last time? Or is it someone new already? I know how flighty you can be. I mean, fuck, I knew you were a little freaky, but I didn’t know I was dating a fucking slut!”

His strength comes as a complete and utter devastating shock. You’d think sitting in a chair all day would make any muscle obsolete—but the hands holding you don’t right now is more than anything you could hope to fight against.

“Stop! Get off me—” you cry, thrashing hopelessly as he lifts your dress and rips your lace panty down your thighs. 

A growl in his voice and nothing but rage on his face.

“If anyone can get it—I might as well help myself.”

♡ INSPO

♡ BNHA – Shigaraki, Dabi, Denki, Kirishima ♡ BLLK – Nagi

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[peachylynnie]

wine

word count: 1.3k

synopsis: in which sylus is obsessed with your lips.

contains: sylus x mc!reader (not dating because i like tormenting him like that), alcohol consumption, horny sylus (not smut tho), suggestive themes, mentions of violence and blood, and LOTS of cussing.

a/n: i told myself i wouldn't write anything until i finish finals but sylus won. i'm also avoiding his myth spoilers since i didn't pull his pair yet. enjoy reading! do NOT copy or translate my work. sylus does NOT endorse plagiarism.

sylus wants to kiss you right now. he wants to kiss you so fucking badly, it hurts. 

you can't blame the man. you looked absolutely delectable right now. hair up, ears jeweled, eyes hooded, and back bared, oh, you looked so good in the dress he handpicked for you; he could just devour you whole and leave nothing to spare. 

and he would have no remorse for doing so either. the auction you two were at was filled with fucking nobodies. how dare they look at you, let alone breathe the same air as you? he's lost count of how many times he felt the urge to just demolish this shithole of a place. 

sylus sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. he knows he's being irrational. after all, he was the one who suggested you two attend this auction. you showed interest in an old manuscript that just so happened to be available only at this auction, and he would be damned if he didn't get you everything you could ever want. hell, you could even ask him for his heart, and he would tear it out of his cold chest, deliver it to your divine feet, get on his fucking knees, and beg for you to demand more of him. 

so, actually, you can blame him for the situation he is in. he was the one who picked the set you're wearing right now oh so ravishingly. he was the one who brought you to this stupid auction that's taking so long to get on with it already—where the fuck is the manuscript? but most importantly, he was the one who made your lips look so damn kissable right now. 

he knew what he was doing when he picked your lipstick for you. deep scarlet that would match his eyes and look good on you. but he never thought it would look this good on you. sylus curses under his breath, feeling his pants tighten around his crotch after remembering you bent over the sink to gaze at the mirror and paint your lips. he recalls how it took him everything not to stride over to you, spin you around, and slam his lips onto yours, hoping to get a smear of that majestic shade. 

oh, but it wasn't just the shade of your lips that drove him crazy. it was the texture, too. you must've been feeling heated because you go to take another sip of the wine in your hand. the matted, creamy lip print you leave on the glass has the silver-haired man inhaling sharply and tightening his grip on the table. what he would give to have such a work of art printed on him instead. he wants it all over him. his face, his neck, his fingertips, his cock—everywhere until no single part of him was unmarked by your luscious lips. until there was no room to even question who he belonged to. 

that's how badly sylus wants to kiss you right now. but he stops himself using the single thread of patience he has left. yes, the two of you were technically alone, standing at the table in the far back. thank god he reserved a table just for the two of you so only he could marvel at your lip-stained glass. no one would interrupt if the two of you were to just have a full-blown make-out session right now.

but sylus knew better. he knew that you were still wary of him. this, you can blame him. after all, he's not a saint. his entire being is smothered in blood, down to the very tip of his designer shoes. he built his lavish empire of protocores and guns from the taking of lives. hell, he even threatened you the first time you met. though, he only did that to push you to your full potential. he could never truly harm you. but sylus knows you. you, in your most beautiful human form, who dwells not only on the past but also on the lives of others. you, whose empathy is so strong, sylus can't help but admire, even though he sometimes wishes you would just let loose and bring hell upon all those who dare to cross you. thus, your continued, empathy-driven wariness of him. but, sylus knows how to compromise. he's okay with being the one with bloodied hands and fucked-up morals so long as it means seeing you, even if it means from afar. besides, you haven't reported him to your little hunter friends yet. he supposes that's a start, and he could settle with that. he could also settle with this: 

"is the wine to your liking, sweetie?" he asks smoothly. 

you flinch, taken aback by sylus' sudden question. you were wondering when he would stop staring at you and actually start paying attention to the auction. not that you mind having sylus' eyes on you. it's just that the borderline depraved look in his crimson eyes was making you feel all hot inside and you really wanted to stop feeling all hot inside whenever you were near him, let alone thinking about him. 

"uh yeah," you nervously chuckle, setting the glass down. "it's better than i thought." you turn your gaze to a waiter nearby, hoping to get a glass for sylus since he seemed so interested in yours for some reason. "here, let me get one for you too." 

you try to catch the waiter's attention by raising your right hand, but sylus stops you. he grasps your hand with his left and rests it on the table. you furrow your eyebrows at him, wondering why he stopped you. sylus, the man who appreciates (that's the nicest way you can describe it) alcohol passing a chance at a complimentary drink? you're utterly confused. 

"no need," sylus gives a gentle squeeze, trying to ease your confusion. though, you're not prepared for what happens next. 

sylus picks up your glass with his free hand, plants his lips on your lip print, and takes a slow sip. your eyes widen, feeling the heat that was coiling in your stomach spread all around your tense body. holy shit, did he just—? 

the aggravating godsend of a man next to you finishes your drink with a satisfied sigh, wiping the garnet droplets from the corner of his lips but not the paint left by yours. "hm," sylus drags his tongue along his lips, a smirk threatening to show. "it is better than i thought."

you flush, seeing your lipstick smudged on sylus' succulent lips. you don’t know what to say. he totally did that on purpose. there's no way he didn't. does this mean the two of you technically kissed-

you don't allow yourself to finish that last thought. you blink rapidly, trying to get your now parched mouth to say something. anything. but you can't. you're completely flustered to the point where all you can do is just gape at sylus with a blush the shade of his eyes tinting your cheeks. 

sylus grins, the tip of his canine peeking out from his now-tainted lips. this is better than he thought. perhaps, he should settle more often if it means getting to see you so cutely aroused and embarrassed like this. though, he knows he won't be able to settle for long. he knows one day, he won't be able to hold himself back anymore. one day, he'll conquer your lips for himself and relentlessly indulge in the real thing. but for now, sylus is content. for now. 

"cat got your tongue, sweetie?" sylus teases, tilting his head to meet your shaky gaze. 

you jerk your head away, trying to get the image of his lips out of your mind. "eyes on the prize, sylus." 

sylus chuckles, but not without placing his elbow on the table and propping his face on his hand to get a better look at you. "oh, my eyes are on the prize, sweetie. my eyes are on the prize." 

[prlssprfctn]

The first time, Tim notices someone observing them from afar, it is when they are all settled for a brief dinner together. It is the middle of the week, and Bruce gathered all of them together to... relax. Which is strange but not unwelcome. Everyone is so involved in chattering and bantering that they don't notice a lingering gaze through the window; they don't, but Tim does.

It takes him a few seconds to figure out that it is Jason.

He is not sure if Bruce reached for him to invite, and Jason just declined, or there was no offer to begin with, but Tim knows for sure Jason lurkes behind windows for a few minutes before disappearing in the night.

And the funniest thing? Tim understands him.

He thinks he is not Jason's replacement — never truly was, despite what the other thought — but in a way, they did swap their places. Because in the past, it was Tim, who hid on the rooftops, staring at Bruce and his family, listening to the snippets of their conversations. And now it is Jason.

It is still different, of course. Tim had a choice, and it was his... enthusiastic project, if anything — Jason doesn't really. But if anyone understands the feeling of standing far away from everyone, it is still Tim.

That's why the next time in happens, Tim reaches out.

It is after the particularly easy mission, when Tim spots the red motion on the rooftop. He slips away from Nightwing and Robin, who debate about something with Batman through the comms, and finds himself standing behind Red Hood.

The way Red Hood taps his fingertips on the balustrade makes Tim remember that he is not included in their comms anymore. He wonders how lonely it is, to hear the voices of his brothers, but never being able to grasp the whole conversation they have.

'Hood,' he calls for him.

To Jason's credit, he doesn't scramble in panic, even if it seems that he is surprised by his appearance.

'Red,' he mutters back, instantly defensive. 'What, came to mock me?'

Tim rolls his eyes; he wishes things would be easier with Jason, but they are not, and he can't really blame him for that.

'Had I ever mocked you?' He copies his stance, arms folding in the chest. When Jason tilts his head, almost asking, "Really now?" Tim rolls his eyes again. 'Okay, I did a few times. But it mostly were jokes about your death.'

Jason chuckles.

'Good one, punk. It changes everything.'

'You like jokes about your death,' Tim protests. 'And I know you allow Arsenal to joke about it, so it is not entirely closed topic.'

'I don't remember allowing you to joke about it, though.'

...

This conversation is so fucking stupid. Tim didn't even came here for this, but-

But fine. He still can win.

'So, you only allow it to your friends. Fine. Let's be friends,' Jason chokes on his own exhausted sigh. 'Do you need some friendship questionnaires to fill to be my friend? I can arrange that.'

Jason kindly flips him off under his breath before disappearing in the night, leaving him alone with whining Nightwing and irritated Bruce in his ear.

The next time he stalks down Jason, who in turn is stalking Damian and Bruce, he shoves in his hand twenty three papers filled with bunch of friendship questions — half stripped from internet, half made by Tim that involve the specifics of their jobs.

He doesn't expect anything to come after it, but in two weeks after Jason returns to the city after his mission with Outlaws, Tim finds these papers filled with surprisingly neat, calligraphic answers.

And he gets the printed copy of the same questions, with one page of an additional one, written in the same handwriting, and with a little sticky note atop of it.

Your turn, Timbo.

Tim smirks.

Oh, he will so drag Jason back in the family, somehow.