#going through it but things. will...be okay...probably???

[whytheylosttheirminds]

make this place your home - r.c.

Rafe Cameron x Maybank!reader

summary: Rafe has been begging you to move in with him, but when you finally show him the place your heart belongs to, he realizes he'd do anything to make you happy.

content: fluff, angst, a drizzle of spice, semi-canon obx if you were to eliminate some pretty important things lol

cw: mentions of blood and injury, suggestive comments, closed-door romance, mentions of abusive parents (Luke)

note: my contribution to @zyafics mrga campaign <3

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“Don’t open your eyes yet!” 

“I’m gonna trip over something and fall on my ass. Or run into something. This is The Cut, who knows what junk is just lying around. I’m gonna get tetris or some shit.”

You laughed out loud. Rafe nearly opened his eyes to figure out why.

“See, now you’re laughing at me, you better not be doing some dumb shit to me for a Tiktok,” he warned.

“Oh my god, you’re such a baby, calm down,” you chuckled. “I’m laughing because you’re cute. It’s tetanus, not tetris.”

He should feel embarrassed, but the sound of your laugh and of you calling him cute calmed every muscle in his body. You were a balm that went straight to his agitated heart.

You were the only one who could disarm him when he got irritated like this. You told him once that you don’t take his bad moods personally because you can see them for what they are - he’s not angry, he’s anxious. He realized then that you’re the only person who’d ever really understood him, that you might understand him better than he understands himself. 

It’s why his shoulders relax now, it’s why he can take a deep breath. There was no one else in the world who could convince him to let them drive his boat while he’s blindfolded or walk through the tall, marshy grass without knowing where he was going. Only you.

“Can I open my eyes now?” He asked.

“We’re not there yet,” you shook your head, hand still on his arm to lead him closer to your surprise. “You can go one more minute without seeing where you’re going.”

“Maybe, but I don’t know if I can go another minute without seeing you,” he flirted.

You smiled, tempted to rip the blindfold off him and forget all about the surprise. Too bad for him you already knew all his tricks.

“Nice try, Cameron.”

As you got closer, your stomach twisted. Maybe this was stupid. After all, wouldn’t it be underwhelming to Rafe after all he’s seen? This place meant so much to you, you didn’t know if you could handle any criticism from him. You considered turning around, but you’d already made such a big deal out of this, how would you explain it to him?

“Okay, this is a good spot, I guess,” you said, your voice shaking with trepidation.

“You good?” Rafe asked. Of course he could tell your mood shifted without even looking at you.

“Yeah, I think, just open your eyes.” At this point you just wanted to get his inevitable disappointment over with.

Slowly, Rafe opened his eyes. He blinked a few times to adjust to the blinding Carolina sunlight before finally sizing up your big reveal.

It was your house, the one he’d been to a hundred times before - sneaking into your window so your brother wouldn’t hear, showing up in the night to investigate when you “heard a noise,” defending you from Luke when he got violent. Except, this wasn’t the same house. It was bigger, for one. And slightly bigger, with new walls, new roof, and a big, hand painted flag in your brother’s handwriting: “Poguelandia.” 

It wasn’t much, but it was your dream come true. In your eyes, you may as well have been standing in front of a magic castle. As you watched Rafe’s expression stay completely unchanged you realized that to him, it probably still looked like some shitty shack on The Cut. You wished you never brought him here.

“This is what you guys have been working on this whole time?” He asked, still looking at the house and not at you.

“Yeah, I mean, and the store,” you gestured to the dock behind you where you and your friends had built yourselves a small business. Another thing that would surely seem pathetic compared to what Rafe was used to.

“It’s nice, I like it,” Rafe said.

“No it’s okay, you don’t have to lie,” you said, voice small. You started to turn to leave. “I shouldn’t have made such a big deal out of it, let’s just go-”

“Hey, woah, woah,” Rafe interrupted you gently.

He approached you from behind, arms twisting around your waist, forcing you to turn back and look at your home. He had to duck down to slot his chin into your shoulder, swaying you both gently.

“If I had to come all this way, I think I at least deserve the grand tour, don’t I?” he mumbled into your ear.

Your smile returned, you nuzzled your cheek into his, heart swelling.

“I guess, if you insist,” you said with a cheeky grin.

“I do,” he nodded, tickling your neck with his buzzed hair. He tilted his head down to place a sloppy kiss into the crook of your shoulder. “I’m especially looking forward to seeing your bedroom.”

“You mean the one I share with your sister?” 

He groaned, “why do you torture me like this?”

“Because it’s fun.” You twisted away from his hold and slid your hand down his arm to interlock your fingers with his.

Rafe followed you onto the porch. You paused at the front door for dramatic effect.

“Hello MTV, welcome to my crib!”

Rafe smiled as you cracked up at your own joke, but his momentary joy turned sour when you opened the door and revealed an unwelcome sight on the other side; the Pogues.

The lively discussion that had been filling your shared living room stopped dead in its tracks. The room turned cold. Six icy stares were aimed in your boyfriend’s direction.

You understood why they disliked him so much. He didn’t put much effort into changing their minds. But he’d changed yours. And though you’d tried for years not to, you loved him. Neither of you had said it yet, but you knew it was true, at least for you. 

There had been countless arguments between you and your brother and the shared friends that were basically family about Rafe. Countless fights you’d stopped between JJ and Rafe, countless nights begging Rafe just to try a little harder, begging JJ just to give him a chance. They both cared for you enough not to kill each other, but it was a reluctant ceasefire. A fragile peace you were always vigilant to protect. A truce that could be broken at any moment. You prayed this wasn’t that moment.

“Sorry, I didn’t think you guys were home,” you explained. The six pogues shared concerned glances with each other, something unsaid that you felt had nothing to do with you walking in with their least favorite person. “What’s going on?”

Kie stood, shot a brief but blazing glare towards Rafe, and handed you a piece of paper. You read it carefully, your eyebrows creased in confusion that was slowly morphing into great concern. Rafe read over your shoulder.

It was an official warning from the Kildare City Council. The land you were standing on and the home you’d built would be rezoned. They were taking Poguelandia.

“What the hell?” You shouted. “Can they actually do this?”

“Looks like they already are,” John B confirmed.

“No, no. There has to be something we can -”

“There’s not!” JJ stood from his seat at the far end of the room. 

You could see it all over his face, the anger that was always lying just beneath the surface starting to make its way to the top. Everyone thought of JJ as a happy-go-lucky, silly, mischievous kid. And he was all those things, but he was something else, something only you really saw; a hurt kid who never healed. 

“There’s never something we can do,” JJ continued, stalking slowly toward you, but keeping his eyes locked on Rafe the whole time. “Not when Kooks are involved. They always win.”

“Back up, Maybank,” Rafe snarled, looking down at JJ, who’d gotten close enough to break the barrier of Rafe’s personal space. 

You stepped between them instinctually, a move you’d made a hundred times before. 

“Stop.” You put a gentle hand on JJ’s chest to back him up, but he didn’t budge. “This isn’t his fault, J.”

“How do we know that, huh?” JJ finally tore his eyes off Rafe to look at you. “How do we know he’s not behind it somehow? Trying to steal our land for another bougie ass development project. You can’t trust these people, sis. How many times do we have to get screwed by them before you realize it?”

You and your brother looked at each other for a long time. The rest of the room watched as the two of you seemed to have a conversation none of them could hear; the unspoken language of siblings who’d been to hell and back together.

After a long moment, you turned your gaze toward Rafe.

���Do- do you know anything about this?” You asked him hesitantly. 

His face fell. A series of emotions flashed across his features so quickly, you were sure you were the only one in the room who caught them all; surprise, betrayal, hurt, anger, and finally, back to his go-to: detached stoicism.

“That’s really what you think of me? That I’d do something like this?” His tone was even, his voice far away even though you were inches apart.

You knew you’d hurt him by even entertaining the idea that he’d betray you like this. But this ground was shaky, and you had been screwed over by Kooks your entire life. The trust you put in him did not come easy, and sometimes it wavered, even though he’d never given it any reason to.

Rafe’s jaw clenched when you didn’t answer. He nodded once, his lips twisting into the kind of smile that had absolutely no joy behind it. 

“Unbelievable.” He muttered.

He took one last searing look around the room, twelve hateful eyes met him, and he didn’t look at your watery ones before turning and storming out of the house, the newly installed screen door banging shut behind him.

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Your knees were tucked all the way to your chest, your chin resting on them as you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to manufacture any sort of comfort. It wasn’t working.

The zone change notice sat on the bed in front of you. You read it over and over, as though if you just wanted it badly enough, the words would change into something less devastating. 

You were going to lose your home. You’d probably lost the love of your life, before you could even tell him he was the love of your life. Your brother was one step from completely falling over the edge, the rocky path toward destruction that you’d pulled him back from your whole lives getting steeper by the minute. A few hours ago you were excitedly cleaning this room so you could show Rafe. How could so much change in so little time?

A knock at the door pulled you from your spiraling thoughts.

“Come in,” you said quietly.

The door creaked slightly despite it being brand new. Sarah tiptoed into the room gently, searching you for any signs of distress.

“Sar, you don’t have to knock to come into your own room,” you told her.

“I know, I just thought maybe you needed some space.”

You shook your head and scooted over on the bed to make space for her. She took your invitation with a smile and settled in next to you.

“So…how’s your day going?” She asked in a singy-songy voice.

You both erupted in bittersweet laughter.

“Oh y’know, I’ve had better.”

She nudged your arm with her elbow.

“Everything’s gonna be okay, you know.” She assured you.

“Is it though? I mean really, Sar, is it?” No laughter hung in the air now. “I mean, what if I just lost my home and my boyfriend? Or worse, what if I just lost my home to my boyfriend.”

“You really think Rafe would’ve done something like this?” She asked.

“I don’t know. I mean, I don’t want to. You heard him though, when I asked him about it, he didn’t deny it.”

Sarah sighed, a deep exhale that usually signaled she was about to say something she didn’t want to.

“What?” You prodded. 

“Look, I’m not my brother’s biggest fan, you know that,” she began.

“Um yes, you’ve made that very clear,” you chuckled, thinking of all the times Sarah had warned you not to get involved with Rafe. 

“But, just this one time, I’m going to…” She paused dramatically, her eyes screwed shut with reluctance. “...defend him.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Be honest, how hard was that for you to say?” You teased.

“I’m holding back vomit right now,” she laughed.

“Well then defend him quickly before you yack on my bed.”

“Okay, I just,” she paused to consider her words carefully. “I know you know Rafe really well. I mean you’re the only one he’s ever really let in, so you probably know him better than anyone. But I’ve known him longer than anyone. I’ve seen every version of him. I knew Rafe before he met you, and now I know him after he met you, and believe me when I tell you, those two are not the same guy. As cliche as it sounds, you changed him.”

You sat in silence, letting the words settle over you, surprised by how emotional they were making you. You willed the tears forming in your eyes not to fall.

“Don’t get me wrong, he’s still a dick,” Sarah added. You were grateful for a reason to laugh before you started crying. “But he’s not the same. There was a time where I’d say ‘absolutely, Rafe definitely did this just to screw us over,’ but not anymore. Not since he fell in love with you.”

You looked up in surprise, the tears at your lash line threatening to finally spill over.

“You think he loves me?”

“Girl, be so for real. That man has never looked at anyone the way he looks at you. Believe me, he’s yours.”

Your heart skipped, and the tears finally fell. You rose from the bed so suddenly, Sarah almost fell back onto the mattress. You didn’t know what had taken over you, just that you needed to go, now. Everything in you was being pulled toward him, like sand being dragged back out to sea by the tide. If you spent one more minute of your life without him knowing what you were so certain of now, you might not make it.

Sarah smiled at you, she read it all over your face.

“Go!” She urged.

“Love you!” You shouted over your shoulder as you raced out of your bedroom.

“Love you too, you freak,” she smiled to herself, knowing you were already long gone.

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Where could he have gone? Your mind flipped through all the possibilities as you ran across the lawn toward the dock. JJ would probably be pissed that you took The Snapper without asking first, but didn’t even care about that right now. You just needed to find Rafe.

You didn’t have to search for long.

As soon as your feet hit the wooden dock, they stopped in their tracks.

At the end of the pier sat Rafe’s boat bobbing in the water. The long figure of your boyfriend leaned over the bow. You watched with a big, bright smile as he untied the line, then retied it, then untied it, and retied it once more. He was clearly having a silent disagreement with himself. All that mattered to you was that he hadn’t left.

You approached slowly, avoiding the planks in the dock you knew would creak and give away your presence. The closer you got to him, the faster your heart beat. The words you were dying to say sat perched at the end of your tongue, you knew they wouldn’t be able to hang on much longer. 

Half way through untying the boat again, Rafe stopped and sighed.

“Need a push?” You said.

His eyes shot up to yours, startled. Tension filled his shoulders as he took you in, his shock quickly fading to something softer, yet still unsure.

“That depends,” he squinted in the sun to see you better. 

God, he was gorgeous. You could not let him get away.

“Depends on what?” You played along.

“If my girlfriend will forgive me for being a dismissive prick,” he said.

You forced your lips not to twist into a smile, pretending to consider his words.

“I think she might. If you forgive her first,” you said.

His eyes softened, lips twitching. You were both failing not to smile at each other now. 

Rafe finally tied up the boat for good, hopping up onto the dock. You admired every movement of his body as it drew closer to yours. When he reached you, he placed his hands on your waist, your arms drawing up to wrap around his neck, stretching up on your tiptoes to get as close to him as possible.

“She has nothing to apologize for. The only home she’s ever known is being threatened. She’s just scared. I get that.”

Every word fanned over you like a soft summer breeze. Your heart warmed, impossibly full despite all the anxieties today had brought. He just got you, he understood without you having to say it. This must be the closest two people can get to making magic, you thought.

“Thank you,” you let your head fall forward to rest on his chest. He kissed the top of your head.

“Everything’s gonna be okay,” he whispered into your hair.

You looked back up at him, shaking your head. 

“How is everything gonna be okay, Rafe? What if there really is nothing we can do? I mean, who’s even behind this?”

Rafe didn’t answer, but one name popped into his mind. Even with his suspicions, he didn’t know if he could help you. Helplessness was the feeling he despised more than any other, especially when it came to you.

“I don’t know,” he said, his heart breaking at the despairing look on your face. “But you’ve still got me. You could always move into the condo with me, like I’ve been begging you for months.”

“Can I bring my friends with me?” You scrunched up your nose, hoping he’d find you cute enough to say yes.

“I love you, but there’s no way in hell…”

A bolt of lightning shot through you, goosebumps erupting over your entire body. Did he really just say…?

He instantly read the shock on your face, but there was no look of regret on his.

“What? Haven’t I said I love you before?” 

“Umm, no, I think I would’ve remembered that!” You couldn’t help the big, goofy grin taking over your whole face.

“Oh, well that’s weird,” he shrugged, his hands sliding from your waist to your lower back, wrapping his strong arms around you and lifting you off your feet. “Because I do love you, so fucking much.” 

You yelped as he lifted you into the air, head falling back in laughter as he almost tumbled you both off the dock in his effort to sweep you off your feet.

You looked down at him and he lowered you slowly, tucking his head into the crook of your neck, arms still wrapped around each other like you’d never let go. You stood there embracing for a long time, so long that the sun was starting to set, casting a golden shimmer across the water. 

Finally you said, “I never gave you the grand tour.”

“And I was really looking forward to seeing your crib,” he teased, his lips brushing against the skin of your neck when he talked.

“Well, c’mon then.” You grabbed his hand, leading him back toward the house, both of you buzzing with the excitement that there was something much better than a tour waiting for you inside.

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“...And this is John B and JJ’s room,” you opened the door only a crack, afraid to unleash the stench that permanently filled the space. “They insisted on getting bunk beds even though they’re, like, forty. And Pope insisted on having his own room because, as he said, ‘JJ is a walking biohazard.’ Which is…fair.”

Rafe was just watching you with adoration as you showed him around the house. He was barely looking at the rooms you were showing him because he was so focused on the way you glowed with joy. It was true that he wanted you to move to Bayline with him, it was his life’s goal to get you there, actually, but he had to admit that you seemed like you really belonged here. He’d never seen you look more at home. 

“And this is our gallery wall.” You gestured to the display of framed photographs hanging in the upstairs hallway.

Rafe surveyed them dutifully with his hands tucked politely behind his back, like an old man in an art museum. Most of the photographs were of you and the pogues at various times in your life. Out fishing in the marsh, riding dirt bikes, post-surf at the beach. You admired the way Rafe was looking so intently and resisting the urge to grimace at so many photos of you with his once sworn enemies.

He explored the wall, eyes lingering on any photo of you a little longer than the rest. The hall continued to lead down toward your bedroom. At the very end, in a high corner, just above a series of photo booth pictures you’d taken with Sarah and Kie last summer, hung a delicate circular frame featuring a worn-out picture almost too small to see. Rafe leaned in for a better look.

In the photo, which was a tad faded and clearly taken several years ago, was a young guy, probably about 30, holding two young kids on his lap. The slightly bigger one, a boy, held up a trout he’d just caught, flashing a toothless grin. The little girl beamed at the man holding her.

It took Rafe a moment, but when he felt your weight shift next to him uncomfortably, he put it all together. The photo was you, JJ, and Luke. Probably the only one you had. And despite everything Luke had put you through, you’d hung it on the wall to see everyday.

Rafe turned to you, you were looking down at your feet, toes digging anxiously into the rug. His heart ached. If anyone knew what it was like to have a complicated relationship with their father, it was him. The fact that you’d still given Luke some dignity in this house he almost destroyed so many times said so much about you, and reminded him why he loved you so much.

“You wanna show me your room now?” He asked gently.

You looked up at him with glassy eyes and a small smile, “yeah.”

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The door clicked closed softly. Rafe took in the room, immediately identifying which bed was yours and which bed (the messy, half-made one) was his sister’s.

“Sarah doesn’t spend much time in here,” you admitted.

“No?” He asked, keeping his eyes off of you, the closed door suddenly adding a nervous energy to the room he wasn’t expecting.

“She mainly sleeps with John B.” Rafe grimaced, you hurried to reassure him. “Like, in his bed I mean, or his bunk I guess. Not, like sleep with him sleep with him, although I’m sure there’s plenty of that -”

“I’m literally begging you to stop talking,” he said, his eyes finding the ceiling, no doubt trying to erase the mental picture you just created for him.

“Sorry,” you chuckled.

Rafe wandered around the room some more, taking in all your decorations. He never understood why someone could collect so many knick-knacks that seemed to be worth nothing, but there was something endearing about it that drew him to you even more. Just another in a long line of things that would annoy him with someone else, but enchanted him with you.

As your time alone in the room dragged on, the air became tenser. You felt yourself watching him, but unable to move, back pressed up against the door, frozen in anticipation. 

You and Rafe had been alone together before - and you had been together before - but something had shifted out on that dock. Something that you knew you couldn’t take back, and didn’t want to. In fact, you only wanted to solidify it more.

“Rafe,” you said softly, finally pulling his attention away from your decor.

He looked up at you expectantly, like he had been waiting for you to give him permission to. He didn’t respond, just walked slowly toward you, his eyes on yours the whole way. Your heart was beating out of your chest.

“I don’t know why I’m so nervous,” you said, trying to laugh to break the tension, though the sound came out more like a hiccup.

“Has something changed?” He wondered aloud.

“Yeah, I guess it has.” You chewed on your bottom lip. “Because today I realized two important things.”

“What two things?” He asked, surprised, and a little alarmed, by your answer.

“The first is that this is my home, and that in a way, it will always be my home. And yet at the same time, I also realized that you’re my future, and I love you.”

Rafe’s smile spread slowly, like he was taking in each word one at a time. His blue eyes sparkled - like actually sparkled - with joy. Maybe you were imagining it, but it didn’t matter, you just wanted him to keep looking at you like that.

“Oh you love me, huh?” His voice was low and dangerous, he stepped closer until he was towering over you.

“Yeah, haven’t I said that before?” You echoed his words from earlier back to him.

He just shook his head at you, tucking his tongue in the corner of his cheek to try and tame his smile. His hands found your waist like they were made to fit there. His voice carried down to your very core as he leaned in.

“You know you can’t take it back now, right?” 

“Why would I take it back? I mean it, Rafe, with everything I have. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

And he showed you. His body enveloping yours as he backed you up against the door and kissed you deeply. A whole new energy between you now, your need and your affection for each other stronger than ever. 

Before you could get carried away, footsteps on the stairs reminded you of a very crucial step of bringing your boyfriend home. 

“Wait, hold on.” You pulled away from Rafe and he frowned. His disappointment was so cute you were tempted to kiss the pout right off of him, but first you rummaged through a drawer in you and Sarah’s shared dresser.

“What is that?” Rafe asked when you pulled out a conch shell glued to a piece of twine.

“Just a little system Sarah and I have.” You winked at him, opening the door just a crack to hang the shell from the doorknob.

“Do I want to know?” Rafe asked.

“I don’t know, do you want to talk more about your sister’s love life, or work on ours?” You bit back your smile when he cringed at your words, suddenly realizing Sarah’s use for the shell with a shudder.

“You’re lucky I love you,” he said, before scooping you up and carrying you over his shoulder, just to drop you on the bed with a bounce.

“Yes, I am,” you smiled up at him.

And he showed you, over and over, just how lucky you were.

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It was different this time, more passionate, more intense, more everything. And when he held you after, whispering more I love you’s into your hair, and neck, and the side of your face, you knew it must’ve felt the same for him, too.

You laid tucked into his side, his arm wrapped around your shoulders so he could intertwine his fingers with yours as you both stared up at the ceiling in pure bliss.

You sighed a happy, airy sigh and nuzzled closer to him.

“You know I just mean for now, right?” You said.

He twisted his neck at what must’ve been an uncomfortable angle to try and see your face.

“You just love me for now?” He asked, incredulous.

“No, no!” You couldn’t help but laugh. “Sorry, no, that’s not what I meant. I meant to say, this is just my home for now.”

“Oh, okay,” he rested his head back onto the pillow. “That’s better, I guess.”

You sat up, shuffling through the sheets so you could see him. You brought your legs up and sat criss cross on the bed next to him. Rafe lazily reached out a hand to tuck your hair behind your ear as he waited for the words he knew you were trying to formulate. He loved that you thought so hard before speaking, always determined to say what you mean. You loved that he waited to hear what you had to say, a patience he reserved almost exclusively for you.

“I know it must seem weird,” you began, “that I’m so attached to a place with so many bad memories. And I know you want me to live with you, and I want that too, eventually. But you have to understand, for so much of my life, it was just me and JJ. It was just us in this house. Even though a lot of it was us hiding from Luke or fending for ourselves when he didn’t come home for days at a time, there are good memories hidden in all the bad ones. Like, at the bottom of the stairs, there’s a spot where JJ and I accidentally ran our sled into the wall when we were stair-surfing. We covered it with chewed bubblegum and colored it in with marker, and Luke never noticed. Or in the kitchen, there’s tally marks under the countertop where we used to keep track of how many beers Luke had so we knew when it was time to go to John B’s for the night. And on the old dock, where our store is now, we made each other a pinky promise that someday we’d grow up and make something of ourselves and buy this house right out from under him. And we did it! And now, they’re just going to, what, take it away? Punish us for rising above the low expectations that they set for us? We were hurt here, yeah. But we also survived here. We did it together. I can’t leave that, or him, not now, not yet.”

Rafe drank in your words, and when tears came, he didn’t wipe them away or tell you to stop crying, he just let them fall. Let you feel what you needed to feel. His hand stayed firmly rested on your leg, there to hold only if you wanted it.

Through sobs you finally said, “this is our home, Rafe. We’re gonna lose our home.”

He’d heard enough. He stood from the bed quickly, pulling on his khakis and polo wordlessly.

“Where are you going?” 

Rafe turned to look at you, saw the worry in your eyes and leaned over your bed so his face was level with yours. You would have been frightened by the steel in his eyes if you weren’t so excited by it.

“You asked me how it was going to be okay, right?” He said, voice low and tinged with danger. 

You just nodded, unsure what to make of this sudden change in demeanor. 

“It’s going to be okay because I’m going to make it okay.”

With that he stood and stalked toward the door, stopping to look at you one more time.

“Get some sleep, yeah? I’ll be back in a bit.”

You didn’t bother to ask where he was going, you knew he wasn’t going to tell you. When he had a plan like this, there was no slowing him down. Usually, his plans were self-serving. He was a strategist, like his father. Only now, it seemed, you were the beneficiary of his plot, and you weren’t sure what to expect.

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It sure as hell wasn’t the doorbell ringing at two in the morning. 

It had started to storm and the thunder was rumbling through the house. It took a few rings before you could even hear the doorbell over the sound of the rain. Sarah lay on one side of you, Kie on the other, Cleo at the foot of the bed. They’d come to comfort you after Rafe left and you all cried yourself to sleep talking about the future of Poguelandia.

You accidentally kicked Cleo when you got up, who then kicked Sarah, who reached over and hit Kie in the arm as if it was her fault. Everyone was awake now.

“Noise. Bad. Make it stop,” Sarah grumbled into her pillow. 

“Hit me again and I’ll make you stop breathing,” Kie said, her threat a little deflated considering she made it with her eyes still closed.

The doorbell rang out again, in rapid succession this time, causing everyone to groan and cover their ears.

“Who the hell rings the doorbell at 2 a.m.?” Sarah whined.

“If it’s those goddamn Jehovah’s Witnesses again, I’m gonna shove their little pamphlet down their throats,” Cleo said.

“I’ll get it,” you said through a yawn.

“Wait, you’re gonna go alone?” Kie grabbed your hand to pull you back.

“What if you get murdered?” Sarah said, sitting up and rubbing her eyes.

Kie and Sarah both climbed out of bed with you, but Cleo didn’t budge.

“If you get murdered let me know,” she said, pulling the blankets tighter around her. “I will avenge you.”

Kie rolled her eyes and pulled the blankets off Cleo, Sarah grabbed her hand to drag her from the bed.

“You’re coming with us, babe,” Sarah said over Cleo’s protests. “And bring your knife.”

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Lightning struck somewhere across the marsh at the exact second the door flew open. You and all three girls, wrapped in your blankets and holding various kitchen utensils, screamed at the sight on the other side. A dark figure of a man stood on the front porch, too far from the light for anyone to make out his identity. Cleo stepped in front of you all with her knife wielded.

“Hey! You better show yourself or get lost,” she shouted at the figure. 

As the man slowly made his way into the flickering porch light, you realized you recognized the broad curve of those shoulders, the slope of that neck.

“Rafe,” you whispered.

Just as you identified him, the porch light swept across his face, and all four of you gasped. 

The same places on his face you’d laid gentle kisses just a few hours ago were now black and blue, except in the places they were bloody. And he wasn’t walking slowly toward the light, he was limping, barely able to stand. He leaned against the door frame, holding his right hand in his left, his knuckles were raw and wounded. 

“Rafe!” You repeated, pushing past your friends to get to him. You tried to support his weight but you couldn’t manage it alone. Sarah came to his other side to help catch him as he stumbled forward.

Kie, however, took a defensive step backward, her arms crossed over her chest. Cleo kept her knife raised.

“Think you can put down the knife now, babe,” Sarah told her.

“You never know,” Cleo said, narrowing her eyes at Rafe.

“Cleo, look at him,” you scolded. 

She gave Rafe a once over, finally determining he wasn’t a threat in this state.

“Let’s get him on the couch,” you told Sarah. “Quickly, before he falls.”

Cleo stepped away to allow you to walk Rafe further into the living room. Kie created more distance between herself and your bloodied house guest. You searched her face quickly, it was a mixture of alarm and defensiveness. You could see the decision as it was being made, you tried to stop her but you were too late.

“Kie, wait!” 

But she was already running up the stairs, surely to wake the boys. There was no version of these circumstances that would be made better by your half-awake, hotheaded brother.

You and Sarah finally got Rafe on the couch. He leaned forward, grimacing in pain as he propped his head in his hands. You knelt in front of him, trying to find his eyes with yours.

“Rafe, baby, what happened? Are you okay? Please talk to me.”

You placed your hands on his legs, rubbing soothing circles, begging him to fill the silence with an explanation. You looked at Sarah with pure panic in your eyes, she looked back with concern. Whether it was for you or for her brother, you weren’t sure.

“Rafe, it’s okay, whatever it is, you can tell us,” she encouraged him.

You’d never been more thankful for your best friend. You knew how much it took for her to offer him comfort like that.

You reached up to cup Rafe’s cheek in your hand, touching gently so as to not worsen his pain.

“Please, baby, what happened?”

He finally looked at you, and your heart skipped a beat. You thought maybe he was going to confess something terrible, or else cry out in agony. But instead, he just smiled that soft, sleepy half-smile of his and placed his hand over top of yours, caressing your skin with his thumb.

“I made it okay,” he whispered to you.

Before you could react, footsteps thundered down the stairs behind you, the fury of their descent louder than the storm outside.

“What the hell is going on?” JJ bellowed.

“What are you doing here, Cameron?” Pope followed up.

John B rushed to Sarah’s side, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“Everything okay?” He asked the both of you.

“I don’t know,” you shook your head, rising to sit next to Rafe on the couch, slipping your hand into his. The sight only enraged JJ further.

“You have ten seconds to explain yourself and stop bleeding on our fucking couch, Rafe.” JJ barked.

“Jay, can’t you see he’s obviously hurt?” You snapped at your brother.

“Looks more like he did the hurting,” JJ replied.

“You don’t know that! You always assume the worst!” You yelled.

“Because he is the worst!” JJ yelled right back.

You stood in anger, ready to fight your own brother in defense of the man at your side. But Rafe grabbed your hand and pulled you back towards him, not lifting his head as he held you in place. His other hand reached into his back pocket, pulling out a piece of paper that had been folded to protect it from the rain.

Rafe looked up finally, but not at you, at JJ. He extended his arm to offer JJ the piece of paper. 

JJ tiptoed over as if Rafe had somehow booby trapped the floorboards between them. You rolled your eyes at his dramatics.

With all eyes on him, and no sound but the storm outside, JJ unfolded the piece of paper. He read it for a long time. Like, a really long time. The little sister in you had to bite back a joke about his intellect, and you met eyes with Pope to see he was holding back the same comment. Even in this incredibly adult moment, you were kids together.

Finally, JJ looked up from the paper. Staring incredulously at Rafe.

“Is this for real?” JJ asked him, eyebrows raised.

Rafe just nodded, the movement causing the cut on his lip to open, making him wince in pain. You sat down beside him again, watching him anxiously for signs that he was hurt elsewhere. 

JJ just stared at the two of you for a moment before turning and leaving the room, dropping the piece of paper on the coffee table as he left. Pope and John B went to it immediately to read what had caused JJ to storm out, but you didn’t even care at this point, all that mattered was Rafe being okay, you needed him to be okay.

Except, JJ hadn’t stormed out. He had only gone to the kitchen, from which he was now returning, a bottle of whiskey and a bag of frozen peas in hand. He offered both to Rafe, Rafe opted for the whiskey. He twisted open the cap and took a sip, wincing as it went down.

You grabbed the peas from your brother, holding them up to Rafe’s black eye. He flinched at the contact but settled after a minute. JJ watched as Rafe placed his hand on your leg gratefully and handed back the bottle of whiskey.

“What’s the bourbon for? Drowning our sorrows?” Cleo asked.

“No,” John B said, he and Pope looking up from the paper with disbelieving grins. “Celebrating.”

“What does it say?” Kie asked, stepping further into the room, though she continued to eye Rafe like he was a wild animal that could go feral at any minute.

“We got the land back. They’re not rezoning,” Pope explained. “We’re keeping Poguelandia.”

The room froze for a minute, then erupted in a burst of hoots and hollers. Finally, the storm had some noise to compete with. The others hugged and cheered. Sarah rose from the couch and threw herself into John B’s arms.

“How’d you do it, man?” John B asked Rafe.

“Don’t worry about it,” Rafe said, squeezing your leg three times. “I just took care of it, okay?”

He sounded aggressive, like he always did when addressing these six people, but you saw this for what it really was - a peace offering. A grand gesture. A declaration of his love for you. He gave you your home back, he gave you everything. 

As the others continued to celebrate, the volume in the house reaching new heights as they passed around the bottle of whiskey and toasted Poguelandia, you leaned into Rafe, your chin tucked into his shoulder so you could whisper something in his ear.

He smiled at your words, raising his arm to wrap around your shoulders and curling you toward him so he could bring his lips to your temple.

“I love you, too.”

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a/n: had to come out of retirement for this one, missed my boy too much. and holy shit did I have fun writing for rafey again. also this is as canon as I'll write Rafe lol

oh, and what did rafe have to do to get Poguelandia back? That stays between me and him xoxo

[demie90s]

Can you write a reader x UConn team and reader has like no filter like they could be in the most serious moment and reader would say something out of pocket

Why she got a mic?

UConn WBB Team x Fem!Reader

MASTERLIST | MORE

Summary: Me. The team’s walking HR violation. No matter the mood, you will say something that has the whole team side-eyeing, laughing, or questioning reality.

Word Count: ~ 0.5k

Genre: Comedy, Team Fluff, Mild Crack

Warnings: Cussing, chaos, suggestiveness, mentions of thirst, reader being out of pocket at all times

The mic wasn’t even all the way clipped to your jersey before you started talking.

“So like…y’all gon’ feed us after this right? ‘Cause I don’t wanna sound ungrateful but that little fruit tray y’all gave us pregame made me feel like a parrot.”

You were dead serious. Meanwhile, the rest of the UConn team was already doing synchronized neck turns to Geno, who stared ahead like maybe if he focused hard enough he could astral project into retirement.

The reporter chuckled awkwardly. “Right, well—uh—let’s talk about the game. You had a breakout performance in the third quarter. What clicked?”

You nodded solemnly. “I had to pee real bad so I was tryna hurry up and get off the court. Y’all saw me running? That was urgency. It’s called motivation.”

Laughter broke out across the room. Aubrey dropped her head into her hands. Nika was crying silently.

Someone else raised their hand—braver than most.

“You guys really shut down USC’s offense tonight. What went into that defensive game plan?”

You tilted your head. “I mean, yeah. I saw that. USC good and all…but not as good as us so like…I don’t really care. Sorry.”

Caroline leaned in with a PR-smile. “What she means is we watched a lot of film and trusted each other—”

“No,” you cut in. “That’s not what I meant. I said what I said.”

The reporter blinked. “A-And uh—Aubrey, you had a great night on the boards…”

You slouched in your chair. “Yeah, and yet still no date.”

Aubrey snapped her head toward you. “Yo—”

“I told her, I said, ‘If God see fit and we win tonight, you gon’ say yes’—and we did. We won. And she still didn’t say yes. So she fake but that’s between her and the Lord.”

KK was wheezing. “You need help.”

You turned to her calmly. “Nah I need a girlfriend. Two different things.”

The reporter next to the stage was beet red now, trying not to laugh into their notes. “Okay, uh…next question—what was going through your mind during that final play?”

You crossed one leg over the other like this was Oprah. “I was thinking, if the world ended right then, we’d all go with it, so I might as well go out with a win. That’s real.”

Geno rubbed his temples. “Jesus Christ.”

You leaned into the mic again, like a closing statement. “Thank you. And please remember to feed athletes. We is hungry.”

The PR rep jumped in so fast her paper nearly flew off the table. “That’s it! Thanks so much, everyone!”

The moment y’all stepped backstage, Geno turned slowly.

“You know they record those, right?”

“Yeah Coach.”

“And they post them.”

“Mmhm.”

“You’re going to get us sued.”

You gave him your most sincere expression. “It’s okay. I got a lil savings.”

He looked like he aged ten years in five seconds.

Behind you, Aubrey shoved your shoulder, laughing. “Yo are you alright.”

You shrugged. “I’m just honest. And single. And hungry. Somebody gone address it.”

Just like that, you were back in the locker room, already hyping yourself up for post-game food and probably more chaos. Because filters are for water—not for you.

@letsnowtalk @draculara-vonvamp @kcannon-1436-blog @let-zizi-yap @perksofbeingatrex @soapyonaropey @julieluvspb @non3ofurbusiness @kcannon-1436-blog @kaliblazin @liloandstitchstan @footy-lover264 @yorubagirlsworld @daffodil-darlings @h4untedghOul @followthesvn @hibiscusblu @sevikasleftbicep @swiftie4evr @babyphatbrat @sivensblog @beeop223 @huntedghOul @tpwkrosalinda @lightsgore @em-nems @salemsuccss @villain-ryuk @ihrtsarahstrOng @liyahh037 @sillystarv @somedetailsinthefabric @essence-134340 @mochelisgf @soph1asticated @heheievidbri @unvswrld @breezybellab @planet-ghoulborne @art-ofmusic @toorealrai

[bonus-links]

*waiting eagerly and patiently for directors commentary* :)

IT'S DONE RAHHHHHH ITS FINALLY DONE!!!!!!! I hope you all have enjoyed this chapter but I am REALLY excited to move on to what's next!!!!! i have been waiting literal years to get here,,,,

starting off with a few things: these frames are the same design from pt. 9, just damaged now. it's also uh. literally the same drawings KJSNFKJG listen sometimes I just have to make things easier on myself. also convenient crack through the hero of time's right eye >:-)

okay so the hero of time lore gives me a bit of a headache. let it be known that I understand in wolf's timeline, the events of OOT technically never happened. He knows the "hero of time" moniker bc he's met him, and i could've SWORN that name is mentioned if not somewhere in TP then in the TP manga. suspend ur disbelief for me lol

Anyway the idea is basically that post-game Wolf has done some digging to track down the person the Hero's Shade was when he was alive. I like to imagine he had some kind of bargain with Zelda where if he agreed to come to certain events she'd let him dig around in what survived of the archives after lol. I actually got stuck on this panel for a while trying to think of some other imagery that got this idea across without being so,,,idk on the nose? but i couldn't think of anything so i went with this HAHA. Even if Mask wasn't technically the "hero" in this timeline, I think he still ended up being a prominent figure, and some documentation of him would exist. An unfinished portrait, a text about the history of the royal guard, military records, correspondence between him and the castle, etc.

ALSO ALSO. how do they know they're talking about the same hero of time? well, they don't. they're making an educated guess lol. obviously whoever made this statue of the Hero of Time couldn't make it look exactly like him, but I feel like Wolf has noticed enough similarities between depictions to be like. hey wait a second

wake is trying to give a pep talk here like "come on guys, going on adventures is what we do!!" meanwhile Wolf and Loft are both like. yeah i guess leaving our loved ones behind with little notice to go on dangerous missions we may never return from IS what we do.....

speaking of which Loft is maybe technically being a little bit of a hypocrite here but I really think he's just trying to make sure Wake doesn't make the same mistake he did lol. he's feeling guilty

one of many things I really regret abt this chapter is not having Tetra and Loft have a conversation similar to the one he and BOTW Zelda have. I feel like Tetra's experience of getting to grow up outside of the pressure of the royal family or her role and then basically having it forced on her during the events of WW would be very valuable for him to hear. I had so many things I was trying to juggle this chapter and somehow that just slipped through the cracks 😭 im sorry tetra.

AT LAST!!! ANNA FROM FROZEN!!! when all that was going down a few weeks ago i was like GUYS GUYS WAIT. HE'S ALMOST HERE. does this mean I have to get a new icon now

in case its not clear (and it probably isn't) he's in the ALTTP lost woods!

okay so some of you may have noticed this, but up until now we've basically been following the thread of mainline games, starting where the timeline merged and working our way back to where it split in OOT. ALTTP is technically part of that, as the timeline where the Hero of Time dies. I have them all connected through the Lost Woods. The pitch for this was basically "wouldn't it be so fucking funny if Mage could've joined the story way earlier but didn't bc he was the only one with enough sense and also enough gall to just throw something through it." and then I couldn't NOT do that

so on that note, this is the BOTW lost woods. If you look closely, you can see Wolf in the distance.

I wanted to do something to establish him as a magic user! he could have just pulled these out of his bag but where's the fun in that. you might also notice that he's not wet because the rain isn't actually hitting him

ALTTP ZELDA MY BELOVED!!!! that's all

that's all i've got for now!!! bonus links turned 3 years old 3 days ago which is. wild. thank you all for sticking with this story for so long!!!

[partyven0m]

I've said this before but I'll say it again, I LOVE YOUR KRIS FICS!!!!! So I was thinking about you doing something similar to the fic where the reader has a fat crush on Kris, but KRIS who has a fat crush on the reader, they would be a fucking loser and something like that, but yk like in their way

'We used to whisper, now we just talk'

In which... you and kris used to be close friends as children, but as you gained popularity, the two of you became strangers. Yet even after believing you've forgotten all about them, Kris still can't let you go. (notes at the end !! ;B )

Detention wasn’t new to Kris.

Not that they got it often, really. They just had a habit of being nearby when Susie decided to do something objectively stupid.

This time it had been naming the two of them “dih” and “ass” when playing Kahoot as a class.

Susie bailed 5 minutes into detention. Said she had to “pee” and never came back. Kris didn’t bother covering for her.

Alphys paced back and forth at the front of the classroom, fiddling with her hands like she’d just committed a crime.

“I-It’s not that I want to do this.” she mumbled, voice shaking more than usual. “It’s just– Undyne said I need to, um, ‘lay down the law’ a little more? Something about backbone? Discipline? But I don’t–this is too much, I think–I mean, you’re not even the one who– this is probably unfair–"

Kris stared blankly ahead, chin resting in their hand. They blinked once, slowly.

“Okay.” Alphys said eventually, caving. “You can go. Or not. It’s up to you. Or– no pressure. You can leave, though. Please.”

She shuffled out of the classroom in a hurry, nearly dropping her clipboard on the way out. The door clicked shut behind her.

Kris didn’t move. Didn’t have to.

They leaned back in their chair, slowly digging around in their pocket until they pulled out their 3DS. It was covered in scratches and spots where the paint had chipped, adorned with half rubbed off and faded stickers.

They booted up Pokémon. It loaded with a happy little jingle that echoed in the quiet classroom.

Their save file was right where they left it, just outside a Pokécenter. They scrolled through their party out of habit.

Their starter blinked up at them.

Same name as always.

Yours.

They stared at it for a second. Not too long but just long enough.

They had named their first ever partner pokémon after you when they were 9. It wasn’t even supposed to be a big thing. You were just... their best friend back then. The person they cared about the most. 

And now? Years later?

It had became a tradition.

Kris let out a tiny breath through their nose and slumped forward, resting their forehead against the desk. Their thumb moved slowly over the controls. Half-playing. Half-thinking.

It was raining outside.

They didn’t really notice until the thunder started.

Then they glanced toward the window. Watched the water fall down the glass in slow, squiggly lines. Everything outside was gray and dripping, and kind of pretty in a way that made you want to fall asleep.

They wondered what you were doing right now.

Still at club, probably. You were the president of something. A few somethings, maybe. You always had people around you, laughing, talking, helping with things. You had that kind of face. Easy to go to. Easy to like.

Kris stared at the screen without really looking at it.

You probably didn’t even remember what day you two stopped hanging out. Probably didn’t notice the last time you two spoke. They wouldn’t blame you. It was just one of those things that happened slowly, like bangs getting too long or gold stars peeling off the wall.

But still.

Sometimes they caught themselves looking for you in crowded halls. Sometimes they noticed the way your laugh sounded even when you were two rooms over. Sometimes they– okay, they always– named their Pokémon after you.

Just because.

The screen blinked. Their starter fainted again.

. . .

After an hour or so of mindlessly grinding in their Pokémon world, they yawned, closing the 3DS and sitting up, rubbing the back of their neck.

The thunder rumbled closer now. The rain was coming down even harder than before.

They figured they’d head out. Not home. Just… out.

So they stood up.

legs feeling weird from sitting too long. They stretched a little, then shoved their hands in their hoodie pocket and walked out of the classroom.

The halls were completely empty now. A lot of the lights had already been turned off. The whole building felt still and slow.

They pushed the front doors open.

The rain was deafening. It hit the pavement in fast, loud drops. Big puddles had already started to form near the sidewalk.

Kris stood there for a second, holding the door open, watching.

Then they stepped outside, just far enough to sit on the front steps. The awning shielding them from the rain. The air smelled like wet concrete and grass.

They sat down, pulled their hood up, and rested their arms on their knees.

After a moment, they reached into their hoodie and pulled out their 3DS.

They stared at it in their hands. Thought about opening it. Didn’t really want to. But there was nothing else to do.

So their thumb slowly glided over the on button, just before-

“…Kris?”

They froze before slowly turning towards the voice.

It was you.

You had just stepped outside, holding a folder against your chest, like you were keeping warm. Your backpack hung off one shoulder and you looked surprised to see them.

You stepped under the awning, letting the door swing shut behind you.

“What are you still doing here?”

Kris blinked up at you silently. They didn’t say anything right away.

Their hand tightened a little around the 3DS. Their face felt warm.

“…Just waiting out the rain.” they said finally. Tried to make it sound casual.

You nodded. “Makes sense. It’s coming down pretty hard.”

You stepped closer, dropping your bag on the ground with a soft thud. Then sat next to them on the steps, a little space between you.

Kris glanced sideways. Then immediately looked forward again.

You rested the folder on your lap and sighed. “I heard Susie got you in trouble again?”

“…Yeah.”

You snorted.

Kris felt their ears get hot.

You leaned back on your hands, staring out at the road. “Is it like Ms. Alphys to give out detention? She seems too shy…”

Kris shook their head a little as they looked away. “Didn’t last long.”

“Figured. Your class seems fun to be in.” You muttered happily under your breath.

There was a pause. Not awkward. Just quiet.

Rain hit the pavement in a steady rhythm. Street totally empty.

You didn’t say anything else for a moment. You just sat there. Calm. Like this was nothing strange. Like it was totally normal to be sitting next to each other again after all this time.

Kris didn’t move. Didn’t trust themselves to.

Their heart was beating faster than it should have been.

They kept their head down, hiding behind their bangs a little.

They weren’t sure why you were talking to them. Or why you sat down. But they weren’t going to move.

Kris had liked you for a long time. Maybe longer than they even realized. When you were kids, you were close, basically best friends. You’d run around the playground together, sharing secrets and silly games. Kris thought you were the brightest, most wonderful person they’d ever known.

But as you grew up, things changed. You became more popular, always surrounded by new friends, laughing easily with people Kris didn’t know. It wasn’t that you forgot Kris completely. It was just... you slipped out of reach. Like trying to hold onto light.

No matter how much time passed, Kris couldn’t let go of their feelings. They told themselves it was just a phase, or that maybe you had already forgotten them. But deep down, their heart held onto you. It was like a quiet hope that kept flickering.

As they got a little older Kris would snap whenever their mom or brother asked them how you were doing. Not because they didn’t care. It was the opposite. It hurt too much to talk about you. So they’d get quiet or change the subject. After a while, they both knew to stop asking. 

They didn’t know how to move on, and honestly, they weren’t sure they wanted to.

You leaned back a little, stretching your legs out in front of you.

“You ever get the feeling the day’s been way longer than it should be?” you asked.

Kris glanced over. You weren’t looking at them, just watching the rain hit the pavement.

They nodded. “Yeah.”

They didn't get that feeling at all. In fact they had no clue what you were talking about, but they knew that they liked your voice and it sounded like something you'd say. So they nodded anyway.

You smiled faintly. “Feels like it should be tomorrow already."

Then there was another pause.

A quiet one. Not awkward. Just quiet.

You hugged the folder closer to your chest.

“…It’s kinda weird seeing you here.” you said. “Not bad weird. Just, I don’t know. We don’t really talk anymore, huh?”

Kris froze for half a second.

They kept their eyes forward, toward the sidewalk, pretending that sentence didn’t land exactly where it hurt.

“…Yeah.” they said quietly.

You tilted your head a little, thoughtful. “We used to hang out all the time.”

Kris swallowed. “Then we just stopped.”

They said it before they could think. And as soon as the words were out, they wished they hadn’t.

You were quiet for a second and they found themselves hoping you hadn't heard them over the rain.

“Yeah.” you said. “We did.”

You didn’t sound sad. Just honest.

Kris felt their hands curl tighter in their sleeves. Their heart was beating fast. They didn’t know why they felt embarrassed, it wasn’t like you’d said anything mean. But something about the way you remembered it made everything worse. Or better. They couldn’t tell.

Your voice was a little softer now.

“I still think about that sometimes.” you said.

Kris went still.

You weren’t even looking at them. Just out toward the rain. Like you were talking to the air more than anything.

“When we used to hang out,” you added. “after school. Before stuff got… busy, I guess.”

Your tone was light. Easy. Like it wasn’t a big deal.

But Kris’s chest tightened anyway. They kept their eyes on the ground. 

You shifted a little beside them.

“There was that one day,” you said, “where we got in trouble for splashing water at each other outside. You remember that? You had that weird plastic dinosaur in your pocket and it got soaked.”

Kris blinked.

Their voice came out low. Barely there.

“…You remember that?”

You turned toward them now. Not dramatic. Not intense. Just surprised they even had to ask.

“Yeah?” you said. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Kris didn’t answer right away.

They looked down again. 

They thought about that stupid plastic dinosaur. It had been orange. It smelled weird after it dried. They’d kept it in their drawer for years, even after the paint chipped off.

They thought they were the only one who remembered that day.

They thought you’d forgotten everything.

“…I dunno.” Kris mumbled.

Their voice felt small. Embarrassing. But they didn’t take it back.

You didn’t laugh at them. You just smiled a little, like you understood.

There was a quiet moment after that.

Just the sound of the rain.

“You were kind of my first real friend, you know.”

That made Kris turn to look at you.

You weren’t trying to be sentimental. You said it like it was just a fact.

“I didn’t really talk to people much before that,” you went on. “but then you just kinda… let me follow you around. Even when I was being annoying.”

Kris shook their head. “You weren’t.”

You looked at them again. You were still smiling, but there was something shy behind it now. Like saying this out loud felt a little strange for you, too.

“You made stuff feel easy back then,” you said. “I think that’s what made me want to talk to more people.”

Kris didn’t know what to say.

Their throat felt tight. Their heart felt like it was sitting right at the base of their tongue.

They hadn’t even realized they were gripping the edge of their hoodie until they forced their hands to relax.

You looked away again, back toward the rain.

“I guess I just never said thanks.” you said.

Kris stared at you.

You weren’t even looking at them. Just watching the rain, like you hadn’t said anything weird. Like that wasn’t the nicest thing anyone had ever said to them.

They looked down again, fiddling with the drawstring of their hoodie.

You remembered.

They didn’t know why that made their face feel so hot. Or their chest kind of floaty. It was just… a lot. In a weird, sweet way.

They’d thought about those afternoons a million times. You and them, stomping through puddles, getting scolded by teachers. Laughing so hard it made their stomach hurt. You used to talk so much back then. About everything.

They always figured you forgot. Or grew out of it.

But you didn’t.

You were sitting right here, saying you missed it. That it mattered. That they mattered.

Kris pressed their sleeve to their mouth for a second. Just so they didn’t have to figure out what their face was doing.

Their heart felt like it was trying to walk in shoes too big.

You nudged your foot gently against theirs.

“I didn’t mean to make it weird.” you said. “I just think about that stuff sometimes. That’s all.”

Kris shook their head quickly.

“It’s not weird.” they said. Too fast. “I–It’s not.”

You smiled again. Just a little. Not looking at them.

Kris stared down at your foot next to theirs. It wasn’t even touching. Just close.

They kind of couldn’t believe any of this was real.

“We should talk more.” you said.

Kris’s heart stuttered.

They looked down so fast it was almost embarrassing.Their bangs fell in front of their eyes, and they didn’t bother brushing them away.

“…Okay.” they said, barely above a whisper.

You didn’t laugh. Didn’t act like it was weird. You just smiled, soft and normal, like this was the most casual thing in the world.

“Cool,” you said. “we’ll start now, then.”

Kris could barely breathe.

They curled their hands tighter into the sleeves of their hoodie, trying to act normal, but they could feel their face burning. It wasn’t fair, how easy it was for you to say stuff like that. How you could sit next to them, say we should talk more, and smile like it was that simple. Like it didn’t just completely ruin them.

They’d spent so long convincing themselves you were out of reach.

And now you were right here.

Talking to them like you wanted to be close again.

They couldn’t even think straight.

“…What do we talk about?” they asked, too quiet. Their voice was shaky, and they hated that you might’ve heard it.

You didn’t say anything for a second.

Then you turned to them, eyes soft. “You pick.”

Kris froze.

That was the worst possible answer.

You pick?They could talk about a hundred things. What you liked, who your friends were now, your favorite colors. They could ask if you still ate your cereal dry or if you still doodled on your math homework like you used to.

They could ask if you ever thought about them.

Like they thought about you.

But none of those things were safe.

So instead they mumbled, “I’m… still bad at Pokémon.”

You laughed again.

You leaned back a little, grinning. “Good.” you said. “That’s how it should be. I’d be worried if you were suddenly, like, good.”

Kris pressed their sleeve to their mouth again, like they could hide the smile trying to creep up.

You sat back again, arms stretched behind you on the step, legs kicked out in front. Like you weren’t in any rush at all.

“…Y’know,” you said after a minute, “you’re kinda different from how I remember.”

Kris blinked. Their whole body tensed.

You didn’t sound judgmental or weird about it. Just thoughtful. Casual.

Kris shifted in their seat. “Different how?”

You hummed, thinking.

“Dunno.” you said. “You’re still quiet. But I guess I thought you’d be, like… meaner now.”

Kris stared.

“…Mean?”

You laughed. “I don’t know! You’ve got that whole scary hallway stare thing going on.”

Kris’s ears went red. “That’s just my face…”

“Yeah.” you grinned. “I figured that out today.”

Kris let out a tiny sound that might’ve been a laugh. 

You turned your head slightly, your voice softer now.

“I’m glad you’re still you, though.”

Kris stared at you for a second too long.

Then their mouth moved before their brain caught up.

“You’re different too.” they said.

You blinked. “Me?”

“Yeah. I mean–” Kris looked down fast. Their thumb rubbed at a loose thread on their sleeve. “Not in a bad way. Just. You seem more…”

They trailed off, trying to find the right word. It was hard to explain what they meant without sounding stupid.

“…Content.” they said finally. “You seem… okay. With everything. With school. People. Life.”

You tilted your head a little, curious, but didn’t say anything.

Kris swallowed. “It’s not like you weren’t before, I just– back then you didn’t talk to anyone but me, really. And now you’re–”

They stopped again. Their ears were burning.

You were still just watching them. Patient.

Kris hesitated.

They wanted to say they were happy for you. That it was cool seeing you like this. That you deserved it.

“…Sometimes I feel like I was there first.”

You blinked.

Kris still wasn’t looking at you. Just down at the wet concrete.

“I knew you before everyone else.” they mumbled. “When it was just us. And now you’re–”

Everyone’s.

They didn’t say that part. But they didn’t have to.

The words sat between you both, quiet and strange. Kris felt like shrinking into their hoodie and disappearing.

But they meant it.

They’d been proud of you. Always.

But deep down, it stung. How easily other people got to be close to you now. How they got your laughs and your inside jokes and your after-school stories.

When Kris had been the one there first. The one who remembered every little thing.

The one who never stopped thinking about you.

Yet as soon as they said it, they regretted it. Their whole chest clenched up.

Too honest. Too weird. Too much.

They bit the inside of their cheek and looked away, heart thudding like a drum in their ears.

You blinked. For a second, you didn’t say anything.

Then, quietly, “…I didn’t know you felt that way.”

Kris didn’t respond. Just stared hard at the step below them.

They hadn’t meant to say that. Not really. Not like that. They weren’t even sure what they did mean, just that it had been sitting in their chest for years.

A slow, quiet ache with no name.

There were too many things they remembered about you.

The way you used to swing your legs under your desk in elementary school. The way your laugh cracked a little when you were caught off guard. The way you used to look back at them during class like you were waiting for them to make some dumb face to keep you from falling asleep.

Every time you smiled at someone else now, Kris felt like it should’ve been them.

They knew it wasn’t fair. They knew it was stupid.

But still, some part of them, childish and stubborn, kept whining, I knew you first.

You shifted beside them.

“I always kind of thought you didn’t want to talk to me anymore.” you said, your voice quiet. Thoughtful. A little uncertain.

Kris shook their head fast. “That’s not it.”

You looked at them then. Not teasing. Not amused. Just surprised. Like you were trying to see something you hadn’t let yourself see before.

“Yeah, I guess I really had no reason to think that… We should’ve talked sooner.” you said.

...

“Sorry.” you added, voice softer now.

That made Kris glance at you.

You weren’t looking at them anymore, your eyes were down, hands curled in your lap, like you weren’t sure if you’d said too much too.

And Kris… God, they wanted something so simple.

They wanted to rewind everything. Back to when things were easy. Back to muddy shoes and shared gummy bears and rainy days where you grabbed their wrist before they could even respond.

They wanted to hand you their umbrella. Walk you home. Carry your backpack for no reason. Tell you they liked your smile and mean it so hard their whole chest hurt.

They wanted you to know that no matter how much time had passed, they’d never really let go.

Not even a little.

Even now, they caught themselves daydreaming about things that didn’t make sense, like you resting your head on their shoulder during a bus ride, or pulling them into a photo on your phone and saving it as your lock screen. Stuff that made them cringe, but felt good anyway.

Stuff they wanted more than they could say.

They glanced back down at their lap. Tried to stay still. Tried not to mess it up more.

Maybe you didn’t feel the same way. Maybe you never did.

But you were here now.

And that had to mean something. Right?

“I’m really glad I ran into you today.”

Kris didn’t know what to do with that. Their hands twisted in their sleeves. Their eyes dropped to their lap again.

“…Yeah.” they said. “Me too.”

You smiled at the sidewalk. Said nothing for a moment.

Then you sat forward a little and quickly shoved your folder into your backpack.

“…Hey.” you said, half-smiling, like you were thinking something dumb. “Wanna run?”

Kris blinked. “What?”

You looked over at them, grinning before quickly standing up and adjusting the strap of your backpack. “Home. Wanna book it?”

“It’s still pouring.”

“I know.”

Kris stared up at you. “You’ll get drenched.”

You shrugged. “So will you.”

There was a beat.

 “Okay, yeah. Dumb idea.” 

You said with a small laugh as you plopped back down onto the step.

Kris didn’t say anything. They couldn’t. Their chest felt too tight.

“It’s childish.” you added, a lot softer now.

And something about the way you said it, like you missed it, even just for a second, made their stomach twist.

They caught it in your voice. That small drop. That flicker of something like disappointment.

It hit them all at once. You wanted to go. You wanted to run. You wanted them to say yes.

And if they sat here and let that pass, if they had to watch your face fall even a little, they were going to lose their mind.

So before they could even think about what they were doing, Kris reached out and grabbed your hand.

You turned fast, startled, but Kris was already standing, already tugging you down the steps.

“Wait–”

Your voice barely registered.

Because when you looked up at them, Kris wasn’t even looking back. Their head was turned slightly away, their brows furrowed, their face bright red, like just holding your hand was already too much.

But they didn’t let go.

They pulled you down into the rain.

And you laughed, breathless. “Are you serious–?!”

Water splashed around your ankles. Rain slipped down your sleeves and soaked through your top in seconds. The sky was still gray but the clouds had started to open up, letting rays of light through.

You kept running.

Kris kept holding on.

And if you noticed how tightly they were gripping your hand, how determined their face was, like they couldn’t bear the idea of letting you down, you didn’t say anything.

You just squeezed back.

.  .  .

“Well that was a dumb fucking idea.”

Kris nodded. 

You two took cover under a bus stop as the rain got heavier and your legs tired. Soaked, cold, and worn out bodies shivering, looking out into the street with blank faces. 

“I’ll call someone to pick us up.” 

“My socks are wet…”

. . .

EDIT: GUYS. I just reread the ask and honestly i feel so bad AURBHHH BEAHHHH like i think i rlly did lose the plot… they were barely a loser 😞😞 ill take this as my sign to not take too much time writing something bc ugh I literally forgot the entire plot I’m so sad

a/n!! hihihihihi tysm for requestinggg 1!!1!111 not TOOO happy with this honestly! rereading it, it feels all over the place and thats most likely bc i took day long breaks from working on it so idk it just felt like i was writing it in sections and they dont quite connect right ykwim??? but i hope u like it regardless!

thought making u guys imagine what kinda pokemon kris saw u as would be fun!! sorry again for the kinda of sudden ending, i honestly just rlly like writing them i think. like open endings to me r so fun IDKIDK!!!!

again THANKS SMMM for the request!!!1!1 rlly hope u like ittt lmk!!!!

(title is a paraphrased lyric from Caraphernelia by pierce the veil WHO I SAW 3 DAYS AGO AHH BEST CONCERT EVERRRR ok bye love u)

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

hiii i love your no doubt series smmm🥹🥹🥹 and I was wondering if i cld req smth like jenn comes to jakes house when coincidentally yn is also over and wants to get back tgt w jake and then she makes up sm stuff about yn cheating but jake loves yn sosososo much so ofc he didnt believe jenn and started being rly protective of yn and chased jenn away but he was still a lil bit insecure abt it so yn ended up comforting him:) idk if this fits the whole no doubt vibe but i thought it wld be cute to read abt jake being protective of yn

tyyy💗

hiii thank you so much <333 and YES wow we are bringing JENN BACK INTO THE PICTURE !!! long time no see jenn (side eye) (HARD SIDE EYE). i actually love this, i think this fits the no doubt vibe perfectly because it just proves even more how much trust they have in one another...and seeing jake being protective over yn is ATTRACTIVE ‼️‼️‼️

──── NO ROOM FOR DOUBT 💫 ☁️ ↳ requested // part of the no doubt series !

Buzz. 

Your head lifts from Jake’s chest. 

You’d both sworn tonight would be a quiet night in—phones off, dumplings eaten straight from the takeout box, a couple lazy kisses and half-lidded giggles shared as a random variety show plays on the TV screen. 

The kind of night where time slows down and the only thing that matters is how warm Jake feels under you as you both lie sprawled out on the couch���

Buzz. 

Another long ring. Persistent. 

You sit up. 

Jake groans softly as he sits up once you’re off of him, stretching his arms out and blinking at the ceiling. 

“Are you expecting someone?” you murmur, rubbing your eyes and tilting your head toward the door.

Jake shakes his head, “Nope. Maybe it’s delivery for one of the guys. They’ll probably just leave it at the—“ 

Buzz. 

Buzz. 

Buzzbuzzbuzz. 

The two of you freeze.

Jake’s eyes narrow. You both glance at the door. Then at each other. 

“…Okay, what the hell,” you whisper, a hand grabbing Jake’s thigh and shaking it slightly. 

He pushes off the couch, rubbing the back of his neck and he shuffles over to the little black screen by the entrance. You watch as he taps the intercom to turn on the hallway camera and—

—and freezes. 

“…Babe.” 

“Hmm?” you hum, lying back down and curling up in the warm dent your boyfriend left behind on the couch. 

“It’s Jenn.” 

You sit right back up. 

Because—

What. 

“Jenn?” 

“Jenn,” Jake repeats, turning to look at you, wide-eyed. 

You scramble to your feet and rush over to the screen and—

Yup, there she is—clear as day. Standing just outside the door, arms crossed, shifting on her heels. Her expression unreadable. 

Jake leans toward you, voice low as if afraid she could hear your voices through the door, “…Should we just pretend we’re not home?” 

“Jake,” you deadpan, whispering back frantically, “Seven guys live in this apartment. Statistically, at least one of you guys have to be home.” 

“…Or maybe she’ll go away if we just stay really quiet.” 

You stare at him.

He stares at you. 

Then—

Buzzbuzzbuzzbuzzbuzzzzzzz

“Shit—” Jake whispers, “—she’s not going away.” 

You don’t answer back right away, and Jake’s eyes narrow slightly, “Y/N?” 

“I mean…,”you begin to murmur, eyes still fixed on the screen, watching her, “Aren’t you curious?” 

Jake pulls back in disbelief almost immediately, the look on his face telling you he definitely is not curious, “No? She’s my ex. Not some end credit scene to a movie.” 

You arch a brow, “But…what if I’m curious?” 

Jake looks from the screen to the door. 

Then back at you. 

You’re wearing that sweet smile on your face now and—

Jake knows he’s screwed. 

He sighs. 

“…Do I have to?” 

You shrug dramatically, biting back a smirk, “You want to sleep peacefully tonight, right?” 

Jake groans lowly before he drags his feet toward the door, and opens it just enough. 

Just a crack. Steps out. Closes it gently behind him with a soft click. 

Inside, you hover by the door, holding your breath—still facing the little camera screen, your fingers absentmindedly fidgeting with the ends of your hoodie’s sleeves. 

When Jake steps out, he’s greeted by a smile that’s just a little too wide. 

“Jake,” Jenn says smoothly—like this is normal. Like showing up unannounced and spam buzzing your ex is normal. Like it’s just another Tuesday.

“Hey. It’s been a while. I just—can we talk?” 

Jake’s expression doesn’t budge, “Now’s not a good time.” 

Her gaze flickers, just briefly, to the door behind him. She tilts her head, a certain look on her face as her eyes narrow, “Is she here? That girl? You two are still…a thing?” 

His jaw tightens, fists curling inside his hoodie’s pockets. 

Jenn takes his silence as an opportunity.

"Jake, look—" she softens her tone, taking half a step closer.

Jake takes half a step back. 

“I miss you, okay? I’ve been thinking…about us. And about how maybe—maybe I made a mistake.” 

His face remains unreadable. 

Her words come and go, slipping right past him like a speck of dust in air. He’s already tuned her out, his mind halfway back inside with you. He starts to turn towards the door when—

“I know she’s cute and all,” Jenn suddenly says, voice louder now, more persistent, “but you don’t really know her, do you? Trust me. I’ve seen her around. With other people. And I just—I don’t want you to get hurt.” 

Jake freezes. And snaps. 

His head whips around toward her so fast she flinches back a half step. 

“Jenn,” Jake says. Voice low and steady. Serious. “Don’t ever talk about her like that.” 

Her smile falters. She blinks. Tries again. 

“I’m just trying to help—“

“No,” Jake cuts her off, eyes narrowing, voice even lower. “You’re trying to make me doubt her.” 

He lets out a brief exhale through his nose before continuing.

“I won’t,” he shakes his head, each word firm—deliberate. “Not for a second.” 

Jenn opens her mouth to respond. 

Jake doesn’t let her. 

“She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he says, voice sharper now. “And I trust her. Completely. So whatever you came here for—“ 

A humorless laugh slips. Then a scoff. 

“—you’ve already lost.” 

Jenn doesn’t say anything else. 

But Jake doesn’t wait around to notice. 

He’s already stepping back inside the apartment, shutting the door behind him with a soft, final click—like ending a chapter he was already done with a long time ago. 

And when he turns around—

He exhales. Shoulders drop. Jaw relaxes. Expression softens. 

Because there you are. 

Curled up on the couch, already looking at him like nothing else in the world matters. 

You open your arms. 

He walks into them like it’s instinct (and it is). 

His arms wrap tight around your waist, face tucked into your neck, voice small and muffled, “You heard the whole thing, didn’t you?” 

“Maybe,” you whisper, fingers already threading through his hair, nails grazing lightly against his scalp. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “She’s not even worth talking about, I just—I hate that she said those things about you.” 

You hum quietly, hand drifting to the back of his neck, “I’m okay, Jake. You stood up for me.” 

“I’ll always stand up for you,” he says immediately, pulling back just enough to look at you. He shifts to sit facing you on the couch, curling his legs under himself. 

His brows furrow, a quiet worry in his eyes, “I just—god, what if  even for a second you thought I believed her?”  

You mirror his position, folding your legs beneath you and face him, cupping his face in both hands—his skin warm under your touch, cheeks tinted pink. 

“Did you?”

“No.” 

But then—

“It scared me though,” he admits. “That she could say something…that she could plant a seed like that. That it could even try to shake how I feel about you. Because it didn’t. But the idea of that? It terrified me.” 

Your eyes soften. You study him—your precious, precious boy who feels everything so deeply. So genuinely. 

And you smile. 

“Jake.” 

And that alone is enough to ground him. 

“I love you. And you love me. That’s it. And there’s no space for her—no room for doubt. Not even a crack.” 

He breath hitches as your thumb traces his cheek, your eyes never leaving his. 

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t even blink. 

Just leans forward and kisses you—slow and grateful, pouring all his feelings out to you without words. 

A little shaky, a little desperate, like he’s trying to thank you, breathe you, and feel you all at once. 

You smile against his lips. 

Then, with a teasing lilt, you murmur, “You’re also really hot when you defend my honor.” 

Jake groans into your mouth, pulling back just enough to look at you with wide eyes in love, “Don’t say that.  I’m in a weak, emotionally vulnerable state right now. Anything you say hits ten times harder.” 

You giggle, throwing your arms around his neck as his arms suddenly move to grab you by the waist and pull you into his lap. Your hoodie bunches up as his warm hands find their way under and press against your skin as he holds you there, steady. 

“i’m just saying,” you grin. “Super hot.” 

He rolls his eyes, a small, crooked smile finally forming on his face as he looks at you. All of you. All of his. 

He presses a kiss to your forehead. And then your nose. And then your lips again. 

And as Jake presses one last list against your shoulder, he breathes a whisper only you will ever get to hear. 

“I love you.” 

And he does. So much. 

That not even a shadow of doubt could ever touch that. 

no doubt m. list

tag list pt 1!: @bluxjun @ki2rins @why-did-i-just-do-this @favoritten @lovialymisc @xylatox @vivimura @leehsngs @puma-riki @lezzleeferguson-120 @enhaprettystars @laurradoesloveu @sievenderz @somuchdard @kristynaah @hinryh @ltfirecracker @lov4hoon @taeheexx @niyzu @chunkzdeluluwife @jakeflvrz @fangirl125reader @0429jw @dreamy-carat @yuons @thestarinstarbucks @miszes @llearlert @ppeachyttae @hoomin10 @teddybeartaetae @tanisha2060 @therealmrsbahng @beomgyu-bears @ikeulove @jiyeons-closet @youngheejay @wxnderingthoughts @fuevrois @soobundle1009 @isoobie @enhypenova @zoemeltigloos @lizdevorak @deluluscenarios @bloomiize @hasuyv @ijustwannareadstuff20 @heekolazz @dreamiestay @jakeyyyjakexoxo

[himasgod]

Hello! I just found you off of that request you did with Malleus dissing the reader's taste in men and it has me cackling! Since you wanted more, could I ask for the Leech twins, Jamil, Idia, and maybe Rollo with the same prompt? There's... a lot to complain about with them lol

Thank you for considering my request and sharing your writing with us in general! Be well, be merry, and eat something tasty today!

Malleus and Reader

Where he complains about the boys you like

APPROVED ONES EDITION AND FIRST PART already on my profile<3

How would Malleus complain when you told him about the boy you like?

With Floyd, Jade, Jamil, Rollo and Idia

“So… Floyd. Kinda into him.”

Malleus, blinking once—very slowly: “...The eel.”

“Yeah! He’s unpredictable, exciting, super intense—”

“He once threatened to throw you in a locker for saying his socks didn’t match.”

“But he didn’t, right? That’s growth!”

“He tried to bite Rosehearts last week.”

“That was honestly valid.”

“He refers to people as ‘fishes.’ You want to date a man who’d refer to you as his ‘favorite squeaky plaything.’”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“He carried you over his shoulder for fun and then forgot why he picked you up in the first place.”

“It was spontaneous!”

“It was concerning.”

“He would love you like a storm trapped in a bottle. Always one wrong shake away from chaos.”

"...Wow, Mal. That’s actually kinda poetic—”

“You would never know peace. You would get a ‘good morning’ text and then a ‘rawr I’m bored >:3’ five minutes later.”

"....huh"

"No. You're not dating Floyd. Not at all."

Malleus Draconia does not approve!

“Okay, what about Jade?”

“The other eel.”

“He’s polite! Cultured! Knows about mushrooms!”

“He tried to feed you a mushroom from the mountains. It was glowing.”

“...It was pretty.”

“It tried to move. It was probably some kinda of drug.”

“He’s mysterious! Sophisticated! I love a man with secrets!”

“He speaks in riddles. Smiles like he knows how you die. Enjoys danger recreationally.”

“He’s elegant!”

“He once said he finds pufferfish adorable because they inflate in fear.”

“You’re just threatened because he’s more graceful than you.”

"He tried to make tea out of Grim."

“That was a joke!”

"He was boiling water."

Malleus slowly, very slowly, walks toward you.

“If you date Jade Leech, I will prepare a coffin in advance. No guarantee of survival”

Malleus Draconia does not approve!

“I’m kind of into Idia.”

“I’m sorry—into what?”

“Idia Shroud. He’s cute! You know, in the nerd friki kind of way.”

“The one who clutches his tablet like a lifeline and refuses to make eye contact?”

“He’s shy!”

“He hissed at you.”

“He was nervous!”

“He hid behind a vending machine. For two hours.”

“But he’s clever! Passionate! He gets excited about things in this super intense way!”

“He spoke at length about his last game while your nose was bleeding from a cursed book and didn’t notice.”

“See?? He’s focused!”

“He would love you in all caps. Digitally. From a great distance. Through a monitor.”

“I mean yeah that’s kind of my thing.”

“You would receive three paragraphs of love poetry in code format and then not hear from him for a week.”

“That’s fine.”

“You would be second to his game launch schedule.”

“Honestly understandable.”

"I refuse. he'd put cameras in your room to watch you at night."

“Okay but Rollo is kind of… 👀”

Malleus turns his head so slowly it creaks. You have his full attention. And disappointment.

“Rollo Flamme. You have to be kidding me."

"OKAY BUT LISTEN-"

"The man who tried to purge all magic. Who referred to you—his guest—as ‘a necessary pawn in the cleansing.’ That one.”

“He was just going through it.”

“He unleashed cursed flowers. Nearly killed several of your friends. And, of course, he nearly killed me. And attempted to erase my very existence. Yours, too.”

“Okay but he’s hot.”

Malleus just closes his eyes. Visibly distressed.

“You… are in love with a magic-hating fanatical bishop with fire trauma and a weird haircut.”

“Yes.”

“A man who tried to outlaw joy.”

“Yes.”

“A man who speaks like a 19th-century villain in a gothic novella.”

“YES MALLEUS I LIKE THE DRAMA.”

“You would not be dating him. You would be his redemption arc. Do you have any idea how exhausting that is?”

"And I’d look stunning doing it.”

“He would gift you a bouquet and then scold you for smiling too brightly or wearing something too revealing.”

“Hot.”

“Yuu. He would confess his love like he’s confessing a sin.”

“Yes.”

You're obviously out of your mind. Don't seek his love. Seek a psychologist. And another one for him. And if you continue like this, another one for me.

Malleus Draconia DEFINITELY does not approve!

“So… Jamil. I think he’s kind of hot.”

“You mean the one who tried to hypnotize Kalim and hundreds of people?”

"But Malleus you're not one to talk about-"

"He's literally a psychopath. Every time he smiles, poison oozes from his gums."

"Okay but like. Incredible cheekbones.”

“He was literally plotting regicide.”

“He was under a lot of pressure.”

“He said ‘I deserve a palace’ and then tried to build it with hostages.”

“...Honestly? Based.”

“He is cunning. Ruthless. The most two-faced person I've ever seen. And you find this appealing.”

“Yes. Absolutely. One hundred percent.”

“He is full of resentment. Rage. Bottled hatred ready to explode.”

“That’s just spice”

Malleus gives you a side eye and pinches de bridge of his nose.

“He walks like he’s calculating how many exits are in the room.”

“And yet he cooks sooo well. Husband material.”

“You want to fall in love with a man who would flip the table at your anniversary dinner because someone mentioned Kalim too many times.”

“I want to love the man who flipped the table.”

“He would kiss you with resentment. And probably knives.”

“And I’d thank him.”

“Very well. You wish to love a man who is one insult away from becoming a genocidal I will not stop you.”

He looks up at the sky like he’s asking the stars what they think of this.

“But if you disappear one day and he becomes even more emotionally unbalanced than usual, I will know it was your fault.”

Malleus Draconia does not approve!

[blackbirdsblackberries]

I Hate The New Hero

Chapter 12: I Swear To God...

Meanwhile, you didn't get the pleasure of going to sleep like Dick did. Your identity is as good as compromised. If only you had enough money to leave… 

Pacing around your room you try to think of what to do. The best option would be leaving - not just Gotham, but America as a whole. But, where would you go? Where would you get the money for a ticket AND the money to start over? 

You could sell some of your gear, or become a henchman - it’d only be for a bit! Just until you can get your money up, then you’d quit and make your escape. Yeah. That could work. But, did you really have it in you? To harm and steal? To know you’d been the cause of so many people’s lives? You couldn’t do that.

Sighing you sit down in your bed and pray for the night to finish so you can go to school.

-

Tim, however, is stuck at Bruce’s desk as Bruce monologues about how important it is to respond to messages in a timely manner. He forgot to message Bruce back about whatever he messaged him. 

“- Honestly, what would have happened if I was in trouble, or one of your brothers were in trouble and you decided to not respond.” Bruce states, it was rhetorical and Tim holds back an eye roll. The message wasn’t even that important… Okay, it kinda was. But, school got in the way and he kinda forgot.

“Well? What are we going to do now? If Y/N is Aranea that means-” Tim cuts off Bruce’s rant, already plotting. “That means we’re going to keep this information under wraps. We forgo plan A. If Y/N finds out we know she’d freak. Same with the others.”

The two talk for a bit longer, making up a new plan. After mere minutes of deliberation the two form a plan. 

-

Damian was confused and annoyed, you were an idiot, a hateful, disgusting and vile idiot. Yet, he was nothing if not observant, he noticed how you share the same figure as Aranea, he noticed how the ‘hair’ is a wig, he noticed all these things. 

However, he’d rather die than admit maybe you were Aranea, you had to be a sister or a cousin, someone else! And for you to hate your own blood family… It’s horrible to think about. Sure, he and Jason typically stay back from you, but that doesn’t mean their hatred is any lesser than the others. He’s sure Jason aches to put a bullet through your head any time word gets back to them about your shit talking.

To Damian, Aranea is an angel sent to comfort him, an older sister figure to help him vent his emotions, he doesn’t know where he’d be if it weren’t for her. What he’d be.

He won’t ever let someone extinguish her light..

-

The next day rolls around and you sit up, having barely slept. Rubbing your eyes you get up and proceed to get ready for school, trying not to think too hard about last night. When you get to school your friends aren’t waiting for you out front, weird. Shrugging it off you head inside the building - they were probably either late or getting something to eat before school.

Walking down the halls you pay no mind to Tim, who for some reason was staring at you with the same look one would give a shelter puppy - or an old dog about to be put down - it was sickening in a way, being watched by him like that. Did Dick tell him? He must’ve. That's why you’re getting the look you’re getting. 

You speed up slightly before turning into your first period class. The day passes in a blur, you don’t see your friends, Tim doesn’t talk to you, no one even looks at you. Something is wrong. Something is seriously wrong. When the day ends you waste no time in packing your things and leaving, the school’s suffocating atmosphere feels as though it’s lifted when you step out of the gates. You can’t bring yourself to head home yet, can’t bring yourself to enter another stuffy place.

Opting to walk along the grimy streets, rats scurrying by as if they were workers late to work. Everything seems to slow down for a minute as you walk, Gotham is a horrid, putrid wasteland of a place, yet for someone who has lived here all your life, you find this wasteland to be like a field of different types of flowers - colorful in ways unseen, quick to die yet surrounded by other life. No one dies alone in Gotham. Not truly. 

Your spider senses shoot to the heavens, freezing, you feel a kind of dread overcome you. Someone was watching, someone was waiting, someone was following. You're in danger. You have three options here.

You run, alerting the stalker you know of them. The person may be faster than you. 

You turn around to face the stalker, once more alerting the stalker you’re aware. You can’t tell who it is, they could be stronger than you, could have weapons.

You continue walking normally, not letting them know. This could lead to them attacking from behind.

Taking a deep breath you bend down, pretending to tie your shoelaces - you’ve been standing stationary for around ten seconds, if you started walking once more it may alert them. You soon stand up before continuing to walk.

The walk was uneasy, the presence of the person causing your spider senses to react violently, headaches, nausea, dizziness, the instinct to run, all of it was too much. You hated this. But discomfort is much more preferable than death. 

You curse your luck - for some reason people just weren’t around today. Though, even if they were, no one would intervene. They aren’t heroes. They wouldn’t risk their lives for a girl they don't know. 

The figure can be felt catching up to you and you bite back the scream of frustration, tears starting to rise. Why was everything so complicated?! You hate everyone! Fuck Timothy, fuck Richard, fuck Bruce and his rat son Damian, fuck Jason, fuck Stephanie, fuck Cassandra, fuck Duke, fuck Barbara - you know what? Fuck anyone who associates with that dysfunctional, borderline evil family!

You feel the person right behind you now, hell, even if you had normal senses you’d be able to tell. You turn just in time for a bag to go over your head before being knocked out. 

Taglist:

@rissareader @delias-stuff @hogwarts9 @marsmabe @randomlyappearingartist @coralaura @nervousalpacalady @citrushalo @chericia @soriansick @v0idl1nq @scrumdidiliyumyum @kittykatcreatster @feral-childs-word @anon34570 @shycreatorreview @sunny-sp3lls @fluffypackofships @cynniee @yuyuzi-ling @coffeeaddictxd @starryperson @readermommy @niggrrooo @bunbunboysworld @yanrandom @fluffypackofchips @vanilliona @wizzerreblogs @cens0r3d

[sweetromanova]

Claw & Order: Part Three🐾

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: Natasha Romanoff is being accused of grand theft feline. The evidence? A very smug tabby. The problem? She kinda loves him now.

Chapter Three

Brooklyn smelled like stale beer, wet pavement and bad decisions. Natasha had smelled worse. She just hadn’t expected to spend her Tuesday morning retracing the steps of a missing cat with a very angry civilian trailing behind her. Somewhere nearby, a dog was barking like it had beef with the sky itself.

It was almost comical, one of the world’s best assassins and internationally known Avenger was stood glaring at the side of a dumpster like it owed her rent money.

“This is a waste of time.” You said, huffing behind her. “He wouldn’t come this way.”

Natasha didn’t turn around. “He’s a cat. He doesn’t respect human logic.”

“Wow. Thanks, Freud.”

“You said he liked bodega salmon.”

“He does. But only from the bodega on 3rd. This is 6th. He’s snobby, not stupid.”

Natasha turned and gave you that look. The one she probably used on international arms dealers and telemarketers. “Would you rather I let the cat remain missing?”

You threw your arms in the air. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did the former KGB assassin just get a little testy over a feline stakeout?”

“I’ve dealt with rogue A.I.s. This is worse. You are worse.”

You gasped, hand to your chest. “Did you just rank me below homicidal sentient technology?”

“I’d trust Ultron to follow a trail faster than you.”

“That’s rich coming from someone who interrogated a bagel guy like he was a sleeper agent.”

Natasha didn’t even blink. “He flinched when I said ‘cat.’”

“He was eighty seven and making change for a ten.”

“And yet he still had time to hide something behind the cream cheese tubs.”

“That was a jar of pickles.”

“Or microfilm.” She muttered, darkly.

You stared at her. “Are you actually okay? Like, medically?”

Natasha just started walking again. “Let’s go. We’ve got four more blocks and a lead on a woman who claims a ‘shadowy figure’ climbed into her laundry basket.”

You sighed dramatically. “I cannot believe I’m hunting my emotionally unavailable cat with an even more emotionally unavailable assassin.”

“Are you still talking?” Natasha said.

“I’m grieving!”

She didn’t respond but you could’ve sworn, sworn, that her shoulders shook the tiniest bit like she was maybe trying not to laugh.

The next fifteen minutes were spent walking down the block at wildly incompatible speeds. You, zigzagging ahead like a caffeinated raccoon and Natasha, strolling behind like she had all the time in the world and a coupon for catnip.

You spun around, pointing under a parked SUV. “He might be hiding under there!”

Natasha crouched for a single, surgical glance then straightened with a shrug. “Just a possum.”

“A poss- you didn’t even flinch.”

“It blinked first.”

You gawked at her. “For the second time today, are you like… okay? Mentally? Emotionally?”

Natasha kept walking. “Define okay.”

“Oh my god.” You muttered, throwing your hands up. “No wonder the cat left me. I was replaced by a sleep deprived Terminator with cheekbones.”

“He made the choice.” She said coolly, peeking under a mailbox.

You grumbled under your breath. “Probably hypnotised him with your husky voice. Or maybe you taught him Krav Maga.”

“At least I didn’t let him eat cheese puffs and call it enrichment.”

You narrowed your eyes. “That is a very specific and personal attack AND he likes those.”

“He also licks his own feet. Your bar is low.”

“I’m emotionally fragile and you’re bullying me.”

She gave you a look, one eyebrow raised, just shy of amused. “You threatened me in a federal lobby.”

You sighed. “Ok so we’re both going through things.”

⋆⋆⋆⋆

At the third bodega of the morning, Natasha tried interrogating the owner like she was in a Bourne movie.

“Have you seen a black cat.? Green eyes. May answer to ‘Milo’ or ‘Liho’ or possibly just the sound of cheese wrappers.”

The old man behind the counter narrowed his eyes. “Lady, I’ve seen five black cats this week. One of them might’ve been a raccoon. I sell scratch-offs, not miracles.”

You stepped up behind her. “Hi. Sorry. My emotional support war criminal here is new to small talk.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “I’ve been undercover in Moldova. I can absolutely do small talk.”

You turned back to the bodega guy. “He’s fluffy. Little white patch on his belly. Huge attitude. Answers to nothing, judges everyone.”

The bodega man lit up. “Oh! That sounds like me in high school.”

“We’re done here.” Natasha gagged, not giving you a chance to finish and simply taking your hand and pulling you out the store.

Back on the street, you dropped a few of Milo’s favorite treats near a lamppost and sighed, loudly.

“Do you have to do that?” Natasha asked.

“Yes. It’s called breathing through heartbreak.”

“You’re dramatic.”

A pigeon landed between you both. You watched it peck at the cat treats.

You mumbled, “If that pigeon steals his snacks I swear to God I will start swinging.”

Natasha handed you the little bag of treats. “Here. You’re better bait than I am.”

“I’m honoured to be considered bait by an Avenger.”

“Just don’t eat them.”

“No promises.”

⋆⋆⋆⋆

It was much later now and both of you felt tired, stressed and you were losing hope more and more. Perhaps he was gone for good.

About twenty paces later, you muttered, half to yourself, half to the sidewalk. “He likes people who’ve suffered.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “What?”

You didn’t stop walking. “Milo. Liho. Whatever. He’s a sad soul collector. Finds them. Adopts them.”

“That’s extremely bleak.”

“He’s emotionally advanced.”

She waited a beat. “Did something happen?”

You snorted. “What didn’t?”

You stopped near a curb, eyeing a storm drain like Milo might come sliding out like a sewer rat on vacation.

You hesitated. And then, like you’d lost your grip on the internal filter holding back your spiraling.

“I lost my job last month. My firm shut down. One day I was scheduling LinkedIn campaigns, the next I was getting laid off over Zoom by a guy in a Patagonia vest who kept calling me ‘champ.’”

Natasha tilted her head. “Ouch.”

“Yeah. And then my partner, my ex, said they needed time to ‘explore their emotional landscape.’”

“What does that even mean?”

“I think it means they wanted to date someone who does sound baths every Sunday, works solely with an espresso machine and writes slam poetry but who actually knows?”

Natasha gave a quiet, unimpressed snort.

“I had to move out. Found this sad little apartment that’s technically a basement. The radiator wheezes like it’s haunted, there’s a mushroom growing in my closet and I swear I saw a centipede wearing Timberlands.”

Natasha blinked. “Timberlands?”

You waved a hand. “Might’ve hallucinated that part. Anyway. Milo was the only good part. He’d curl up on my chest at night like ‘yeah, this place is garbage, but we’re garbage together.’”

Your voice cracked, not dramatically but enough to make Natasha glance over and immediately look away again.

“I just… I know he’s just a cat, okay? But that cat saw me crying into frozen Trader Joe’s gnocchi at 2am and didn’t even flinch. He deserves better than to be alone out here.”

A heavy silence settled between you, stretching long and awkward and unmistakably real.

Then, in a quiet voice, Natasha finally broke the stillness: “I’ve cried over less worse things than this. I nearly cried when my friend Wanda found the poster saying he was missing and I realised I had to take Liho back.”

You looked over. Her expression was unreadable but there was something softer around the edges now. Like the ice wasn’t melted, exactly but it was cracking.

You wiped your nose. “Sorry. I don’t usually trauma dump on hot spies.”

“You’re fine.”

“Are you sure? I feel like I’m in the middle of a full emotional collapse and you’re just like, emotionally constipated with a six-pack.”

Natasha looked faintly offended. “I have a very healthy emotional regulation system.”

You squinted. “Do you even own a pillow that isn’t tactical?”

-

The walk back to your apartment was quiet, save for the occasional crunch of gravel and Natasha’s steady footsteps behind you. You weren’t sure if she offered to walk you home because it was late or because she sensed you desperately needed a witness to your unraveling. Probably both.

The door creaked open with an ominous groan as you stepped inside. Natasha followed, her eyes immediately scanning the space, not the clutter but the subtle signs of a daily battle fought quietly and without fanfare. The apartment was a mess. Peeling wallpaper, a cracked window covered with duct tape, an air mattress in place of a bed. And in the middle of it stood you, mascara halfway down your cheeks, holding a mug that read ‘Hang in there!’ like the universe was mocking you.

A small space heater hummed near the couch, its tiny warmth clearly a lifeline against the draft seeping through cracked window seals. Notes covered the fridge like a weird, hopeful collage: ‘Rent due,’ ‘Don’t forget to breathe’ and a hastily scribbled ‘Buy more cat food.’ You felt your throat tighten. That last note wasn’t just for you.

Natasha’s gaze landed on a small, well-worn blanket crumpled near the window, and beside it, a shallow bowl with a few stray crumbs. Liho’s corner. She couldn’t help but feel pity, you were doing your best and here you were in an apartment that had worst conditions than most of the cells they’d thrown war criminals and terrorists in over the last few years.

Your phone buzzed on the counter. You grabbed it and flicked it open, showing Natasha a photo. It was a classic cat selfie: Liho mid-lick, slobber trails shining on your cheek. The timestamp read one week ago, before he left.

“He was the only good thing I had left that didn’t feel like it might disappear.” You whispered.

Natasha didn’t reply. Instead, she simply nodded, the way she always did when words felt cheap.

Then everything came crashing down.

You dropped onto the couch, suddenly all at once. “I was so mean to you!” You blubbered, voice cracking as tears welled up and spilled over. “You’ve been so patient and I treated you like... like I don’t know what! I yelled at you in public. I accused you of… catnapping seduction- what is that?! and you were just trying to be nice and I was like AARRGH TUNA CRIMINAL!”

Your sobs hit a comedic crescendo, the kind that starts with quiet sniffles and somehow evolves into dramatic heaving and hyperventilating. You clawed at the couch cushions as if you could claw your way back to some sense of normal.

Natasha blinked. “Is… that a direct quote?”

You wailed louder, flopping into a beanbag. “I’m literally the villain here! You’re the emotionally repressed assassin with a heart of gold that spent all day helping find a cat that let itself into her room, which do you blame him?! Look at this place! And I’m the unstable cat lady who couldn’t keep her girlfriend or her job or her hot water heater!”

She watched, stunned, as you yanked a fuzzy slipper off your foot and threw it at a pile of unopened mail.

The silence after was awkward.

“…Okay.” Natasha said slowly. “You’re clearly having a moment.”

Another dramatic sob. “A low moment.” You hiccupped, looking up with wild, red-rimmed eyes. “I’m a disaster.”

“No argument there.” Natasha deadpanned. Then, after a pause, she added, “Do you want a glass of water? Or should I just call for backup?”

You managed a laugh through the tears. “You could just... hug me?”

That earned you a rare, genuine smile from Natasha. She took a hesitant step forward, like she was about to defuse a bomb, and then awkwardly lowered herself onto the couch beside you. For a beat, she just sat there, stiff as a board.

Then, almost like she was reading instructions off an invisible manual, she reached out and gave you a quick, surprisingly firm squeeze around the shoulders. It wasn’t a movie-style, enveloping hug, more like a tactical bear hug designed to keep you upright and somewhat functional.

Her other arm hovered for a moment, unsure if she should join the party or retreat like a cat on a hot stove. Finally, she settled on resting her hand lightly on your upper arm, offering what felt like official KGB-level comfort.

You exhaled slowly, the tension easing just a little, warmed not just buy her touch but by the fact that she was trying, even if she looked like she’d rather be interrogating someone.

“Thank you Natasha.” You whispered. “I can see why Milo wanted to stay.”

With one final squeeze to your body, she let go and stood, looking around the room pitifully. 

“What now?” You hiccuped.

“Pack a bag.”

You looked up, blotchy and blotting your tears with a suspiciously crusty dish towel. “What?”

“You’re coming with me.”

“What? No. I can’t just- what about Milo?!”

Natasha crouched in front of you, voice firm. “Lucky for you I have a tonne of junior agents that need stake out training. We’ll put a junior agent on your fire escape and another at the building entrance. FRIDAY can scan all security feeds for ten blocks. If he shows up, we’ll know. But you need a hot shower and some real food.”

You sniffled again, wobbling. “You’d do that?”

Natasha stood, eyeing the peeling wallpaper and suspicious stains on the ceiling. “You think I’m gonna let you have a meltdown in a place that looks like it’s one mould spore away from being condemned?”

You cracked a weak smile. “Was that… a joke?”

She gave a half-shrug. “…Maybe.”

[xuchiya]

secure me in your arms || choi san || one-shot

| genre: fluff. small tinge of angst. army! choi san. | mentions: a little bit of angst here ...

word count: 2.2k

It was supposed to be a normal evening.

The kind where the sky burned in soft hues of orange and rose, with the sun gently retreating behind the buildings. The kind where the wind cooled your face just enough to make you forget about the day’s heat. The kind of evening that never made headlines—quiet, forgettable to most—but for you, it had always felt quietly significant. Something sentimental, maybe. Like the universe was whispering that something small but meaningful was about to happen.

After eight straight hours of office work and back-to-back department meetings, you finally clocked out. You tapped your ID against the monitor, the familiar beep marking your freedom for the day. As you walked past the lobby, the security guard gave you a nod and a smile.

“Have a safe ride home!” he called out.

You smiled back, dipping your head politely. “Have a great evening, sir.”

With a quiet sigh, you adjusted your bag on your shoulder and made your way toward the parking lot. Your usual routine involved a short walk to the bus stop at the far end of the lot, but today, something—or rather, someone—disrupted that rhythm.

A few steps ahead, you saw a familiar figure standing beside a sleek black motorcycle. His helmet sat on the seat while his phone rested in his hand. He stared at it for a long moment before placing it down and exhaling—slowly, like the weight of something heavy clung to his chest.

“San-ssi?” you called out, your voice hesitant but clear.

He looked up, startled—eyes widening the moment he saw you.

You blinked. “Oh. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Truthfully, you were more than surprised. Most days, you only caught glimpses of him through your office window, always at the same time—just as you were packing your things, he’d hop onto his motorcycle and ride off with a kind of calm urgency. You had always assumed his schedule was tight, especially since you remembered him once mentioning he was a reservist in the military.

But seeing him now—still here, waiting—was unexpected.

San’s eyes softened, but his surprise lingered. Not because he didn’t want to see you—but because he hadn’t planned on being seen. His mind had been busy rehearsing what he might say if he ran into you—how to casually offer you a ride home, how to keep it from sounding like he’d been thinking about it too much.

And then, there you were. Standing just a few feet away, holding his gaze. Every rehearsed word vanished.

He cleared his throat, swallowing down the lump that had formed.

“Hey… are you on your way home?”

You nodded, adjusting your grip on your shoulder bag. “Yeah. My pup’s probably crying nonstop by now.”

He winced internally. Obvious. So painfully obvious.

He knew you. Knew how you preferred staying home rather than going out, how your weekends were spent curled up with your dog and not at some café or get together party. Still, he asked. Maybe just to say something. Anything.

He let out a soft chuckle, gaze lowering for a second as a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. The kind of smile that made the world feel like it was slowing down. The trees around the parking lot shimmered faintly with fairy ball lights, casting delicate golden glows that reached across the asphalt. But what those lights highlighted most wasn’t the motorcycle beside him. It was you—the soft shape of your face, the warmth in your eyes, the way your hair caught the breeze.

He tried not to stare, but it was always hard not to.

You glanced at him too. There he was, leaning casually against his bike like he wasn’t the most dangerous kind of calm you’d ever seen. One hand held his helmet loosely at his side, the other ran back through his hair as he laughed softly at your joke. That laugh—you’d heard it before. It had the strange power to settle the world. To make things feel okay, even when they weren’t.

And then his phone buzzed.

Then again.

Once.

Twice.

Silence.

Out of curiosity, your eyes flicked to his phone. The screen showed nothing but: Incoming Call: PRIVATE LINE. It confused you, but something about the moment told you not to pry. It felt too heavy… too confidential.

But he knew who it was. You saw it in the way his whole face shifted. His posture stiffened. His shoulders squared. Something had changed—and you could feel it. Your foot shifted anxiously as he picked up his phone, eyes scanning whatever message was on the screen. You didn’t need to read it to know something wasn’t right.

“…What’s wrong?” you asked, your voice softer now. The calm had shattered, replaced by unease that crept into your chest. He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stared at the screen for a few more seconds before locking his phone and placing it back on the holder. Then, he reached into the back compartment. You watched as he pulled out the extra helmet—the one he’d kept meaning to give you. Days. Weeks. Maybe even months had passed, each moment eaten away by hesitation and fear.

Every time he thought about giving it to you, his courage failed him. And now, when it might already be too late, this was all he had to give. A silent gesture. A fragile hope. A quiet promise that he’d come back. But he couldn’t say that aloud. Not when the country was teetering on the edge of something burning. Not when he wasn’t sure if he’d even get the chance.

“I need you to trust me,” he said. His voice was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that didn’t belong to him. Something inside you twisted. A quiet panic stirred.

“Why?” you asked. “Is something wrong?” You looked at the helmet in his hands, then back at him, “San-ssi?”

The phone buzzed again. This time, a name flashed on the screen, Sgt. Montano – URGENT. You didn’t know who that was. But the dread in your stomach didn’t need names. You knew. You knew this wasn’t just a regular night anymore. Even though the two of you were just co-workers on the surface, you both shared something deeper. Something unspoken. Something both of you were too afraid to touch.

He inhaled sharply—one of those deep, measured breaths that people take when they're trying to hold it together. The kind that sounded like goodbye without saying the word, “You hold on to this until I come back,” he murmured, pressing the helmet gently into your hands.

You stared down at it. It felt heavier than it should. Smooth, glossy black, visor tinted just enough that you could faintly see your reflection on its surface.

You looked at him again, “San…” your voice cracked a little, uncertain and small. “Please tell me what’s happening…”

“This is where you need to trust me.” Your fingers tightened around the helmet he’d handed you, confusion flickering in your eyes. “Wait—what’s going on? Are you—”

Before you could finish, his hand gently settled over yours. Warm. Steady. Grounding. Like an anchor in a storm you didn’t see coming.

“You trust me, right?” he asked—not about this moment, not about the weight of the situation unfolding before you. No, his voice carried something deeper. He was asking about everything you had shared—quiet lunches on lazy afternoons, late-night conversations over takeout, the secrets you’d entrusted to each other without realizing just how sacred they’d become. It wasn’t about how long you’d known him. It was about the depth. The certainty.

“I always trusted you,” you whispered, though your throat felt like it had been scraped raw.

He smiled at that—not the kind of smile that stretched wide and carefree, but a quiet, almost shy tug at the corner of his mouth. The kind that hinted at something he couldn’t say. Maybe fear. Maybe a goodbye. Maybe both.

You watched as he turned away, slipping his helmet on with practiced ease—his movements efficient, automatic. Muscle memory forged from something far more serious than daily errands or weekend rides. He was readying himself. And suddenly, so many things clicked at once.

“No kiss at least?” you blurted, voice embarrassingly soft and trembling.

The calls from someone named "Sergeant." The way he always kept his phone within reach. The silent pauses when the news came on, about rising tensions and military deployment.

You’d known something was coming. You just hadn’t expected it to be now. And before your brain could talk you out of it, your mouth acted on impulse.

It made him freeze. You instantly regretted it. His posture went stiff, like you’d startled him, and for a second you feared you’d crossed a line neither of you had spoken of. But then—slowly—he turned to you. His visor lifted halfway, revealing only his eyes. Wide. Surprised. And… flushed.

His cheeks turned a soft shade of pink beneath the helmet’s shadow, and then he tilted his head with a barely-there smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. Without a word, he gripped the bottom of his helmet, pulled it off in one fluid motion, and leaned in.

The kiss was feather-light. A mere breath of a moment. But it was real. And it burned through you like fire. Like a promise.

When San pulled back, you hadn’t moved. Couldn’t. You just stood there, breath stolen, heart thundering, “Until then,” he said, pulling the helmet back over his head. His voice came muffled this time, but the meaning still struck clear. He nodded toward the helmet you were still holding. “Secure me in your arms.”

Then, with a swift kick, he flicked the bike’s stand up and revved the engine. The sound split through the quiet street as he shifted into gear. A second later, he was gone—riding into the night, swallowed by city lights and the invisible hands of duty.

You stood in the silence he left behind, the helmet still cradled to your chest. The wind tugged at your clothes, carrying his scent away with it. When you finally looked down, something glinted inside the helmet. Frowning, you reached in. Your fingers brushed against something cool—metal. Your breath caught.

You pulled it out slowly. Choi San’s dog tag.

And your heart sank and soared all at once.

Instantly, your mind drifted back to the day you first found out he was part of the army. It was during a company team-building trip—a warm, sun-drenched afternoon by the beach. Everyone was split into groups for a game of tug-of-war, laughter echoing along the shore, the ocean breeze tousling hair and lifting spirits.

San had been on your team. You remembered clearly how the fabric of his tight white shirt clung to him after the game, and how something silver around his neck clinked softly with every movement. The chain had caught your eye. It had gleamed in the sun—subtle but noticeable.

After your team won that round, you’d collapsed onto a weathered log, panting and exhilarated. A moment later, San approached, holding two bottles of water, the sea wind tousling his damp hair. He handed you one before sitting beside you, his shirt collar slightly pulled open.

That’s when you saw it clearly. The dog tag.

Curious, you had glanced sideways. “You’re in the army? Or the navy?”

He turned to you with a soft smile, shoulders still rising and falling from the exertion. “Army,” he said simply, and took a sip from his bottle.

You nodded, letting your gaze drift back out to the beach. The waves lapped gently at the shore, soft and rhythmic, crashing lightly against the rocks. Something about it—maybe the calmness—reminded you of your father.

“My dad was in the navy,” you said after a beat, voice quieter. “He served for twenty years before he retired.”

San shifted slightly, clearly surprised that you’d shared something so personal, but he didn’t speak. He leaned in slightly instead—listening, attentive.

“He knew the risks when he married my mom, had a family,” you continued, eyes still on the sea. “But he still went through with it. When things got dangerous, and he didn’t know when—or if—he’d be back… he gave her his dog tag. Said it would help her sleep better at night.”

San didn’t answer right away. His eyes followed the shoreline, then slowly returned to you. “You know,” he began, voice low, “whether it’s army, navy, or air force… when someone gives you their dog tag, it means they trust you.”

You turned your head to look at him—and were caught off guard to find his gaze already on you. Close. Focused. Your heartbeat stuttered for a moment. Something in his scent—faint cologne and the salt of the ocean—was oddly calming, like he belonged in that moment beside you.

“Is that… normal?” you asked softly. “To give someone your tag?”

He shook his head. “Not really. It’s not standard or anything. But when we do… it usually means we’re going into something dangerous. Or something we might not come back from.” He paused, eyes flicking down to the small space between your hands.

Then—gently—he reached across and wrapped his fingers around yours. “But right now,” he said, holding your gaze, “it means there’s someone out there we want to come back to. Someone we believe in. Someone who believes in me.”

The memory snapped away as your present vision blurred with tears.

You looked down at the helmet in your hands, and the cold metal nestled inside it. San didn’t just trust you with the helmet. It was the dog tag that mattered most. And now it sat in your hands—his name etched into it—pressed against your chest like a silent promise.

[mona-risms]

mira x Reader where Reader is a civilian and Mira's friend before the Fame. (Reader knew about Mira being a demon hunters ) but to to a demon attack, Reader managed to survive from the attack but an accident happen causing reader to go to hospital in critical condition. A chance Losing Reader makes Mira realize her feelings and she doesn't want to lose Reader and visits Reader, wanting the first person Reader will see after surgery.

◆ MAIN COURSE: Mira x gn!Reader

◆ TYPE: SFW, romantic

◆ ALLERGEN WARNINGS: Hospitals, comas.

◆ NOTES: None? Tbf I didn't know how to take this, my bad gang I tried my best 😓💔

Through all the bs she's gone through as someone who's often been looked down upon as the 'black sheep'—a title she still held high to this day but also became lonely as a consequence—you were the only person who's been with her as a constant as the years went on. You never judged, you never told her to conform to any sort of expectations her family or anyone wanted to put on her, you never expected anything from her. You were just.. there, happy to be with her in any way, shape, and form. And she'll be damned if she ever fucking lost you

She doesn't hide things from you as long as you don't hide things from her, and she can tell if you are. But if not, then it's the most refreshing thing ever, and honestly you're the one she will EVER trust the most, even WITH HUNTR/X involved. Hell, even though Hunter training requires her to keep it a secret, she's like "alr I'll keep it a secret.......to everyone else but [Y/N] but Celine doesn't need to know that". Honestly you've most likely helped her even more BECAUSE you know, and she appreciates it so much. She doesn't know what she did to really deserve you but she wouldn't wanna trade you for anything either way

This carries on WAY into the fame as well!! You're basically Mira's number one fan and she agrees, but for the sake of your privacy and peace she doesn't really bring any spotlight on you—her being swarmed by people without a disguise in public is one thing bc she probably would have a security detail AND she can handle herself anyway bc of her training, but you being swarmed just for being associated w her is another. She's very protective of you and doesn't want you to feel bothered by anything :3

Whenever they all feel a ripple in the Honmoon, Mira's first move is to call you while they're on the way Every Time. She always calls you just to make sure that you're okay, and every time you don't answer she leaves a voicemail/text (depends on the type of person you are, bc I never listen to my voicemails personally) asking you to check in if you're okay. To you, this is just random lil bouts of wanting to talk to you, which :((( that's so cute of her :(((((( but to her she's gen trying to make sure you're okay

Zoey has like mini cuteness aggression every time and channels it into killing off the demons while Rumi's giggling and reassuring Mira that you'll be okay. Mira rolls her eyes but also goes like "she better be" bc why would she ever hide her concern for her best friend from her found family ok :(

She def won't be able to even tell she has any feelings at all at first fr. You've been best friends for so long that it's like. Why would you be anything BUT best friends? She doesn't really think about the possibility of becoming something more with you because....honestly she doesn't even need to. Though if you try to confess to her at some point she might pass it off as a joke and not get its partly bc lol you funny asf but also she likes what you two have rn 🤷‍♀️ why ruin it yk you're gonna spend forever w each other anyway

WELL. Until that Fateful Day 😜

The Honmoon ripples purple, and the trio stop their rehearsal bc oh shit another attack!! But before she even takes out her phone as they all start moving to the source, her phone rings—it's you, and you are fucking terrified because you know exactly what's in front of you on your end rn bc it's the exact thing Mira warned you of. Her blood grows cold, and the three of them hurry over to the source bc oh god oh fuck she has a very bad feeling about this

By the time they get there, you're trying to fend off these demons, probably with some other people, and they're even laughing at you before HUNTR/X rushes them. But at some point Mira gets occupied w fighting one demon already that she doesn't see the one charging at her side......so you run to intercept it, at the cost of getting REALLY hurt and your soul quite possible almodt sucked out before Mira kills it and HUNTR/X wipes the rest out. Seems like the demons have to siphon souls gradually rather than just taking it, so you're basically still safe but you're Also in a coma rn bc of critical condition (yes your injuries but also bc you just had a bit of your soul sucked away but it's not like they know that 😓)

It's around this time, when she visits as much as she can (she'd do it daily if she could but unfortunately she does have responsibilities ☹️), that she ends up reflecting on a lot of things. How she shiuld've been faster or more attentive, how you took a blow for her without hesitation, how she didn't really know how to function without you. Or, well, she did, but she feels so fucking Hollow without your presence, even when you're right in front of her on the hospital bed. She reflects if she could've done smth to change things, she reflects on whether she should've even told you about this whole Hunter thing at all, she reflects on if she really should've stayed friends w you or if she should've just spared you via pushing you away too

And then she realises that oh. Wait a minute. She like likes you. She couldn't tell, not like she even had the time to, but somewhere along the way when she considered you as someone who she couldn't ever part from without feeling like there's something missing, she had fallen for you. It just took too late to realise that :(

So she visits you as much as possible, the visitation log mostly being her with the exception of the other HUNTR/X members, your friends, relatives, whatever. But it's mostly her

Mira's hands were clasped tightly onto yours, gloves taken completely off to feel your skin, as tears ran down her face. Despite her whole 'tough-girl' thing, she was always sensitive to tears—something that you would've laughed about as you wiped her tears with your thumbs or your sleeve.. if you were responsive anyway.

"Wake up, idiot," the idol rasped out, her words muffled by the hospital sheets as she wept for who knows how many times it's been, "you've been asleep for a while and-- and we kicked Gwi-Ma's ass so.. so you don't need to keep sleeping anymore."

Mira had never really been childish, not even when she was a child. That was all taken away from her the moment her own family had judged her for being too blunt, too harsh, too unladylike to be anything but a problem. But when it came to you? Somehow it was as if that wasn't the case at all—here she was, pleading for you to come back for the 5th day now, and god knows how many times she's actually been like this in total.

Yet as she raised her head to look at you, you gave no answer, and your eyes stayed blissfully shut.

Mira felt her face crumple as another sob threatened to climb her throat before she swallowed it. Instead, she got up and leaved over so very carefully.. to press a soft kiss on your forehead—her lips were hot against your cold face, and she could recall the way that you had often spoke of her warm, 'cuddle-certified' body.

"I'll be here when you wake up, yeah? Always will be," Mira whispered as if the silence, only broken by the medical monitors, was fragile, "because you didn't leave me back then, so I won't leave you now.. or ever."

She slowly drew your hand to press a kiss on your digits before leaning her forehead on your knuckles, "Come home."

..There was the slightest twitch of your fingers, so brief yet so significant at the same time.

She'll keep waiting for you no matter what :(

And if you wake up from your condition? If she sees you wake up? The first three words you'll hear from her mouth isn't anything teasing or anything, no. It's something she should've said more, something you need to know, from the bottom of her heart

"I love you."

[sunshine-on-marz]

Rub it in their face (put a rock on her hand)

JJ Maybank x Reader

In which: JJ proposes to his kook!girlfriend

Warnings: Kelce is kinnda creep (sorry bud you’re the only kook with a name and no major plot details)

JJ knew he was in over his head when he asked you out two years ago, and the last thing he expected was for you to actually agree to go out with him. But you did. Infront of all of your kook friends who still think you’re crazy for choosing treasure hunts and pouge hangouts over fancy parties in the figure 8. You wouldn’t trade it for the world though. You never once regretted it—well that’s not true—you regretted it whenever you thought you might lose JJ. When he fell overboard while you guys were trying to get the cross or when he was stabbed in Morocco, those were the times when you questioned if all this was worth it, but luckily he survived, and now you got to have days like today.

You and the pouges were all on the beach, it was originally just you, Kiara, and Cleo—all taking a break after waking up early to feed the bait fish and tend to the garden—but slowly the rest of the group trickled in. The seven of you had been out there a while by the time the kooks show up, parking their loud trucks uncomfortably close to you guys. You debated ignoring them, but you were friends with some of those girls and knew that they had no part in their peers acting like assholes.

“I’m gonna go say hi, Phoebe and Ella are over there” you say to JJ as you get up from your towel. JJ nods in acknowledgment, mumbling what you assume to be ‘have fun’.

“What’s she doing?” Kiara asks as you walk towards the kooks.

“She’s got friends over there” JJ says, “I’ve met ‘em, they’re pretty chill for a couple of Kooks. Real dramatic though” he shrugs.

“Oh she’s friends with Ella and Phoebe?” Sarah asks “I hung out with them in middle school.”

JJ laughs a bit as he looks over at you, “I’m pretty sure she’s friends with the entire island.” Right as he begun to look away he catches a glimpse of Kelce’s hand on your shoulder. That gets his attention. “The hell is he doing?”

The pouges watch as your face shifts from surprise to discomfort as you look at Kelce and his friends, who’re all laughing and drunk. Kelce places a hand on your hip and tugs you closer, an action that you immediately pull away from. “Should we do something?” Pope asks, but JJ’s already half way over to you, pushing through the small crowd.

“Hey, wanna watch your fuckin’ hands around my girlfriend?” JJ asks as he pushes Kelce away from you. This is gonna be bad and you know it.

“The hell is your problem man? We were just talking” Kelce says back, “what? You worried if you don’t lock her down she’ll come running back to the figure 8?”

You can see it on JJ’s face that he’s hardly holding it together. “JJ let’s just go” you say as you put a hand on his shoulder “he’s not worth it, baby, cmon”

“Yea, baby, go on” Kelce shoos him away, not realizing how lucky he is that JJ knows you hate fights. “Oh and,” Kelce calls your name but you ignore him, trying to get JJ as far away from him as possible, “I’ll be here when you need a man who can actually take care of you.” That does it. JJ breaks away from you and turns to sock Kelce in the jaw. John B and Pope manage to run over and pull him back before he deals too much damage, but you know that this will still probably result in a talk with Shoupe.

“Talk to her like that again Kelce and I swear you won’t live to tell the tale” JJ spits as he’s pulled away from the fight. You trail not far behind John B and Pope, hoping to serve as some kind of barrier between your boyfriend and the people you used to consider your friends.

“Are you okay?” You ask JJ as you sat in the back of the Twinkie and cleaned up his bloody hands and busted lip.

“I’m alright, mama” he said, his voice low and calm, like he always got when he knew you were worried about him, he reached up to cup your cheek “‘m always alright with you around”

You pursed your lips to keep from smiling too hard. “You shouldn’t have fought him” you scold, but it’s half heated as you lean into his touch. “They’re gonna bring that video to Shoupe and you’re gonna have to deal with him.”

“I can handle Shoupe, pretty girl, don’t worry about it” he says as he watches you pull away to pick up the first aid kit. “Am I all better doc?” You laugh, nodding as you follow him out of the van.

You head back over to Sarah, Cleo, and Kie who are all deep into conversation about what color to paint the laundry room, everyone having decided a few days prior that it needed to be redone, but before you could sit down you felt a tap on your shoulder, as you turned you saw JJ on one knee, holding a ring that was everything you’d ever dreamed of.

You name falls off of JJ’s tongue like it’s something holy, and for him it kind of was. He rarely even said your first name, always opting for a nickname or something more affectionate, let alone your full name. But now he was, and with the intensity of a man who has never wanted anything more in his life than the woman right infront of him, he started his proposal. “You are the best thing to ever happen to me. Ever. And I’ve known that since day one. I asked you to be mine infront of people who gave you every reason not to be, and you said yes anyway. For the past two years I’ve watched you light up every room you’ve walked into, and not just every room, but every moment, and I can’t imagine a life without that. Or without you, and your smile and your laugh and your heart. So, will you marry me?”

It feels like you can’t breathe, like all the air was sucked from your lungs and replaced by butterflies. “JJ..” you tear up as you try and take a deep breath, completely forgetting you had a question to answer

“Is it a yes?” JJ asks, his voice patient even despite his nerves.

“Yes” you nod as happy tears stream down your cheeks. JJ tackles you in a hug, laughing as the two of you fall into the sand and your friends erupt into cheers. He sits up next to you and puts the ring on your finger, you hold out your hand infront of you. “Jayj this is beautiful, how on earth did you afford- JJ did you steal this?” You ask, whisper-yelling the last part.

“Jeez give me some credit mama, I had a job for a while there, I just saved up” he says, but you don’t quite believe him yet, “scouts honor” he says, holding up a two finger salute as he leaned over to kiss your cheek “it’s all yours baby. Couldn’t have you walkin’ around with something stolen on your hand, couldn’t we?”

You hold your hand out again, watching the diamond sparkle in the sun light, “I guess not” you smile.

“Thank god you finally grew a pair” Kiara says from behind you.

“Yea, we were getting tired of keeping your little secret, boy” Cleo chimed in. You laugh and kiss JJ before rushing over to the girls where you all promptly burst into squeals and giggles. JJ walks over to Pope and John B.

“You really did it man” John B says as he puts a hand on JJ’s shoulder

“I really did” JJ sighs contently, staring at you as you beamed.

“I was starting to think you were gonna hold onto that ring forever” Pope says, JJ waves him off

“I just- I needed the right time” JJ said as he crossed his arms against his chest and leaned onto the Twinkie

“And right after you beat up a kook felt romantic enough for you?” Pope laughs

“I dunno man, it felt right” JJ says, and Pope holds up his hands with an expression that reads ‘if it works it works’

You’d barley had a minute to process the fact that you’re now engaged before a round of slow claps came from Kelce, “way to show off JJ, we’ll see how long it lasts before she decides slumming it ain’t her style” he smirked as he got in his truck and drove away.

You didn’t even spare Kelce a glance, your head snapping towards JJ, “leave it. Don’t give him what he wants Jayj” your voice is stern and steady, and he realizes all over again why he wants to marry you.

He walks over and kisses you again “you’re like my damn anchor” he hums, you lean your head on his shoulder and hum as he rests his hands on your hips, tracing shapes into your back “can’t believe I get to marry you.”

You lean back just enough to smile up at him, “JJ we’re engaged” you beam, “we’re fiancés”

“You’re gonna be my wife” he says as he leans down to kiss you, and when he pulls away he has a wicked grin “She’s gonna be my wife!” He screams loud enough that you’re pretty sure the people golfing at the country club can hear. Your friends erupt into cheers as you and JJ soak it all in. Soak each other in. There was never any doubt that you’d be together forever, but it sure was nice to have a ring to show for it.

WOOOOOO i actually really really like this and hope yall do too! I’ve got one other JJ fic in the works and some ideas brewing for part three of she sells seashells but if you wanna see more jj from me please send a request my way!

I hope yall enjoy! Love you to the moon and to Saturn!

[phantasm-ae]

I want my boy Gaz some recognition 😭😭😭😭

Maybe the team will get to meet her🤨🤨🤨🤨

(okay but like imagine... Gaz having a wife similar to Price's and Ghost's wife like she is all sweet, loving, and caring... And then boom! She's Carrying Gaz like it's nothing! Like she has that Texas Cottage core vibe (is that even a thing?) like girl is sunshine and strength)

omg omg omg... im so sorry it took so long anon RAAAA. But! I have an ideaa hehehhe. Soo yk Rick and Morty?? Hehehhe well…

cw: chaotic afab reader x kyle ‘gaz’ garrick, slightly mad scientist afab reader, fluff

HEADCANON: The team meets Gaz’s bird. And well…. She was probably more than they’d expected

PAIRING: Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick x afab reader

Kyle has been dating her for months.

Wildly intelligent and hilariously blunt. Slightly feral lass who wears chaos like perfume and can talk about planetary physics and frogs in the same breath.

The kind who corrects documentaries mid-sentence, and once told Kyle after snooping through his documents, about how his missile trajectory calculations were “embarrassingly phallic,” and sincerely meant it.

And Kyle? Well... He’s absolutely gone for her.

Has been since day one when she marched up to him after attending a childhood friend’s lecture, shoved a melting popsicle in his hand, and said:

"If you had to save the world with only one mathematical constant, which one would you choose? Don’t think — answer!"

Caught between her unblinking stare and a rapidly dripping sticky mango mixture near his cargos, Kyle had only blinked twice and mumbled, “...Pi?”

“Coward,” she said, then grinned like she’d just met her new favorite problem.

That was it. Done. Hooked. Doomed, even.

And well Kyle?

Kyle, awestruck, bemused, and surprised — fingers and wrist sticky with artificial sugar and syrup. The gossamer and sweet liquid staining his newly acquired cargos — could only smile back and nod almost knowingly.

The 141 meet her months later though, during one of those rare in-between missions when there's time for drinks and dinner and recharging before the next chaos hits. But here he was. Fucking sweating and itching through and through.

Well it wasn’t like he never expected all their paths to cross eventually. He always knew she’d meet them. Meet this.

Introduce herself to this part of his life soon enough and not as an accessory or a passing visitor. But as something inevitable. Like gravity. Like sunrise. Something meant to be embedded into every bit of narrative she could sew herself into.

Because if Kyle was ever honest, she knew she wasn’t the kind of person you could keep in a separate drawer. No, never. Would never even think of ever shucking her away on some pent up flat or four-cornered bedroom. Pretty little bird kept and fed well with jewels and soft perches? No. That wasn’t her.

That was never going to be her.

Never.

She was storm and thesis, claws and questions, and Kyle -- sweet, brilliant Kyle -- knew it from the moment she walked into his life like a living paradox, equal parts catastrophe and charm. She didn’t visit chapters. She rewrote them. Annotated margins. Circled themes. Demanded footnotes.

So yes, he always knew.

She overflows. Gushes. Deluged. Trickles sweetly and syrupy into the vestiges of the gloomy part of his existence. Will spill into everything and into him. And Kyle, hopelessly, stupidly gone for her, will never really try to stop it.

So if he was being honest, some part of him had always imagined this moment -- her walking into the same room as the lads, sharp-tongued and starlit, leaving a trail of sparks in her wake. Not if. But more on when.

And now it was when.

But Christ was he still bloody nervous, aye?

Collar too hot and cap a bit too tight on his forehead, palms vaguely clammy like he was back in basic waiting to be called for his first ever inspection all over again. Which was stupid, because this wasn’t a mission. Wasn’t even a bloody op.

It was just.... her -- meeting the rest of his team.

And yet, Kyle was still internally combusting like she was a ticking biochemical warhead that could either charm the lads or annihilate the entirety of Price's backyard.

He glanced sideways at the entrance. No sign of her yet. Okay. Okay. That was fine.

Soap, across from him, was already two pints in and mid-rant about the correct ranking of fast food crisps, while Ghost sat with his arms crossed and offered the occasional low grunt of disagreement. Slow blinking in boredom and lazying around near some of Mrs. Price's potted plants.

Price nursed a whiskey like it was an old grudge and pretended not to be listening, albeit trying to stifle the slight quirk of his lip every time Soap seemed to look even more chauved and disgruntled at Ghost's lack of interest at the importance of learning the difference between Cheese-flavored crisps and barbecued ones. The younger bloke almost fuming at the disinterested and blased remarks he received from his superior. Snobbish over Ghost not knowing the based characteristics on Vinegar vs Vinegar-coated.

“She’s gonna love you lot,” Kyle muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

“Still don’t get why you’re sweatin’ bullets, mate,” Price replies after sidling up next to Gaz after Soap started yelling at Ghost over the massive and weighty bastard choosing Walkers over Pringles, shaking his head with an amused grin. “You said she’s a wee genius, yeah? She'll be fine aye?"

“She's just.... odd” Kyle said after swallowing

Price’s eyebrows drooped a bit reassuringly. Boonie hat tilted, expression something between humoured and understanding -- the same look he gives rookies before a live op. “Odd’s never been a problem with us, son. You seen Soap’s sock drawer?”

“Ah sort them by how often I wear ‘em, obviously” Soap called out from the booth, clearly listening now after a huff. Stomping back to grab another pint. “It’s practical warfare.”

“Freak behaviour,” Ghost muttered behind his own drink.

Kyle exhaled a nervous laugh, glancing again at the door. “I just mean… she’s different. Proper brilliant, but she says things like ‘Diogenes walked so Newton could run,’ and she means it. Like, genuinely. She once argued with Siri and won.”

“She sounds like a bloody delight,” Price replied dryly, then gave him a nudge with his elbow. “C’mon. You think any of us are normal?”

Kyle looked down at his hands, a little calloused, a little sweaty. “She just means a lot. Don’t want her thinkin’ she’s gotta tone herself down for anyone. She deserves better than that”

Price’s voice lowered, sincere. “Then don’t let her. The team’ll love her for exactly who she is. Just like you already do.”

Kyle was about to respond -- probably with something sarcastic and choked-up -- when the door creaked open.

She walks through the gate carrying a box labeled “Absolutely Not Explosives (Maybe Snacks)”, wearing a bright-green button down with her usual tenured slacks and folded manila envelopes tucked in one pocket. Windblown, wide-eyed, her glasses sliding down her nose, and grinning like she just stepped out of a fever dream and into someone else’s backyard. Armed and saddled with that same barefoot-in-a-storm kind of confidence that had ruined him from day one.

“Hi!” she calls out.

And it’s not just a greeting -- it’s an announcement. A declaration of entry. Like Archimedes, entropy, and the snack box had all been waiting for this exact moment to collide.

Kyle’s heart stuttered once, then promptly gave up any hope of ever functioning normally again.

She beelined for him as usual like a woman on a mission, but halfway there.... she noticed the fire pit --

-- specifically, the way it was constructed.

Oh shit, not again.

She veered without hesitation, knelt next to it, squinting like she was analyzing a nuclear core, and muttered, “Someone built this using a Fibonacci spiral as emotional support.”

“Fuck's Fibonacci?”, Soap whispered loudly, nudging Ghost with his elbow. “This Gaz's lass then, aye?”

Ghost gave her a slow once-over. Head tilting a bit at her mismatched flats and patched pockets. “Bird looks like she drinks Red Bull and argues with God.”

Before Kyle could respond -- or run, depending on the emotional weather -- she reaches into the sleeve of her coat and yanks out a... suspicious-looking metal rod.

No one spoke.

Then -- click -- a blade folded out. But not like a normal blade. No, this looked like a half-melted Swiss Army knife made love to a soldering iron. Wires dangling at the bits of shorn metal. Clinking and sinewy it was. A button at the side of the make-shift handle blinking blue rapidly.

Yep. Something definitely hissed, Price concludes as he minutely flinches for the first time at the sight of something so foreign and obtuse near his wife's petunias.

Ghost tensed, gaze locked like he was trying to identify what kind of improvised weapon she’d just birthed into existence, while Soap -- daft numpty -- only leaned forward in fascination.

“What the fuck is that?” Price asked, calm but also not calm, the way a father might ask why there’s a raccoon in the dishwasher.

She didn’t look up. “Thermodynamic calibrator-slash-ultralight torch. Built it from scrap and spite. Give me a sec.”

Then she jammed it into the soil like she was performing surgery on the lawn. A sharp hum buzzed through the air. One of the lawn lights flickered. She squinted at the fire pit, adjusted a dial, then jammed the device again into the soil near the base. The fire pit roared to life, its flame suddenly tall and balanced, licking upward in a soft golden spiral. It was mesmerizing, a near-perfect bloom of heat and symmetry.

The men collectively leaned back.

“Hell's bells” Soap muttered.

She stood, smacked some dirt off her knees, and grinned with both pride and a worrying amount of glee. “There,” she said, adjusting a final dial before stepping back. “Now it distributes heat evenly -- low flicker rate, too, in case anyone here’s prone to headaches or, you know… prefers not to feel like they’re being interrogated by the sun.”

Her tone was light, but her eyes flicked briefly toward Ghost -- casual, gentle, like it was just an offhand observation. But Kyle caught it. The way she noticed things most didn’t. The way she chose to.

Soap leaned back slowly, a grin now stretching across his face like a man watching the birth of a new religion.

“I like her", Soap grinned.

Kyle was already up on his feet, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh, love… you gonna say hi properly, or you planning to interrogate more of the landscaping?”

She stood up straighter now, poised and readied, like nothing was odd once more, turning with an inviting and warmy grin, holding the box up proudly with a small and enthusiastic wave. Almost like she didn't just reconstruct a fire pit with a weaponized calculator and a god complex. “Hi! Sorry, got distracted. The heat ratios were offensive. Also, I brought snacks!”

She shook the box once for emphasis. It jangled. The sound was deeply suspicious.

Ghost, once relaxed and a bit.... touched alarmed that someone picked up on his discomfort with flickering light without him saying a word, now sat a little straighter at that. Eyes sharp once again. Cautious and perched. Shoulders just barely tensed under his hoodie as something absolutely squeaked when she juggled the looming cardboard in her wry hands repeatedly.

Price side-eyed the box like it had a timer.

Soap was still smiling like he’d just found a new hobby. Gait shifting to approach her closer. Reading the “Absolutely Not Explosives" label aloud. “Tha's either a bloody threat or a right good promise.”

“Depends on who opens it,” she replied cheerfully, then smiled open and inviting, adjusting her grip to shake Soap's outstretched palm. Shoving the box right after to Kyle's chest. Price humming in amusement at the sight 'oof' Kyle breathes at the weight and mounty thing now in his grasp. A misguided care package from a mad scientist at that. He was sure of it.

Making him stagger a step back, having to catch it again with both hands as it tilted precariously to one side. Something clinked. Something else sloshed. Something definitely clicked.

Price hummed, one brow rising as he took another sip of whiskey. “She always gift-wrap danger?”

“Only on the holidays,” Kyle muttered, staring down at the box like it was about to start reciting code.

Meanwhile, she was already gripping Soap’s hand with a firm shake, her grin bright, chaotic energy radiating off her like a short-circuited sunbeam.

At his sergeant's words, Price shakes his head in hilarity and interest, a slight lift from his beard for a surprised smile before stepping forward himself and offering his own hand. “You must be the chaos professor.”

She blinked at his hand at that, his words making her pause but grin proudly, grasping his sinewy fingers firmly as well in return. “I’m not a professor. Yet. But I am a Doctor of Applied Theoretical Physics, with a minor in Quantum Physics”

“You’ll fit right in,” he replied, clearly entertained. “I’m John.”

“Captain John Price,” she said then, squinting. Almost like something just pieced itself together in her head. A corner of her glasses slightly blinking green and blue. However, light and subtle -- just a shimmer beneath the lens as if scanning data only she could see.

She tilted her head. “Ohhh. You’re the John Price. Task Force 141. SAS. Operation Kingfisher, the oil rig interception, three confirmed HVTs neutralized in twenty-one minutes. That John.”

Price raised a brow, his grip still firm in her handshake. “That’s a very specific résumé you’re rattling off.”

She grinned, shrugging. “I like to research my boyfriend’s coworkers. Helps me know what kind of cookies to bake and what kinds of extraction plans to draft in case things go horribly wrong. And can I just say for the record, that you truly have a ridiculously symmetrical face.”

Price chuckled low in his throat, that rare and gravelly sound of a man both flattered and bewildered. “Symmetrical, huh?”

She nodded, eyes narrowed with faux scrutiny. “Yep. It’s giving ‘military recruitment poster.’ Like someone made you in a lab to sell patriotism and protein powder.”

Soap let out a loud bark of laughter. “Och, she's clocked you dead-on, Cap"

Kyle was standing off to the side now, box still in his arms, looking like he was debating whether to set it down gently or hurl it into the bushes before something in it decided to hatch. “Please don’t feed her ego,” he called over. “It’s already got its own gravitational field.”

She shot him a wink at his response. “That’s rich coming from the man who cried at my thesis defense.”

“That’s -- I had a cold,” Kyle protested, cheeks already pinking.

“She presented using live fluid simulations and built a metaphor about dark energy and love,” he added for the others, like that would somehow make it less devastating.

Ghost muttered into his glass, “Startin' to think you didn’t pull her… bird drafted you.”

“She did,” Kyle said, deadpan. “I was conscripted.”

Price shook his head, that amused smile now tugging higher under his beard. “Well, Doc, welcome to the madness.”

She glanced at the squad -- all casually observing her like she was both a field report and an open flame -- and clapped her hands once, bright and fearless.

“Excellent,” she said. “Then I’ll make tea after this. Also, about that fire pit--”

Soap looked delighted. “Aye, that wee disaster? That wis me, cheers.”

She gave him a mock-somber nod. Almost cringing at Soap's enthusiasm as if it physically hurt her to try and school someone for something pointless and small at the end of the day. “I admire the conviction, Johnny. But the stones.... were holding a grudge.”

Ghost tilted his head. “Fuck do stones hold a grudge for?”

She looked at him over her glasses. “Vibrations. Like people. Only less dramatic.”

Soap leaned over to Price, muttering, “This one’s a unit. A proper mad scientist.”

Price snorted. “And you love it.”

“You know I do.”

Finally, Kyle placed the suspicious box on the table with the care of someone setting down a baby rattlesnake. “Alright, so are we opening this or performing a ritual?”

She lit up. “Both.”

Something beeped.

Ghost stiffened.

Soap leaned closer.

Price calmly took another sip of his whiskey like he was very used to seeing strange things unfold in his garden.

And Kyle?

He just grinned, wide and resigned, as she started peeling back the tape with the flair of someone revealing buried treasure. Because this was her. All of her.

Spilling and overflowing for sure. All light, wit, and kinetic mess. Sharp edges wrapped in cellophane, brilliance hidden beneath layers of glitter and chaos and a worrying understanding of black-market circuit boards. Solar flare in the shape of his other half is what it is.

But somehow. Bloody somehow.

Still. Will. And is --

-- utterly Kyle's.

“Alright,” she said brightly, flipping the box open now with a flourish, “Let’s play snack roulette!”

Revealing the inside of the malty cardboard now filled with neatly organized rows of tiny vacuum-sealed parcels, each labelled with suspicious enthusiasm:

Nutritionally Suspicious Brownies

Possibly Radioactive Jam -- Only Kyle's

Chili Lemon Cry-Biscuits

Emotionally Unstable Muffins

Entropy Taffy

Soap leaned in with glee. “Christ, ye name yer snacks like they’ve got emotional issues”

“They kind of are,” she replied, plucking out the Cry-Biscuits and casually tossing one to Ghost, who caught it one-handed with all the enthusiasm of a man expecting to be poisoned. He sniffed it once, then gave her a look.

“Why’s it humming.”

“Because it’s fresh,” she said simply, then added, “And also maybe reacting to trace particles in the air. The spice is… volatile.”

Ghost stared. “You trying to kill us bird?”

“If I was, you'd already be carbon scoring,” she chirped.

Soap popped one of the taffies into his mouth with a crunch. Immediately blinked. “Holy shite. I can taste colors!”

masterlist

[kingkat12]

pornstar martini (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: spanking, blowjob, punishments, sub/dom dynamics, kinky mails, masochism, masturbation, throwing up (very briefly cause of a hangover), Roman is a fucking ass even though he's overseas ughhh, jealousy ploys

summary: Mr. Godfrey has been away in Geneva for a few days now without as much as a peep-- getting drunk and upset about it certainly won't help, but when have you ever been of sound mind?

word count: 7,710

← previous chapter |

a/n: I'm so fucking drunk while editing this rn, reader is drunk throughout this whole chapter, so... at LEAST I'll have a good representation of intoxication?? I've missed this story tho, thank you all for ALL THE LOVE AHHHH you give me hope, you give me life, so I give you this!<333 mwah, enjoy, you little freaks

"It's your cousin,"

Letha turned to me, slow enough for it to be a clip straight out of a comedy movie; "What?" she asked, putting down her cosmopolitan. 

I groaned into my palm, swirling my half-empty pornstar martini. The loud bar around us made my head pound, each beat hammering into a new part of my brain that I didn't know could feel pain. "It was his shoe," 

"The shoe you... humped?"

"Yeah," I breathed, hiccuping as I tried to force my eyes to open wider. It was impossible to concentrate when I was this drunk. We had been out for dinner around six, then we had met some of Letha's friends at some bar around eight, then we had met mutuals from college who had led us to wherever the fuck we were right now-- we had long broken apart from that group, and we were now sitting in some tent-like structure, having our fourth cocktails for the night. "He told me to, and I did it. Your cousin is hot, are you aware of that?"

Letha blinked over and over, scrunching her nose; "Nope," she said. "He's just Roman to me. He's the same guy who ate snow with me in my backyard when we were six, and I watched him go through his emo phase when he was fifteen. Also, if I ever say yes to that, shoot me, because I'm most likely possessed."

Mr. Godfrey, eating snow? What an odd thought. What an odd thing-- for him to be human.

I scanned Letha; her cheeks always got flushed when she was drunk, and tonight, she was properly drunk. Very, very drunk, and so was I, undeniably. "I don't want to shoot you," I mumbled, bringing my pornstar martini back to my lips. "Aren't you mad, though?"

"Mad? Meh," Letha shrugged. "I'd be mad if you fucked my father, but--"

"Ew, Lee, what the fuck!--"

"But!" She held one finger up in the air, effectively shutting me up. "This is sort of a win-win situation. If you get with my cousin, like, properly, then we could technically be sisters or whatever."

I cleared my throat, trying to straighten up as I pulled the most serious face I could in this state. Letha would've probably not have been so enthusiastic about this if she were sober. "I don't think it's like that," I mumbled, staring at the cocktail I had nearly finished. If this conversation were to continue, I'd need about three more of these. Why couldn't I just shut up? 

"So... what? It's a strictly hump-my-shoe sort of thing?" Letha chimed in, grinning from ear to ear as she watched my cheeks redden to the likes of hers. "You naughty girl! He's your boss, too!"

"Shut up!" I hissed, smacking my forehead twice. Why did my head hurt so bad? Maybe it was time to put down my drink. "It's the suit, and it's the green eyes. I die a little every time I look at him, and soon enough, there will be nothing left of me except my clit."

"... Ew," 

"I'm so fucking serious, Lee!"

"Oh, I'm not denying it," she said in between sips of her cosmopolitan. "Not that I want to know, but I'm drunk and not in the right mind, but do you do anything else? You hump his shoe, and he does?"

What the fuck was I supposed to say here? "Hey, okay, I did that once!--"

"Shut up!" Letha said, giggling uncontrollably. "You hump his shoe, and he does...?"

I blinked, trying to recover from her incessant teasing. I hump his shoe, and he does...? He gets me expensive gifts. He spanks me when I misbehave. He makes me cum when I'm being good, whatever that means. I'm never good, in theory. Mr. Godfrey didn't usually do anything except order me around, yet that was sort of the appeal-- the less I knew about him, what he looked like beneath that suit, who he was, the more I felt like he was a God-like entity. Hence, whenever I had his attention in any way, I felt beyond special. 

That was the appeal of Mr. Godfrey; he was nothing, yet everything at the same time. 

"He makes me feel," I mumbled, pressing my drink to my bottom lip as my eyes blanked. Mr. Godfrey's presence in my life felt like impact-play, but I couldn't say that out loud? "He looks at me, and I... I feel everything at the same time. I feel good, I feel like hell, and sometimes I even feel special. But honestly, sometimes it becomes so overwhelming that I wish he'd set me on fire just so that he could watch me in my very last moments and know that I have suffered for him."

Letha didn't move, didn't breathe, for long enough to make it unusual. Something told me I had told her too much, but just as I was about to clear my throat and try to explain myself, she spoke; "I could report you to HR,"

"You wouldn't do that to me, babe," I grumbled, finishing my pornstar martini shortly after. "You know I hate those people. Also, the HR lady is scary, but really darn hot. I don't want her running around Mr. Godfrey for long enough for him to notice her nice legs."

"Mr. Godfrey?" Letha repeated, choking down a giggle. "You can't even make yourself call him Roman, huh?"

Nope. 

Nope, no, never. 

That felt wrong, like it was something I needed permission for. I probably did, anyway.

Letha let my silence off the hook easily; "Or maybe that's the appeal? He's your boss, so you probably wear short skirts around him, and bend over his desk and purr sir in his ear or something--"

"No!" I cried, burying my face in my hands as Letha laughed. "I don't!-- Ugh." Liar, liar, pants on fire. The more I thought about the time Mr. Godfrey pressed me down into the wood of his desk, holding me steady as he inspected my underwear, made my ears burn; had I been shameless like before, I would've even crossed my legs right now and relieved the intense sensation between my legs, but no-- I had gotten a mental block about that, quite frankly.

"Just don't tell him I told you," I mumbled. "I don't think he even knows we know each other."

Letha's green eyes twinkled; "Don't worry about it,"

"But this sort of leads me to another point," In the middle of a new hiccup, I decided to just go for it. "Has your cousin called you from Geneva? He's been gone for two days, and he's, like...  completely out of reach."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," I breathed, swirling my empty glass. "I caught him calling in on some meeting earlier today, so I know he's not a missing person or whatever, but he hasn't sent me anything. Hasn't talked to me. It's like he's ignoring me, or-- yeah, I have no idea."

Letha's brows drew together; not out of concern, but intrigue. "Did he tell you he'd stay in touch?"

"... No, but he said he'd be available,"

"So maybe he's waiting for you to send something, then?" Letha's green eyes seared into mine, once again reminding me that they were related-- they had the exact same fucking eyes. Maybe if Mr. Godfrey completely iced me out someday, I could get over the heartache by looking at Letha. There was my backup plan. The shittiest but wittiest one to date. "But if this is strictly a sex-thing, I wouldn't put it past Roman to be completely unattached to it."

With that, my heart sank. "What?"

Letha shot me a look-- "Come on," she huffed. "He's a Godfrey. If I'm the way I am, can you imagine him? Do you not read those gossip magazines? They psychoanalyze him better than I could ever do, especially now that I'm drunk at three in the morning."

The only magazine I had formally read about him was the Forbes magazine I still kept tucked beneath my pillow-- not the proudest moment of mine. "I know I'm not his girlfriend or whatever, but... what we have feels special, y'know? Like it warrants a snarky email asking whether I've burned the office down or something,"

Letha sighed, checking out the guy to her left as she thought about how to answer me without stomping on my feelings. However, it was three in the morning, and after enough drinks, Letha Godfrey had the filter of a neurodivergent toddler; "Of course it feels special. Doesn't mean that you are to him, though,"

"... Letha, what the hell?"

"I'm just being honest," 

Her attention had completely left me, and she was now waving at the guy with that flirty shimmer in her eyes that I knew too well. It made me turn around to look at him properly, to see who I was battling against, and I couldn't contain the annoyed groan that left me. "Sometimes, he slips up and says things that allude to him thinking about me more than he lets up," I huffed. "I think I warrant an inappropriate mail from Geneva."

Busy flirting, Letha batted her long, blonde lashes at the guy. "Aha," she mumbled, nodding, clearly occupied. 

I gritted my teeth, wondering how long I could keep myself together before I had an angry, drunk meltdown. "What happened to Barty?" I whined. "Bartholomew? He-who-must-not-be-named? The guy you were dating?"

Letha shivered and turned to me with a grimace-- I knew that name would bring her back to me. "We don't talk about him. That was a slip-up in the Matrix," She put down her drink, letting out a sigh as she scanned me, disregarding the guy for now. "So, what, you're going to sulk all week because Roman's AFK?"

"AFK...?

"Away-From-Keyboard," she said, softening her gaze. "Don't let yourself fall apart because of some man. That's so lame. What happened to the girl I knew in college?"

How was I supposed to explain to Letha that it was this exact spiral that made me feel alive? That the way I burned in agony over being ignored satisfied me to some extent? It was too complicated to even begin to decode.  "I don't know..." I stared down at my empty glass, realizing my head was spinning. "I think I'm too drunk to think clearly about this. Should we maybe just get a cab home?"

Letha didn't answer, and instead, reached over the table to put her hand over mine. Like this, lit up by the orange heat-lamps above us, she looked beautiful as ever with her perfect blonde hair lying perfectly over her shoulders. She was so soft like this, so feminine, so gentle-- "Just mail him, babe," she murmured. "Or, call us a cab, and then mail him. Take charge."

Taking charge was Mr. Godfrey's thing, though. That was another thing that I wouldn't explain to Letha. "It's nine in the morning over there," I tried. "And what if he doesn't reply?"

Letha shrugged-- "Then you'll know,"

I looked down at my glass again, the stem sweating against my palm; somehow, knowing sounded so much worse. 

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Ten minutes later, we were in the back of a cab, the windows fogged and streaked with rain, the city blurring into watercolor neon. I curled against the cold leather seat, phone clutched in my hand like it had wronged me. My makeup was smudged, my head spun like it always did after a night out with Letha, and everything inside me buzzed with that erratic, mortifying energy that came with four drinks and too many feelings.

Letha was already asleep, head tipped back, her phone unlocked and resting dangerously close to her cleavage. I stared down her blouse for a bit too long, and with one drunk thought after the other, I ended up slowly easing her phone down her bra, containing my giggles. 

So, with Letha's phone sticking proudly out from between her tits, I eventually stared down at mine in my hands. I had distracted myself for a moment, yet I couldn't distract myself forever.

Hiccuping, I opened my mail, clicking into Mr. Godfrey's account-- he had been online two hours ago. Fucker. He had probably already read yesterday's report. Probably dismissed it, too. Probably dismissed me. I was spiralling, but this spiral had edges. This spiral had teeth. This spiral was the same girl that Letha knew in college.

I opened a new mail. Then, without thinking, I started typing-- it poured out of me, fingers fumbling, typos aplenty, autocorrect working overtime like it had taken pity on me, but there was no stopping now. Fuck it.

From: You

Subject: Being Stupid

Hi.

Hi!!

I'm writing this in the back of a cab, so if you see any typos, no you don't. I might perhaps also be a bit drunk, but who cares!! Maybe you're in a conference room in Geneva rn while some old dude talks to you about trade routes and money laundering. You must do some money laundering, sir? Every rich guy does that. Probably? Right? Seems like it, these days. Capitalism!!!!!

Okay, so, I know you said you'd be available if there were any crisises crisies? crisi? but there are none except for me. Before you left, you said that I was an HR liability, and I keep thinking about that, because that's SCUHA A LIE. SUCH. I would never rat you out to the HR lady who is frankly too hot to be walking around like that, she has legs that are longer than the Chinese wall, and it's kind of disturbing. I wouldn't sir!!! I'm not like your last secretary, whether the fuck happened to her. I wouldn't sue you. I'm a good secretary. 

Btw I had a pornstar martini today!!! Three, I thin. k. Four! No, three. Four? Do you drink anything other than bourbon? You need to try a pornstar martini, sir. They are really fucking nice because they're sweet and you sometimes get a pomegranate in it and it's actually kinda inconvevnient inconvenient but it's cutesy!!! Maybe you don't like cutesy tho. Bet you don't. Okay maybe you should stick ot th e bourbon. 

YeahhhtThis message is embarrassing and long and I'll probably try to unsend it in the morning, but if you do read it please don't pretend like you didn't. I know how you are. Just say something. Anything!! Even if it's cruel. I might like it? I can take it. I'd rather have your cruelty than your silence. I'm a good secretary.

Happy money laundering!!!!!!!!

PSPSPS: plsssssss bring me something, I wasnt joking;(((

Click click click,

Your Secretary.

I didn't care to re-read it. It was too long, and at the moment, it felt like poetry that I shouldn't touch. This was genius, wasn't it? This would definitely make Mr. Godfrey pull himself together and send me a heartfelt message about missing me, I was sure of it. 

And then, because I definitely had the traits of an emotional masochist, and because Mr. Godfrey was probably out there, doing anything but thinking of me, I hit send. This was going to fix this. This was fucking genius.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ No, retreat, retreat-- not genius.

Oh...  my God.

Oh my fucking God?!

The next morning, seated behind my desk with the worst hangover known to man, I stared at the mail that I had sent last night. It was glaring back at me from my computer like a reminder that I was getting executed in a few hours.

Not genius. Not fucking genius! 

I so desperately wanted to die. That execution sounded really nice right now. Why couldn't I sink through the floor and haunt the building instead? Why did I have to live through the possible consequences of this stunt? Fucking Letha. 

But said consequences were painfully delayed-- my inbox was empty. This was worse than cruelty; silence. I imagined a ball of dry wheat rolling past my email like in those cowboy movies, a sinister whistle-sound coming from afar. Was Mr. Godfrey blatantly unaware of this, perhaps? Or worse, was he laughing about it? Forwarding it to legal? Telling the hot HR lady with the war-crime legs that I, in fact, was an HR liability?

I imagined Mr. Godfrey and his Forbes nose skimming the message with his unreadable, handsome face. Maybe he was sipping something expensive (and definitely made with Swiss skimmed goat-milk), scowling over my drunken meltdown. Maybe he had already shown it to some diplomat friend over lunch, and they were both laughing at it right at this very moment? "How fucking pathetic... Do you know how hard she cums when I call her a sick fuck?"

My palms were sweating, my stomach twisted with every movement of my spinning chair-- God, I had asked him to be cruel. Who the fuck does that? Who begs their boss for cruelty like it's affection? Why did I drink four pornstar martinis? Three? Four. Whatever.

I slammed my forehead against the desk once. Just once, dramatically, with a soft thud. 

Racking my hungover brain, I tried to figure out if I could get away with hiding in the archive room all day, but then a low voice, smooth and familiar, cut through the fog behind my eyes;

"Rough night?"

My red eyes snapped up, staring up at Peter. His hands were in the pockets of his dark, sleek coat, his hair slightly messy in a way that looked deliberate, clearly just having gotten to the office. He was smirking like he already knew exactly how rough my evening had been, like he had seen me hunched over my fourth pornstar martini telling Letha about the spiritual experience of humping her cousin's shoe-- God, just thinking about that right now made my head pound even harder. 

I cleared my throat, straightening with a slight hiss; the fluorescent lights of the office were killing me. "Remind me to never drink martinis ever again,"

"Oh, that's a shame," Peter murmured, cocking his head. "Martinis can be really damn good. Was it a sweet one?"

"Yeah, pornstar,"

"What?"

Blinking, I caught myself-- I couldn't just say that word without following it up. "Pornstar martini," I corrected, rubbing the back of my neck as I attempted a laugh. "Not saying you're a-- no, no, it's just the name of the drink, I-- ugh, you get it."

"I do," Peter hummed, containing a laugh with a bite of his lip.

"The name is foul," I mumbled. "But it's the best drink ever. I always have one of those when I go out."

"Meaning, you're not gonna have your last one any time soon," With that cool ease he always had, Peter put his briefcase on my desk, leaning over my computer-- he knew that'd have me clicking out of whatever I had been staring at previously with anxious fervour. Chuckling, he shook his head. "Seems you've really let loose with bossman away."

Yeah... if only Mr. Godfrey would come back and pull at my reins again.

"That's slander," I muttered, minimizing my inbox. "I've been nothing but responsible. I'm a really darn good secretary, believe it or not." 

Peter raised both eyebrows, clearly amused by my mantra as he pointed to my scalp. "Uh-huh. That desk-shaped dent on your forehead would like a word,"

I glared at him and pressed a palm to the tender spot. "Dramatic expression of productivity," I mumbled. As much as I loved visits from Peter, I felt like too much of a mess to keep up with the banter-- my hangover was ripping me apart, limb by limb. I softened my gaze, rounding out my eyes in hopes of sympathy, so as not to sound too harsh; "Did you need anything, Peter? I'm drowning in work here, and my head is pounding, I'm-- I'm sorry."

Peter tapped his knuckle gently on the corner of my desk, then hesitated; "Actually, uh... there was something I was gonna ask you,"

"Please don't be about tech support. I'm one migraine away from throwing my monitor out the window,"

He laughed; "No, not tech support. It's, um... about the banquet."

I blinked-- huh?

"You know, the one on Sunday?" he quickly added, stuffing his hands back into his pockets like he regretted taking them out in the first place. "Mr. Godfrey's annual charity... whatever. Doubt he cares about the cause, but it's an excuse for everyone to get drunk on company money. Champagne, string quartets, awkward company small talk.... All very classy, very terrifying."

"Right," I breathed. My stomach clenched, and not from the hangover this time. Something in me moved, and it wasn't puke; I suddenly felt unimaginably warm. Was this really happening?

Peter scratched the back of his neck. "I wasn't sure if you were going, but I thought maybe, if you didn't have plans?-- or if you didn't want to go alone, or, like-- we could, I don't know, go together?" He rushed in to fill the second of silence that followed, not daring to let me hesitate; "Not, like, go go. Just-- go as, you know, not-alone people? Coworkers. Who dress up. And pretend to be functioning adults."

My lips parted as my mind buzzed; Mr. Godfrey was still in Geneva. Still silent. Still a fucking ghost. Was he even going to this banquet? He was still going to be in Geneva by Sunday, right? Yeah, he wasn't going to attend, then. What could be the harm? 

Or, actually... there could be a lot of harm.

To my ass, specifically. 

Just the thought of Mr. Godfrey storming back from Geneva after finding out that I had accepted the invitation from Peter, all broody and dark, jealous even, made my cheeks burn. I wondered what he'd do; he'd definitely spank me raw. Tell me how I was his submissive, his secretary, how he didn't like sharing. His big, rough hands would leave a large, pink, stinging mark, before he'd proceed to dip his fingers into me, easing them in one by one, pumping the shame of my actions deeper into me as he'd tell me how sick I was for even thinking I could get away with this. 

But back in real life, I realized a bit too late that Peter might've misinterpreted my blushing, and the tongue-tied silence. I looked blissed out right now, didn't I? 

He was still smiling that soft, hopeful smile that made my chest tighten with guilt; "No pressure. Just thought I'd ask. You know where to find me when you decide,"

"Okay," I breathed, swallowing hard as I continued staring at the way too hot paralegal in front of me-- were all the people in this office hot? Seemingly so. "It sounds really nice, Peter, but I don't even know if I'm free Sunday night, I might have plans with--"

"Sure, sure," Peter said, that charming smirk of his returning; something told me he was convinced he had secured me nonetheless. With that same classy, cool ease, he backed away, putting his hands in the air; "Think about it. Or don't. It might be a no-brainer when you get some water into your system."

Then, with secure steps, and that warm twinkle in his brown eyes that I secretly adored, Peter walked off down the hall with a confident stride, bag in hand. 

The moment he disappeared around the corner, the warmth in my belly bloomed, giddy and low, a little pulse between my thighs I couldn't stop; I would've, had I had the permission. Fucking freak. 

And for a split second, the idea of going to the banquet with Peter thrilled me.

But then, I imagined Mr. Godfrey walking into the room with that inhuman grace and sharp suit and catching me at Peter's side-- my stomach flipped.

No, it turned.

"Oh no," I muttered, gagging, hand flying to my mouth; I yanked the trash bin from under my desk and heaved into it. The sour burn of alcohol and existential shame hit my nose all at once, and I gagged again.

When I was finally sure there was nothing left in me but regret and stomach acid, I wiped my mouth with a trembling hand, panting, eyes watering. God, that was undignified. I needed to get rid of this thing, this trash bag of humiliation, before someone came sniffing around. Peter might've walked off looking suave, but if he doubled back and caught me hunched over like some hungover troll in a pencil skirt? No. No fucking way. Over my dead, spanked body.

The ladies' room was too far away. The kitchenette was too risky. I blinked through the fluorescent haze, heart pounding in my ears-- then, like a beacon from the divine, my gaze landed on his door.

Mr. Godfrey's office.

I knew a cleaning lady was coming there in about twenty minutes-- if I stuffed my little mishap in his trash, then I wouldn't be caught red-handed with it! Genius. So, clutching the top of the lined trash bag like a biohazard, I slid out of my seat, pulse hammering as I tiptoed toward the forbidden door.

Mr. Godfrey's chair sat in perfect alignment behind his desk, screen dark, blinds half-shut. The lingering scent of his expensive cologne remained in the room, and I let out a half-sigh as I closed the door behind me, engulfing myself in the sensations I had missed. Then, snapping out of it, I crossed the room fast, knelt by the trash can beside his desk, and tucked the bag of vomit inside.

Gone. Buried. Out of sight.

Yet... I wasn't. 

A loud pling came from Mr. Godfrey's computer, and I let out a horrified squeak as I slammed my head into the back of the desk. "Fuck!" I hissed, hand flying to my scalp. My heart thrashed against my ribs like it wanted out, and I whipped my head over the edge, eyes wide, to face the glowing screen of Mr. Godfrey's monitor, which had lit up with a single, new email.

Sent to... himself?

I got closer, skimming the top part of the mail;

From: Roman Godfrey

Subject: Re: Being Stupid

Dear secretary,

If you are reading this, you are more predictable than I thought. Did you really think you could sneak in here without me getting an alert? Nasty little girl, snooping around where you do not belong. 

Now, sit down. Legs crossed. Palms flat against the desk.

My breath caught, trembling, frozen somewhere between terror and a rush of heat that settled thick and low between my legs. I backed away slowly from the desk like it was wired to explode.

He knew.

Mr. Godfrey knew I'd come in here (probably not for the reason he'd have thought, though). He had set this up. Not only was I busted-- he had baited me. Something about that made my throat dry, yet a small smile spread across my lips. This was beyond hot. He knew me so well that he was sending scheduled mails to himself, knowing I'd read it. Holy fuck. 

With burning cheeks, I sat down, crossed my legs, and placed my palms flat against the desk; there was something so deeply satisfying about being bossed around like this. God, how I had missed it. 

My eyes skimmed the time it had originally been sent in my timezone; 07:32. Mr. Godfrey hadn't been ignoring me-- he had waited for me. Had he timed it with the alarm going off in his office? Whenever someone neared the desk? Risky. Hot. Pressing my thighs together, making myself comfortable (the best way I knew how), I proceeded to read the rest of the mail. 

Secondly— what the fuck did I just read?

A good secretary would not drunk-email her employer from the back of a cab while slandering global finance and confessing to three (four?) pornstar martinis. A good secretary would not admit, in writing, to being a liability, nor would she make vague, possibly actionable comments about her predecessor and the HR department.

I have read your email three times. Once at the hotel bar. Once in the elevator. And once again this morning, against my better judgment, in a boardroom while a Swiss man with an unfortunate moustache explained cryptocurrency regulation. I have no idea what he said. That is on you.

You are lucky I like chaos. You are lucky that I like the look of you in your little skirts in the morning. However, next time you decide to fall apart, do it in person, so I can deal with you accordingly. Also, the drink is called a pornstar martini— it can never be "cutesy", you fucking gremlin.

Also, you are not a good secretary. I am going to keep you, though.

PS: I will bring something back. However, if you ever ask for something that way again, I will indeed be cruel, and not in the way I know you like. 

PSPS: Cum before you leave. 

Entertained,

Roman Godfrey, CEO of Godfrey Industries.

And you best believe I did-- legs crossed, palms flat against the desk.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

After a really long day, I had spent some time in bed reading my beloved Forbes interview over and over, tracing the outline of Mr. Godfrey's nose and side profile before slowly nodding off. Sleep wrapped around me like a warm duvet, and I was sure I fell asleep smiling-- Mr. Godfrey hadn't fired me. Mr. Godfrey might even... like me? 

But when I was abruptly awoken by the loud buzzing of my phone, I tapped around my pillow to find it, and I realized I had drooled down onto the fabric-- I blamed that on the dream I just had, where Mr. Godfrey had told me to suck his cock beneath his desk. One day. One glorious day. 

I blinked at the screen when I finally found it. Unknown number, international code; +41, Switzerland.

My stomach dropped-- Geneva. 

I sat up with a squeal, the room spinning for a moment as the last wisps of sleep clawed at my brain. Smacking my cheek once, twice, trying to snap out of the rush of adrenaline that shot through me, I answered the call; "Hello?"

I knew who it was. Of course this was him. Who else would dare to call me at two in the morning? Still, as every CEO probably did, he went the polite route with me. "This is Roman Godfrey speaking,"

Prick. Now that he wasn't here to see me, I allowed myself to roll my eyes, suppressing a laugh at the predictability. "I know, sir," I mumbled, embarrassingly hoarse. This was beyond exciting-- what did he want? I didn't care. He was here. I could hear his voice again. He was here. 

There was a pause; the kind that crackled with suspense. Would he say something about me being a smartass? Would he command me to fling myself out of my window now? I might've even complied if he did.  "You sound terrible," Mr. Godfrey eventually said. "Are you sick?"

A sick fuck, perhaps, as he had so kindly diagnosed me before, but-- "No, sir," I croaked, flinging my duvets off of me as if that would help me think straighter. My legs were tangled in it, my shirt stuck to the back of my thigh from sweat. "Just tired. You, uh... woke me up."

"Mm. It's nearly nine here,"

Of course it was. Of course he would sound wide awake, clear-headed, as if he'd just stepped out of a glacier-fed shower and into a designer suit, and of course he had no remorse for my state. "I would've taken you to be the type to be up all night," Mr. Godfrey continued. "Have I caught you fixing your sleep schedule?"

Nah, you actually just caught me in the middle of gagging on your cock.  "I-- no. I was just... reading,"

"Reading?" he echoed.

"Reading, sir, I just started this one called--"

"Oh, I don't want to know," Mr. Godfrey huffed. "I just need you to send over the LVMH file. I don't have it on my hard drive here, and I'm meeting Bernard soon."

I scrambled out of bed and grabbed my laptop off the floor; I had to contain a sharp gasp when I opened it. Why the fuck had I not closed this tab before I went to sleep? It had frozen on a video I had dug into the depths of PornHub to find, in the category of men wearing suits-- I needed to get this out of my grid, stat. "The LVMH file... uh, yes, one second, sir,"

As I typed in my password with shaky fingers, the only sounds between us were the soft tapping of my keyboard and the hum of something muffled on his end. Was that... a news anchor? A coffee machine? The shuffle of hotel slippers over plush carpeting? 

But then, it hit me; I adjusted my phone between my shoulder and ear. "Sorry, sir, did you-- did you mean Bernard Arnault?"

Mr. Godfrey let out a small, humourless chuckle; "I didn't realize you were such a fan,"

"I'm not a fan, I just-- I mean, I know who he is. Obviously," I pulled the file from my drive, trying not to sound as shocked as I felt. "He's like... luxury fashion royalty. And you're just-- meeting him? Casually? In a hotel?"

"Yes," Mr. Godfrey replied, the warning in it unmistakable. "And now you're delaying it." 

I swallowed down my instinct to keep digging, to ask which one of his suits he'd be wearing to this meeting (so I could picture it for later, innocent purposes), and instead, I clicked send.

"Done," I mumbled.

I could still hear the faint background noise-- definitely a hotel room, definitely a coffee machine. "Good girl," Mr. Godfrey murmured.

Fuck, how I had missed him. 

But despite me having fulfilled all my tasks, he... he didn't hang up, like I had expected him to. Didn't he have a meeting to get to? Instead, a click of porcelain, a rustle. "You included the updated graphs from Friday's briefing?"

I blinked. "Yes. Of course," I checked, triple-checked, just in case; "Slide twelve, sir."

Another pause. "You corrected the typo in the Q2 earnings summary?"

Oh... So he was stalling too?

"Yes," I murmured, biting down on my growing smile. Couldn't do anything about my blush, though. "Changed the wordings here and there, and the margin line graph was widened, too."

"Good," Mr. Godfrey said, but it came slower this time. "You don't usually miss things... Although it seems you've missed me, based on your little email."

Oh no. 

I felt heat flood every part of me as my heart stopped; this was horrifying. "Sir, I... I sincerely apologize," I breathed, pressing my palm against my temple to soothe the pounding of my head. "I really, really-- I'm so sorry. I should go."

"Should you?" Mr. Godfrey's voice felt like a siren call-- warm, low, alluring, yet threatening. "No, I get it actually. You must've had a lot to drink to send me that email."

Why couldn't the ground swallow me whole? Judging by his tone and the sprinkles of amusement in it, I allowed myself to groan out loud, falling with my back to the bed again. "I'm so sorry, sir," I mumbled, tossing and turning. "Thank you for not... firing me."

"Now, why would I fire you?" Mr. Godfrey chimed in, probably cocking his head. "You mentioned pornstars, capitalism, and my bourbon preference in a single email. I should probably give you a raise, 'cause I haven't seen this level of compelling writing since Trump wrote me that he wanted to buy the company."

"I was joking--" My brows drew together; "Wait, what?"

"Were you?" Mr. Godfrey's voice dipped lower, ignoring that last part. "Because you also said you'd rather have my cruelty than my silence. That didn't sound like a joke."

"Sir, is the President buying the company?!"

 "That's not the--"

"I will not work as his secretary, I refuse! I quit if that's how it is!"

Mr. Godfrey let out a scoff, which sounded more like a laugh; "Don't worry. I told him no," he murmured. "The company is mine, and so are you."

My breath caught, and I sat up in my bed again, wide-eyed and sprouting like a rose. So are you. So are you. So are you. My ears perked up, and my free hand grabbed the duvet like it'd save me from the way his words wrecked my brain, gigabyte by gigabyte. 

Breathless, my answer fell out without a second thought; "Come back soon,"

Mr. Godfrey let the silence stretch, like he enjoyed hearing me flounder in it. I imagined him there, sleeves rolled up, shirt half-buttoned, sitting on the edge of a luxury hotel chair with that lazy, cold smirk he always wore when he knew he had the upper hand. "Contain yourself, now,"

"Don't wanna,"

"Oh, is that right?"

"Why should I contain myself?"

"Because I said so,"

"Yeah, but you're in Geneva," I whined. "What are you gonna do, huh?"

... Bad move. 

Bad fucking move. Don't snark, don't snark, don't be a brat, don't talk back, don't, don't, bad fucking move, bad move. 

Mr. Godfrey didn't answer at first, but then he... laughed? It wasn't a warm laugh, definitely not one that let me off the hook; it was low, breathy, and ominous, like smoke under a door, like something you don't hear until it's too late. I could practically feel it slinking through the speaker, curling around my throat like a rough, calloused hand.

And I knew, knew, I was fucked. My body had frozen, spasmed up probably-- this was that kind of stillness that only meant one thing with him; he was deciding what to do with me.

Then, just when I thought he might let it go, just when I started convincing myself I hadn't poked the bear--

"Distance won't keep you safe," he murmured. "I'll show you what I can do."

Click.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

I had asked for cruelty, and I had gotten it. 

For about forty hours, Mr. Godfrey completely vanished. He was nowhere to be found at the scheduled meeting with the logistics department, I was unable to reach him when Dr. Pryce slithered up from his dungeon (or wherever he came from) to discuss something with him, and he was completely off the grid all together.

I scoured the internet for some sort of access to watch Mr. Godfrey give his speech in Geneva (was that today?), wondering whether it was some sort of Ted talk-like arrangement on YouTube, yet nothing. What I managed to find was password-encrypted, walled off from the rest of the peasants in the world-- assholes. 

This was hell. 

One day. One day, and fifteen hours. It was three o'clock on a Friday, now. I hadn't heard from him since Wednesday morning/night. Where was he? What was he doing?

Sulking and beyond depressed, I clicked the snake on my screen, watching it eat the red apples one after the other. Life was so boring without Mr. Godfrey; I hated how I had come to depend on him to have a good mood. If only he'd appear, spank the hell out of me for snarking, and then jerk off on me again, I'd feel fine. He could even cum in my mouth this time, I'd take it. I'd swallow. I hadn't swallowed before, though, but I could try? I bet he tasted like nothing in particular-- then again, Mr. Godfrey was an avid smoker, so wouldn't it have some traces of that? Would I get nicotine shock from his semen? Gosh, I hoped not. Still, I'd swallow. I'd do it. I'm a good secretary.

"I'm a good secretary," I echoed out loud, whispering it under my breath, wondering whether to reach out to Mr. Godfrey again. No, that'd be pathetic, right? That'd be the most disgusting, filthy, pathetic thing, and I wouldn't sink down to that level, not again. Not when he was pulling this crap on me, not in the middle of our emotional warfare. Did he get a kick out of this? Did he get a kick out of... not talking to me?

Oh no...

Did he like not talking to me?

Maybe he enjoyed this. Maybe this was the perfect opportunity to get away from his horny secretary who wanted to do nothing more than hump his shoe and get spanked in his office. Maybe he went to Geneva to get away from me? Maybe he hated me? 

Groaning, I sat back in my chair, clicking out of snake, and that was when I got a new mail from someone who probably had never sent a mail before. I couldn't imagine that she even sat behind a PC to do this; she loved that darn pink phone too much.

From: Letha Godfrey

Subject: Familiar Cunts (Cunty!!)

hey girl!! 

how's work? hopefully you're rlly busy so you won't see this immediately, but... I thought it'd be best if you heard this from me. or, found it out through me, ig? anyway, you seemed really down the last time I saw you because of my dickhead cousin, and I'm sorry to be proven right about this, but I think you've got to see this... 

BUTTT for your information, Barty (yes we r talking again, big dick alert) has some friends I could introduce you to if you're up for a distraction!! god knows you'll need it

sending the link here, I know it's Daily Mail, I knowww it's trash, but they've got pictures and... ugh yeah, I'm sorry about this

https:///www.dailymail.co.us/celebritynews/article-69420/roman-godfrey-spotted-partying-at-supermodel-penthouse-in-Switzerland.httml

I'm really sorry:(( I have tequila at my place, come over after work<3333

smooches and hugs, 

Letha

Sent From My iPhone

I clicked out of the email, my heart already dropping, heavy and stupid in my chest like it knew what was coming. The link hovered in front of me, burning through every second that I hesitated, and I--

Of course I clicked it. I'm not a fucking maniac.

The page loaded fast, too fast, and I felt it in my throat, in my hands, in the tips of my fingers; I was about to have a heart attack wasn't I? 

There he was--  Roman Godfrey, half-lit by flashing cameras and city lights, standing on the balcony of a penthouse that probably cost more than my soul. Shirt half-open, hair tousled in that deliberate way that I hadn't seen before, one hand sunk lazily into the pocket of his slacks while the other held a glass of something visibly expensive.

And the girls... the fucking girls.

In the next picture beneath this one, he was joined by two of them. One was pressed to his side like she belonged there, laughing into his shoulder, and the other tucked beneath his arm, tipping her head back in a way that made it look like he was hers. 

I didn't even realize I was holding my breath until it left me in a shaky rush; fuck these damn supermodels. I so sincerely hoped he hadn't done just that, but... I wasn't stupid, 

My jaw locked as I scrolled down. There were more photos, many I scrolled past, many I couldn't bring myself to look at. Mr. Godfrey was smiling, actually smiling, at these models, and it wasn't that clipped, managerial half-smirk I was used to seeing from him; this was the kind of grin that was meant to charm, to put on a show. 

The worst photo was probably the one where he had wrapped his arm around a tall blonde, pulling her closer to him as he whispered something into her ear, his lips visibly touching her shell-- but just as I thought it couldn't get worse, the next photo practically shot a bullet straight through my forehead.

Because in the next photo?

Mr. Godfrey was looking directly into the camera-- this was him saying gotcha.

I jolted away from the screen, clicking out of the article as I gripped my desk with all my strength; this was my punishment. This. I wasn't allowed to touch him, yet the models could. I wasn't allowed to touch him. They were. They were supermodels-- I wasn't. 

I gagged. I gagged, over and over, until I was convinced I'd throw up in my bin all over again. 

Roman Godfrey didn't party by accident; he knew how to get away from the paparazzi, and he also knew how to get caught. He knew I'd see this. He knew. He fucking knew.

I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes until my sockets ached, then dragged them down my face. I sat there in the silence of my office, chest tight, stomach rolling, mascara probably halfway down my cheeks as the words rolled through my head; he wanted me to suffer.

Well. I could do that.

Or, I could do something else.

I smoothed my skirt as I got up, combed my fingers through my hair, and reapplied a touch of balm to my lips as I passed my reflection in the glass-- just enough to look sane, just enough to look like this wasn't a declaration of war.

But it was.

This was war, and Mr. Godfrey had just shot Franz Ferdinand of fucking Austria. 

Rolling in my tanks, preparing the army for combat, I knocked on Peter's door four times, just as I knew a certain OCD freak would've hated it. 

The door opened a few seconds later. Peter stood there, backlit by his desk lamp, button-up sleeves rolled to his elbows, and with his box of snus in one hand. Clearly, I had caught him in the middle of important business. He looked like he had been working on something complicated, probably dense, probably foreign, but his expression shifted as soon as he saw me, his eyes rounding out with curiosity; "Well, if it isn't the fugitive," he murmured, leaning against his doorframe as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Running from the guillotine again?"

"Yeah," I breathed. It was impossible not to smile; Peter was the only fucking nice person in this office, apparently. "They're trying to hang me for something completely unreasonable,"

"What did you do this time, kid? Spit it out,"

"Nothing crazy. I stole a loaf of bread,"

With that, Peter snorted; "Good one,"

"And you, mister,just gave away that you're caught up on musicals," Oh, how I hoped my humour would distract him from noticing my real mood. "Anyway, before I'm taken back to my certain death, I wanted to say yes."

Peter blinked; "Yes?"

"Yes, I want to go with you,"

"To the... banquet?"

"Yes,"

He inhaled sharply, scanning me; he didn't ask why. He didn't need to, and I adored that about him-- how he always seemed to know when to speak and when not to. Lawyer. Peter stepped back, opening the door wider; "Come in," he murmured, grinning. "We'll go over the details."

I walked past him, spine straight, every inch of me rehearsing poise, but inside, something bitter and electric surged like a storm; I was going to look beautiful. I was going to smile all night, and Mr. Godfrey was going to hear about it from every loser in this goddamn office.

He wanted to punish me?

Fucking bite me.

(a/n: omfg... is it rlly a kingkat fic without some sort of prom or banquet tho?? nope. U R NOT READY. and have I finally written Letha as a supportive sweetheart? YESSSS I HAVE BEEN WAITING!!! thank you so much for all the love, you are too kind, and I LOVE YOU, MWAH<333)

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𝔅𝔩𝔬𝔬𝔡𝔩𝔲𝔰𝔱 III

Chapter I ;; Chapter II

vampire!Caitlyn Kiramman x peasant!fem! Reader

c/w: descriptions of gore, blood etc. intoxication, mild nsfw. Reader has comphet too.

w/c: 6.2k

a/n: ITS FINALLY HERE! Sorry it took long, I was going back and forth on a lot of things and even caught some writers block😵‍💫. I’m happy I could get it out to everyone though! Thank you for all the support on this personal fantasy fic!

summary: As you and Caitlyn finally confront your feelings for each other, ghosts from your past return, leading you to commit an atrocity you can’t take back. SONGS: waltz no.2 by Cihat Aşkin, albinoni/Arr. Giazotto: Adagio in G minor, Melting Waltz by Abel Korzeniowski, Vocalise, Op. 34, no. 14 by sergi Rachmaninoff, A Heart Made of Yarn by Franz Gordon. (Happy listening!)

“Wait for me!” You yelled for the boy in front of you. Cassian, your friend, was already racing through the woods. A small branch in his hand. “Ugh, all you girls are so slow!” He pouts, finally stopping for you to catch up. “I’m not slow! This dress is just not good for running…” you mumbled. Cassian grabbed your hand and led you towards the castle. “The adults never let us come up here…They say a vampire lives inside.”

You admired the beautiful gothic architecture with awe. “A vampire?” Your eyes were wide with childlike wonder and curiosity. “I’d sure like to meet them.” Cassian’s face contorts. “Meet them? I’d like to kill’em! This branch probably won’t do though…” he tosses it away. “I’ll need something bigger. I’ll make a fine vampire hunter when I grow up! And you’ll be my wife.” His chest puffs up with confidence.

“But I don’t-” 

“oh it’s okay. I’ll take care of you!” He cuts you off. “Okay…”

Your eyes flickered open. Now awake from your dream, you remember Cassian. A childhood friend who pursued you relentlessly. As he grew up, he became overbearing and pushy. You once convinced yourself that you were in love with him, but it wasn’t working. You never once felt love for anyone, but you wanted to. Being unmarried at your age was already unusual. You tried to love Cassian, but no matter how much time you spent with him, you couldn’t.

 As your senses woke, you noticed that there was a strange weight on top of you. When you attempted to sit up and  look to your side tiredly, you were met with Caitlyn’s glowing blue eyes. She grinned before pushing you to lie back down. “Let’s stay like this. Don’t move.” You were too tired to argue. You could feel her shift to listen to your heart beat. “You’re so sweet like this… All cozy and warm.” She moves again to wrap her arms around your waist and pull you in to her. “Caitlyn?” She presses her forehead to yours. “Yes, dear?” 

“Uhm.. what are you doing?” She makes a strange face, but replies “I’m just spending time with you. Before I feed.” 

“That’s tonight?” She nods, breathing in the scent of your hair. 

“I’ve been waiting all week. I can’t get enough of you.” She traces your body with one hand that stops on your hip. “Do you enjoy being a vampire?” You ask. “You’re always so excited when it’s time.” She stops and thinks for a moment. “I wouldn’t say I enjoy it. I simply get to enjoy some unorthodox benefits. Like watching you slowly weaken underneath me, like a wilting rose in my garden.” 

“That’s quite poetic…” your eyes meet her in an intense stare.

She sits up, and cages you beneath her. Her bare arms are on either side of your head, and it’s only then you notice she’s almost completely naked. Her shirt isn’t buttoned all the way, and you can see all the way down to the start of her stomach. “What? Never seen a body besides your own?” She notices your strange reaction. Caitlyn seems comfortable with nudity. “No it’s just, that makes this a lot more intimate.” 

“I suppose it does. Are you okay with that?” Her sly grin makes your heart stir. She knows what she’s doing to you. “Uhm, yes.” 

“That’s my girl.” She hugs you gently, before dragging her tongue up the side of your neck. She was being very sensual tonight. “Well, wherever you’re ready.” You tell her. Caitlyn lays you back down and lays next to you herself. She stays like that for a while, just relaxing before rolling on top of you, and pinning your arms above your head. “So helpless. I love fragile little creatures.” 

Her teeth sink into your neck like they belong there. She reciprocates any sound you make with one of her own. You’ll whine in pain, and she’ll groan in pleasure. Your body begins to feel fuzzy again, and you wrap your arms around Caitlyn’s bare back to hold you steady. Every time she’s fed from you, she drinks more each time. Her body tenses and twitches whenever you make a sound of pleasure from the drug controlling your psyche. 

Your arms fall back to your sides, and Caitlyn seizes the opportunity to intertwine her fingers with yours like clockwork. When she finally releases you, she sighs and brushes the stray hair from your face. “You sound so beautiful when you’re in pain. I can’t decide if it’s prettier than the sounds you make when you’re high off venom.” She lies back down and cradles you against her.

“Caitlyn?” That was the longest she’s ever bitten you, meaning this is the most venom you’ve ever had in your system. You can feel it coursing through your veins, and altering your thoughts. You almost enjoy the sensation of being high from it. You’re Caitlyn’s. The crest you still wear around your neck proves that. You’re her blood bank, forever. Meanwhile she’s gazing at you with hazy eyes. “What’s going through your head right now, my dear? Tell me.” She gets up and squeezes out a wet rag on the table next to the bed.

“Caitlyn…” you mumble as she places the cool rag on your forehead. “Oh really? Is that all?” She checks your pulse. “Again. Do it again. Take as much as you want. Drain me, please.” She relishes in your desperate words and sighs in satisfaction. “Aww, I wish I could. Unfortunately doing that may risk never tasting you again, so I’ll have to decline. Now, get some rest.” She kisses your forehead, leaving a lip stain of  your own blood.

That wasn’t the first of many odd interactions. Just yesterday, she left a bouquet of fresh roses at your door for you when you woke up. It’s also become a habit of hers to go out at night and surprise you with new dresses and luxuries. The breakfasts you wake up to become more elaborate too.

Sometimes, she’d dance with you at night too. She’d just be in her study and get up, make her way to wherever you’re seated, bow, kiss your hand, and ask: “May I have this dance?” Then, she’d dance with you slowly, holding your hand gently, with her other arm around your waist. She does this while looking at you like you’re the only woman in the world. There wouldn’t even be any music most of the time. Sometimes she’d hum a song, or sometimes she’d just dance with you in silence.

Is it possible that Caitlyn is in love with you? But that would mean that you’re her one and only. The book said so. Kiramman vampires love one and never again. What would you do if that really was the case? 

“Darling? Are you awake?” Caitlyn peers into your room one night. She comes inside and sits at the side of your bed. “Is something the matter, Caitlyn?” She shakes her head no. “I’m just checking on you. Any more nightmares?” She rests one hand on your thigh. “Not recently. I think I’m okay now.” She starts to rub up and down your thigh through the blankets. “That’s good…” She squeezes gently. 

“Caitlyn, I had a question.” You sit up and prop yourself against some pillows. “Feel free to ask me anything, darling.”  She smiles reassuringly. “If a vampire fell in love, what would happen?” You knew the answer already from the book, but you just wanted to see what she would say. “If I fell in love?…Well, I’d treat them very well and love them forever. I can only love one person in my life, so they would be my everything.” She doesn’t break eye contact the whole time she says that. “And you?” She says. “What?”

“What would happen if a sweet girl like you fell in love?” She’s smiling softly. “I’m nothing special, so nothing fantastical like having one true love or anything like you… I suppose I would want to be with them. Maybe I’d be too shy to ask, or maybe I’d be forward and tell them as soon as I figured out how I felt.”

“Really? How wonderful it must be to fall in love. I never knew that sort of love in my life. I only knew lust.” She looks remorseful. You question further. “Never in your human life did you fall in love? Not with any of your uhm, partners?”

“No. Maybe I could have, but that wasn’t what I was looking for. All I wanted was that feeling watching a girl unravel beneath me provided. Power, maybe?” She thinks on it some more, but looks back to you with renewed curiosity. “What about you? Have you ever been in love?” 

“Me? Well, not exactly.”

“That’s a strange answer. It’s usually a yes or a no.”

“Well, I would say yes, but I think it was more so me wanting to feel love. There was someone: a boy named Cassian.” Caitlyn looks very focused on your story. “And you loved him?”

“I wanted to. I never felt romantic love for anyone. I wanted to, but it just never happened. I think something’s…wrong with me.” Caitlyn comes to your side and brings you into a hug. “Nothing is wrong with you.” She hugs you tighter. “You just didn’t love him, and that’s okay. I’m confident that somewhere, there’s someone who loves you very much…”

“Caitlyn.” You lean into her grasp, and she lays you down gently. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. I love you, if that counts for anything.” She drags one thumb over your bottom lip. “Someone so kind and understanding of me, someone who doesn’t run away.” Her hair falls onto your face

“You love me too, don’t you? Please say you do.” She lowers herself to lie on top of you in a smothering hug. “ I think I do.”

“That’s enough for me, my love. Let me cherish you here, forever.” Her lips meet yours in a passionate kiss. Your eyes are still open just from the surprise, but Caitlyn’s fingers dragging over your face urge you to close them. She kisses you with as much hunger as she does love. Her fangs scratch your lips, and the taste of your own blood taints the taste of her kiss. 

When the two of you part, a thin, string of saliva still connects you. Caitlyn’s lips look glossy and you can feel her breath on your face. There’s a moment of silence where she gazes at you with eyes filled with adoration. “Thank you.” She whispers. 

When you wake up in the morning, Caitlyn is asleep. She’s nocturnal, so you leave her in bed. She kissed you. She kissed you hard. You raise your hand to your lips, and touch them gently. You can even feel the little cut left by Caitlyn’s fangs. You were her one and only love. She loved you. The thought made you feel like swooning. 

That evening, you hear the soft meow of Whisper, and see the cat appear from a dark hall. “Whisper? Is something the matter?” The cat seems tense. Her fur is raised and pupils dilated.

You follow the cat up the stairs to the balcony of the castle. “Whisper?” The cat stops. Walking out onto the balcony, you look out over the village and the woods. It’s only sunset, but you can see a trail of smoke rising from the direction of Crows-Wood. It had to be a fire, but the village wasn’t burning. A bonfire. You can feel your stomach drop with dread. Crows-wood only threw large bonfire parties before a hunt. Not just any vampire hunt though, they were sending off a group. You remember them distinctly. The people chugging ale and screaming at the top of their lungs, the vampire corpses and caricatures being paraded on sticks, and the slew of weapons the hunters were preparing to head off with. You always stayed inside during these just because they disturbed you so much. Who could celebrate the murder of anything with such fervor?

A group of vampire hunters were being rallied to head this very way to kill Caitlyn. When you realize this, you rush back to your bedroom, with Whisper following. “Caitlyn! Caitlyn wake up, please!” You shook her cold body into waking. She was still in your bed, sleeping as peacefully as when you left her. That was the case until your frantic shaking and tears woke her. “Darling please, what’s the matter?” She takes your hands gently to stop them from shaking her. “Crows-Wood! A bonfire they’re- they’re-”

“Shhh, my love.” She sits up and pulls you in against her chest. “Calm down. You can explain once you’ve done that.” Whisper leaps onto the bed and settles next to Caitlyn. 

“Now, speak slowly and tell me what’s going on.” You pull away from Caitlyn and look her in the eyes. “Crows-Wood is sending a group of hunters this way. I saw them celebrating over a bonfire.” Caitlyn’s expression grows grim. “How many do they usually send in a group?” You try and recall from your memories. “Uhm… five or six.” Caitlyn sighs. “I can take them, but I’ll need your help.”

“What do you need!? I’ll do anything.” She smiles at you and brushes your hair away from your neck. “I hate to ask this of you, but I’m at my strongest when I drink human blood.” 

“Of course! Take as much as you need.” You pull your dress down to expose your shoulder. The night has fully set in now. Caitlyn’s hand brushes your cheek, and she pulls you in for a kiss. She pulls herself back from your lips to kiss your chin, and continues down to leaving open mouthed kisses on your neck. “Caitlyn…” You whisper her name into the room that’s growing ever darker. She nuzzles into the crook of your neck before biting down. Her hands wander down your body, to the small of your back to palm at your rear. Her touch is gentle, but firm.

When she’s finished, she lifts you bridal style and leaves your bedroom. “It’d be too easy to find you here. I’m sure it’s you they’re really after. I’ll bring you to my room.” You’re semi-conscious during the walk there. Caitlyn’s bedroom is” deeper into the castle. She sets you down on a large bed that smells like her. Old fragrances and roses.“Promise me you won’t move. Please just stay here.” She tucks your intoxicated body into the blankets, and leaves. 

You’re woken by the sound of screaming, stomach-twisting wails of pain, and crashes. You’re still high off of the venom, but you stumble out of Caitlyn’s bed to see what’s going on. You’re vision is swimming and you’re feet feel heavy. You have to get to Caitlyn. She needs you. You need her. 

“They’re here.”

The hunters have arrived, and are fighting with Caitlyn as you lean on walls to navigate the castle. She told you not to move, but you couldn’t just lie there and hope she came back alive. You wanted to help. How would you help in the state you were in? Even you didn’t know. You’d manage somehow. By the time you make it to the stairs, you can see the gory display. Three men lie dead on the floor, choking on their own blood as it seeps from gashes in their throats. Their faces are forever expressing regret and horror. The two left are injured, but Caitlyn seems to be tired too. She’s holding up well, but you can tell her energy has depleted. 

“Where is she!? If you’ve killed her I’ll drag you out into the sun come daylight!” An all too familiar voice screams out. Cassian? He’s part of the group? “I’d never lay a finger on her.” Caitlyn rasps, grabbing the other assailant and crushing his throat to fleshy mush in her bare hand. The sickening sight is followed by the snap of his bones. All the times she’s touched you, she’s been perfectly capable of something like that. Cassian yells out in rage, and charges at Caitlyn, wooden steak in hand. Caitlyn seems ready to defend herself until he pulls a small wooden cross from his pocket. The sound of Caitlyn’s scream surprised you. She sounds horrified. So crosses really do affect vampires that much. Caitlyn loses her footing and falls back.

No. This can’t be happening. She killed four of them and the last one standing will manage to kill her? And Cassian of all people? You had to do something. Caitlyn looks melancholic on the ground. It’s like she could get up, but won’t. She just lies there as Cassian aims his wooden steak at her heart. 

Neither of them noticed you rushing down the stairs.

With a gut wrenching scream, you plunge a dagger from a dead man’s hands into his back. Cassian barely has any life left to turn around and look at you. “You’re…alive.” He utters before falling to the ground. Still lost in the venom and your fear, you continue to stab his dead body over and over and over again, screaming all the while. You finally stop when Caitlyn pulls the dagger from your hands, and brings you into a tight hug. “No no no this was never supposed to happen.” She whispers. You sob into her chest from the shock and repulsion. You killed a man. Not just any man, but one you knew since childhood. One who came all this way to rescue you. 

“Darling look at me please, look at me.” Caitlyn wipes your tears with her thumbs and forces you to look at her. Shes looking at you like she doesn’t recognize you. “He was going to kill you I- I couldn’t let him take you away from me!” You’re spouting nonsense as you try to make sense of your impulsive action. “Shh shh shh..” Caitlyn just urges you to be quiet, and hugs you close. You can taste his blood in your mouth. “I- I’ll run you a hot bath, and we can soak together okay? It’s okay.” Caitlyn clearly is not sure what to do with you. You killed for her. Something so much more than a flimsy declaration of love. 

 You’re seated between Caitlyn’s legs as she hugs you from behind while you both soak in the hot bath. You haven’t said a word since you killed Cassian. Caitlyn is concerned. Every so often, she’ll attempt to coax a conversation out of you. “Are you hurt anywhere?” Silence. You cannot speak. “… This might not be the right time, but thank you. At that moment, when I was there on the ground, I was just so…” Her voice breaks. “Tired. Tired of fighting, of hiding, I just was ready to die. But then I remembered you. I remembered that I didn’t want to leave you, because I love you.” She holds you tighter, making the water slosh around the bathtub. You can feel her chin on your head, and her breasts against your back. “But it was too late. I was on the ground, and a wooden steak was inches from my heart. That’s when you attacked him. I would be dead if it wasn’t for you. I wish you didn’t have to do that, and part of me wishes I had died instead of staining your hands with blood, but thank you.” 

She lifts you out of the bath, and drys you off herself. Caitlyn doesn’t take you to your bedroom that night, she lets you sleep in her bed with her. She doesn’t bother putting a nightgown on you, and just leaves you in your underwear. She talks you to sleep, before leaving to clean up the mess of blood and dead bodies. When she returns to bed, sitting at your side, Caitlyn does something she thought to be impossible.

She cries.

She can hardly believe it herself when she feels the first tear roll down her cheek, but they don’t stop. She shouldn’t be able to cry. She can’t. Her body is frozen in time, unable to produce blood, tears, waste, anything. So why is she crying? Since turning, this is Caitlyn’s first time crying for someone besides herself. Her first tears that didn’t stem from selfishness, but from how overwhelmingly guilty she felt for what you did for her. She doesn’t try and stop them, but just lets her tears fall. Caitlyn goes to sleep that night with you by her side, feeling a little more human than normal.

You wake up screaming. There’s blood everywhere. On your hands, in your mouth, and even in your eyes. Cold arms pull you back down to the bed and hold you steady. “Shhh my love. I’m sorry…” You manage to calm yourself, and relax into Caitlyn’s arms. “This is all my fault.” She whispers. “No please don’t blame yourself. I did what I did all on my own.” You reply. “Caitlyn, do you think we have to leave the castle?” Caitlyn seems to be thinking. 

“Maybe, but for now, I think we’re safe.” She intertwined her legs with yours beneath the sheets. Her lips find yours in a soft kiss. Her fingers thread through your hair, and between kisses she whispers. “I love you. I’m grateful for what you did, even if I wish it hadn’t happened. I’m truly sorry.”

“That was him.” You admitted.

“What?” Caitlyn’s lost. “That was the man I told you about. The one I tried to love.” Caitlyn gasps quietly. “I see.” She’s avoiding your gaze. “He was looking for you. That whole time he kept badgering me on what he’d do if I hurt you.” She sounds annoyed. “Honestly, it seems like he loved you. He wanted you back from me. He said you were his.” Her tone sounds angry, yet collected. 

When Caitlyn notices you’re asleep again, she sighs and kisses your lips once more before laying you down. 

When you wake up, Caitlyn’s asleep. Whisper is meowing at the end of the bed. You feel a bit better after all the commotion last night. It’s still hard to believe you killed anyone. Heading downstairs, you check to see if the bodies and carnage are still there. It’s not. Caitlyn must have cleaned it. Killing Cassian almost felt like being born again yourself. It was as if you truly accepted yourself for what you were, standing there, covered in his blood. Someone who could never love a man, no matter how much he urged you to. Every time he stated you’d marry him, the advances he’d make, offerings to your parents, and shouting matches that ended in your tears came crashing down. 

You had decided where you stood the moment you stabbed him. Going against your own people for a vampire. You wanted to stay with Caitlyn forever, and that’s something humanity wouldn’t allow. You’d ask her to turn you into one of her own tonight. You’d be a vampire too.

That night, you wait up for Caitlyn. As usual, she comes into your room to check on you. “Awake this late, my love?” She joins you on your bed, guiding you to lean your head on her shoulder. “Caitlyn, Would it be possible for me to become a vampire?” She freezes. “Why would you want to do that?” 

“I abandoned my humanity the moment I killed Cassian. I want to be with you forever, even if it means becoming a monster.” Caitlyn looks at you fondly. “You don’t know what you’re asking for. Sure you’ve killed, but so have many men. Asking to be like me is asking to be forsaken by god. Besides, I’d never get to taste your blood that way again.” 

“A vampire can’t drink another vampires blood?” She laughs. “No. When my family was still around, we tried that. Vampires need the blood of others because we can no longer produce any ourselves. There’s no blood to take from me, or any other vampire.” An explanation that makes sense. You’re proposal sounded foolish now. 

“I’m sorry. I haven’t been in my right mind.” Caitlyn strokes your back reassuringly. “I understand. Back when I killed for the first time, I was horrified by myself. The difference between you and me is that you don’t need to kill again. I shouldn’t have to either, yet the people of Crows-Wood insist on making me. I was ready to give up, and just let them kill me.” She sounds exhausted. She’s been alive for more than a century, and the whole time she’s been hunted. You can’t even imagine the stress and fear. Before all of this, you thought she had nothing to be afraid of. Safe to say your views have changed.

“I don’t think dying would have been much better.” You say. Caitlyn scoffs. “I’ve been dead a long time. Death comes for us all. In the end, we’re all equal in the eyes of death. Something that life hasn’t granted me.” 

“But doesn’t it scare you?”

“I stopped fearing it a long time ago. It doesn’t matter how scared you are, because every death is equally tragic. Even for those some consider evil.” You sit there in silence with her, letting the words she spoke swim around in your head. “I’m lucky I got to meet you though.” She kisses your cheek. “I’m happy I met you too.” You return with a kiss to her lips. It’s almost like you can’t stop kissing each other. The kiss grows and continues, until Caitlyn’s on top of you. Her hands are in your hair and you can feel her tongue in your mouth. You don’t stop kissing her until it’s physically impossible for you to continue. Caitlyn watches you gasp for breath with that same hazy expression like when she feeds. 

“I should leave.” She huffs. “Why? I was thinking that since I couldn’t become a vampire like you, that we could at least…” she stops you with a finger to your lips. “Please don’t say what I think you’re trying to. You must remember that I’m still a creature who runs on her instincts at the end of the day. I don’t know if I could do that with you without getting you hurt. Sex is what made me this way in the first place.” You reach out to cup her face in your hands. “But that was when it was purely for your pleasure alone, right?”

“Yes, but I don’t want to take the chance. No matter how much I’d like to.” She tears her gaze away from you and sits up at the edge of your bed. You feel a wave of disappointment wash over you.

“Caitlyn I’m sure it’ll be fine. Please?” You follow her and wrap your arms around her from behind. “Darling, please don’t entice me. I’d love to, really, but I just don’t want to hurt you. Please just get some sleep okay? It’s getting late for a human to be awake.” She pries your hands off of her and stands up. “Sweet dreams, my love. I’ll be here if you need me.” And just like that, she leaves. 

Caitlyn wanted you badly, but she couldn’t let herself falter. Make the same mistake she did a century ago, and use you for her own benefit. Caitlyn’s back slid down the door as she sat down on the floor, pressing her fingers to her temple in thought. She already was using you. Using you like cattle that she could feed off of. Caitlyn wants to love you, but her past won’t leave her alone. She can’t tell if she loves you, or if she’s reverted to her past ways. She stands up and rests her forehead against your door. How she longed to go back, but she knew what would happen if she did. Hesitantly, she leaves to go read and distract herself. 

You fall back on your bed with a sigh of frustration. You couldn’t force her. You went to sleep that night with a new way to think of death, and a burning desire for the one who inspired that way of thought. Sleep didn’t come easy that night. After tossing and turning, and many fantasies of your vampire lover, you finally got some rest.

In the days that pass, Caitlyn certainly notices your increasingly clingy state. She tries not to think about it, or what it implies at all, but it’s almost impossible. She wants to make sure that she loves you for who you are, and not just the lust she feels. 

The next few days are peaceful. There are no raging mobs or groups of men marching up the mountain to have Caitlyn’s head, and you can finally sleep at night without thinking about murder. That is until you hear the sound of a glass bottle shattering in the night, waking you and Whisper up instantly. 

The cat hisses and slips out of your bedroom, and you follow. You follow the sound of glass being swept, and end up at the old wine cellar underneath the castle. Caitlyn is cleaning up glass shards as blood seeps into the stone flooring. When she notices you, she looks embarrassed. “Did I wake you? My apologies.” Once all the glass is cleaned she stares at the blood in defeat. “How am I meant to clean this?… a mop I suppose.” She gets a mop and begins to sop the liquid up. “Are you feeling alright?” Caitlyn shakes her head no. “It’s a full moon tonight. So far I’ve been this way without you noticing, but cravings get worse on nights like these. My hands were shaking so badly I dropped a bottle.” 

“What kind of blood is that?” She stops moving. “It’s…cow’s.” Something tells you it’s not cow’s blood. Maybe a humans? You hope not.

“Alright.” You decide not to pry. “It’s only two or three more days until you can drink from me. If you want, we could just do it earlier if the craving is that bad.” She whirls around. “Absolutely not. In this state, I’d loose control almost instantly. I could kill you.” Her hands start shaking again. “Uhm, I can finish cleaning, and you can get a drink.” You propose. She nods hastily and drops the mop, instantly moving to sort through her array of bottles. When she choose one, she doesn’t even bother to pour it in the glass. She just drinks straight from the bottle.

She sighs in relief when she finally puts the bottle down, and it’s almost completely empty. A little bit of blood is running down her chin and her chest is heaving. “Don’t look at me, please. Stay away before I lose my mind.” She genuinely seems ashamed of her behavior.  “Caitlyn, is there anything I can do to help?” You approach her slowly. She sets down the bottle and uses a handkerchief from the table to wipe the blood from her chin. “Help me? Oh, I don’t think there’s any way you can. Just don’t come near me until tomorrow night.” Her voice is unsteady, and her eyes can’t seem to focus on your face. 

“I think I’ll go lay down.” Caitlyn excuses herself and leaves the cellar. You finish cleaning, and decide to go search for her. You find Caitlyn in her bed on her stomach, with her arms hugging a pillow that her face is buried in. “Caitlyn?”

“Yes?” She looks up and over her shoulder at you. Her eyes look tired and she’s paler than usual. “You look sick. Are you really okay? There’s nothing I can do?” She merely pats the free space on the bed next to her. That’s all you needed to see. As you make your way towards her, something about Caitlyn feels off. You sit down on the bed next to her, and she doesn’t react at all. You’re caught off guard when she suddenly cages you against her chest with her arms. Her strength is uncanny, but steady. You trust she won’t hurt you by applying too much force. 

“I told you to stay away.”

“I was worried. You’re acting strange.” 

“Strange? I’m already a vampire. I don’t know how I could get stranger.” You try to pull away from her, but her hold on you is iron clad. “Why are you holding me so tightly?” You’re a little annoyed by her. Caitlyn tries to relax her grip, but it doesn’t make much of a difference. “Like I said. I run on instinct. I’m not human. Right now, my body wants to suck you dry because of that wretched moon. That’s why I can’t let go. It’s torture.” You try and relax your muscles to make this less uncomfortable for you. “And nothing I can do could make it less unbearable?” 

“Maybe if you left, and I didn’t see you, but I don’t think that’s an option anymore.” 

She slowly leans into your face, pressing her forehead to yours and sighing. “You smell so good…” her voice is still shaking, and her hands follow suit. “Uhm, thank you.” 

“I’d never hurt you on purpose, you know that right?” Her arms finally loosen, and move to begin undoing your dress. “Uhm-yes I know.”

“So would you be okay if I bit you early? I know I said I wouldn’t but damn it all. I promise I won’t take a lot. I’ll be gentle.” She says between kissing down your collar bone, and forcing you to lay down. The kisses make you irrational. All you want is for her to give you more.

“Yes, that’s fine. Just a small bite.” You’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy her sucking you blood. The practice felt like you were closer to her than ever before. The pain felt good, and the pleasure even better. It was sacred, and intimate. Caitlyn pulls down your dress to expose your breasts to the cool castle air. Her fingers trace over the buds of your nipples, making them harden quickly. “You’re not biting my neck?” Caitlyn chuckles. “Mm, I’ve gotten quite tired of that. I want to bite you somewhere else. Somewhere more personal.” She lifts you with her arm around your lower back. Your back is arched, and your chest is completely vulnerable to her. You can feel Caitlyn’s tongue glide around your right breast until it settles on your nipple. When she bites down on the surrounding flesh, you whine in pain, but the hurt quickly disintegrates as her venom is pumped straight into your veins.

Caitlyns eyes never look away from you, and the longer she’s latched onto you, the brighter her eyes glow. When she finally lets go, your breast is left cold and wet with her saliva. “I’m sorry, I just couldn’t help it..” She’s more herself after receiving human blood. She adjusts your dress so you’re covered again. “You’re irresistible. Not to mention how fast your heart was beating. You can feel it too can’t you? How fast it’s going?” Sure enough, you think your heart may burst from your chest. You feel euphoric. “I think you like this. The blood sucking I mean. Just look at your face right now.” She chuckles and checks your pulse as usual. “This isn’t good. This isn’t the first time I’ve broken our rules.” She sounds like she’s talking to herself more than to you. “From now on, I’ll never break the rules again. I’ll never feed off of you off schedule ever.”

And she tries. She really does try, but sometimes the tension between you two is unbearable. Sometimes, Caitlyn will shut herself in her room just to avoid giving in again. You’re doing okay physically though, as long as she doesn’t do it more than four times in a row. When you get dressed in the morning, or undressed at night, you’re body is littered in bruises and bite marks. She’s gotten into the habit of biting you in unconventional places. Your arms, thighs (a favorite), and more. Not all of them are from blood sucking, some are just hickies. Caitlyn’s tried to just mark you normally as a way of “simulating” what it’d be like to actually bite you. You never thought you’d be in a relationship with someone who craves you so carnally. You’ll spot her looking at you like she wants to eat you alive from time to time. Her ice blue eyes burn through you, making you feel bare and exposed before her. The lingering touches, the soft, quiet times, and even the violent, intense moments all combine to create an addicting kind of love. 

It’s one of Whispers favorite things to do to interrupt a heavy kiss with a meow, before pouncing on either you or Caitlyn’s lap to whine for attention. Caitlyn would huff in frustration, but give in to the black cat and stroke her velvety-soft fur for a while.

You’ve gotten into the habit of waking up insanely early just to lie with Caitlyn as she goes to sleep for the day. You’ll lie there while she holds you close, like a child does their favorite toy. When she’s asleep, sometimes you’ll stay and just enjoy the early morning hours by her side. When whisper gets tired of waiting for breakfast, she’ll meow until you gently remove yourself from Caitlyn’s arms, and get started with your day.

Taglist: @starryeyes-7 @caitlynsbathwater @halle5s @riotstemple29 @mxchi-mxxn @thinkviolets @commanderraccoon @madalinee @gwscloq @seisei18 @paigeilicous @cottagegirlworld-blog @cenizajskp @kittymrtnezz69 @jiryelle @vivienneswhispers @all-things-lilac @marve1stranger @trulysapphic @b7ue8erry @poeticrenaissance @whatthefuckisthisapppppp @girlsatourbest @st0nerlesb0 @butchpuppyy @yearningandstillnotlearning @eyehatesex @sunsetzzzzzzz @kaylovesmatcha @venuswarmlight @mellowdreamlandpost-blog

[noctiva]

okay but how would the guys react to the reader breaking up with them?

aha! the flip side!

Toby: Goes through four stages of grief in the span of like, ten minutes. everything except for acceptance. he won’t ever truly accept it. it could be literal years later and he’d still be dreaming of you, still touching himself to the thought of you.

the day it actually happens, he’ll try to play it off at first. hit you with a ‘th-that’s not fuckin’ funny’ with a soft snort and a roll of his eyes. like you being serious wasn’t even an option. but of course, you’ll insist - and that’s when the dam breaks.

first comes the anger. his eyes sharpening into a glare as his jaw sets. accusatory in every word he spits at you. throwing every single thing that he’s every done for you back in your face. glossing over everything he’s ever done wrong. hoping that maybe you’ll fight back - maybe you two can just get into another fight like you always do, and end up tangled up together in his sheets by the time night falls.

but that doesn’t happen. you just take it. just listen silently as you pack your things - already detached. and that’s when it really sets in. the anger will simmer, and then he’s apologizing profusely. offering up things he can’t even give you, all in the hopes of changing your mind. and when that doesn’t work? he just breaks. a mess of ugly sobs and hands trying to pull you to him. pleading. begging. borderline grovelling at your feet.

you’ll leave him a mess of tears. he probably won’t move from his spot on the floor for hours. days maybe.

- “W-What do you want? What can I d-do to make you stay? Just name it - I’ll g-give it to you.”

-

Jack: Just so incredibly cold. Like the moment you utter the words, every ounce of affection he held for you fizzled into smoke. You can practically see it when the switch in his brain flips, how his entire body tenses up, how his lips set into a firm line. He won’t say anything for a good long while. He’ll just stand before you, waiting, like he’s giving you a chance to take it back.

‘Jack? Did you hear what I said?’ To which he’ll just reply with a snippy; ‘I heard you.’ And barely elaborate further.

He won’t let you in. Won’t let you pry into his mind in an attempt to figure out how he feels about all of it. He’ll keep it all locked far deep down, under a shroud of bitter nonchalance. If you didn’t know him better, you’d almost think he didn’t care - but the slight tremble in his fingers proves that otherwise.

He won’t fight you. He knows better than that. Though he loved you to the ends of the earth, he knew he wouldn’t be able to continue on with you after this. Knowing that you don’t wholeheartedly want to be with him.

He’ll leave silently. Give you short, simple answers to every question you ask. Leave you second guessing if this was even the right decision at all.

- “What? Did you want me to scream? Beg? Cry? I’m not giving you that satisfaction.”

-

Brian: Horribly toxic. Blackmail supreme over here. You sit him down, tell him you want to break up with him, and the first thing he’s saying is, ‘are you sure you want to do that? with all the shit I have on you?’

And you know he’s right. He has drawers full of tapes depicting you in the most compromising positions known to man. Taken with the promise that they’d only be for his eyes. But, that was on the basis that you’d stick around. He’ll be patronizing, cruel, dangling this threat over your head with a raised eyebrow - daring you to have the guts to still go through with it.

Promising you that no one else will ever want to be with you after him. A little too calm, a little too composed. Like he’s so sure deep down that you’ll cave under the weight of what he’s saying and just roll over.

But if you don’t? If you hold your ground? You can just barely see him crack. A little twitch in his jaw, his gaze hardening over. The way his eyes flick away from you like he just can’t the sight of you any longer. He’ll freeze over until you gain the courage to pack up and leave. All that confidence lost, swapped for a silent resignation.

Won’t say a single thing to you on your way out the door.

(And he probably won’t actually make true on his threats, he was just really banking on that working).

- “Fine. Leave. See where it gets you.”

-

Tim: Just resigned acceptance. He saw it coming from the start, never really expecting you two to be in it for the long haul. He hoped that maybe you’d go against the odds, but he was smarter than to bank on that. Your life didn’t mix with his. He took a risk letting you in. He had set himself up, and he knew it.

It’s his shoulders slumping. His expression dropping. The slight quiver when he lets out a deep sigh and lets his eyes flutter closed for a moment like he’s trying to shut it all out. He doesn’t ask why, because he knows why. It’s everything about him. And he’d rather spare himself the burden of hearing that fact come from your lips.

He’ll be silent for a good long while. Reach into his coat pocket with trembling fingers, pull out his pack of smokes, light one and take a few drags before he speaks a word. And when he does, it’s just all apologies.

Apologies for dragging you into this in the first place. Apologies for wasting your time. For getting your hopes up. For making you believe that you could be the cure for everything that plagues him.

He won’t look at you the entire time, because he just knows he’ll break - and he doesn’t want to burden you with that too.

- “‘Bout time you smartened up. Always knew you deserved someone better.”

-

Cody: Really doesn’t know how to handle it - and maybe that was the issue all along. His good with the physical aspect of humans. The blood, the flesh, the chemical reactions. What he’s not good at, is the mind. The emotions. The inner workings of relationships, and person to person connection. He really tried with you, broke out of his shell in an attempt to let you have that closeness you craved.

It feels like an insult to have it thrown back in his face. He’s not upset, he’s offended, a silently brewing anger simmering in his veins with every word you speak. It just feels like he wasted so much time. Put in so much effort into something that ultimately proved fruitless. Like a failed experiment, but this time it affects him deeply. Like you were taking one of his limbs with you when you left him.

Asks you so many questions it makes your head spin. Why are you leaving him? What specific thing did he do? What could he have done better? Do you really truly believe there’s nothing that can fix this? Why are you giving up? Why don’t you want to try?

He’ll let you leave. He won’t beg and plead, but he will borderline interrogate you before he stalks back to his lab and shuts himself in there for the next week and a half.

- “All that time wasted. Such a needless distraction.”

-

Habit: Laughs in your fucking face. Cruel and mocking. Near doubles over with it. The type of laughter that absolutely stuns you, with the way he wheezes and cackles, wipes a tear from his eye and shakes his head like you’ve just performed a comedy special for him.

To him, you have. Because that’s fucking rich. You leaving him? As if you had that choice. It’s comical to him how you’d even entertain that thought, that you thought it might just be as easy as showing him the door and expecting him to walk through it. It’s not happening. Not by a long shot.

In fact, when you call him cruel, he’ll show you just exactly how cruel you can be. You hate him now? Let’s see how much you hate him when he chains you to the bed and leaves you there. Chuckling under his breath about how stupid you are. How you should’ve just kept your mouth shut, and appreciated the fact that he was being easy on you this whole time.

So, no. You will not be breaking up with him. This relationship ends on his terms, and his terms only.

- “That’s cute. You think you get to make that choice?”

[wastefulreverie]

DP writing prompt: in which Danny wakes up from nightmare after nightmare, right before the scalpel cuts his skin.

taking writing prompts!!

The snap of latex gloves, the dizzying smell of antiseptic and the chill of cold metal at his back. The sharp, unyielding surgical light adjusted to blot out most of his vision. And the sound of metal on metal as his parents sort through their tools, selecting which knife will do the honors. He's long since been stripped of his suit, vulnerable to whatever fresh horrors they have in store.

Mom's stance is poised and delicate and it's the same look she has when mending his clothes after they get mangled in fights. I just tripped, he tells her and she shakes her head and puts his clothes back together again. Now the scalpel in her hand is meant to undo him. Pull him apart.

The cool metal has barely just grazed his torso when Danny jolts awake.

His cheek is wet with drool and he lifts his head as slowly as he can muster, willing his heart rate to slow with careful and steady breaths. An ingrained routine at this point. Look forward, focus on the whiteboard like it's the only thing in the world that matters.

"Fenton?" Dash says, beside him. Eugh, that's right. Detention with Lancer.

He lucked out today, because it looks like he feel asleep while Lancer was out of the room.

"What," he says. "Can't a guy get a minute's rest?"

"That—that didn't look like rest," is all Dash says, an uncharacteristic observation from the biggest human pain in his ass.

"Cool," Danny nods. He looks down at the assignment he's supposed to be working on. He nodded off halfway through the first question, so undeniably he's fucked.

He follows his previous work, double checking the equations and trying to figure out where the hell he is going wrong. If he doesn't have at least the first question before Lancer gets back...

"Are you alright?" Dash adds.

Danny lowers his pencil. "Why the hell do you care?"

Dash opens and his mouth and shuts it. "You were really... um. Twitching a lot and muttering things. About your parents."

"I'm fine. It was a nightmare, nothing real," Danny explains, as if speaking to a toddler. "You gonna bully me for having bad dreams now, or something? Tell everyone in school that I'm scared shitless asleep, too? Go ahead, see if I care."

He has bigger problems.

"That's not—" he runs a hand over his face. "Fine, okay. Yeah, you're right. It's nothing and not my fucking business what kind of nightmares losers like you are having. Just stop being so fucking weird."

Danny tries to return to his assignment, but his attention keeps slipping back to Dash and his watchful eyes. Like someone had removed the wool from his eyes and he was seeing Danny for the first time as a person and not a punching bag. What the hell.

Lancer returns shortly and Dash is quiet. Too quiet, but Danny doesn't care. It's not until their way out of detention that Dash stops Danny with a gentle slam into the wall and asks him:

"Why are you afraid of them cutting you up?"

Danny rolls his eyes. "We all have irrational fears, Dash. Shove it."

He pushes his way out of his grip and keeps walking. He just has to hope that the idiot won't bring it up again, like it's even a big deal. So what? Danny dreams about them ripping him apart all the time, it doesn't have to mean anything unless he thinks too hard about it. Because it's not going to happen. (Probably.)

"Your family is nuts!" Dash calls after him. "You're nuts too!"

Despite himself, Danny just laughs.