#dividers by @thecutestgrotto and @cafekitsune

[comphy-and-cozy]

Signs - Lukas Dostal

Pairing: Lukáš Dostál x OC (f)

Summary: Lukas' best friend, Evie Sato, is on a mission to find love. He's her support system, her personal photographer, and her biggest supporter. And she doesn't realize he's in love with her.

Word Count: 2.7K

Warnings: Little bit of angst, little bit of fluff, a lot of simping. One very slight reference to sex and... that's it? Who am I? ← BACK TO MAIN MASTERLIST ← BACK TO 'SO CLOSE TO WHAT' MASTERLIST

Lukas always knew he’d make it to the NHL someday. He worked hard, focused on his drills, trained all summer. By the time he was a teenager, he had dedicated himself solely to hockey, telling himself that each day he was one step closer to realizing his dream.

And then he got to the United States and life as he knew it changed completely. All at once, he was playing in the AHL, and then his NHL debut, and then a steady NHL backup. He adjusted to life as a Westerner, learning how to play on smaller ice, experiencing Southern California warmth—and traffic—for the first time.

But none of that flipped his world upside down the way Evelyn Sato did.

Lukas is sitting on the rooftop level of his apartment building, back leant against a cushioned lounger. Evie is lying perpendicular at his side, the back of her head resting on his thigh. Her skin is coated in the pinkish-orange hue from the sun that’s slowly slipping under the horizon. Spectacular lavender clouds are splattered across the sky, like a scene straight out of a Bob Ross canvas.

To anyone on the outside looking in, they might think this is the sight of two lovers enjoying a Southern California sunset.

They’d be wrong.

Not for lack of wanting—no, Lukas has that covered—but because, no matter how many guys Evie dated, no matter how many relationships failed, she couldn’t see that the guy she’d spent so much time searching for is the one she’d never noticed. Not like that, at least.

They met through a friend of Trevor’s, becoming fast friends after being paired together for a beer pong tournament. For Lukas, it has long been an unrequited love affair, though admittedly, he’d never dared share his feelings for her for fear of scaring her away or ruining what they had. And what they had, while maybe it wasn’t quite what he wanted, was the easiest friendship he’d ever fallen into.

Lukas was sure there had always been a space for her carved out in his life, and now that she’d filled it, he wondered how he’d ever gotten by without noticing the gaping hole he now felt every time they were apart. He felt completely himself with her; outside of that one secret, Lukas had never kept anything from her, nor she him. It’s like muscle memory, everything falling exactly into place when they’re together.

It’s a beautiful friendship. And, in theory, has all of the makings of a beautiful relationship.

Maybe someday he’ll work up the courage to tell her how he feels. He’ll bumble over some nervous, desperate monologue, tell her that she had him at hello—he doesn’t know the reference, but he knows it’s from something romantic—and proceed to sweep her off her feet and ride off into the sunset.

But until then, Lukas is resigned to helping her take her Instagram photos (that doubled as dating app carousel photos) and deciphering texts from situationships, determining which ones wanted one night and which ones were boyfriend material.

Through it all, Lukas stayed diligently single. Less for the fact that he was waiting for her—though he would admit that there was a piece of him afraid to get himself in any sort of tangle just in case Evie did ever come to her senses—and more for the fact that no one even came close to Evelyn Sato, so what was the point?

Of course, Evie occasionally comments on how long it’d been since he mentioned a girl. Usually he can play it off like he’s just busy, focused on the season, but sometimes she’ll nudge him and say, “You’re a professional athlete, Luk, you should take advantage of that.”

So he laughs it off, nods along, and on road trips, he dusts off the old app and swipes on a few girls who look nothing like her—he knows it’ll only make his heart ache if the girls he innocently flirts with remind him of Evie. (He doesn’t actually meet up with anyone anymore after he kissed a girl in Dallas and saw Evie when he closed his eyes.)

Nothing ever goes anywhere, but at least he has written proof that he tried. It wasn’t that he ever expected Evie to verify the truth of his statement (that would be insane—she trusted him too much); the evidence was more to lie to himself that he wasn’t in too deep.

But, while Lukas is busy trying to play 4D chess to keep his monumental secret, Evie is on a mission to find love. And Lukas has to watch as goes on date after date, coming home either disappointed or—worse—giggly, with flushed cheeks, wondering what their wedding hashtag should be. He grits his teeth and musters up his most supportive smile, listening to her gush about how he held the door open for her and what big 4 consulting company he works for, resisting the urge to grimace. If she’s happy, then so am I has become his mantra.

Inevitably, though, that perfect man from date 1 slowly (sometimes quickly) lets down his mask, shows his true colors, and Lukas braces himself. And eventually, Prince Charming turns into ‘Chad Do Not Answer’ in her phone.

Those breakups—the ones where she ends it—are tolerable, mainly because she’s usually back to her normal, wonderful self within a few days, and, selfishly, Lukas is glad he gets to claim the #1 spot in her life again.

But sometimes, things don’t end on her terms. Sometimes, she gets dumped, and Lukas has to bite his tongue and keep the rage that simmers in his stomach inside. It isn’t fair, none of it is—and how could anyone ever not want to be with her? Here he is, yearning for her, doing everything right, and yet he still has to watch as some other guy takes what he has for granted and leaves her behind.

While he knows he should have even a tiny bit of relief when he hears the words He broke up with me—because she’s single again, and maybe this time will be the time—the empty waver of her voice breaks his heart far more than the fact of her not being his. He can’t enjoy it, even selfishly, because she isn’t happy.

And Lukas, ever the world’s most perfect best friend, is always there to pick her up when she falls; he has her Dairy Queen order memorized from the times he had to come to her rescue, holding her crying in his arms until she fell asleep. The bottom left drawer of her dresser is full of his sweatshirts that he’s left her wrapped in when he has to leave for a road trip but she’s afraid to be alone; he usually FaceTimes her at least once on his trips, but when she’s in that state of fragility, he’s sure to check in more frequently.

It was nice, he admitted, to be the one man who was ever-present in Evie’s life, like a lighthouse on a bay, consistent and steady, a beacon of light for her to navigate back to. So far, he’d outlasted every single one of them, and from the sound of her current debrief on her latest beau, he was about to add another tally to the list.

“He never picks up on any of my hints,” she says with a huff. “I told him I didn’t care if he went to the bar with his friends, but it was obvious he wasn’t actually supposed to go.”

Lukas bites his tongue. He decides now isn’t the time to point out that Evie’s communication with her boyfriend, Dan, isn’t exactly clear, and that he is the only one who understands the Evelyn Sato language—from the look in her eyes that says I want to go to the way she chews on the inside of her cheek when she’s frustrated. Instead, he just nods and hums and gasps in the appropriate spots of her vent session.

“And my god,” she says, “he can’t ever seem to take the hint when I’m… in the mood.”

Lukas feels his face get hot. He hopes his cheeks aren’t stained pink, but if they are, she doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, she’s picking at the fray on her shorts, eyes unfocused, like she’s replaying a recent memory. He feels the sting in his heart at the thought that it’s hurting her to be with someone who doesn’t understand her.

“It’s just like—know me better, you know?” she continues.

Lukas doesn’t realize his hands have started gently playing with her hair, a soothing card of his fingers through her long strands. He loves the way her black hair gets that bluish sort of glow in the right sun. The crease in her eyebrows soften just slightly, telling him to continue. “Right. Your partner should hear you and see you.”

She’s quiet again, soaking in the dying rays of golden hour, and he knows that she’s fast approaching a difficult decision. He opts to remain quiet, too, thinking to himself how beautiful she looks under the early dusk light.

Evie breaks up with Dan two weeks later. She doesn’t cry about it, which Lukas is thankful for, but she does act a little strange and he can’t quite place why. He has a western Canada road trip a few days later, which he thinks will give her enough time and space for her to process her feelings.

When he returns, everything seems normal, and she invites him over for takeout and Seinfeld reruns—one of her favorite post-breakup activities.

They’re sitting on her couch, empty Sweetgreen containers on the coffee table beside a half-finished bottle of her favorite kombucha. (She always goes on a bit of a health kick after a breakup.) Evie is typing on her phone, and Lukas asks conversationally, “Back to Hinge?”

Glancing up from her phone, she looks at him, a thoughtful expression on her face. Then she shakes her head. “I don’t think so.”

“No? How come?”

Evie shrugs. “I think maybe trying so hard is part of the problem.”

Lukas feels his heart flare. He swallows the urge to say, You don’t have to try with me, and instead just nods in understanding. “Yeah. Taking a break is probably a good idea. Give yourself some space.”

That same expression on her face appears again, the one that she had when she told him she broke up with Dan. Like she’s stuck on a decision and isn’t sure what to do. Lukas glances away, giving her the privacy to have her thought; when he looks back, her brown eyes are trained on him.

“What is it?”

“Luk, you… you hear me and see me,” she whispers, echoing his words from that night.

He’s paralyzed, afraid to say anything, afraid to even breathe for fear of changing the wind that might send her rolling off in a different direction. His heart thumps in his throat, caught somewhere between fear, elation, and utter disappointment.

“I can’t believe I never saw it,” she says. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

It feels like a trap, and part of him is bewildered at how she found out—but of course she saw through him. Just as she couldn’t hide from him, he had to realize it was foolish to try and hide from her. Especially not something like this, something that was woven into the very fabric of his being, stitched into every glance and smile and pressed into the tone of his voice.

Lukas doesn’t know what to say, so he stammers, looking for the right structure and arrangement of words. How long had he dreamt of this moment? Fantasized about what it’d be like to finally say it out loud, to see her smile as she realized what he was saying? Longer than he’d like to admit. And now, here he is, fumbling it harder than scoring an own-goal in a game.

She sits up further, scooting closer to him. Her hand, never afraid, now timidly reaches out to caress his cheek. “Luk?”

And then, as if he was a sleeper agent activated by the sound of his name from her mouth, he unleashes.

“I love you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I love you, Evie, and I have since we met. You’re the first person I want to talk to in the morning and the last person I want to talk to at night. I love your sleepy smile in the morning and I love the way the sun brings out the blue of your hair. The reason I don’t even try dating anymore is because no one compares to you. I just—I love you. You’re my favorite person. You’re my best friend.”

He’s not really sure what he said—he blacked out after the first three words—but it must have been good, because Evie is smiling. His heart thunders in his chest, still feeling the adrenaline coursing through his veins from his confession.

She takes his hand, and he tries his best to keep it from shaking; if she notices, she doesn’t let on. “I’m glad you told me, even if it was super delayed.”

Lukas feels a soft laugh exhale out, too aware of the heat in his cheeks that he knows is a bright shade of crimson. He doesn’t know what to say, the unspoken question lingering in the air, feeling like lead in his throat.

Does she feel the same way?

His mind flits through the situation, reminding himself that finding out your best friend has been secretly in love with you is a lot to process. There’s a brief thought that the fact that her immediate reaction wasn’t to grimace and reject him on the spot—maybe it’s a good sign. Lukas clears his throat. “Um. You don’t have to… y’know, say anything back or whatever. I know that’s a lot to take in.”

Evie’s smiles, her eyes full of an appreciation that he understands, that even after baring his soul to her, he’s thinking about her and how she feels. Lukas’ heartbeat returns to a more normal level, and eventually a comfortable silence falls back over them as Jerry, George, and Kramer get into more nonsense.

A while later—he isn’t sure if it’s been 5 minutes or an hour—he hears her shift on the couch beside him. “Luk?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think you could kiss me?”

Lukas doesn’t think he heard her correctly. He turns to face her, but her expression is inquisitive, maybe a little bit bashful. Her eyes are a little bit wider, a small flush on her cheeks making her glow like they were watching the sunset on the roof. Looking at her, he realizes that he heard her exactly correctly.

“Are—are you sure?”

She nods. “I want to see what it feels like.”

And then his heart goes from 0-60 in the course of three seconds. He watches her scoot a bit closer to him and he can’t believe this is happening. Some of her hair has fallen loose from her messy bun, and he finds himself brushing it away from her face, leaning in closer to her. He knows his breathing has gotten heavier, but he doesn’t care; not with her lips on a fast-track trajectory to his.

Their mouths hover inches apart, pausing to feel each other’s breath against their lips. Lukas familiarizes himself with the feeling, memorizing it. Savoring it.

Evie’s smile is the last thing he sees before his eyes close and his lips finally graze hers. They’re soft, plush, perfect—everything he’d imagined they’d feel like. His heart soars, his senses flooded with her warmth and the smell of her perfume and the sound of her sigh; she is everywhere, and he never wants this moment to end.

To his dismay, it does end, but when she pulls away, he’s rewarded with a wide smile and flushed cheeks—an excellent consolation prize for having to be separate from her lips.

She’s quiet for a moment, and Lukas tries to quell the rapid thump of his heart. He wants to know what she’s thinking, what she’s feeling, because for once, he can’t read it on her face.

The words blurt out before he can stop them. He has to know. “So… how—what d’you think?”

Evie’s tongue darts out to lick at her lips, almost like she’s tasting him one more time. Then she smiles. “I think I could’ve saved myself from a lot of bad dates if we’d done that sooner.”

Author's Note: I promised @smileysvech I'd find the right fic to make my Dostal debut and am glad to say this one was perfect! Hope you like it bestie 😘

Taglist (message or comment to join!): @lam-ila @ashloveshockey @cellythefloshie @smileysvech @senditcolton

@fallinallincurls

[taeraegyat]

Lionheart - k.sy

PAIRING: Soonyoung x male!reader

SYNOPSIS: Google, what do I do if I fall in love with my best friend? Is move to New York and ghost him an option?

GENRE: Smau and written, childhood friends to lovers (with extra steps), idol!soonyoung, vetstudent!reader, high school au in the first few chapters, hurt/comfort

WARNINGS: Mention of a grandparent dying.

NOTES: Inspired by my obsession with Soonyoung dating a veterinarian. Yeah this might be a little self indulgent what about it. Listened to this while writing sorry.

STARTED: 24.11.12

FINISHED: -

masterlist below the cut!

Chapter 1: Blinkingly, step into the sun

Chapter 2: The streets I've walked

Chapter 3:

Chapter 4:

Chapter 5:

Chapter 6:

Chapter 7:

Chapter 8:

Chapter 9:

Chapter 10:

taglist: @astro-doll-the-star

comment/send ask to be added.

[scoldingdarjeeling]

Instinct

Rating: Explicit (mdni 18+) Relationships: Halsin x Tempest (OC) Fandom: Baldurs Gate 3 (post game) Additional tags: POV Halsin, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Language. Fluff and Smut, Polyamorous Character, Elf/Human Relationship(s), Dark Past, Sleepwalking, Reithwin, Age Difference, Friends to Lovers, Demisexuality, POC, Healing, Magic scar/tattoo.

When Tempest, a human touched by the Feywild's haunting beauty, crosses paths with Halsin, the Hierophant of Silvanus, more bear than elf, something ancient stirs. What begins as quiet kinship soon blazes into fierce, consuming passion. Both carry echoes of the fey in their blood; she, marked by survival; he, born of wild groves. Each awakens the untamed heart in the other, a humming beat beyond planes and reason. On a night conjured by magic and vines, they offer each other the most primal of gifts: a glimpse of wholeness, where souls entwine in sacred abandon (a.k.a. Tempest loses her V-card to Halsin).

Excerpt from Chapter One: Stormcaller

As the former Archdruid was about to rip the sinew, meat, and scales off his struggling catch with his bare teeth—a fresh salmon from the roaring rapids, warm blood filling his mouth, exhilarating and feeding his ravenous prey drive—a voice as deep as the river itself, yet feminine, called out to him...

“Forgive the intrusion, Son of Silvanus. I do not mean to disturb the waters...”

Halsin ripped the head off his meal before pricking his round ears towards the strange visage of a dryad who stood to his side, close, but not close enough to stir his territorial instincts.

Halsin might have been fully immersed in his chosen wild shape, the ancient dire bear, but spending a hundred years in hibernation had taught him to control his instinctual reactions. His intelligent hazel eyes tangled with the luminous green gaze of the fey—a daughter of Silvanus.

Halsin grunted and shook his massive head, flinging water everywhere, before he stilled, listening intently.

“I hear the voices of the trees carried by the wind; I bring an urgent report from the Willow Tree by the lakeshore... it concerns one most beloved,” the river dryad continued after a gentle bow.

She spoke in the tongue of the old forests. All druids knew it.

Halsin tested the air, but nothing stood out to him—he couldn’t tell the nature of her message. He reached out to her, mind to mind, in response.

“I will hear this message. Silvanus brought you here for a reason—of whom do you speak?”

The dryad looked up at him from beneath her green lashes, her piercing gaze conveying what he could not discern.

“It concerns the one bearing the storm in their heart—a female, human, and in peril. I was bid to find you with great haste!” she said, pointing with her gnarled staff toward the direction of the river, westward.

Halsin lifted his massive head, observing how the clouds, dark and foreboding, gathered in circles, concentrating in one place. As he contemplated her words, a flash of white interrupted his musings. A rumble trembled the earth.

Suddenly, there was another flash, followed by yet another. Halsin counted eight lightning strikes in rapid succession, all from the same place.

That was how he knew. By the Tree Father’s mossy beard... Tempest was trapped in a trance!

Adrenaline surged through his muscles in an instant as the severity of these revelations made his blood run cold. Time was of the essence—Halsin had to get to Tempest, and do so quickly, before the point of no return.

The dire bear barked in confirmation and took off in a run, leaving the river dryad behind, devouring the ground beneath him, building momentum. His great paws cut the time it would take to reach Tempest’s cabin by the lake’s edge in half.

More? AO3 Link Here

Shout-out to my awesome moots: this story only exists because of you! <3 @thoughts-of-bear, @amorgansgal, @hippotooth, @rambling-tam, @chesh-the-paladin-rogue, @serenaoffaerun, @starrforge & last but not least @optimisticgrey (I see you, moving in the shadows) 💫

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[iydiamartinx]

RIDDLE ME THIS, HOODS GOT A GIRL?

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

divider by: cafekitsune & omi-resources & thecutestgrotto word count: 1.7k synopsis: The Bats need information, Jason has an informant...who might also be more. a/n: I feel so utterly single writing these imagines, but I only want one of the bat boys 😭

The night sky over Gotham shone with its usual smog-streaked clouds faintly glowing orange from the city’s lights.

Inside the Batcave, it was a whirl of activity as the team tried to figure out the Riddler's location.

“We need someone who knows Riddler’s movements—someone who’s worked with his patterns recently,” Bruce said, gaze narrowed on the glowing map display.

Jason leaned against the edge of the table, arms crossed over his chest, helmet tucked under one arm. “I’ve got someone.”

Tim paused mid-keystroke. “You’ve got someone?”

Dick raised a brow. “Someone you’re willing to share with the class?”

“She’s not exactly a people person,” Jason said with a lazy shrug, already turning to leave. “But she’s solid. I’ll get the info.”

“No way,” Damian said flatly. “If there’s an informant involved, we’re all going.”

Jason sighed. “She’s not exactly an informant.”

“But she has intel,” Dick added, voice teasing. “And you just happen to be the one she’s willing to talk to? Sounds suspicious.”

Jason shot him a look that could’ve cracked concrete. “Just stay out of the way.”

They met you beneath the derelict train yard off Kane Street—barely lit, long forgotten, and exactly the kind of place no one stumbled into by accident. The rusted metal groaned in the breeze, and the distant hum of Gotham felt muted here, swallowed by shadows and silence. You were already waiting, perched atop a decaying train car like a sentinel, one leg bent, the other dangling with casual ease.

The moment they stepped into view, you jumped down with fluid grace, boots landing soundlessly on the gravel below. The black and steel tactical gear you wore clung to every sharp line of your body, outlining lethal efficiency. Twin pistols were strapped tight against your thighs, and the half-raised hood left your expression mostly concealed—save for the sharp glint of your eyes.

“You’re late,” You said, voice low and smooth.

Jason smirked beneath the helmet. “Traffic.”

“Uh-huh.” You didn’t sound convinced.

That was when Nightwing stepped forward, all charm and sunshine grins, as if that smile of his could melt any armour. “And who might you be, gorgeous?”

Your eyes flicked to him, unimpressed. “Not interested.”

Tim coughed into his hand, clearly trying to hide a laugh. Damian smirked, crossing his arms with a tilt of smug satisfaction. Both of them had encountered you before—brief run-ins during missions that didn’t last long. You were direct. Cold. All business. No patience for pleasantries or ego-stroking.

It was one of the reasons Bruce was even considering pulling you into the fold. Claiming, he needed more serious people but everyone was sure he needed someone who brooded as much as him. But tonight you didn’t seem as broody.

Jason tilted his head. “Play nice.”

“I am,” You shot back, then turned back to him—and your tone shifted. 

You took a few deliberate steps forward, closing the distance between you and Jason until the toe of your boot nearly touched his. Your fingers reached out, grazing the edge of his chest armour.

“You look good, Hood,” you said, voice low and sly. “Still wearing red for me?”

Jason’s head tilted slightly, the faintest smirk pulling beneath his helmet. “Figured it hides the blood.”

Your lips curved into dark dangerous amusement. “You always did bleed pretty.”

A cough from behind broke the charged silence.

“I didn’t know you two had met,” Tim said, cautious, eyes flicking between the two of you.

“We’ve crossed paths,” you replied smoothly, gaze still locked on Red Hood like no one else existed. “Several times.”

Jason crossed his arms over his chest, his stance loose but alert. “She saved my ass once.”

“And he returned the favour,” You replied.

“You got something for me?” he asked, jumping into business.

You reached into her jacket, producing a drive between two gloved fingers, holding it just out of his reach. “Maybe. Depends.”

“On what?”

“You know what I want,” You crooned.

Jason’s reply was steady, unwavering. “You know I always deliver.”

That earned a smirk from you. You leaned in just a touch more, voice a soft purr. “You gonna say please, Hood?”

Jason reached out, his hand closing lightly around your wrist. The grip was firm, a warning more than a threat. “Don’t push.”

Your eyes sparked with interest—delight, even. “Oh, but it’s so fun.”

Still, this time, you relented. Slowly, purposefully, you stepped closer and tucked the drive into the utility pouch strapped at his hip. Your hand lingered there longer than necessary, fingers brushing over the gear, grazing the curve of his waist.

“Under Tricorner,” you said quietly, close enough now your breath warmed the space beneath his helmet. “He’s nesting under the old cathedral ruins. You’ll want to take the west tunnel—avoid the gas traps.”

“Appreciate it,” he replied, but his voice was a little rougher now.

You smiled, slow and wicked. “You always know how to say thank you.”

And then, with the same casual audacity you wielded like a blade, you leaned up and pressed your lips to the underside of his helmet leaving behind the faintest mark of your lipstick

Backing away, you turned on your heel, already fading into the fog that clung to the edges of the train yard. But your parting words were clear. “You know how to find me… to pay up, Hood.”

Then you were gone, swallowed by the dark as if you’d never been there at all.

The boys stared at Jason in stunned silence.

He turned slowly, expression unreadable beneath the helmet, and said dryly, “What?”

Dick blinked, visibly thrown. “You and her?”

“I told you she’s not a people person and…” Jason shrugged, the picture of nonchalance. “We’ve got history.”

“I—how long has this been happening?” Tim asked, looking genuinely lost.

Jason was already walking past them, shoulders relaxed, “Long enough.” 

Damian narrowed his eyes, trailing behind. “What kind of payment is she demanding from you?”

Jason didn’t even look back.

“None of your business, Demon Spawn.”

LATER THAT NIGHT

Riddler had been taken care of and Jason was finally off the clock. But instead of heading to his apartment, he headed over to another.

He slipped through the open window, careful not to get tangled in the curtains as they fluttered in the warm breeze. The light in the kitchen dimmed low. The soft trace of gunmetal and something sweeter, like vanilla lingered in the air.

His armour peeled off piece by piece, left in a silent trail across the hardwood. Chest plate. Gloves. Utility belt. Boots. Until he was left in nothing but his boxers.

The bedroom door was cracked. Light from the street spilled across the bed in thin golden ribbons, illuminating the figure curled beneath the sheets.

She was there. Tucked into the centre of the mattress, tangled in a nest of linen and shadows. His shirt—an old, faded thing he’d once bled in and meant to throw out—was all she wore, slipping off one shoulder and riding high on her thighs.

She always looked like a contradiction like that. Sharp in every moment of the night—cold eyes, cutting voice, touch like a weapon—and soft here, in the early mornings. Laid bare and defenceless in the place no one else got to see.

Jason paused in the doorway, his breath catching for reasons he didn’t want to name. He didn’t get softness often. He didn’t let himself want it. But here… here it waited for him.

Her breathing was slow and even, lashes fanned against her cheeks, one hand curled beneath her chin.

He moved quietly, the mattress dipping beneath his weight as he settled behind her. She stirred—just a little—but didn’t open her eyes. Didn’t need to. Her body curved instinctively back into his.

“Mm,” You murmured, barely a whisper. “Thought I felt you…”

Jason’s voice was rough, low against your ear. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Liar.” Your voice was sleep-drenched, teasing. “You always do.”

He let his arm curl around your waist, pulling you close until your back was flush against his chest, his nose brushing against the curve of your neck.

“Riddler’s out of the picture,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Gotham’s quiet… for now.”

You smiled against the pillow, but it was fleeting—because a heartbeat later, you moved.

With a slow arch of your spine and a shift of muscle, you rolled, tossing your leg over his hip in one fluid, practiced motion that had him flat on his back before he could blink. You were straddling him now, perched above with that smug, lazy grin he’d come to recognize—and maybe dread just a little.

“Which means,” you purred, voice low and velvet-rich, “it’s time for you to pay up.”

Jason huffed out a breath that was half laugh, half groan. “You made that up,” he muttered, eyes narrowing like he was trying not to smile. “You spun that whole ‘transactional intel’ stuff just so my brothers wouldn’t find out about us.”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence as your fingertips ghosted over his chest—trailing from the dip of his collarbone to the ridges of muscle, your nails skimming along the old scar just over his heart, making him twitch. “Doesn’t matter,” you whispered, leaning down so your lips brushed the corner of his jaw. “You agreed to the terms.”

Your voice dropped to a sultry murmur, wicked with promise. “And what I want… is you. All to myself. For the next few days. No patrol. No Bat drama. Just you. That’s how this works, baby.”

His arms encircled you before you could fully retreat, keeping you flush against him. One hand tangled into your hair, possessive and grounding, while the other slid along your thigh, reverent and slow, stopping just beneath the hem of his shirt that barely covered you.

“You’re a menace,” he murmured, voice husky now, low and warm.

“Guilty,” you breathed, lips brushing against his.

And then he pulled you down.

The kiss wasn’t hurried. Deep and warm, burning slow and sure as his hand tightened in your hair and yours slid along his ribs. You melted into him like you always did.

When he finally pulled back, it was only far enough to press his forehead against yours. His voice was barely more than a breath.

“You know you always have me to yourself.”

You smiled, brushing your thumb along his jaw. “Good. Because I don’t share.”

Jason smirked, voice low and rough. “Wouldn’t let you if you tried.”

[dakusan]

S K Z R e a c t i n g t o a P o s i t i v e P r e g n a n c y T e s t

stray kids ot8 x reader | two pink lines, eight breakdowns, one very lucky uterus.

🍼 synopsis: You didn’t plan this. Not the moment, not the timing, not the trembling plastic test that changed your life in a heartbeat. But one by one, you tell them. One by one, you hold out that tiny white stick with two pink lines. And one by one—each of them breaks open. Sometimes, two lines is all it takes to rewrite everything. And sometimes, everything sounds a lot like: “You’re having my baby?”

💌 a/n: To the anon who sent this prompt: I HOPE YOUR PILLOWS ARE COLD AND YOUR WIFI NEVER LAGS. You gave me eight men and said “make them react to a pregnancy test 🥺👉👈” and I said BET. AND THEN THEY DID. THEY REACTED. THEY BROKE DOWN. THEY GOT ON THEIR KNEES. THEY CRIED ON BATHROOM FLOORS. THEY STARTED PRENATAL POWER SNACK PREP. this was so cute you now owe me therapy. p.s. reblog for clear skin and an emotionally available babydaddy. p.p.s. if Chan on his knees didn’t ruin you emotionally, you’re lying. p.p.p.s. somebody please make fanart of Dori in a bib that says “Hyung.”

📍credits: @cafekitsune , @thecutestgrotto for the dividers

🎧 » Hug Me — I.N « 0:58 ─〇───── 3:00 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

Bang Chan

You didn’t plan to tell him like this.

You had wanted to wait. Set up something quiet and sweet. A note, maybe. Or a mug with #1 Appa written on it. Something he could hold in his hands while you stood across the room, heart pounding.

But life has never followed your plans when it comes to Bang Chan. It has always moved faster, deeper, louder.

Like tonight. When you called his name from the bathroom with something trembling in your fingers. A white stick. A faint second line. And all the blood draining from your face.

Chan enters the room in sleep pants and a hoodie, half-damp hair from the shower. He blinks at you—then the test in your hand—and in a moment, all air disappears from his lungs.

“What…?”

You pass it to him wordlessly, heart in your throat.

His fingers shake as he takes it. Looks down.

Silence.

You try to prepare for anything. Shock. Denial. Fear.

But what you get is breathless awe.

“…It’s real?”

You nod. You think.

“I mean—I took another one. And I’ll take more. I don’t know how accurate they are this early—”

But Chan’s already across the space between you, wrapping his arms around you so tight, so careful, so anchored you forget how to speak.

“You’re really having my baby,” he breathes into your hair. “You’re really—” He laughs, and the sound cracks. Then again, softer. Wet. “I love you. I love you so much. I swear I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna take such good care of both of you.”

He drops to his knees. Presses his cheek to your stomach even though there’s nothing to see yet.

Just skin. Just potential. Just a future that’s suddenly real.

“Hi, little one,” he whispers. “It’s Appa. We haven’t met yet, but you’re gonna be so loved, okay? We’ve got you.”

You run your fingers through his curls and feel him kiss you gently—reverently—through the fabric of your shirt. Everything around you fades, every fear fades, except him.

Because this man? He was born to love like this.

Lee Minho

It’s 8:17 PM on a Sunday.

Minho is sprawled on the couch in sweatpants and a wrinkled shirt he’s been wearing since last night, a half-finished plate of tteokbokki on the coffee table, and three cats currently fighting for ownership of his chest. Soonie’s curled up against his ribs. Doongie’s nestled by his knee. Dori is actively trying to sit on his face.

It’s domestic bliss in its purest form—until you walk in holding a tiny plastic stick with two pink lines.

“Babe?” you say softly.

He looks up, squinting. Dori meows, offended at being jostled.

Minho blinks once. Then again. “What’s that?”

You bite your lip and hold it out. “I think… we’re gonna need more than three bowls soon.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Soonie sneezes. Doongie flops over dramatically. Minho doesn’t move.

Then—

“…No way.”

His voice is low. Disbelieving. He slowly sits up, cats scattering. He takes the test like it might dissolve in his hands.

“Wait, wait—two lines means…”

You nod. He stares.

“You’re pregnant.”

Another nod. You’re suddenly very aware of your own heartbeat.

Minho exhales. Long. Sharp. Then he turns and stares at the cats. “You three are about to be older siblings,” he tells them. Dori blinks. Then he looks at you again. His eyes are wide, but soft. “You’re serious?”

“Yes.”

“Like really serious.”

“Yes, Minho.”

He crosses the room and pulls you into his arms without another word. Just wraps you up, tight and warm, chin tucked over your shoulder. You can feel how fast his heart is beating.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he mumbles.

“You’ll be amazing,” you whisper back. “You take care of all of us already.”

He pulls back just enough to look at your stomach. “You’ve been feeding me double portions all week. You were preparing.”

You laugh through the tears. “You think I planned this?”

“No,” he says, grinning now. “But I’m glad it’s you. And me. And—”

His hand brushes gently over your lower belly. “And whoever you are in there.”

Behind you, there’s a crash. You both turn to find Doongie knocking over the tteokbokki, Soonie sniffing it, and Dori sitting proudly in the bowl.

Minho sighs. “We need to teach them boundaries before the baby gets here.”

You’re still laughing when he kisses your temple.

Seo Changbin

You don’t plan some Pinterest-worthy reveal. No onesies in gift boxes. No custom cookies that say ‘bun in the oven.’

You just... panic-laugh and blurt it out at the worst possible moment. Which, in this case, is: right as Changbin is taking the world’s biggest bite of a protein bar post-leg day.

“I’m pregnant,” you say.

He chokes. Literally. Gags, coughs, eyes watering as he grabs a water bottle and downs half of it in three seconds. You reach out to thump his back, but he waves you off—one hand in the air like he needs to process the universe first.

“Wait,” he rasps. “Wait. What?”

You just hold up the test.

His jaw drops. Like, drops.

“THAT’S A PREGNANCY TEST.”

You nod.

“AND IT’S—TWO LINES—TWO—” He counts them out on his fingers just to be sure. “That means positive, right? POSITIVE like YES, not positive like ‘good vibes’ positive?”

You nod again, nearly in tears now from how panicked and adorable he looks.

Then there’s a beat. A shift. His entire face changes.

“…You’re really having my baby?” Soft. Quiet. Disbelieving. He steps forward slowly, like you might vanish.

You nod again, biting your lip. “Yeah. I am.”

And then he just—melts.

“I’m gonna be a dad,” he says, dazed. “I’m gonna be a DAD. Like—little shoes. Little clothes. Little you. With like—tiny arms. And maybe your nose. Oh my god.”

You blink, and he’s hugging you like he’s trying to shield you from the whole world. Then pulling back, both hands cupping your cheeks.

“I’m so fucking happy,” he breathes. “Like, terrified—but also really happy. Are you okay? Do you need water? Snacks? Protein? Oh my god, you need protein. You’re literally building a person.”

You laugh. “I don’t think the baby needs whey powder, Binnie.”

“You never know!” he yells toward the kitchen. “Fetus needs gains!”

Then he runs off to make a “power snack” for you and your microscopic baby, while mumbling, “I need to call my mom—no, wait, I need to learn how to swaddle—what the hell is swaddling—”

You lean against the wall, stomach fluttering, and smile so wide your cheeks ache. You’re about to have a baby. And that baby’s father? Is Seo Changbin.

Loud, loyal, chaotic, golden-hearted Seo Changbin. And that means everything’s going to be okay.

Hwang Hyunjin

It happens on a quiet morning.

The sun is creeping in through the curtains, golden and warm. You’re in one of his oversized shirts, curled on the couch with your knees pulled to your chest. The test sits on the coffee table, face-up. Positive. Blunt and unreal.

Hyunjin is in the kitchen humming something, probably working on a smoothie with way too much honey.

You don't say anything. You just… Wait. And when he wanders in with the drink, barefaced and sleepy-eyed, he sees you staring at the test. Then follows your gaze.

Then—stops breathing. “What… is that?”

You blink up at him. “Baby,” you say. “I think I’m pregnant.”

The smoothie hits the floor. He doesn't even flinch. Just stares at the test like it's glowing. “No way,” he whispers. Then again, like he’s in a dream: “No way.”

You nod. Careful. Soft.

He drops to his knees in front of you. Grabs both your hands. “You’re not kidding?” he asks. “You’re not—like, this isn’t a dream or some surreal performance art you’ve constructed to test my emotional range?”

You giggle through the nerves. “It’s real, Jinnie.”

And then—oh, the eyes. Big and glassy and full of awe. He gently presses his hands to your stomach, even though there’s nothing visible yet.

“You’re carrying something made of us?” he says, like he’s tasting every word.

You nod. And he starts to cry. Not loud or messy. Just that beautiful, quiet unravelling he does when his heart gets too full. His forehead presses to your belly. His voice breaks. “I already love them so much,” he whispers. “And you. You—God, you’re going to be the most beautiful mother. I’m going to paint you. Every day. You’ll hate it, but I’ll do it anyway.”

You laugh and pull him close. “I’m scared,” you admit softly.

“I know,” he says, cupping your face, brushing his thumb under your eye. “Me too. But we’ll make something beautiful. We already are.”

Behind him, the smoothie seeps into the floorboards. He doesn’t notice. He’s too busy falling in love all over again.

Han JIsung

You make the mistake of showing him the pregnancy test in the middle of a Mario Kart match.

You were trying to wait until the end. But you couldn’t. The plastic stick in your hoodie pocket felt like it was burning a hole through your skin. So you pause the game. Turn to him on the couch. And say: “Ji… I’m pregnant.”

His character flies off Rainbow Road. He doesn’t even flinch.

You hold out the test. He squints at it like you’ve handed him alien technology. Then looks at you. Then back at the test. “…Wait,” he says. “Waitwaitwaitwait. WAIT. Like—pregnant pregnant?? Like—not the fake TikTok prank kind? Not the 'ha-ha, gotcha,’ kind???”

“Pregnant pregnant,” you say gently. “No ha-ha.”

Silence.

Then: Han Jisung.exe has stopped working. He sits completely still. Eyes wide. Hands frozen in place.

You can see the thoughts ping-ponging through his brain at lightning speed. Baby? Dad? Bottles? Diapers? Are we ready? Oh my god—tiny socks—oh my god—do babies even like me—Then—

“I NEED TO CALL MY MOM.”

You grab his arm. “Ji—”

“No no no wait, I need to call your mom too. I need to call the hospital. Do we need to buy a crib? I need a book. I need—”

“Ji—breathe.”

He finally looks at you. Really looks. And you watch the panic melt into something quieter. More real. “You’re serious?” he whispers.

You nod. “Yeah. I took three tests. All the same.”

He just… folds. Lets out the softest, shakiest breath. “I’m gonna be a dad,” he says, almost reverently. “I’m gonna have a little person who’s half you. Who might have your nose. Or your laugh. Or your attitude—God help me—”

You snort, already teary-eyed. “We’re doomed.”

But then he’s holding you. Pulling you close. Rocking gently on the couch with his face buried in your neck. “I’m so happy,” he mumbles. “So fucking happy. I just—I don’t know if I’ll be good at it, but I’m gonna try so hard. Like, Olympic-level try. Like, gold medal in dad-ing.”

You smile into his hair. “You’ll be the best,” you whisper. “Because it’s you.”

And while the softness surrounds both of you, his poor Mario Kart character is still falling off Rainbow Road.

Lee Felix

He’s lying in bed next to you, all warm freckles and sleepy smiles, arms slung lazily over your waist while some random YouTube video plays in the background.

You’ve been quiet for the last ten minutes. Too quiet.

He shifts. “You okay, angel?”

You glance down at the white stick hidden in the blanket fold between you. Your fingers tremble. Then you blurt it out. “Lix. I think I’m pregnant.”

He blinks. Then blinks again.

“Like… right now?”

You nod.

“Right now now?”

You nod again and hold out the test.

He stares.

“…That’s the kind with the lines, right? Like the ones in movies?”

You laugh. It sounds watery.

“Two lines means yes,” you whisper. “It means we’re—”

Before you can finish the sentence, he’s already sitting up. Fully. Completely. Alert like someone just hit a giant red “you’re about to be a father” button in his brain. “There’s a baby… in there?” He looks down at your belly with eyes so wide they practically sparkle. “Right now? Like—ours?”

You nod again, tearful now.

And he immediately buries his face against your stomach and starts whispering in that low, raspy voice of his. “Hi, little bean. It’s Appa. Or Daddy. We haven’t figured that out yet. But I love you. So much. I haven’t even seen you, and I love you more than anything.”

You start crying for real then. Because of course you do.

Felix pulls himself up to kiss you—everywhere. Forehead, cheeks, lips, nose. All of it soft and gentle, like you’re made of something sacred now. “You’re amazing,” he murmurs. “You’re magic. You’re literally building a person, babe. Like, with your body. That’s the most powerful thing I’ve ever seen.”

You laugh, wiping at your eyes. “What if I get weird cravings turn into a hormonal mess?”

“I will feed you whatever you want,” he promises. “Even if it’s pickles dipped in chocolate and shame. I will oil your belly every night. I will write bedtime songs for the baby starting tonight.”

And then, softer, reverent: “I’ve never wanted anything more.”

You melt into him, into this freckled sunshine that keeps holding your belly like something sacred. And at the same time, all you can think about is that this baby will grow up wrapped in sunshine.

Kim Seungmin

You find him in the kitchen making coffee.

He’s in his weekend hoodie, hair messy, muttering under his breath about how someone (you) finished the oat milk and put the empty carton back in the fridge. Classic Seungmin domesticity.

You hesitate in the doorway. Then: “Hey. I need to tell you something.”

He turns, brow raised. “If it’s about the milk—”

You pull the test out of your pocket and hold it up.

He goes quiet. Completely still. “…What’s that?”

You bite your lip. “It’s… a pregnancy test. It’s positive.”

Seungmin blinks. Twice. His eyes flick from your face to the stick and back again. Then: “Okay,” he says.

Just that. No gasp. No dropped mug. No dramatic reaction.

You stare at him. “Okay?”

He crosses the room. Slowly. Carefully and takes the test from your hand, studies it in total silence. You expect a thousand things. A lecture. A long pause. Maybe even dry sarcasm to ease the tension.

But what you don’t expect… Is the way his voice breaks.

“Is this real?” he asks, barely above a whisper.

You nod, tearfully. “Yeah. It’s real.”

He just stands there, the weight of it sinking in. Then he looks up at you with glassy eyes, and your heart cracks wide open. “I didn’t know I could love anything more than I love you,” he says, voice shaking. “But I think I already do.” That’s when he pulls you into him. Not tight—careful. Like you’re suddenly made of something priceless. One hand ghosts over your stomach. The other wraps around your back.

“I’m gonna be so annoying,” he murmurs into your hair. “I’m gonna track every symptom. I’m gonna argue with every doctor. I’m gonna ask a thousand questions until I know exactly how to keep you safe.”

You laugh through your tears. “That sounds about right.”

“I’m not even sorry,” he mutters. “You’re mine. So is the baby. I don’t take chances with the things I love.”

And then he says it. For the first time, out loud. With a quiet breath of wonder: “We’re going to be parents.”

Yang Jeongin

You don’t even mean to tell him today.

You were going to wait. Let it sink in first. Get a doctor’s confirmation. Maybe wrap a tiny baby onesie in a box and watch him open it on camera so you could save the reaction forever.

But he comes home early.

And finds you on the bathroom floor, holding the test in your hand, eyes puffy like you’ve already cried yourself through six different emotional stages.

“Babe?”

You jump. Try to shove the test behind your back like a kid caught stealing cookies.

Too late.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, stepping in, voice instantly soft. Concerned. “Are you sick? Did something happen—?”

You don’t answer. Just… hand him the stick with shaking fingers. He takes it. Looks at it. And then freezes. Like actually freezes. Like, cartoon buffering wheel spinning behind his eyes.

“…This is… is this what I think it is?” he asks.

You nod.

He blinks. “…Are you—?”

You nod again. “Yeah.”

Silence.

“…Like, really really?”

You sniffle. “Yeah, Innie. Really really.”

There’s a pause. A long one.

Then—

He sits down on the floor beside you. Cross-legged. Like you’re on a picnic instead of in a panic.

And he lets out a breath that sounds like everything.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay. I have no idea what I’m doing. Like, actually zero. I’ve never held a baby. I don’t know how to burp them. I’ve never even changed a diaper. I’m scared out of my mind.”

You nod, already crying again.

“But,” he continues, looking at you now—eyes wide and watery and so full of love—“I want this. I want to learn. I want to do it with you. I want to hold their hand the first time they walk. And cry like a loser when they call me Appa. And panic over every little fever and then call my hyungs crying in the group chat. I want to do it all—with you.”

He cups your face in both hands, gentle and grounding.

“You’re gonna be such a good mom,” he says. “And I’m gonna be annoying and awkward and scared but I’m gonna love you both so much you’ll get sick of me.”

You laugh, hiccuping. “Never.”

“I’ll try anyway.”

Then he kisses you. Sweet, gentle, shaky. His hands tremble a little against your cheeks. When you finally pull apart, he grins, eyes still wet.

“Guess I'm not the maknae anymore,” he says softly, resting his hand on your stomach. “Someone’s coming for my crown.”

[storiesbyshadow]

Your Blood, My Burden

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Pairing: Astarion x Tav!Reader

Rating: Mature

Tags: Angst, Fluff, Blood, Gnolls, Injury, and a curse word or two.

Word Count: 500+

Dividers By: Astarion Divider - @thecutestgrotto | DNC Divider - @saradika-graphics | Support Divider By - @cafekitsune

The last gnoll collapsed at your feet with a choking snarl, its body twitching once before falling still. The battlefield stank of death, sweat, and copper, and your ears rang with the echoes of combat.

You stood amidst the ruin, swaying slightly, blood dripping from your blade. But not all of it was gnoll blood.

A deep gash, torn clean across your side by one of the beast’s jagged claws, seared with every breath. You pressed your arm tightly against it, forcing yourself to remain upright. You couldn’t let Astarion see. You couldn’t be that person... weak, fragile, slowing him down.

He had survived so much. Centuries of torment and chains. You refused to be one more shackle to drag him down.

“Are you alright, darling?” Astarion’s voice cut through the fog of pain, smooth and warm but edged with the sharp alertness he never quite lost.

You nodded too quickly. “Just tired. I’ll be fine once we’re back.”

His crimson eyes narrowed. “That was quite a fight. You don’t look fine.”

You smiled, thin and forced. “I’m not made of glass, Astarion.”

He stared a moment longer, and for a breath, you thought he might press further. But then he gave a tight smile, and you turned before he could notice the way your arm trembled against your side.

The journey back to camp felt like walking on shattered bone.

Every step jarred the wound open further. Blood soaked your side, sticky and warm, but hidden beneath your cloak. You were shaking, though you tried to make it look like cold. Astarion walked ahead now, humming quietly to himself, his posture graceful, almost lighthearted.

You watched him, heart aching.

He deserved someone strong. Someone who wouldn’t break.

So you kept walking.

Even when your vision blurred. Even when the forest began to spin and tilt and fade to white at the edges. You didn’t cry out. Didn’t let yourself make a sound.

Until your knees buckled.

Until the pain roared up and the world gave out beneath you.

His voice wasn’t smooth this time.

You didn’t feel yourself hit the ground. Just the cold earth on your cheek. The distant sound of twigs snapping. The rustle of a cloak. And then-

“No.”

It was raw. Cracked. Terrified.

“No no no...look at me, gods damn you!”

You tried to lift your head, but even that was too much. Your body wouldn’t obey. The pain had become something distant now, dull and hollow, as if your mind had wrapped it in cotton just to keep going.

You heard Astarion drop beside you, hands scrabbling at your cloak, pulling it back, and then...

“What...what is this? How long?”

You whimpered as he saw the wound.

He was silent for a breath. Then two. You looked up and saw a look on his face you had never seen before.

He looked shattered.

“I didn’t want to slow us down,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Didn’t want to be... a burden.”

He stared at you as if you had stabbed him through the heart.

“A burden?” he said, voice trembling. “You think that’s what you are to me?”

“I just wanted to be strong for you.”

His hands were covered in your blood now, trembling as he pressed them to your side, trying to stop the bleeding. His eyes locked onto yours, burning with something you couldn't name. Panic? Rage? Grief?

“I would’ve let the world burn if you had just told me. I would’ve carried you. Protected you. You don’t ever have to suffer like this, not for my sake.”

You reached for him with shaking fingers. He caught your hand and held it to his cheek like a lifeline.

“You’re not strong because you hide your pain,” he whispered. “You’re strong because you keep fighting through it. But you don’t have to anymore. Not alone.”

Tears stung your eyes. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t you dare apologize to me,” he breathed. “Just stay awake. Just let me take care of you. Let me...please.”

You’d never heard him plead before. Not like this.

And then he leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours, his voice breaking against your skin.

“You mean more to me than anything else left in this cursed world.”

He carried you the rest of the way. Silent. Fierce. As if the trees themselves should part for you. Back at camp, he never left your side. He cleaned your wounds with hands that shook, muttering curses under his breath. Not at you, but at himself. For not seeing. For not protecting you sooner.

When you finally stirred hours later, blinking through the haze, you found him lying beside you, his hand holding yours, his eyes red but open.

“You’re awake,” he said softly, and for the first time that day, he smiled. Not his usual charming grin, but something soft. Raw. Real.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispered, brushing your hair from your face. “Don’t ever do that to me again.”

“I promise,” you murmured. “Not again.”

And then, as the moon bathed your camp in silver light, Astarion leaned down and kissed you. Not with hunger or fire, but with devotion. With a fierce, aching kind of love that felt almost too much to hold.

But you held it anyway.

Because maybe...just maybe...you were worth holding, too.

[bunnyluvx]

thinking about viktor. ♡

featuring: viktor x gn!reader.

summary: my friend asked for viktor headcanons, i started and didn't stop, now they're here. enjoy. ♡

warnings: minors and ageless blogs dni regardless of content. death joke ("he'll die happy" sort of deal).

tags: fluff | domestic | spoiler free | no y/n use

a/n: n/a. | divider credit: starry night by @thecutestgrotto , support by @cafekitsune | wc: 315 | ao3

he loves having his hair played with. let him lay on top of you and toy with his hair and he will marry you on the spot

speaking of laying on top of you he LOVES to cuddle like that. head on chest, arms around waist, THAT is how he will die happy

he likes being organized but finds it difficult to keep things that way. one day the lab will be spotless and everything will have its place, and by the next 10+ hours there will be papers everywhere and viktor is sitting there mumbling to himself. he does his best to keep everything a certain way and succeeds most of the time but when he gets into it man, everything is everywhere. but if you try to move it he will bite you. /j lh

his notes are very well-written and nicely ordered but sometimes he'll doodle little hearts with your initials on them and he'll draw you

when he's not working he does like to sketch and he's a very good artist, he just can't give enough of his time to it

if he were to have a pet he would want a cat or an axolotl. he would feed stray animals as much as he could whenever he could, he likes taking care of them and though he can't let them into his home, he wants to so badly (totally not inspired by a post i made on here/s lh)

he also loves pigeons. after what humans did to them, he always tries to make friends with them and gives them good foods uwu

viktor bites you because he thinks it's funny. it's also his way of showing affection. they'll be cuddling and he'll just- OOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMM and you're like WHY ARE YOU THIS WAY 😭 (you also think it's funny and do the same to him, it doesn't bother you)

@BUNNYLUVX ,, all rights reserved. do not copy/plagiarize any of my works or submit it into ai. any and all support is appreciated! <3

[getitoutofmymindwrites]

Something impulsive | joel miller x f!reader x marcus pike, 7.1k

Summary: The distance between you and Joel grows. You decide to give Marcus a chance. A chance encounter shifts the balance between you and the two men.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, image just for aesthetic purposes, reader does not have a description, angst, slow-burn, insecurities, first date nervousness, flirting, sexual thoughts, kissing, Joel still being a prick, Joel still being an idiot (bear with him) dog piss (bear with me, too), as always let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: And here I was, thinking that this time I'll keep it short. Who am I kidding. Thank you for taking the time to read anything I write! Love you all!

P.S.: Credits for the final scene go to @jessthebaker and this hilarious comment that I just had to include in the chapter:

Dividers by @cafekitsune & @thecutestgrotto

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

previous |

Radio silence.

That is what you would call it.

After your last encounter, you haven't seen or heard from Joel for two long weeks. No text, no phone call, nothing. Were you entering the winter phase again? Most likely.

You regretted the way you had challenged him that night. It wasn't really your style, but that's what happens when you bottle things up. Especially things like desire and longing. Eventually, they erupt like a fucking volcano after a long hibernation. Brutally. And yet you haven't got an ounce or a reaction. Something. Anything at all.

You were terrified that your friendship had been broken. You could have texted him. You should have. You felt it was all your fault anyway. You should have apologized. But you were angry. And selfish. And deep down you blamed him for your reaction, for making you feel helpless, a pawn in his hands.

But was that the case? And can you really blame anyone for your own actions? You were responsible for the way you reacted. You could have done things differently. You knew that. But you did not want to admit that to him.

Whether you were angry or not, you missed him all the same. You missed his presence, his voice, his scent. You missed the sound of his name on your tongue. The warmth of his irises and the softness in his eyes when he looked at you. And boy, did he look at you.

He may not have been a man of many words, but sometimes, just sometimes, his gaze spoke louder than any voice in the room. That's how you got into this mess in the first place.

One evening, on your day off, you hang out with Trish at your place. You needed the company, being alone with your thoughts for too long wasn't a good idea. The two of you sit on the sofa, drinking beer and eating pizza straight out of the box. You had already put your girls to bed and this was your happy hour.

"Are you dating Marcus you little weasel?"

"Where did that come from?", your eyes widen in surprise.

"Joel asked me the other day.", Trish reveals, laughing under her breath.

"WHAT?" you squeal in disbelief. Joel was not the type to ask about other people's private matters. Especially yours and especially to his cousin. "OK, please, elaborate."

"He asked me if you’re seeing him.", she continues.

"When did this happen?", you try to draw an imaginary map in your mind, gathering all the information available to you to understand what might be going through his mind.

"A few days ago, maybe?" she says nonchalantly.

"He asked that explicitly? Those were the exact words he used?", you insist like a hound dog looking for clues.

"Of course not." Trish rolls her eyes, "He danced around it for a while, but I pretended I didn't know what he was talking about -which I obviously don't- and then I made him ask directly."

"Oh god, give the poor man a break!", you exclaim, you could only imagine what a menace could she be when she wanted to.

"Well, are you?"

"No, I’m not. But if he asks again tell him I am."

"Why?", she frowns but looks amused at the same time. Oh, she's up to something.

"So he will leave me alone." Well he already kind of did, but maybe it was for the best to cut the ties once and for all.

"What do you mean? Is he bothering you?" Trish insists, curiosity sparkling in her eyes.

"No- he's- it's not- uh-" where would you even start, it's all a fucking mess, anyway. "Forget I said anything-" you try to end the conversation, but-

"I might have kind of implied that, though?" Trish wrinkles her nose, trying to minimize the damage.

"WHAT?"

"Only because he looked desperate" she rushes to explain, "and honestly you two should really fuck each other. So I thought maybe I could spice things up a bit."

A minute or two passes before you answer her. All this information bombarding your mind left a paralyzing feeling in your mouth. He looked desperate? Why the fuck? Was this the classic 'I want what I can't have'? He wasn't that type. And he could have his way with you if he wanted to. Couldn't he? Did he get the feeling that you weren't interested? What more could you have done, he was the one who went cold and hot all the time. "It's not like that." is all you say.

"The hell it isn't." Trish quips, almost offended.

"We don't want the same things Trish, and I won't make the same mistakes again." you draw the line. "What did he say?", you ask without shame, because you just have to know, even if it hurts you.

"Oh, you know, he put on his usual 'Joel grumpy face' and walked out on me. But honestly, what did you expect?" she shrugs and continues, "So, if 'it's not like that'", she air-quotes you mockingly, "why don't you give Marcus a real chance? He's a good guy and I don't often say that," Trish points her finger at you.

"I'm sure he is Trish, but I can't."

"And why is that?"

"Because it's not honest."

"To whom?"

"To him."

"And..?" she presses you.

You close your eyes, because you really don't want to say it and it feels frustrating but comforting at the same time to have a friend who knows you so well. "And to my heart.", you mumble coyly.

"Oh, baby c'mere. You really like my stupid cousin, don't you?" Trish wraps her arms around your shoulders, squeezing you into a tight hug.

"No, I do not." It's more than that. "And don't push it any further, it's not happening.", it's your turn to point the finger at her.

"Ok.", she sighs troubled. "Ok, look at me and listen carefully.", she makes a serious face, holding your hands in hers as she begins. "Joel's my cousin and he is a good man and I love him, but he has his own issues to deal with-"

"What do you mean?" You interrupt her curiously. You never thought to ask about his past before, it seemed invasive.

"It’s not my place." she cuts you off with a guarded look that seems so foreign on her face and continues, "The point is, you cannot wait for him forever."

"I'm not-" you start to deny it, but Trish grabs your face in her palms, squeezing you gently to make her point and you stop mid-sentence.

"You deserve to be happy. And you can't miss something you've never had." her eyes bore into yours, full of care and concern.

Her last words strike you like a slap on the face.

Oh, but you can. You already are.

Another two weeks have passed and you still haven't heard from Joel. He's stuck in your head like a virus, unable to think of anything else. This is the longest you've gone without talking. It's taking its toll on you, making you fidgety and jumpy, irritated by the simplest things. You've reached your breaking point and you're ready to call him, just to see if he's OK.

And, if you're honest with yourself, to give him a chance to make a move. He might think you don't want him to reach out. That thought makes you even more angry, you sound so pathetic in your head, begging for a man's attention. A man who has never made his intentions clear. You should stand up for yourself, hold your own.

You're at the office, shuffling through your bag, looking for your phone, still debating whether to call him. As you reach deep into your bag, searching through the million things you stuff in there, you feel a hard, papery thing on your fingertips. You fish it out and see that it's Marcus' card. You don't even remember putting that thing in there. But you remember him giving it to you.

He was such a gentleman and so thoughtful that night. He didn't ask for your number and he didn't press to put his on your phone. He gave you his card, clearly stating that he hoped you would get in touch with him.

"..why don't you give Marcus a real chance?.."

You take a deep breath and unlock your phone.

"..You cannot wait for him forever.."

This is it.

"..You deserve to be happy.."

You're going to call him. Right now? Yes, right now.

He picks up after the third ring.

"Agent Pike.", his voice deep and smooth, runs like honey in your ears. You remember how much you liked the sound of it.

You’re taken aback for a moment, you'd almost forgotten what he did for a living. It was strange but interesting to hear him like that, it stirred something in you. "Uh- um-" you lose your train of thought for a second, "hi- I don't know if you rememb-"

Marcus says your name instantly, the surprise evident in his tone. "I was beginning to think you'd either lost my card or I'd made a terrible, terrible first impression on you," he says with a soft laugh, vulnerability coloring his voice.

"No, no, god- no, nothing like that.. It was really nice to meet you!" you reassure him, because it really was.

"Yeah, you too.." Marcus replies and you can hear the smile in his voice. He doesn't say anything else, giving you time to collect yourself.

"I just-" you squeeze your eyes shut, trying not to freak out, pinching the bridge of your nose with your fingers, you hadn't planned this, "I've been really busy, with work and the kids, I haven't had a chance to..." the words catch in your throat as you think of the real reason you've been busy.

Obsessing over unavailable men.

But you don't want to lie to Marcus, he's been so kind and open, so you pause, looking for a way out of the hole you've dug yourself into.

"Hey, it's OK," Marcus takes the lead, sensing your discomfort, "you didn't have to call, but I'm really glad you did. I thought about getting your details from Trish in case you lost my number, but then I didn't want to force you into anything in case you didn't lose my number, you know?" he laughs timidly.

"Yeah, I know; that is so thoughtful of you. I'm- I'm glad I called." It feels strange to admit something like that, something so small, to be honest, to be so open and talk about positive things, to make someone feel good with your words on a personal level. You've spent the last few years just doing it for your daughters, loving them, hyping them up, rooting for them, but it's a change that you welcome and you discover that you really, really missed it.

There's a short silence on the other end, which makes you feel anxious, so you decide not to bother him any more. "I'm sorry I called during office hours, I-"

"No, no, no, don't even think about it, there are no office hours at my line of work anyway, so.." Marcus rushes to put you at ease. "I was just wondering if I should ask you out or if I'm jumping the gun," he blurts out and you can feel his hesitation through the phone.

"Well," you try to lighten the mood, "you're the one asking questions for a living, so why don't you earn your keep?" you bite your lower lip in anticipation and then snicker to yourself. You hear Marcus laughing, amused and impressed by your little stunt, and you have a deep desire to hear it again, knowing that it's your doing.

Marcus is not one to shy away from a challenge, so he delivers quite brilliantly. "It would give me great pleasure if you would go out with me," he says your name softly at the end, "I know it can be tricky with the girls and work and all that, but I'm sure we could work something out; my office hours are very flexible," he informs you, cleverly covering all your possible obstacles.

"I thought you didn't have office hours..." you return playfully, feeling lighter already, the thought of Joel still lingering, but the pain of it fading in your heart.

"For you I do." Marcus deadpans with an amazing ability to not make it sound cheesy. And you know exactly what kind of ability it is.

The one of honesty.

Your heart is in your mouth. You're sure of it. You can taste your heartbeat on the tip of your tongue. As much as you've tried to play it down, you're nervous, your stomach is in knots. You spend most of the evening whining to Trish on the phone, freaking out about what to wear and ending up with a "What does it matter anyway? It's one date and that's it, he's not sticking around. Yeah, he's not. I'm good, I'm fine, this is fine." you shrug as you look at yourself in your bedroom mirror.

Trish's voice brings you back to reality, "None of that, everything's going to be fine, you're going to have a good time and you're going to keep having a good time." You looked sideways at the phone as if Trish could see you through it, glancing at the time. "Ok Trish, thanks for the pep talk, but I have to go or I'll be late."

"Sure thing babe, have a great night-"

"Thanks Trish-" you speak over her voice sure she's done with the pleasantries, but-

"-and don't forget to fuck 'im."

The line goes dead before you can reply.

Jesus Christ.

"You got this. You got this. You got this," you chant to yourself, pacing the living room, checking the time on your phone every thirty seconds. "Yeah," you exhale with nervous conviction, "you got this." The doorbell rings and your stomach clenches. Conviction my ass, "No, you don't." you mutter before rushing to answer the door.

Your heels click on the wooden floor and you pin the hem of your dress down once more, just to be sure. It wasn't terribly short, but still, you haven't dressed for a date in God knows how long.

You open the door and your breath catches in your throat. But you could say the same about Marcus. You look at one another for a moment, both admiring each other. He looks sharp, clean-shaven, with a prominent jawline that makes you want to suck on it from side to side.

His hair is combed back and slightly to the side. He looks so handsome and then he smiles at you. A real smile, big and toothy and bright and beautiful. His eyes crinkle and his plush lips stretch with the force of it. His suit is elegant and clean, neatly pressed, and the two top buttons of his shirt are undone, showing a hint of his tanned chest, making it more casual.

"Hey.." Marcus speaks first, pulling himself out of his haze. His eyes drink you in, unable to land on one spot, admiring your simple but elegant black dress that stops mid-thigh, the softness of your exposed skin, the curves of your body and the features of your face.

"Hi..." you say back shyly, noticing his admiration.

"I- Christ-", he stutters almost confused.

"What's wrong?" you fidget with the fabric of your dress, your nerves getting the better of you once again.

"I almost forgot how beautiful you are-" Marcus admits, his eyebrows raised, a hint of pink spreading across his cheeks. "-you look amazing," he compliments, raising his arm and pointing his open palm in your direction.

You pray that you can fast-forward to the actual date and stay right here on the threshold of your house at the same time. "Oh, thank you -" you reply quietly, with a shy smile on your lips.

"These-" Marcus raises his other hand, suddenly remembering what he's holding, "these are for you," he hands you a beautiful bunch of flowers, obviously made specifically for you by a florist, wrapped in a beautiful ribbon. What is it about this man that turns the most clichéd things into thoughtful actions?

"These are so beautiful, thank you, let me-" you point towards the house so you can put them in a vase, signaling him to come in with your head.

"Hope it's not too much..", Marcus wonders as he enters the hall of the house.

"It's perfect," you smile warmly as you return from the kitchen with the filled vase and place it on the entryway furniture, admiring the arrangement. You place the palm of your hand on his bicep, reassuring him as you turn to leave.

His eyes shine with appreciation as he takes your palm in his warm hand, planting a soft kiss on the pulse point of your wrist. His scent fills your nostrils, sweet and masculine, and you can almost smell his shampoo as he leans forward. Your lips part and your eyes widen at the intimate contact, but instead of feeling pressured, all you want is for him to do it again on any part of your skin he likes. His plush lips are warm and soft, leaving the slightest trace of moisture as they part your skin, sending a wave of shivers through your body.

You stifle a gasp but you can't hide the dilation of your irises and he can't hide the hunger behind his. He cups your cheek in his hand, stroking your cheekbone with his thumb. "Ready?" he asks in a hushed tone.

"As I'll ever be."

The drive is bathed in bits of small talk and comfortable silence, appreciating each other's presence without having to fill the quiet of the cabin every second. Marcus' gaze is split between the road ahead and you at his side. He drives with one hand, his right resting comfortably on the gearbox.

God, you're such a cliché, noticing the way his broad palm rests there, the veins bulging between his fingers and on his hand and it makes you squirm in your seat. Your date hasn't even started yet and you're already feeling uncomfortable in your underwear. Are you that needy? Or is it him? Is he doing this to you?

Joel.

No, stop. Don’t think about him. Not right now. Stop.

Joel.

No.

Joel.

NO.

You don't realize you're holding your breath until Marcus is asking if you're all right.

"What?" you snap out of your haze, jerking your head to look at him. He looks worried, his forehead forming a deep crease between his eyebrows. "I lost you there for a minute, what happened?"

"Nothing, nothing, I'm fine."

"You don't gotta do that, you know."

"Do what?"

"Say you're fine. You're allowed not to be."

You start to contradict him, but then you realize he's right.

"You're right," you admit, looking at him sheepishly. "I'm just nervous- and it's not your fault-" you hasten to explain, "I just haven't done this in so long that it feels like it's happening to someone else, like I'm watching myself from a distance."

He smiles at you knowingly and you add frustratedly, "That's so uncool, I'm sorry, I should be-"

"Moment of truth?" Marcus cuts you off before you can finish your thought.

"Um- OK?"

"I'm already hooked." he bites his lip, stealing a glance in your direction, his shoulders shrugging as if he had just told you the most natural thing in the world.

"Excuse m-" you look at him in bewilderment.

"I know I should play hard to get and do all the stuff everyone does on a first date, act cool and whatnot," he gestures in the air with his free hand, "but really? I'm hooked. Captivated. So-" he takes a deep breath, exhaling forcefully, "if anyone should be anything, it's me, scared that I'm going to screw this up, somehow. But you know what?" he looks at you expectantly, waiting for a response.

"What?" you manage to croak, your whole body buzzing with anticipation.

"I'm going to choose to enjoy this night by being myself-" he stops and scrunches his eyes in thought, "-well, ok, I'm going to hold back a bit," he jokes playfully, making you both laugh at that, relieving some of the tension and he takes your hand in his, squeezing it gently, "because I don't know if I'll get another chance. I can only hope that at the end of the night you'll choose to see me again."

He brings your intertwined hands to his lips and kisses your knuckles tenderly. He's said all the right things, everything you want to hear and dear God, he makes you want to climb him like a tree. You bite your lower lip so hard you're afraid you'll draw blood.

He studies your face and your fluttered expression for a moment, a smile of accomplishment painted on his perfect mouth, before he adds, "And you shouldn't be anything other than what you want to be. Neither of us should."

The date was not what you expected, because it was actually a success. Zero awkwardness, lots to talk about, mutual humor and gentle glances. You started with dinner in a not-too-casual-not-too-formal restaurant and ended up in a great bar, lively but not too loud, where you had delicious cocktails over and over again. Not Marcus though, because he was driving. So responsible, you wanted to sink your teeth into his neck.

Marcus was truly interested in you. He asked you about everything, he really wanted to know about your life. You didn't delve much into the divorce and he didn't push it. But you told him more about your background, your work, your daughters, the challenges of being a single mother and to your surprise, he listened. Actively. When you told him it was his turn to spill the beans, he told you about his job and his specialty; his move to Texas for a fresh start and when you asked him why he felt he needed one, he reluctantly told you about proposing to his girlfriend of two months.

"I know, I know-" he raises his hand in defence as he shakes his head in disbelief, "I don't know what the hell I was thinking, I guess-" he looks down at his empty glass as if searching for answers, "sometimes I have a hard time letting things go."

He dares to meet your eyes through his lashes, to study your reaction. But your expression is neutral, no judgment on your part. "But I'm working on it, letting things happen naturally, you know? If it's meant to be, it's meant to be." he shrugs casually.

"That must be hard for you to deal with." you observe.

"Why would you think that?" he seems curious to know what you think of him, smiling crookedly.

"You strike me as someone who really tries to work things out, to fix what's broken. You don't give up easily, do you?"

His eyes bore into yours as he confirms, "No, I don't," smirking at you. You break eye contact and look down at your lap, biting back a smile of your own.

Suddenly you hear your name being called and you scan the room to find the source. You see Tommy just a few meters away, coming towards you to say hello. Marcus looks between the two of you, his eyes finally landing on yours, catching your faltering smile. "Hey, Tommy, how are you?" you hug him gently and then introduce the two men.

"Hi, nice to meet you." Tommy holds out his hand as Marcus extends his own, "You too."

"Who's the lucky girl this time, Tommy?" you tease with a devilish grin as you wink at him.

"The lucky girl is actually my brother." Tommy laughs breathlessly and your face immediately falls as he points his thumb behind him.

Joel is there at the other end of the bar, sitting on a table, his gaze fixed on you, his whole posture stiff, his jaw clenched and his eyes hard on you. You raise your arm weakly and wave at him, and he nods back sternly.

Marcus misses absolutely none of this.

How long had they been there? How much did he see? Did you do anything inappropriate? you keep checking yourself for any flawed behavior. But then you realize that you don't have to answer to him or anyone else. You can do as you please. So why do you keep hoping you haven't let him down?

"You wanna join us? There's plenty of room, come on.", Tommy invites you to their table.

You feel your legs give out just at the thought of this gathering and you try to decline politely, "We wouldn't want to impose, it's OK-"

Tommy gives you a confused look, as if you haven't spent the best part of the last two years hanging out together. "What the hell are you talking about, love? Come on, move that ass of yours." he waves his head in their direction. You glance swiftly from Tommy to Marcus and then back to Tommy, hoping he'll get the message, but he doesn't. Damn it, Tommy.

Marcus notices your apprehension and puts the palm of his hand on your forearm, caressing your skin with his thumb.

"Are you OK? Do you want to go instead?" he says in a quiet voice, just for you to hear.

You almost jump at his suggestion, "No, no, I just don't want you to think I'm not having a good time with you…" you lower your eyes, feeling vulnerable.

"Hey, hey, look at me." Marcus lowers his head to meet your gaze, "I think I'd know if this date was going south. But if for some reason it is and I'm too smitten to see it, I'm all ears." Marcus searches your eyes and you shake your head with conviction.

"It's not," is all you say, and you lean forward to place a kiss on his cheek, on the side of his face that is hidden from Joel's inspection. As if that would make what you just did any less obvious. Marcus' lips part, and he turns his head sideways to look at your profile, almost brushing it with his own.

His eyes linger on your mouth as you lean back to your seat, and then he licks his lower lip like a starving man preparing for his favorite meal. "Let's go meet your friends before I do something impulsive," he whispers in your ear, his grip on your arm tightening, his nose pressing against your temple and his lips brushing your earlobe.

Goosebumps spread across your skin and you have half a mind to get the fuck out of here and drag him back to your house. But instead you giggle like a schoolgirl and lead the way to hell, feeling the warmth of his hand on your lower back and the moisture of your pussy running down your thigh.

If a person could combust out of stillness, it would be Joel. You're not even sure he's breathing at this point. You train your eyes on his chest, trying to follow the rise and fall of his rib-cage, just to make sure he doesn't faint.

He's sitting directly opposite you, next to his brother, who's sitting opposite Marcus. He's nursing a beer with one hand, the other behind Tommy's seat. He barely speaks to you, he avoids looking at you and that makes you feel like you’re doing something wrong and he's giving you the cold shoulder. It takes everything you've got to swallow the lump in your throat and the tears behind your eyes, but you do it.

The same waitress who took your previous orders comes back and asks what you and Marcus are having. You order a beer, and before Marcus can place his own, Joel spits, "If you're driving her back, you shouldn't be drinking," giving him a disapproving look.

Your cheeks flush with embarrassment, your eyes dart from the waitress to Joel and then to Marcus, ready to apologize on his behalf. You knew Joel could be abrasive, but never so blatantly rude. Those were the first words he said to him.

Jesus, what is his problem?

Marcus seems to be able to handle his own, answering to you instead of Joel without missing a beat. "Good to know you have such protective friends," he says with a twinkle in his eye and then he orders, "I'll have the same as before, thank you.", shifting his gaze to the waitress. "One soda with a slice of orange coming up," she says politely and leaves to get your drinks.

You glare at Joel, but he doesn't seem to be paying attention, although he flinched almost imperceptibly when he heard Marcus' choice of drink. Marcus gives you a gentle kiss on the temple and you begin to suspect that he knows exactly what's going on between you and Joel, whose jaw is twitching at the sight of Marcus' public display of affection towards you.

You envy Tommy at the moment because he seems blissfully unaware, so you turn the conversation to him. Or at least you try, because as soon as you open your mouth to speak, Joel cuts you off and asks Marcus what he does for a living.

You can't help but think that after your first meeting in that god’s forsaken bar, it took him months to strike up a conversation with you, but tonight, for some reason, he just can't seem to shut up.

Marcus, being as polite as ever, gives him the general answer that he works for the government.

"Ah, a white collar," Joel replies condescendingly and your eyes bulge out of their sockets, "must be nice, relaxed." still not looking at you and God does he tick you off. Tommy shifts uncomfortably in his seat, stealing glances at you, not sure what's going on. In any other case you would have found it endearing. Not so much now.

You too are squirming in your seat, trying to think of a way out of this awkward situation. This is not how you imagined your first date would end. And it's certainly not how you expected to meet Joel after all these weeks.

Marcus seems unfazed by the veiled hostility coming his way, smiling back at Joel, almost enjoying the antagonism. "Not necessarily, but I can't talk about it either." This catches Joel's attention and he looks at you questioningly for the first time. You tilt your head slightly to the side, signaling what are you doing? but Joel takes his eyes off you, sipping his beer nonchalantly.

"What about you? What do you do for a living?" Marcus returns the question.

"We're contractors, me and Joel; we're brothers," he gestures between himself and Joel, "and we work together." Tommy chimes in quickly, having reached his limit of awkwardness at the table. You breathe a sigh of relief, but it's not long lived.

"And how do you all know each other?" is the next natural question to come out of Marcus' mouth.

Joel's eyes land on you briefly, something flashes past them and before you can stop him-

"She and I actually met in a bar..." Joel smirks at Marcus, but you speak at the same time-

"Joel-" Your voice is firm as a warning, fully accepting that your tone might be alarming to your unsuspecting company.

"What?" Tommy's voice falters, laughing uncomfortably, completely at a loss. Marcus reads the table, his eyes darting between the three of you, at the same time placing a protective hand over your shoulder, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb.

"What?" Joel repeats in a different tenor to his brother and he shrugs, smiling, "It's no big deal, tell them," he has the audacity to put you on the spot, nodding his chin at you.

You feel the contents of your stomach move up your esophagus, cold sweat coats your skin in a thin layer. Betrayal. That's all you can think of. "Uh-", you try to find the words, but nothing comes out, betrayal, you're not good at it, lying doesn't come easy to you, betrayal, especially with three sets of eyes on you. Joel just sits there with a smug look on his face and you wish you had the guts to slap it out of him.

Betrayal.

Marcus' voice brings you back to the present, are you all right?, a soft whisper caresses your ear and soothes your insides. The bile in your throat begins to return to its rightful place, but your eyes are already moist, your waterline glassy, a look of defeat and disappointment painted on your soft face. Joel sees it all written on those contours of yours that he has come to know and marvel at from afar, and it is as if a sudden realization hits him, snapping him out of his asshole behavior. He is cruel to you.

"All right, all right," he rolls his eyes and continues with a sigh, and Tommy's eyes return to his brother, but Marcus' remains fixed on you. "We met in a bar and we had a heated..." he stops abruptly and your face takes on a look of horror as he searches for the right word. "...argument." Joel finally adds. "We exchanged a few words, but then we ran into each other at my cousin's house and the rest is history." he laughs as he waves his hand in the air and winks at you.

You bite your lower lip as hard as you can to keep your chin from trembling, but a single tear of relief or suppressed anger, you're not sure anymore, escapes from the side of your face that only Joel can see, as you give him a forced, watery smile.

Luckily the bar is dimly lit, otherwise they would all be able to see the redness spreading across your chest, the rage manifesting itself on your body. Used and played is how you feel, and Joel is the last person you would have thought would put you in this position. You'd bet all your money on it.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Tommy wonders aloud, looking between you and Joel. You clear your throat and have no choice but to confirm Joel's lie. "It felt awkward at the time, so we pretended we didn't know each other. It was an unfortunate moment, one I deeply regret," you lock eyes with Joel and see his facade almost crumbling, "that will never recur, ever again." you continue to stare at him as you speak the last words with concealed bitterness. For the first time that night, he looked down at his lap in shame and regret, pretending to peel the label off his bottle with his thumb.

The ride home was silent, you were emotionally drained, something Marcus picked up on easily, so he simply offered his open palm, which you gladly accepted, tucking your fingers between his own. He continued to caress your skin, back and forth, and it was all you needed to calm your nerves.

As he walked you to the front door of your house, you felt compelled to apologize to him in a profound way. "I'm so sorry about Joel," you shake your head, looking down at your feet, your fingers scratching your forehead, a worried look on your face, "he can be intense sometimes -" why are you defending him?

Marcus lifts your chin with a gentle finger under it, his thumb caressing your jawline. "I don't care about Joel." With one simple sentence, he has erased him from your conversation. No more room for him to steal any longer of your night with Marcus.

“But-”

“I'm the one standing on your porch right now am I not?”, the implication clear in his voice and words.

“I'm not sure what-” you try to avoid confirming or denying his assumptions.

"Mhm," he smiles knowingly, his eyes fixed on yours, searching for something. You feel safe with him, but you can't shake the feeling that you've ruined everything. Marcus' eyes drop to your lips and he slowly leans forward, stopping just inches from you, waiting for you to initiate. You can feel yourself unable to relax, your body stiff, frozen. But you want to, you really do, so you ask instead, "Are you going to do something impulsive now?"

He smiles and leans even closer to your lips, his breath gently fanning across your plump skin. His nose gently nudges yours, "Yes, I think I might."

Your lips almost touch when a muffled voice followed by loud barks startles you both, causing you to pull away and look around for the source of the disruption. After a few seconds, you both see a medium-sized dog running down the street. You wait to see if its owner follows, but no one appears. You turn to look at each other, giggling at the strange interruption.

Marcus caresses your cheek with the back of his knuckles and you lean into his touch, the moment gone and lost. "I hope you had a decent time because I know I had a great one and I really hope I get to see you again."

"Marcus," you scowl at him, "are you fishing for compliments?" you chastise him teasingly.

"Well, a man can dream," he smirks playfully as he tries to get some distance between you in case he comes on too strong.

"You don't have to," you coo, grabbing his collar to crush your lips against his.

After the initial shock, Marcus holds your head in his hands, tilting it to return the kiss and deepen it. His soft lips massage yours, sucking and nibbling at your lower lip. His upper lip and tongue capture yours, tugging gently, sending waves of pleasure through your body. He licks into your mouth, exploring every soft cavity, and you suck on his tongue in return.

He grunts into your welcoming cavern and you fist the fabric of his shirt that adorns his chest tighter. He presses his body into yours, trying to keep his pelvic area from pressing into your lower abdomen, but you can feel his growing erection inescapably.

You come up for air and murmur into his mouth, "I had a great time and I'd like to do it again".

This time it is he who presses his mouth to yours, kissing you fervently, sucking all the air out of your lungs. Your body is on fire, your abdomen tingling with desire.

You whimper against his lips as you reach for the short curls at the back of his neck, tugging them gently between your fingers, causing him to growl against your wet flesh, and he can feel your nipples poking at his chest through the thin material of your dress as you press your torso against his in sheer determination.

He's sure he's going to lose it and fuck you in front of your house for all your neighbors to see if he doesn't stop now. He breaks the kiss, panting, his eyes boring into yours, your foreheads touching. "Christ, woman," he closes his eyes and laughs to himself, "you're going to give me a heart attack."

"Better me than old age, right?" you try to hide your teasing smile behind your tightly pressed lips.

"Hey, I'm about to arrest you for threatening a government official," he warns without any conviction or authority.

"Are you going to handcuff me, Agent?" you ask, looking at him through your lashes and it comes out more breathless than it should.

"Jesus." Marcus mutters through his teeth, his resolve hanging by a thread. "OK." he gives you a sharp look, "I'm going to leave for the sake of both of us," he says, but his grip on your hip tightens, as if he's afraid you'll disappear.

"You could come in, you know," you offer, looking at him sheepishly.

His expression is pained when he has to turn you down. "And I'd like nothing more, but I want to do this right. Please, let me do this right." Marcus pleads softly, rolling his forehead over yours in desperation.

"What does that even mean?" you ask, a bit embarrassed by his rejection.

"Means I want to wine and dine you, spoil you, give you the perfect date," he coos into the soft skin beneath your ear, making you shudder at his soft promise. "And when you think you can't go another second without my touch, then I'll come in and spoil you some more," he continues, brushing his moist lips along the pillar of your neck. "I will spoil you in all the ways you deserve." he finishes, planting an open-mouthed kiss on your pulse point under your jaw. Your knees buck and your pussy contracts, squeezing out your sweetness at the feel of his warm and wet tongue.

"OK," you breathe out in a shaky voice, nodding dumbly, cupping his face in your hands and planting a small kiss on the tip of his nose.

He smiles and presses his lips to your forehead murmuring "God, you're something," and his heart swells at your tender gesture.

Marcus takes a deep breath, pauses and seems hesitant, but speaks his mind anyway. "OK, I'm going to skip the whole 'three day rule' and call you tomorrow. Is that OK?" he looks anxiously into your eyes, "Am I rushing you?"

A spontaneous laugh escapes your lips at the sound of that. "I just invited you into my house, you think a phone call is going to rush me?" you frown, "You can call me whenever you want.", you say matter of factly. You turn to leave, but change your mind and face him again. "Actually," you bite your lip mischievously, "I need to make sure I can rely on the American authorities, so I'm counting on your word. I'll be expecting a call by tomorrow," you stifle a grin by pressing your lips together.

"Yes, ma'am." Marcus nods in amusement and gives you one last kiss, pressing his lips to yours for as long as he can before ushering you into the house. "Good night," he breathes against your lips.

"Good night," you whisper back with a shy smile and close the door behind you. Marcus walks to his car with a stupid grin plastered on his face, gets in and drives away, but not before making sure you have closed and locked your front door.

In the stillness of the night, Joel takes a moment to assess the situation and satisfied that the coast is clear, he carefully emerges from the large bush he was hiding behind.

He glances down at his dog pissed shoe and mutters to himself,

"Fuck."

previous |

[evolnoomym]

Bigger than the whole sky 🌌

Dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader

Pt.2🌠 | Main Masterlist | Joel Miller Masterlist

Summary: You meet Joel and well of course you fall for each other. It’s a bit bumpy since he’s your Dads best friend. But things seem to work out until they don’t anymore. One event changes everything.

Rating: 18+ mature content mdni!!!!

Word count: 5.1k

Warnings: no use of y/n, pov switches that might be confusing, female reader, reader has hair, reader wears makeup, reader can get pale, weight loss, implied childhood abuse, trauma, angst, heavy angst(?), implied smut, alludes to pregnancy, funerals, coffins, reader has no name only a bunch of nicknames, size difference, dbf!Joel Miller, mentions of throwing up, loss of a loved one, grief, depression (?), food and eating issues are mentioned, talks of having a baby, Blood, dark thoughts, intrusive thoughts, age gap, readers age is not exactly mentioned but Joel is 44, talks of getting married….

If I missed anything please let me know 🙏🏻

Authors note: this is for @almostfoxglove ‘s Angst Writing Challenge. Shoutout to her she created the moodboard, it’s sooooo beautiful. 🫶🏻

Shoutout to @thecutestgrotto and @cafekitsune for the dividers 💙

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so if you come across mistakes it might be due to that. This is also only my second time posting writing for a specific character. I’m totally here for constructive criticism or feedback on how to improve. In general I appreciate comments, likes and reblogs greatly. This not beta read btw only by my eyes and they hurt after starring at the screen for so long 🌌🫶🏻

And lastly I’ll leave some songs i listened to while writing <3

loml by Taylor Swift

Black Friday by Tom Odell

This is what the drugs are for by Gracie Abrams

I guess by Mitski

Present by Lloyd Vaan

Je te laisserai des mots by Patrick Watson

Home by Daughter

Allowed to be Happy by Gustavo Santaolalla

Song on the Beach by Arcade Fire, Owen Pallet

aisatsana [102] by Aphex Twin

Fourth of July by Sufjan Stevens

Francis Forever by Mitski

A House In Nebraska by Ethel Cain

Medicine by Daughter

Youth by Daughter

I can barely say his name by Patrick Jonsson

listen before I go by Billie Eilish

You remember exactly how you met Joel Miller, it was so simple. He was the one to give your Dad a job at the construction company he led together with his younger brother Tommy. In the beginning you only heard how great of a boss he supposedly was through your Dads stories. 

Joel and him seemed to have grown into real good friends in the span of mere weeks. You always had wondered what the man from his stories was like in person, up close. 

When you had to drive to the construction site to bring your Dad his lunch he had forgotten due to being a bit busy that morning. It seemed like your wishes to meet Joel would become reality. You didn’t think the big boss would spend his precious time with the actual building process but as you'd figure out in the future, Joel is a hands on kinda guy. 

You must’ve looked super out of place and quite lost when he approached you. His Texas drawl still echoed through your head hours later. „Well Hello Darlin, lookin for someone?“ and if that alone didn’t completely blew you away, then certainly his stunning looks. When you turned towards the voice a tall, broad and awfully handsome man looked back at you.

After an awkward beat of silence he stretched his hand out towards you “Apologies sweetheart, should’a start with the name, huh?” Tilting his head slightly “Name’s Joel, Joel Miller.” At that you let your hand slip onto his outstretched one. His hand was so huge, warm and calloused. Shaking his hand kinda calmed you down Joel Miller was absolutely lovely. “Nice to finally meet the famous Joel Miller that my Dad keeps yapping about nonstop.” You giggled while cheekily winking at him. 

That must’ve been a key moment for everything that was to follow. You’d see Joel again and again. Whether due to your Dad inviting the single, 44 year old Man over or due to you having to deliver your Dad’s forgotten food. 

The tension was slowly building higher and higher between you two until one day in Joel’s office you could no longer hold back. 

Joel stood in his office with you by his side, in front of a pinboard containing all sorts of information about his newest project. He was animatedly explaining processes you’d never understand in a million years. You actually kind of tuned him out and just enjoyed being unbelievably close to him. 

Then his face kinda looked confused. Oh no he must’ve asked you a question. Shaking your head you say  “Mhhh sorry, what did you just ask?” Joel tilts his head towards you the way he always does and then states “Ya didn’t listen to a single word I just said, right Sweetcheeks?” 

He always comes up with the most ridiculous nicknames that cause a vicious pull in your lower stomach. You lost count of how many conversations with him ended in drenched panties. 

“I….i -of course I was listening to you, why wouldn’t I?” You stammered a bit offensively, surely he’d see right through you. 

“Hm kay, so what was I talkin bout, gorgeous?” He’s teasing at this point. 

“Ok I wasn’t listening but that is a lot I don’t get anyway so can you really blame me, Miller?” You fired back. 

“So, whatcha thinkin bout inside of that pretty little head of yours, instead of listening to me?” You just scoff at him “Let’s not pretend you don’t know exactly what I was thinking about Joel.” Pointing one accusing finger at his broad chest. At that motion Joel enveloped your wrist in one of his massive hands, pulling you closer that way. Until you were right in front of him, only a tiny space left between your faces. “Why don’t ya tell me whatcha thinkin about Baby?” 

He must know, just by seeing how your eyes keep slipping down to glance at his pillowy lips, what is going through your head. You’ve been dancing around this topic, the tension, the pull towards each other, how forbidden it is for all of this to happen. Joel is your Dads Best friend and he’s twice as old as you are but you know that if you don’t kiss him right now you’ll go insane. It’s all you think about, kissing him and then some more. 

For the first time in years you actually consider letting someone get so close again. Joel would never hurt you like the ones before him did, no, he’s mature and wouldn’t play any of those stupid games. You know how kind, considerate, protective and caring he is for the ones he loves. Sure it won’t be easy to explain any of this to your Dad but you can’t think about that right now, no, you have to kiss Joel, it’s the last thought before leaning up to push your lips against his. 

One chaste kiss that erupted into a full blown make out session that only got interrupted by some frantic knocks at Joel’s Office door. 

From that day on those meetings became a routine, in his office, his truck, his house or sometimes he’d take you out of town for a super secret Date. The thrill of hiding with the possibility of getting caught soon turned into shame for lying to your Dad so much. You wanted to tell him even though it scared you more than anything how he might react. 

Surprisingly though he didn’t completely freak out, of course he was shocked and confused how this combination came to be. More than anything he took the lying personally and made clear that as long as you are happy, so is he. If Joel was the one then so be it, besides your Dad has a lot of respect for Joel and knows you're in good hands. 

After 3 months of being an official couple Joel asked if you’d be happy to move in with him. You had to think about it for a long time, feeling quite guilty about leaving your Dad behind but he reassured you that he would be fine on his own. He told you that a grown woman like you shouldn’t have to live with her boring old man anymore than you already did. 

So you moved into Joel’s house. And what followed were months filled with wonderful memories. Many barbecues were held, your Dad and Joel always standing at the grill together, each nursing on their beer bottles. 

Whenever you wanted to try a new recipe your Dad was invited over so you could make sure he still ate enough, the night always ending with you sending him home with a bunch of Tupperware's filled to the brim with deliciously homemade meals. 

When you wanted to paint the walls in the living room a new shade your Dad came over to help. 

Making sure his baby girl is happy and content was your Dads number one priority. 

Then one day you went over to his house to catch up a little bit, just you two having some Dad and Daughter one on one quality time. 

He was so excited when you told him that Joel and you want to have a baby. 

He told you what a great mother you’d make because of how wonderful you always have been with kids and how much you always wanted to have kids of your own. 

To others it might’ve been weird to share such an information with their Dad but you have such a close bond that it’s not weird at all. 

You were so happy on the drive home cuz you know what great grandpa he’d make. 

It must've been exactly one week later when you woke up with an indescribable feeling in your chest. As if the world spun a little slower, or the air felt more compromising…whatever it was you couldn’t stop feeling like something had happened. 

Your intuition only perked up more when your Dad didn’t show up for the usual Sunday’s breakfast you recently started doing. 

After 8 calls that nobody picked up you told Joel you would drive over there and as if he knew that you would need him for whatever was awaiting you there, he came with you. 

The closer you got to the house the worse you felt. Hands sweaty, heartbeat racing and your stomach felt like turning over at the sight of the house. Usually he would be up by now playing his obnoxiously loud music that you’d hear on the street through the open kitchen window. Instead it was eerily quiet. 

When Joel had parked the car he told you to wait for him but you couldn't. You just ran up the steps, unlocked the door with your spare key and bolted through the house as if on instinct you skipped up the steps to his bedroom. You flung the door open and there he was. Just laying on his designated side with his glasses still on and one hand on his chest across his heart. He looked like he was just sleeping but deep down you knew he was not. You can’t remember a lot, only that you immediately bolted towards the bathroom to empty your stomach out, Joel came up too and tried  comforting you through the heaving. Then he tried to get you away from the scene. Joel took care of everything while you just locked up inside of yourself. No tears, no screams, no words, not a singular reaction just nothing. Joel had never seen you look so…empty. 

Later on the authorities would say it’s just natural cause, he simply passed in his sleep, nothing dramatic. Not the kind of closure you would have wanted. It didn’t matter how “normal” it was, your world stopped spinning entirely. Everyone seemed to go one but you just stopped. 

Suddenly without any foreshadowing everything was completely flipped on its head. You loved him so much, he was your best friend. He told you all the time how much he loved you even with all your struggles. You’d never have to prove your worth to him; he'd love you no matter what. In his eyes you were a gift, opposite to your mother that looked at you as a burden. You never felt loved by her. She took away your precious childhood and forced you to grow up quickly. So you could take care of her. Even when you told her how close to the edge you were she always made everything about herself. Out of your parents the one person that actually wanted you, died and with him so did your willingness to continue with the fight against all your inner demons.

You lost yourself after that. For weeks you just slept, barely moving, only getting up to use the toilet and perhaps eat something small and drink a bit. Joel had to shower you, otherwise you wouldn’t have done it yourself. Who you were before losing your Dad was gone, as if you died with him. 

Joel tried everything in his power to make you feel better. One time he wanted to paint with you since you loved to do that, but the moment your eyes caught sight of the little paint pots you ran for the toilet to empty out your stomach. Later on he realized his mistake, you used to paint with your Dad a lot all the way back in your childhood so of course that would not make you feel better. Then he tried playing music for you either your favorite songs from your playlist or on his guitar. Nothing, you just continued to be completely catatonic. 

Then the funereal came, a day Joel dreaded he was not sure you’d be able to handle it. In the morning he made your hair and applied a bit of makeup, he watched you do your little routine often enough to know what he was doing. Afterwards he dressed you in a simple black dress and equally black flats. Walking only worked since Joel kept you upright. 

Sitting in the front row bench at the chapel you looked like a ghost. Pale and sunken in. You were asked to do a speech about your Dad but that would’ve been impossible. So Joel went up to do it instead. You just stared straight ahead at the coffin, not sparing a glance towards Joel. 

And once everything was over, the people, mostly his colleagues, paid him their respects. When everyone was gone you stayed and just laid your head on the coffin silently sobbing, which was the most emotion Joel had seen in weeks from you. Only he was to witness this vulnerability. 

Staring at the completed grave was just as daunting. His name is written in cold stone. All that’s left is this hole in the earth and a stone on top with his name. 

You walked away without sparring another glance toward the grave.

Then it seemed like you were getting better. You spoke more, ate more and slept less. You even searched out body contact with Joel, though it was just some cuddling and gentle kissing. But he took it as a step in the right direction. 

You almost fully returned to your old self but Joel could have not predicted how wrong he would be. 

He should’ve listened to his gut that told him something was off when you didn’t kiss him goodbye before he left for work that morning. 

You know how hard it will be but there’s no other choice. You have to get away, you have to leave so he can find someone better, someone who deserves a man like Joel Miller, someone less troubled, someone normal. 

Those fears you have now, always were inside of you but with your Dad passing they just all came to the surface. Grief killed you, it took everything, it’s as if you're in a room with a beautiful glowing bulb and some dark entity just rips it away. You're left in the dark and not even Joel’s light can make it better. 

You lost something nothing can replace. 

All your life you feared what would happen if you’d lose someone like this without any way of getting closure, he died without any warning just poof and gone he was. 

Your final goodbye was never said. 

Now you can’t remember how he used to be, you only remember him laying in his bed without moving a damn muscle,dead. You were the one to find him and even though it was not some unsettling scene it’s not leaving your head. You try hard to remember how he spoke that sarcastic tone he usually used. 

You can’t remember his face anymore, not even looking at pictures brings him back and at the same time he’s all you think about as if he’s haunting you. You hate him for leaving you so early. Why him? What kind of curse was laid upon you that everything always seems to fall apart when you think it’s finally working out. 

It’s as if some higher up can sense that you are happy and content with your life and they don’t want to give you that sorta life. 

The moment your brain processed what had happened you fell into the darkness like a big hole that sucked you in without any way out. Anyone around you could be another loss so what do you do? You leave, you disappear so no one gets hurt by whatever is wrong with you. 

Looking at yourself hurts because it’s him you see and it’s him you hear in your head he’s everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Sometimes you feel like you’re hallucinating because you swear to see him round the corner, you can almost hear him call out but when you try to look there’s nothing. 

Sometimes but much rarer than you’d like to admit you’ve visited the grave, sometimes you speak to no one. Sometimes you scream in agony till you almost lose consciousness from the lack of oxygen. Sometimes you just stare. 

It’s a sick twist of events considering how often he walked on cemeteries with you as a child. You didn’t understand the meaning behind them back then, you only loved to admire the beautiful flower ornaments laying on top of the graves. Your dad always told you how soothing these walks seemed for you. 

One time he took you and you had so much fun admiring the flowers giggling and smiling. Your dad wanted to tell you off since it’s a place where people grieved especially with a woman sitting nearby crying. He went to apologize to her on your behalf but the woman told him not to. She thought it was an uplifting sight to see little you having so much joy about the flowers, that’s a story he always kept telling you again and again. 

All your life those walks soothed your frayed mind. The quiet somber energy is something no other place could compare with. Now it’s the last place you’d wanna be in. The moment you step foot on the property, the panic starts to creep up on you. The closer you get to him the worse it gets. 

Sometimes the voices in your head scream to just start digging into the earth to get him out of that godforsaken coffin. Look at him, do something to bring him back. If the devil would show up to take you instead of your dad you’d do it. He was a troubled man but he tried so hard. He did not deserve any of this, he should’ve been here for all the good times yet to come. 

You imagined him walking you down the aisle, having that stupid first look with him where he’d surely try so hard not to cry but looking at his baby in a wedding dress would’ve been way too much for him to stay strong. You imagined having your first dance with him. 

You imagined how excited he would’ve been to hear that he was going to be a grandpa. In your head you can see him with a little baby that looks just like you. But none of this will ever happen; he's dead. 

Sometimes it’s hard to even look at Joel. He's connected to him as well; he was his boss and one of his closest friends. It’s not fair you know but in your head you see Joel and your dad laughing on the porch about some old men shit like always making their awful dad jokes. Or drinking a beer together or looking to fix something around the house. 

The house, Joel’s house and a place your dad spent a lot of time in. Walking through the hallways is not pleasant anymore, the couch is avoided as best as you can. He used to sit here all the time watching soccer games with Joel. The chair at the dining table he always sat on had to be removed simply seeing it made you sick and eating was already a hefty struggle since he passed. 

He left a mark anywhere and all of it was getting too much. The pressure in your head becomes more and more unbearable. 

Even though you tried to push all those negative festering thoughts away the voices could not be shut up no matter what you tried. 

The worst was when they started to go for Joel, suddenly all you could think of was how he’d die. Joel is only 10 years your dad’s junior. So if he died then why not Joel too. 

So many horrible scenarios played out inside your mind. Car accident, some freak accident on a construction site, getting attacked by multiple people, torturing him slowly, beating him to death, his head all split open, blood everywhere, or what if he gets shot by some crazy Texan who loves guns. There really was not a scenario left to imagine. 

Nightmares in the most cruel ways destroying you slowly from the inside out. And that just proved how one thing can make an avalanche of events happen. He was your purpose for most of your life, you only continued to play this game called life because you could not leave him. And now he left you. 

One time he told you how if it weren’t for you he’d be dead or in jail since there would be no reason to give a damn about his life. He was just like you, living for others instead of for himself. No one understood you like him. Somewhere deep inside you know he wouldn’t want you to blame yourself so much but that singular fact does nothing compared to all the ever suffocating darkness. 

You’d give anything to have him back, feel his warm embrace one more time, hear him say how much he loves you, have him tell you one of his stories, have him tell you it’s going to be alright, take one more look and inhale his signature scent. You have one of his shirts doused in his favorite perfume, it’s what you used to do in all those years you lived far away from him during childhood. Now it does not help like it did back then. What remains of him? Nothing, all of his stuff shoved into a storage unit looked up, buried just like him. 

You know Joel tried hard to be supportive and not push you too hard. Sometimes you wished he would’ve just screamed at you, slapped some sense into you and told you to stop being such a disgraceful mess. That’s what they would’ve done. 

But Joel is not like that,  he helped you so much. Putting himself so far behind. So much so that you feel sorry he has to deal with an ill girlfriend, that’s what you are, a mental wreck. 

He deserves better treatment than the lackluster one you have given him in the last months. He deserves to be free of your weight dragging him down towards the abyss. Even though he told you in the beginning that he loves you with all the baggage and all the challenges, you cannot let him continue to waste his time. 

Besides you’re convinced he’d leave you anyway like everyone before one way or another you end up alone. You have no control of the situation but if you leave then you have the control it still hurts but it’s the only option in your head. 

The decision was made weeks ago, it felt wrong to lie to Joel to keep him thinking everything is fine only to then rip it all away but perhaps it’ll make him hate you so it’s easier. If he hates you then he will be able to move on with his life. Burn all you build together down.

 And then you knew today would be the day. You couldn’t bear to kiss him in the morning; it would only make everything harder. Some time after he left you got up. One last time using the shower you both occasionally used together having foam party’s, giggling, washing each other and then kissing, touching till it leads to you with your cheek squished against the tile and Joel behind you ferociously hitting that special spot inside of you, till you both reach your high. Now you’re alone staring at that specific spot in the tiles, too much so you turn away. 

One last time looking at yourself in the mirror above the sink, the mirror Joel and you both looked into while brushing your teeth. You dry your hair, put on fresh clothes, nothing too dramatic, just some simple black leggings and a black cotton shirt. 

Then you start packing the most important stuff into two big suitcases. Basically only clothes, some hygiene products and a few trinkets that you don’t want to leave behind. The rest can be either sold by Joel or thrown away. You don’t care, the less holding you back the better. 

Once the suitcases are packed you haul them down the stairs towards the front door. And then you just wait. For hours you sit at the dining table just staring ahead at the wall opposite where so many photos of Joel and you hang so many memories and you’ll destroy it. 

You should feel bad but these days you barely feel anything, numb is what you think you feel most of the time. Maybe that’s what your ex meant when he said that you don’t own a heart, that you’re a cold blooded mean person. Someone who plays with people until they stop serving their purpose, that's what he said. 

It’s almost 8pm, Joel should be home soon. You have practically studied the words you’ll say. An Uber already ordered to arrive 15 minutes after he should get home. Not much to talk about the less the easier so you can just walk away. 

Then you hear it, Joel’s truck driving up the driveway and coming to a halt. How he gets out and slams the door shut behind him. His keys jiggling while he searches for the right one. Unlocking the door and closing it behind him. You don’t turn towards him although you know he must be looking at you in astonishment. He can not miss the suitcases and something about the lack of his words tells you he knows exactly what this means. 

Joel cannot believe what he walked into, he knew something was off but just thought that he was starting to imagine things but here you are sitting like an empty shell of yourself and the packed suitcases can only mean one thing, he tries his hardest not to freak out that won’t make anything better. 

He starts walking towards you, slowly, once he reaches the threshold of the living room he speaks up 

“Moon, Darling what’s goin on?” He immediately continues “What’s with those suitcases, huh?” He can’t even hide the nervous quiver in his voice. 

You turn to finally look at him with empty eyes, get up and walk up to him and then “I have to leave.” And with that you move to walk past him but Joel stops you by reaching for you arm, you immediately pull your arm away hissing “Don’t fuckin touch me Joel.” 

He’s stunned by this harsh rejection, his expression full of hurt. Yet he persists by getting close, grabbing your face with both hands, his warm calloused hands that you love- loved so much. He urges “Talk to me baby, what is going on, why would ya need to leave?” Even with everything he tried to be gentle, his voice panicked yet almost just a whisper. 

He can see in your eyes some sadness creeping in when you mutter “Joel..-“ you take one deep inhale “-…this House no longer feels like home.” He can tell even with how hard you try to appear collected that it pains you to say those words. “Wh…what do ya mean? If- if the house is the problem we can just move.” You cut in “No Joel, no i..I don’t love you anymore. Ok? I can’t stay here any longer.” 

It’s a punch right into his gut there’s no way you are serious. “Baby all ya stuff is here you can’t just leave.” He tries to find something to buy him time. “I don’t care Joel just…just throw it away or sell it or I don’t know fuckin burn it. I won’t need it anyway.” He’s so shocked that you use that to continue your path towards the front door and the waiting suitcases. 

On top of one suitcase lies a tote bag containing your phone, a jacket and your wallet sits. You swing it over your shoulder, you can hear that Joel has started crying, his huffed breaths are all you can hear. 

That’s when a car starts honking outside, the Uber is here, you go to open the front door twisting the knob you can hear him walking up behind you with heavy steps. You open the door anyway with him at your back and you move the suitcases out onto the porch. Joel’s trying his hardest to contain his sobbing to a minimum but it’s hard he loves you so much, he thinks about the ring in his wardrobe hidden behind stuff you’d never go for and he thinks about the talks you two had of having a baby. If only he knew 

His heart is breaking watching you walk away from all of it. You turn to him, one last time, he looks shattered, you've never seen Joel like this, you give him a nod as if to give him the ok to touch you one more time if only to give some kind of closure. He moves closer without hesitation and takes your face in his hands once more and leans his forehead against yours. His frantic breathing collides with your face and then “Wh…why Baby just why?” He sobs A simple question and you decide to give him at least something you reach up to put your hands over his to get him to open his eyes. 

“Joel I’m not myself anymore, i-…i feel so all over the place and I’m so scared.” Tears start clouding your sight. “I need to be away from everything. I need to be alone far away to just maybe find some peace. I need to be gone.” And the tears start falling “No matter where I look I can’t stop seeing him and it’s crushing me.” Now you're full on crying. He’s processing what you’re saying and somewhere in his mind he understands that, still he can’t believe this is it. 

“Ok-….if ya need to go at least promise you’ll give some sorta sign ya alright?” He looks desperate “Please Baby….please just a text something anything.” You only nod and then pull out of his grasp, take the suitcases and shakinly make your way to the Uber. Joel can only watch and hope you’ll stick to your words, hope that you’ll find some kind of way back to yourself. 

The Uber driver gets out as you approach and opens the trunk helping to put the suitcases in there. Then you walk to the right door on the back, open it and hesitate for a moment. Joel holds his breath but you continue to slip into the backseat. Closing the door and off the car goes. Joel doesn’t know for how much longer he stood on the porch long after the car was gone. What was there is no more. 

Npt: @almostfoxglove @joelmillerisapunk @aurorawritestoescape @milla-frenchy @joelslegalwhre @thundermartini @studioghibelli @sizzlingcloudmentality @vivian-pascal @strang3lov3 @xdaddysprincessxx @mountainsandmayhem @mrsmando @joelsgreys @janaispunk @the-mandawhor1an @rivnedell (honestly I’m tagging pretty randomly, sorry) 💙

Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI, thank you 🙏🏻

[manicmanuscription]

Hi! Hi! Welcome to my page! Have fun poking around and thanks for stopping by

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You are viewing ivan's blog

About me: He/him, '05, gay, adhd, hoshi ult bias, svt atz bts zb1 ult groups, if u want a consistent updater i am NAWT your guy i fear

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[tinybeetiny]

Hi! My name is Bee, I'm 25 and I'm bad at introductions. My zodiac sign is Scorpio and my MBTI is INFP (I’m literally Hongjoong fr). I was born in Seoul but I was raised in the US. I really enjoy writing so this blog is just basically things that come into mind. If you want something specific my requests are open or just message me if you wanna talk :)

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[iydiamartinx]

UNEXPECTED GUESTS IV

jason x reader, platonic!damian wayne, ft. batfam

divider by: @cafekitsune & @thecutestgrotto & @omi-resources word count: 2k synopsis: Jason’s secret relationship is discovered by Damian—who keeps showing up uninvited. Jason’s patience is tested, popcorn is made, but at least Damian brought cinnamon rolls. a/n: Here it is! The final part! Hope Y'all enjoyed! Also I hope I got everyone who asked to be on the tag list, if I missed you I am so sorry!

Bruce lifted a brow at the sound of heavy footsteps and the sight of Jason sauntering into the manor kitchen, a duffle bag slung over one shoulder like he owned the place.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, pausing mid-bite, fork suspended halfway to his mouth.

Jason didn’t break stride. “Gee, thanks for the warm welcome,” he drawled, dropping the duffle beside a chair with a solid thud.

Bruce sighed, setting down his utensils. “That’s not what I meant. It’s just you have your own place.”

Jason shrugged, nonchalant. “Maybe I just felt like spending some quality time with dear old Dad.”

Bruce’s gaze narrowed, eyes flicking over him like a scanner calibrating for irregularities. Jason was calm. Casual. Civil. Voluntarily in the manor. Something was wrong.

Jason would rather set himself on fire than willingly spend an evening under Bruce’s roof. He was being too… not-Jason. Polite, even. Pleasant. 

Clone? Possibly. Cyborg? Wouldn’t be the first time. A mind-wiped doppelgänger sent to spy on the family?

Then it hit him.

He paused in growing horror…

Did he finally kill the Joker?

Was that why he was in a good mood?

Bruce stared at him. Jason just blinked back innocently, which only made it worse.

No, something was definitely wrong.

“He’s lying,” came a voice from the doorway, smooth and amused.

Dick entered, mug of tea in hand and an unbothered grin on his face. “It’s because everyone’s crashing at his place.”

Now that he mentioned it, the manor had been suspiciously quiet lately.

Bruce glanced between them. “Why?”

Jason froze, his posture stiffening like someone expecting a sniper shot. His eyes flicked to Dick, silently warning him to shut up.

Dick, of course, did not. If anything, his grin widened.

Bruce’s gaze sharpened. “Why?” he repeated.

Jason shot Dick a glare, the kind that promised swift and bloody vengeance, but the little shit was immune. He grinned wider, practically radiating delight.

“Oh, because of his girlfriend,” Dick said, drawing out the word with far too much delight.

It had been unspoken—agreed upon, even—that whatever chaos was unfolding at Jason’s apartment stayed there. The last thing he needed was his personal life dragged into the manor spotlight and have Bruce interrogating his girlfriend. He was already hanging on to his sanity by the thinnest of threads.

But Dick had two fatal weaknesses: an insatiable love for family bonding… and a disturbing amount of joy in watching Jason suffer.

“You should see him at home,” Dick went on, far too pleased with himself. “Total domestic bliss. Folding laundry. Cooking dinner. It’s like watching a lion try to do ballet.”

“Shut the fuck up, dickhead,” Jason snapped, his voice a low snarl.

Bruce paused, fork halfway to his mouth.

The silence that followed was thick enough to cut with a Batarang.

Very slowly—deliberately—Bruce looked up. His eyes locked on Jason.

Jason had a what?

Before anyone could speak, Alfred appeared beside Dick with the poise of a man who had seen war, death, and teenage Bruce Wayne at his most dramatic—and had emerged utterly unshaken.

“Master Jason is bringing her for dinner, of course,” Alfred said, smooth as ever, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Master Jason is not!” Jason barked, visibly horrified.

Alfred raised a brow. 

Finding out you’d been invited to dinner at Wayne Manor wasn’t exactly a shock. If anything, you’d been expecting it. Most of the family already knew you—had dropped by Jason’s place uninvited enough times that introductions were inevitable. It was only a matter of time before Bruce caught wind of your existence too.

What surprised you more was how not nervous you felt.

Jason, on the other hand, looked like he was mentally preparing for battle.

As the iron gates of Wayne Manor creaked open, you watched him through the passenger-side mirror. Your six-foot-two, weapons-grade boyfriend was pacing beside the car like a man about to face execution. His hair was a mess—freshly wrecked from his own anxious hands—and while the tousled look worked unfairly well for him, it didn’t do much to hide the storm brewing behind his eyes.

“Just… don’t let them suck you into anything,” he muttered, half to himself, half to the universe. “Don’t be too funny. Or too smart.”

You arched a brow. “So… you want me to be dislikable?”

“What? No! I mean—maybe? I don’t know!” he snapped, throwing his arms up. “If you are, maybe they’ll finally stop showing up at my place uninvited. But I don’t want them to hate you either.”

He paused, then groaned. “God. Don’t mention cinnamon rolls. Damian’s still holding a grudge because I ate the last batch.”

You laughed. “Of course he is.”

Jason stopped pacing only long enough to glare at the front door like it personally offended him. “Just… don’t be nervous. We’ll be in and out. Quick and painless.”

You blinked slowly. “Jason. I’m not nervous. You’re the one spiraling.”

By this point, you weren’t even sure he realized what he was saying anymore. He was just venting aloud—burning nervous energy like a fuse inching toward a powder keg.

With a soft breath of amusement, you stepped into his path, catching his hand in yours before he could wear a trench into the manor’s immaculate brickwork.

“Babe,” you said, gently squeezing his fingers. “I’m fine. I got this. You’re the only one falling apart here.”

So you reached up, brushing your fingers along his jaw before leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. It was brief—grounding—but it worked. His shoulders dropped an inch, the rigid line of his jaw easing ever so slightly.

When you pulled back, you were already smiling. You laced your fingers through his and gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Ready?” you asked.

Jason exhaled, long and slow, like he was about to walk into enemy territory. Which, for him, wasn’t entirely inaccurate.

“Fuck no.”

Alfred greeted you at the door with the warmth of a man welcoming a long-lost friend.

“Miss Y/N,” he said, voice smooth with genuine affection. “We’re delighted to have you.”

You barely had time to smile before Damian appeared—materialized really—at your side.

“You’re sitting next to me.”

You blinked. “Hello to you too,” you said dryly.

He didn’t acknowledge it. His attention was already on the dining table as he pulled out a chair for you with the gravity of someone bestowing a great honour.

 “What? No! That’s my girlfriend, demon spawn.” Jason snapped. 

Damian didn’t even flinch. He turned to Jason with a droll look, sharp and effortless. “And I pity her for that fact every day.”

You muffled a snort behind your hand and slid gracefully into the offered seat.

“Thank you, Damian,” you said, smoothing your napkin onto your lap with a smirk. Then, with mock innocence, you patted the open chair on your other side. “There’s still one free spot left.”

Jason moved toward it—clearly ready to reclaim his territory—only for Dick to slide in smoothly at the last second.

“Y/N!” Dick beamed, overly bright, already leaning his elbow on the back of your chair like he belonged there.

Jason’s jaw ticked. “Oh no you don’t, Dickhead.”

With all the grace of a man well-versed in brotherly warfare, he hauled Dick up by the collar and dragged him out of the seat with zero ceremony.

“Hey!” Dick protested, arms flailing like a cat being relocated. But Jason was already dropping into the seat beside you, triumphant.

Dick slunk across the table with a wounded pout, muttering something about uncalled-for violence.

You raised a brow at your boyfriend. “You know we practically live together. You see me every day.”

Jason scowled. “So do these assholes. They break into my apartment every day.”

Damian arched a brow from your other side, utterly unbothered. “Careful, Todd. Green isn’t your color.”

Dinner was… everything Jason feared.

Tim asked how you two met—twice—just to watch Jason twitch with increasing irritation.

Stephanie demanded relationship details with the energy of a late-night talk show host, bouncing in her seat as she eagerly listened to answer her questions.

Cass watched you in silence, head tilted with a quiet, steady kind of approval. She didn’t need words. She’d already decided she liked you.

And Dick?

Dick was the worst.

He had a seemingly endless supply of Jason’s most humiliating childhood stories, and he recited them with theatrical flair, smirking each time your laughter made Jason’s eye twitch.

Meanwhile, Bruce sat at the head of the table like a statue carved from shadow and marble. He didn’t speak much—hardly at all, in fact—he mostly just watched. His gaze never drifted far from you, sharp and evaluating, like he was measuring you against an invisible checklist. Determining whether you were worthy of his son.

Eventually, between the second course and murmured side conversations, Bruce set down his glass with a soft clink against the china.

“Y/N.”

Jason stiffened like someone had pulled a gun on him. You felt it in the sharp shift of his knee against yours beneath the table. Without looking, you placed a calming hand there.

Jason’s fork paused mid-air. “Bruce…”

You didn’t flinch. You turned to meet his gaze, calmly. “Yes?”

Bruce didn’t blink. “You’ve been with Jason for how long?”

“Almost a year,” you answered easily. “Give or take a few near-death experiences.”

Dick leaned back in his chair with a grin. “That’s basically a vow renewal in this family.”

Bruce continued, tone even. “And you know.”

It wasn’t phrased like a question. You nodded anyway. “Didn’t take long.”

“You stayed.”

“I did.”

Jason muttered, “Why does this feel like a background check with extra judgment?”

Bruce studied you for a moment longer, his expression unreadable. “You’re aware of the risks.”

“I’ve had them explained,” you said dryly. “Repeatedly. With charts.”

Tim snorted into his drink. “Please tell me one of them was color-coded.”

“That was mine,” Damian muttered, arms crossed.

That earned the smallest twitch at the corner of Bruce’s mouth. It wasn’t often anyone got Damian’s seal of approval. 

Bruce went quiet for a moment, and the weight of his silence settled over the table. He studied you like a strategist surveying a battlefield.

Finally, he spoke. “You’re either incredibly brave… or incredibly foolish.”

You shrugged, unbothered. “Probably both. It’s part of the application process, right?”

Cass smiled behind her teacup. Steph stared at you with wide, glittering eyes and whispered to Jason, “Marry her.”

At that, something flickered in Bruce’s expression—approval, maybe. Something harder to name. Something deeper.

He nodded once, almost to himself. “You’ll be here for Sunday dinners moving forward.”

Jason nearly choked on his drink. “Are you serious?”

You ignored him, smiling sweetly. “Of course.”

“Babe!”

You patted his thigh. “Ignore him. We’ll be there.”

Dick leaned over, grinning at Jason’s dramatics. “Wow. He likes her more than he likes you.”

Bruce didn’t answer.

Which, of course, meant: yes.

After dinner, Alfred insisted on tea.

Damian insisted on sitting next to you again—claimed it was “for tactical proximity,” though he was clearly just making sure no one else got the seat first.

Stephanie suggested you move into the manor under the guise of “Jason’s health,” citing stress levels and his lack of basic nutrition, and how beneficial it would be for the two of you two live here. Cass offered you her bedroom if the “shoebox you’re living in” ever became unbearable. Tim asked if you could cook, already planning meal rotations. And Dick—of course—invited you to game night next week with a wink and a warning: “Lose to Damian at your own risk.”

Jason looked like he was developing a migraine.

He sat beside you on the long couch in the grand living room, shoulders hunched like a man awaiting trial. Laughter echoed around the walls—walls he used to call cold and empty. 

Now they rang with bickering, teasing, warmth.

You nudged him gently with your elbow, barely hiding your smile. “Still want to fake my death and move to the Alps?”

Jason glanced at you.

Then at Damian, practically glued to your side like an emotionally constipated barnacle.

Then at Tim, who was deep in concentration trying to download your favorite show onto the Batcomputer, muttering about file formats and codec errors.

Then at Bruce—stoic, silent Bruce—watching his family with a small, unmistakable smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Jason sighed. A long, suffering sound, that was too dramatic to be sincere.

“…Yes.”

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[sun13koi]

★𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓻𝓸★

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★ My name’s Will, but you can also call me Sunny, or any variation of my user name (or, with permission, nicknames)

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★ Birthday: Jan 17 (Capricorn)

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[storiesbyshadow]

Nowhere Left To Run

Fandom: Love and Deepspace

Pairing: Sylus x Reader

Rating: Mature

Tags: Angst, Fluff, Blood, Injury, Crying, Guns, Wanderers, Being Chased, Vulnerable Sylus, and I think that's it.

Word Count: 500+

Divider By: Sylus Divider - @thecutestgrotto | DNC Divider - @saradika-graphics | Support Divider - @cafekitsune

Twisted steel reached out like fingers from the earth, and the air reeked of ozone, blood, and old war.

Every step you took crunched shattered glass and bone beneath your boots. Your breaths came in short, panicked bursts, and your heart thundered so loudly you were certain the Wanderers could hear it.

You didn’t mean to come this far. You didn’t want to be here alone. But the others needed the power cell, and you thought, you hoped you were fast enough to slip in and out unnoticed.

You were wrong.

The first scream came behind you. Then the skittering. Then the shadows started moving.

They chased you through rusted corridors and half-collapsed bridges, your legs pumping, your lungs on fire. You didn’t look back, you knew what you’d see.

And then, the fall.

Your foot caught a loose pipe, and suddenly you were airborne. You landed hard. Metal split your skin open in a jagged gash down your thigh. The pain was blinding. You bit your fist to keep from screaming as blood soaked through your pants.

“No, no, no…” you whimpered, trying to crawl toward cover. But your leg dragged uselessly behind you.

The howls grew closer.

You pressed your back to a cold wall, shaking, vision swimming with pain and fear. You weren’t ready to die. Not like this. Not alone.

“Please,” you choked out, tears slipping down your cheeks. “Someone… anyone…”

And then...

Boom!

A deafening blast echoed through the corridor. One Wanderer’s head snapped backward in a spray of black mist. Another dropped before it could screech.

“Y/N!”

You knew that voice.

“Sylus…” you whispered, barely able to lift your head.

He was like a storm. Unrelenting. Focused. Deadly. His rifle fired again and again as he advanced, boots crunching over broken debris and bodies. When the last creature fell, silence took over, except for your rasping breath and his hurried steps.

He was at your side in seconds.

“God-” He dropped to his knees, yanking off his gloves and tearing at your makeshift bandage. “What the hell were you thinking?!”

“I… I didn’t want you to worry…”

“You think not telling me would make me worry less?” His voice cracked. You looked up at him, and for the first time, you saw it.

Fear.

Raw, undiluted fear in his eyes.

“You’re bleeding too fast,” his voice was shaky as he muttered, more to himself. “Stay with me, kitten. Please.”

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered. “I didn’t want to be a burden.”

His jaw clenched. “You’re not a burden. You never were,” he growled.

He lifted you into his arms. You sobbed softly against his chest. Whether from the pain or the comfort, you weren’t sure. But you felt his hand trembling against your back.

“I thought I was going to lose you,” he whispered into your hair. “And I don’t think I’d survive that.”

You buried your face in his shoulder. “I was so scared…”

“I know. I’m here now.”

He carried you out of the zone, mile after painful mile, never once setting you down, never once letting go.

You woke up later in a dim, quiet shelter. Warm blankets tucked around you, your leg stitched and clean. Rain tapped gently on the metal roof overhead.

Sylus sat beside your cot, exhausted, his head resting on the edge of the mattress. One of his hands was still holding yours, like he’d never let go.

When your fingers twitched, his head shot up.

“You’re awake,” he breathed, voice shaking.

You nodded weakly. “I’m okay…?”

“You will be. You’re safe now.” He reached out and brushed your hair from your forehead, his thumb lingering.

“Are you… mad at me?”

“Only if you ever try to do something that reckless again without me.” He gave you a weak smile. “Because the truth is, I need you just as much as you clearly need to be protected.”

You blinked away more tears, and he leaned down slowly, pressing his forehead to yours.

“I’ve lost too much already,” he whispered. “I won’t lose you too.”

You wrapped your fingers around his and pulled him just a little closer.

“You won’t,” you whispered back. “You came for me. You always do.”

And in that quiet moment, with the storm fading outside and the warmth of his breath on your cheek, you realized: you weren’t alone anymore.

And never would be again.