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abyssyby · 6 months ago

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Touch, touch, touch

—every time you and sylus touch is out of necessity, until it isn’t just.

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: baby’s first drabble! hello! soft, yearning, aching, hand-flexing sylus has been eating away at my brain like a maggot (affectionate). here’s the first of hopefully more of whatever this is ♡ i havent written in a hot MINUTE, so feedback is super appreciated. i hope you enjoy! ❀ -urs

sylus x reader | fluff, longing, dressing wounds, dates, and touches

The hunter’s attempts at sneaking up on him amuse him and make his chest ache at the same time. It was an all-too-familiar sight— her face and her eyes watching him like a hawk’s, her motions like a wild cat’s. A knife in hand isn’t favorable, sure, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. He’s barely looking when he catches your wrist with his sturdy fingers, head gracefully turning to look at you with no trace of urgency.

“Kitten.” glowing rubies scrutinize your failed attempt at causing harm. Or a good startle. He couldn’t read if that was murder or mischief in your eyes. Either way, he liked it. “Nice try.”

𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

Always so lost when it comes to the base, Mephisto is your only friend. The halls were made to be a labyrinth to anyone who dared trespass. Only Sylus and the twins truly know the way. Sylus spent hours programming the bird to know the ins and outs of the base, so he is your beacon. But he flies quick, and after shaking him like a tambourine that one time, he doesn’t really care if he loses you.

“Shit.” you mutter, turning in a circle. A comical fork in the hall before you. You just wanted to find the library Sylus has been so proud of. You wonder how you’ll ever get there. You wonder how you’ll ever get out…

Warmth on your shoulder and a sturdy grip on your arm maneuver you towards the rightmost hallway. Sylus towers over you, unimpressed. “He went that way.”

Cheeks growing warm, you wanted to punch him— for sneaking up on you in a most idiotic state. But you thank him instead, shaking him off and stalking after the stupid bird. Maybe you’ll give him another shake for good measure.

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

Amongst all your injuries, the broken nail on your thumb irks you the most. At least the lock is broken, and you’re safe and warm inside the safe house. The uncharacteristically charismatic safe house with leather couches, plush rugs, and a fancy fireplace. It smelled of white ginger incense and cinnamon. If you weren’t so dizzy and cold from the blood loss, you’d be living it up in this gold brick bungalow.

Slumping against the door, respectfully getting only the wood floors wet and not the carpet, you assess the situation: bruises and scrapes (no big deal), gunshot to your shoulder, bullet still lodged and bleeding slowly (not so bad), and possible concussion (maybe a little concerning), broken thumbnail (big issue).

You know exactly what you need to do. Where the first-aid kit may be, how to dig the bullet out, and what to bite on when you do it. Simple, easy, quick— as you were trained to do. A few winces and groans, and you’ll be fine. You lose a slow and steady breath. You’ll be fine…

A few minutes to rest wouldn’t be so bad. Just a few breaths, a moment to rest your eyes, to calm your heartbeat and slow the bleeding. Just a minute. Just a minute.

The click of the broken lock disengaging wakes you, sends you into a panic. How long have you been out? Instinct makes you reach, point, and cock your gun to the door— where it meets a dragon’s rock-molten glare. He scowls at you, incredulous— maybe at the blood on the polished mahogany floor, seeping between its crevices. Or at the shattered, high-end biotech door lock. Or the fact that you broke in. You have no energy to ask.

“You welcome this house’s owner by pointing a gun to his head?” he asks, but his voice carries no venom, nor does it any humor. He’s kneeling the next time you blink, hands hovering over your left shoulder. There’s something in the scrunch of his brows, the crease beneath his eyes, the short breaths he tries to hide— as if he’d been running, panicking.

“How…?”

“A safe with a broken lock tends to make itself known, sweetie.” he murmurs, too focused on all the blood. Too much to be coming from you. “Although the treasure usually doesn’t walk right in.”

He applies pressure. You groan. “What?”

“Can you stand?” he asks. You try, but at the first sign of strain on your face, he stops you and moves you himself.

He lays you by the fireplace, leaves the room to retrieve a first aid kit, and then works carefully in the dim light. He doesn’t speak a word, and you wonder if it’s because he’s mad. It is pretty shameless of you to break into his property. And you suppose pointing a gun to his head is even worse.

He shouldn’t have to do this. He shouldn’t be dirtying his hands with your mistakes, dealing with the consequences of your poor and ill-tempered decisions. Shouldn’t have to be dealing with a bloody floor and a broken lock— and it’s all your fault. Guilt, cold and sickening, bubbles up in the pit of your stomach.

But his hands are gentle and soothing. His presence, the sound of his breathing is lulling you into calm-surfaced waters with a current that runs rapidly, dangerously beneath. You hate that you want to drown.

“Sylus…” you start as he wipes his hands on his thighs, finished with stitching up your wound.

He holds out a pill. “Take this.”

You blink at him.

“Painkiller.” he nudges your hand open, and you wince as he hits your thumb. The broken nail making its presence known once more. He freezes, wondering if he’d done that. If he’d missed a broken bone. He didn’t check for sprains. He opens his mouth to say something.

But you cut him off, bringing your finger to your lips and sucking. “I broke it when I picked your lock.”

“Your finger?” he sounds mad.

“My nail.” you clarify, voice quieter now. A response at his own tone.

The cord that pulled his shoulders taut and froze his spine breaks its tension. He exhales. The rest of him follows, and with softness, he whispers. “Let me see.”

You lift your hand to him carefully, and his strong fingers wrap around the base of your thumb and your palm. He inspects it with such care you’d think it was a protocore worth his time. “Looks bad.”

“Feels bad.” You confirm, tugging at your hand. But with no real force. Maybe just to see if he would let go.

He doesn’t. In fact, he looks pained. Maybe he had been looking pained this whole time— when he cleaned your cuts, when he pulled the bullet out of your shoulder and stitched up the gaping hole. Too engrossed in your guilt, you hadn’t noticed that what you thought was anger on his face was something else entirely. Anguish. Worry. The last fraying thread of composure his sanity clings to tonight. His grasp tightens around your hand, and he cleans it with the same tenderness he gave your worse injuries.

Then he pulls your hand up to his lips. His breath ghosts over your skin, heat lacing through your veins, down your arm and pooling in the crevices of your chest. “Call me, next time. When you need help.”

He gauges your expression. He looks different here. His usual blood-cursed irises now looking like sweet, warm honey in the glow of the firelight.

“Please.” He insists, voice low and imploring. It snaps you out of your reverie, and you nod. That’s enough for him.

You spend the rest of the night talking, or at least he tries to keep you talking. You still did have a concussion after all.

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

You shouldn’t be surprised, and yet. In the mirror, you scrutinized yourself in the dress he bought you. The shifting hues of black and red at the movement, how the gloves looked like starlight and felt like butter on your arms. How the heavy diamonds adorning your ears and your neck glimmer in the ambient light of his guest room.

There is a knock on the door and at your command, it swings open to reveal an equally stunning leader of Onychinus.

The strap of his watch catches his skin as he pushes the door open. He’s scowling at his wrist when you see him. And as he looks up, he meets your wide-eyed gaze in the mirror. There is a rupturing, caving so grand in your chest at his heated gaze. A smile he cannot help graces his dangerously, beautiful lips. “You look…”

“My dress,” you say at the same time. Desperate, quick to fill the silence that stuffed the room now that there are two people in it. Now that he— handsome and alluring— is in it. You need to get a grip. “Can—“ you pause when you realize he was speaking too. But he simply gestures for you to go on. “Can you help me?”

Sylus takes in the ask and nods. Willing the thrumming in his chest to cease and his breathing to steady as he comes up behind you. Closer and closer until you feel the heat of his fingers on your skin.

“I’m going to—“

“Go ahead.” you feel his knuckle glide up the skin of your back as he zips you up snugly in the dress. So perfectly fit, you tried to find a flaw— but there was none. The glitter didn’t scratch under your arms, the fabric didn’t itch around your waist and it draped just below your ankles. it was soft and flexible enough should you have to move more than needed during tonight’s operation, you could.

Something stirs in you that Sylus, under the guise of wanting to handle things himself, still took to account specific, necessary modifications for your comfort without you having to say a word.

“Thanks.” you say, catching the reflection of his eyes again. His own lingers on the zipper for a moment before he pulls his hands away like he’d touched fire. He grunts in reply. Whatever he came in to say was lost to him, and frankly, he had no interest in getting it back.

“Take your time.” he says instead, voice tight. Then, unable to say another word, he turns on his heel and marches out with a rigid spine and stiff shoulders. Unbeknownst to you, his ears had gone as crimson as his irises. Meanwhile, you curl in on yourself, nails digging into your arms as you drop to your ankles, willing yourself into a ball to distract from the inferno in your chest.

Good thing the dress was stretchy.

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

“Sylus?” turning, you wonder how it was possible to lose such a tall, formidable man.

The crowd is an ocean that pulls you within its current however-much you push against. He asked you, very kindly, actually, to stay by his side— or so you recall. And yet the pastries, the trinkets, the lanterns and the small stall with the adoptable pets have charmed you like the lilt of a flute’s tune.

The Linkon plaza is never this crowded, if it weren’t for the new year festival. From his cave, you thought you’d lure him out and show him how bright and happy a celebration should be beyond the confines of the base. Sure, the lanterns are up, the gold coins are scattered, the streamers and confetti have littered the floors of the mansion (thanks to the eagerness of the twins), but being out with the people celebrating the arrival of a new year is still, you argued, different.

“I don’t need anyone else.” He’d said when you coined the idea. With his gentle look, and the hint of a challenge beneath a raised brow. You turn away before he spots the visual evidence of the prickles you feel under the flesh of your cheeks. He still does, anyway. It makes him grin.

Never truly one to deny you, he agrees on one condition: stay close. And here you are… not.

“Excuse me— sorry.” You weave through people as gently as you could, straining your neck trying to look over countless heads to find familiar moon-touched hair. A part of you itches in frustration— with his height, he should find you easily. Why wasn’t he looking for you?

The crowd spits you out by a sidewalk where children have gathered nearby to watch a puppet show. He’s impossible to miss in his red coat and bright white hair. There he stood in the back of the short crowd, watching intently as the paper dragon dances with the princess.

You wander next to him quietly, not wanting to disrupt his intrigue. There was a far-away look in his eyes that made you wonder if he was watching at all. When he flinches ever so slightly as the dragon is slain, you’re sure he is.

He feels your hand slip into his palm, and his fingers instinctively find their place between the spaces of your own. And something like freshly cooked rice or a hearty soup travels down into your chest at the feeling that this— this was right. You should have been doing this from the moment you arrived; then you wouldn’t have wandered, then you wouldn’t have strayed. You make a mental note: don’t let go.

He thinks of how well you’ve gotten at sneaking up on him.

Your grasp tightens. “There you are.”

“You left me.” he says, his voice a little raspy from underuse. Unlike yours, that has been yelling his name the moment you realized he was gone.

“No, I didn’t.” you insist, nudging him. “I just lost you for a second.”

“Felt like ages, sweetie.” he says, looking at you. He means to tease, but his words carry the weight of a lifetime.

“Sylus.” you frown. You don’t like the way his features look haunted by a specter you cannot slay. Your free hand comes to touch his face, fingers brushing just below his eye, easing lightness back beneath his skin. “I found you.”

And as if by your touch, his soul snaps into place. This one, now. Not any other life before. His brows unfurl and his distance from sea to shore recedes. A tenderness. A gratefulness. A prideful, present sort of affection. “You did.”

“Wasn’t easy.” you huff, shoulders sinking in frustration. Spreading out the tension as the air between you has gotten too thin. But your hand stays in place, curling around his jaw to stabilize itself. Your thumb has a mind of its own, rubbing the back of his hand. To ground him, you say. For him. For… you, too. “There are too many things, I got a little overwhelmed.”

He smirks, reaching up to your face and swiping his thumb over the corner of your lip. It comes away stained with blue icing. From the very cupcake that lured you away. He brings it to his lips and tastes it. “Show me.”

“Hm?” you blink, distracted at the act. The sound of your pulse muffling your ears, drowning out the droning of the crowd.

“Show me the many things.” he says again, a chuckle sanding his tone. His voice is clear as day, the only true thing you hear in the cheerful chaos of the festival. He shakes your joined hands. “I’ve got you.”

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

thank you for reading!

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colouredbyd · 20 days ago

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Remus’ “Just in Case” Kit

poly!marauders x fem!reader

summary: in which remus has a kit that somehow holds everything you and your boyfriends might ever need, quietly prepared for every small disaster. and somehow, no matter what chaos you and the boys come home with, he always has exactly what you didn’t know you needed.

w/c: 2.6k

warnings: mild injury, illness, tending, remus being the designated worrier, mentions of fever, cozy fluff, clingy sick sirius, yapper!reader, subtle hurt comfort, shared living space, magic use, soft physical touch, remus being the best bf ever, and lots of fluff!!

a/n: remus? more like mary poppins <3

masterlist

The heavy oak door creaked open abruptly, allowing a rush of cold, crisp air to flood the warm common room.

You stepped in first, cheeks flushed with exertion and the chill, a bright smile lighting your face despite the ache in your knee.

Your hand was firmly clasped in James’s, who followed close behind, his dark hair tousled from the afternoon’s endeavor and the sleeve of his once-pristine Quidditch robes torn raggedly at the shoulder.

“We’re back!” you announced, laughter bubbling through your breathless words. Your voice carried a mixture of triumph and relief, the kind only earned after a day spent mastering a new skill.

James grinned, pulling his sleeve tighter against the rip, his glasses slipping slightly down his nose.

“It was definitely an adventure. I’m just glad neither of us ended up with a broken bone.”

You shifted your weight gingerly, wincing as you adjusted your boot and tried to ignore the sharp sting on your scraped knee. “I swear the broom had a mind of its own today.”

James chuckled. “You still did great for a beginner."

You playfully elbowed him as the door swung fully open, revealing the quiet scene inside.

Remus sat on the worn leather couch, a book resting open on one knee. His gaze was fixed on Sirius, who lay curled on his lap, pale and still beneath a thick knitted blanket.

Sirius’s dark hair was tousled, his face soft with the vulnerability illness brought, and every few breaths he shifted slightly, nestling closer into Remus’s protective hold.

When Remus’s eyes lifted from his book and settled on you both, his expression was a mixture of weary exasperation and undeniable fondness.

“What exactly have you gotten yourselves into this time?” His voice was calm but carried the weight of someone accustomed to these little chaos-filled returns.

You exchanged a glance with James, your grin widening.

“Hi, Remmy,” you greeted softly, stepping forward with a tenderness reserved only for this room, this moment.

You leaned down, pressing a careful kiss to Sirius’s temple. He murmured something half-formed in his sleep, one hand reaching up to graze your arm with a lazy tenderness before falling back.

You straightened and settled yourself beside Remus on the couch, leaning gently into his side.

His arm came around you without hesitation, fingers weaving softly into your hair. His touch was steady and warm, a quiet reassurance.

Remus’s gaze shifted to your knee, the skin raw and reddened beneath the torn fabric of your robes, then to James’s torn sleeve. “A scrape and a rip. Would you care to explain?”

James ran a hand through his disheveled hair, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips.

“I was showing her how to properly handle the broom. I think I succeeded until gravity reminded us both who was boss.”

You laughed softly. “I may have fallen a few times.”

Remus’s eyebrows lifted. “A few times?”

“More than a few,” James admitted, “but she improved. That counts.”

Remus’s eyes softened. “Flying in this weather is no easy task.”

You nodded, wincing slightly as you shifted. “I’m lucky I didn’t break anything.”

“Perhaps, but you could have hurt yourself,” Remus said gently, his eyes scanning your face with the care of someone who notices every detail.

His fingers brushed lightly across your cheek, searching for any hidden bruises or scratches.

You flinched at the cool touch but did not pull away. “I’m okay.”

Remus looked to James then, his tone quieter but firm. “Be more careful with her.”

James gave a mock offended look. “I take very good care of her.”

Remus’s eyes narrowed playfully. “Clearly.”

James chuckled before sliding off the couch and making his way to the bed where Sirius rested. He sat on the edge quietly, brushing a gentle hand through Sirius’s dark hair.

The sickness had dulled Sirius’s usual energy, but the tenderness in James’s touch spoke volumes.

Meanwhile, Remus shifted his attention back to you, his hand finding yours with deliberate softness. He guided you gently from the couch and seated you carefully on a nearby chair, his fingers still entwined with yours, anchoring you.

With his free hand, he reached for a small leather bag resting on the side table — a kit of essentials he always kept close.

Remus opened the small leather bag with a practiced ease, his fingers deftly pulling out a vial of antiseptic, a clean cloth, and delicate bandages.

He settled to his knees before you, his movements slow and deliberate, careful not to rush or cause you any discomfort.

When he gently dabbed the cool antiseptic on your scraped knee, you couldn’t help but gasp softly at the sudden sting.

“Easy,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, like a warm balm against the sharpness. “Try not to move too much.”

You nodded, biting your lip for a second—but the words still spilled out, fast and breathless. “The broom almost threw me off, you know? I swear, one moment I was flying, and the next I was practically kissing the ground.”

Remus dabbed at the wound gently with a clean cloth, his free hand steadying your leg so you wouldn’t jerk away.

He hummed softly, encouraging you to keep talking.

“James was trying so hard to keep me steady—he kept saying, ‘Lean in, lean in!’” You sucked in a quick breath when the antiseptic touched raw skin, then continued immediately.

“But then I kept overcorrecting, and the cold wind didn’t help at all. I think it was messing with my balance.”

Remus reached for the bandage now, smoothing it carefully between his fingers before laying it gently over your knee, his touch featherlight.

“And then, of course, I crashed like a lead balloon,” you said, exhaling a breathy laugh.

“Honestly, James looked just as tired as I did by the end.”

Remus pressed down the edges of the bandage with a soft, circular motion.

“Mm. Sounds like you need more practice... and a little less enthusiasm.” His voice was fond, his gaze warm as he glanced up at you.

Remus’s eyes never left your knee as he carefully cleaned the scrape, his fingers steady and confident. “But it does sound like quite the afternoon. I’m glad you had fun with James, dovey.”

You smiled despite the sting. “It was. But it was worth it. I’m getting better at flying, I swear. James said I’m improving.” You glanced up at him, your eyes bright with excitement.

“How’s Sirius doing, by the way? That flu’s been rough on him, hasn’t it?”

Remus’s expression softened even further. “He’s resting well. The fever’s gone down a bit, and he’s sleeping more, which is good.”

He pressed the bandage gently over the cleaned scrape and began smoothing it out carefully, making sure it was snug but not too tight.

“He’s lucky to have you two looking out for him.”

You shook your head with a soft chuckle. “We try. Though I think Sirius has been a bit of a grump about being stuck in bed.”

Remus’s lips curved into a faint smile. “He hates being still, but he’s managing.”

Once your knee was tended to, Remus reached into the bag again and pulled out a simple black hair tie.

“Let me fix this,” he said softly, reaching up to gather your hair into a loose ponytail. His hands moved with gentle precision, threading through your strands as he secured it carefully.

You yelped quietly as the hair tie tugged, scrunching your face. “You know I hate my hair being pulled back,” you whispered, frowning slightly.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, silencing you without a word.

His lips lingered there for a moment, a quiet promise of care and tenderness. You closed your eyes briefly, leaning into the warmth.

“There,” he murmured, fingers brushing softly through your hair. “Much better.”

You smiled, settling against him with a contented sigh. “You’re too good to me, Remus.”

His hand came up to tuck a stray lock behind your ear, his voice a tender murmur. “Only because you deserve it.”

You let out a quiet giggle, watching him tuck the last corner of the bandage with the kind of care no one ever really expected from a boy who grew up patching up his own wounds.

“Thanks, Rem,” you said softly, your voice suddenly gentler, more certain. “You’re the best.”

He didn’t look up right away, just smoothed his thumb lightly over your knee as if to double-check his work, then gave a small, bashful smile. “Someone has to look after you lot.”

You beamed. “Yeah, but no one does it like you.”

“Off you go, dovey,” he murmured quietly.

Before you could respond, he called out to James, who immediately came over and settled beside you with a tired but fond smile.

Remus then reached back to the small leather bag sitting beside him.

With careful hands, he pulled out a fine knitting needle and a spool of thread, beginning to sew up the rip in James’s Quidditch robes.

His fingers moved deftly, the soft clinking of the needle punctuating the room’s quiet calm.

He murmured a spell under his breath, and James’s glasses, resting on the edge of a nearby table, shimmered briefly before straightening as if magically repaired.

You watched all this with fascination, the way Remus cared for the two of you so tenderly stirring a warm feeling in your chest.

Unable to resist, your curiosity got the better of you. You reached for the leather bag and opened it carefully.

“Oh my,” you whispered, peering inside. “You have so much stuff in here.”

You began rummaging through its contents: several hair ties, including a few just like the one he had used on you; a small brush that must have belonged to Sirius; various vials and potions; neatly folded cloths; a miniature sewing kit; some chocolate bars; bandages with tiny stars printed on them.

Remus chuckled softly, watching your delighted expression. “This is my just in case kit,” he explained.

“I keep everything I might need here in case something happens, if one of you forgets something or needs a quick fix.”

You looked up at him with a tender smile. “Aww, you’re so thoughtful, Remus.”

Remus gave a slow, fond smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he replied softly, “Yeah, I keep it because you lot are troublemakers. Never know when someone’s going to need a quick fix.”

You laughed, your fingers still busily rummaging through the surprisingly roomy little leather bag.

Despite its modest size, it was packed with all sorts of things, neatly organized as if by magic.

“How do you fit all this in here?” you asked, holding up a tiny bottle of cream.

“And why on earth do you have anti-rash cream?” Your eyebrows shot up in playful disbelief.

Remus’s expression grew amused. “You’d be surprised by how many times Sirius has ended up with a rash. Cursed plants, hex accidents… he’s quite the magnet for trouble.” He gave a half-smile, shaking his head slightly.

“The stuff comes in handy.”

You grinned and dug deeper, your hand closing around something familiar. Pulling it out, you gasped softly. “Oh my god, my lip balm! You have it in here.”

Remus’s eyes softened. “I thought you might need it. You’re always borrowing someone else’s.”

Without hesitation, you twisted open the little tube and slicked it onto your lips, sighing with satisfaction.

“You’re so thoughtful,” you murmured, glancing up at him.

He shrugged modestly, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “Someone has to keep you all in one piece.”

You reached back into the bag again, producing a small brush and a handful of hair ties. “And here’s a brush for Sirius’s hair. You think of everything.”

Remus’s gaze held yours, gentle and steady. “I do.”

You smiled widely. “Well, you’re the best at it.”

As you settled back beside Remus, the small leather bag resting comfortably on your lap, your fingers idly twisted and played with the handful of hair ties you had just pulled out.

The room around you was warm and quiet, filled with the gentle crackle of the fire and the soft murmur of James watching over Sirius nearby.

It was a rare stillness, the kind that wrapped around you like a soft blanket, holding you close to the people you loved most.

Suddenly, Sirius stirred. His dark hair shifted as he blinked open heavy eyes, the faintest cough escaping his lips.

Instantly, James jolted upright, his concern immediate and fierce.

“Sirius, you’re awake!” he exclaimed softly, his voice a mixture of relief and tenderness as he moved closer to the bed.

“How are you feeling?” James whispered to Sirius.

Remus set the bag aside and rose smoothly from his seat, following James to the bedside. You stood as well, moving to lean gently against the edge of the bed, eyes filled with concern.

Sirius looked at you both, then his gaze settled on you, and without hesitation, he reached out, wrapping you in a shaky but heartfelt hug.

“I missed you,” he murmured, his voice rough but genuine.

You smiled, pressing your cheek against his. “I missed you too, Siri.”

The warmth of the moment lingered, and you couldn’t help but burst with a sudden thought.

“Sirius, did you know Remus has this kit full of everything you could ever need!?”

Sirius pulled back slightly, his brows knitting with curiosity despite his weakened state. “Is that so?”

You nodded enthusiastically, glancing over at Remus, who was quietly observing the scene with a soft smile. “He has all kinds of things—bandages, potions, even hair ties and lip balm. He carries it everywhere, just in case. It’s like he’s always ready to take care of us.”

Sirius let out a low chuckle, the sound rough but genuine. “That sounds like Remus. Always prepared.”

Remus, standing nearby, cleared his throat softly and smiled, a touch of shy warmth coloring his cheeks. “I just want to make sure you’re all safe.”

The three of you exchanged quiet looks, the room filled with an unspoken understanding. In this small, glowing bubble of warmth and care, you all belonged to each other.

And no matter what came, Remus was always there—gentle hands, quiet voice, a little worn bag filled with everything you might need before you even knew you needed it.

He could never quite say it aloud, not the way Sirius blurted it or James beamed it, but this was how he loved. Through bandages and brushes, lip balm and steady arms.

Because he loved you all far too much to ever leave it to chance, far too much to watch any of you hurt and do nothing.

So he carried it with him always, tucked beneath his cloak, his fingers brushing the worn leather every now and then like it grounded him.

Just in case.

And when you asked him why, voice soft and curious as you curled against his side, he pressed a kiss to your hair and answered like it was the simplest thing in the world.

“Because you’re all mine to take care of.”

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leather-hero · 4 months ago

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#Leather Care Kit

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cei1ne · 2 months ago

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oooo! could you do a version of the accidentally calling them your husband with dabi! and anyone else! maybe the rest of the lov! pretty please!

—How the League of villains members react to you accidentally calling them "husband"

꒱ | ೃ࿔₊•Summary: How the LOV members react to you calling them 'husband' by accident and catching them and yourself off guard!

༆࿐ཽ༵☆Pairing: Dabi (Toya Todoroki) f!reader ; Shigaraki (Tomura Shigaraki) x f!reader ; Twice (Jin Bubaigawara) x f!reader ; Mr. Compress (Atsuhiro Sako) x f!reader

ઈଓᦗ࿐Tags: Cute ; Slip up ; Slow burn ; MHA ; Emotional ; Funny

ঞじòぴWord-count: idk maybe 8k?

༻༺A/N: Heyyy so as you can tell I haven’t been active but here is the long awaited request that I’ve done for the 3rd time now after I was almost done because my phone just died so yeah… anyways I don’t really know much about the LOV members but the internet helped so I tried my best and enjoy xx!

Part 1!

Dabi (Toya Todoroki) - “You Just Called Me What?”

It’s late when he comes through your apartment window. Not that he ever uses the door — or that he ever asks.

Dabi moves like smoke, silent and fast, and tonight is no different.

You’re in your living room, curled up with a cup of something warm and a re-run playing too low to matter. The sharp, scorched scent of fire hits before the sound of boots.

“You know,” you murmur without looking, “breaking and entering is technically a crime.”

“So’s harboring a villain, sweetheart,” he replies with a smirk in his voice.

You finally glance up.

He’s bleeding.

Again.

_________________________________

You don’t say anything at first. You just set the cup down, push off the blanket, and head to the bathroom for the first aid kit you keep stocked just for him.

He’s already on the couch when you return, leather jacket half-off, shirt torn where some idiot took a lucky shot. There’s a split above his eyebrow and bruises blooming down one side of his ribs.

“I told you last time—” you start.

“I know. ‘Don’t get hurt again, Dabi. You’re not invincible, Dabi. Your quirk’s a walking self-destruct button, Dabi.’” He rolls his eyes. “You sound like a wife.”

You raise a brow, kneeling in front of him. “If I were your wife, you’d be sleeping on the balcony.”

A smirk tugs at his lips, but he doesn’t reply. Not when you’re leaning in like that — warm hands and soft fingers and that concentrated look on your face while you clean him up like he hasn’t burned cities.

You’re always gentle. Even when he doesn’t deserve it.

_________________________________

“Hold still,” you murmur.

You dab at the cut above his brow. He winces.

“Baby,” he grits out, “that shit stings.”

“You’ll live,” you say, amusement flickering in your voice. “Big, scary arsonist can’t handle a little antiseptic?”

“You talk a lot of shit for someone with no backup.”

“I talk a lot of shit because you let me,” you counter. “And because you keep showing up like you live here.”

There’s a pause.

He holds your gaze for a second too long.

Then: “Maybe I should.”

You laugh — light, easy, because what else do you do when Dabi flirts like he’s defusing bombs? “What, like rent-free? You’d burn through the floorboards in a week.”

His smirk returns, half-lazy, half-challenging. “You’d miss me.”

And you don’t say it, but you would.

_________________________________

You finish with the gauze and tape, then lean back onto your heels with a sigh. “Okay. You’re fixed up, mostly. Just don’t—”

“Don’t push myself. Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it before.” His voice is quieter now. He’s looking at you a little differently. “You always take care of me like that?”

“Only when my idiot husband stumbles in after getting into street fights.”

The word slips out mid-sentence, so natural you don’t catch it until it’s already in the air.

Silence.

Dabi blinks.

His entire expression stills.

You freeze.

Your stomach drops. “Oh my god— I didn’t— I wasn’t— I meant guest. Or— or squatter. Or asshole with blue fire—”

“Did you just call me husband?” he asks, tone slow and smug in the way that always means trouble.

You try to stand. He grabs your wrist.

“Say it again.”

“No.”

He grins — amused, delighted. “Come on. I wanna hear it.”

“I’m not saying it again, you menace—”

“Husband,” he mocks in a singsong voice. “Aww. You got a little domestic daydream up there, sweetheart?”

“You’re bleeding, you jackass.”

“And yet you still called me your man,” he says, tilting his head. “Interesting.”

You flush hot. “Shut up.”

He doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t.

_________________________________

The teasing lasts all night.

Every time you hand him something: “Thanks, wife.”

Every time you sigh at his laziness: “That’s no way to talk to your husband.”

Every time your fingers brush his: “Careful, this is basically a honeymoon.”

But underneath the grin, there’s something else. Something quieter. Focused.

He keeps watching you.

Like he’s trying to figure out if the word meant nothing… or everything.

Because he wanted it to mean everything.

Shigaraki (Tomura Shigaraki) - “Husband? No, I—”

You never imagined calling Tomura Shigaraki “husband” would end up so… complicated.

The night started like any other: you were sitting together on the couch in his cramped apartment, watching some low-key anime, the flicker of the screen lighting up his tired face. Shigaraki was mostly quiet, eyes half-lidded, the weight of the world settling on his shoulders like it always did.

You liked coming over — not because he was talkative or warm, but because the silence wasn’t suffocating when you were there.

“Want some ramen?” you asked, nudging the instant noodle cup towards him.

He grunted, an almost inaudible “yeah,” and grabbed the cup, fumbling with the lid like he hadn’t touched food in days.

You smiled softly, but your eyes caught the nervous twitch in his fingers. Something about the way he kept avoiding your gaze made your heart squeeze.

“Hey,” you said quietly, “you don’t have to do this alone.”

He blinked, and his lips twitched as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know how.

The night wore on. You passed him the spoon a few times, and when your fingers brushed, he jerked back like you’d shocked him.

“Sorry,” he muttered quickly.

You just shrugged it off “it’s okay”

The moment passed, but the tension lingered, hanging between you like thick fog.

_________________________________

Later, you were leaning against him, half-asleep, when you mumbled, “You’re such an idiot sometimes.”

He blinked. “Yeah?”

You grinned and snuggled a little closer. “I don’t know how you put up with me.”

His eyes flickered, and he cleared his throat. “You’re annoying.”

“Only to you.”

“Obviously.”

Your smile faded a bit, and you nudged his arm. “Hey, you know… I’m yours.”

He blinked at that like you’d just insulted him. “What?”

You swallowed nervously, realizing maybe you said too much. “I mean… I’m yours. You know, like, in that way.”

He stared at you blankly, fingers twitching.

You laughed nervously, then the words slipped out before you could stop them. It felt right in that moment!

“I’m your wife.”

The silence after was deafening.

Shigaraki’s eyes went wide, and his mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.

“Husband,” he blurted.

You blinked. “Wait—what?”

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, voice cracking. “You—You said husband. I heard it.”

You blinked again, baffled. “I didn’t say husband.”

He shook his head, looking down at his hands. “But you thought it. I saw it on your face.”

Your heart raced. “I’m not sure what that means.”

He cleared his throat loudly, breaking eye contact. “It means… I don’t know. It’s weird. I don’t do this stuff.”

“Neither do I,” you admitted.

He fidgeted with his sleeves. “I don’t know how to respond.”

“Me neither.”

You both laughed awkwardly — the kind of laugh that fills the silence but doesn’t quite fix it.

Twice (Jin Bubaigawara) - “Husband? Chill, you’re being dramatic!”

The sun was dipping lower outside, spilling warm golden light through the blinds of Twice’s cramped apartment. The familiar clutter greeted you the moment you stepped inside—empty snack bags, scattered comics, and clothes draped over chairs and the couch. It wasn’t exactly pristine, but it felt like the most comforting place in the world.

Twice was sprawled on the worn-out couch, his usual nervous energy tempered by the soft calm of having you there. One leg was curled beneath him; the other swung slightly as he scrolled through his phone, occasionally grinning at something.

You kicked off your shoes and set down your bag, holding up the snacks and a thermos of tea you’d brought. “Hope you’re hungry.”

His eyes brightened. “You’re a lifesaver! Come sit, come sit.”

You settled beside him, the couch sinking beneath your weight. Twice instantly shifted, looping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. The warmth of him felt like a soft blanket wrapped around your heart.

For a moment, you just breathed in the comfortable silence. The world outside faded — no missions, no chaos, just this shared calm.

“You know,” you started, leaning into him, “this apartment? It’s kind of a disaster.”

Twice chuckled. “It’s organized chaos.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that a fancy way of saying you’re messy?”

He grinned sheepishly. “Exactly. But it’s my kind of messy.”

You smiled, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face. “I kind of like it. Like you.”

“Really?” Twice’s voice was softer now. “You like me… messy and all?”

“Especially messy.”

He laughed, the sound light and happy. “Good, because I’m a mess inside and out.”

The two of you sank into a contented quiet, the gentle hum of an anime playing on the TV filling the space between you. You sipped your tea while Twice munched on chips, the casual comfort wrapping around you like a second skin.

After a few minutes, his phone buzzed. He checked it and glanced at you with a sly grin. “Pizza delivery. Wanna order?”

“Definitely,” you said, laughing. “You’re always starving.”

As Twice reached for a slice, you nudged him playfully. “God, husband, chill, you’re being dramatic.”

The words slipped out before you realized it, and Twice froze mid-bite. His eyes widened in disbelief.

“Husband?” His voice was a strangled whisper. “Did you just—”

You swallowed hard. “I—I didn’t mean it like that! It was a joke.”

But Twice was already bouncing on the couch, his fingers tangled in his hair, muttering to himself in a nervous rush. “Oh my god, I love you! But marriage? Too soon! Too soon! But I love it! But I’m scared! What if I mess it up? What if you meant it? What if you’re waiting for me to propose? What if I’m not ready?!”

You bit your lip, watching his chaotic thoughts swirl like a storm. It was classic Twice — all over the place, but somehow adorably sincere.

“Okay, okay,” you said gently, grabbing his hands to steady him. “Slow down. It was just a slip. I’m not proposing.”

He blinked rapidly, trying to catch his breath. “But what if I mess it up?”

“You won’t. I’m here.”

Twice’s cheeks flushed pink as he smiled shyly. “I’m a mess.”

“A lovable mess,” you whispered.

He chuckled softly, squeezing your hands. Then, with a nervous grin, he leaned closer and mumbled, “Wanna practice saying it again? Just in case I ever do propose.”

You laughed, heart fluttering. “Only if you promise not to freak out this much next time.”

“No promises,” he whispered back, his eyes sparkling.

_________________________________

As the evening deepened, Twice’s apartment became a small world of its own — one filled with laughter, warmth, and little moments that made your heart swell.

You found yourselves sprawled on the floor, surrounded by empty snack bags and scattered cushions. Twice pulled out a stack of goofy hats and shoved one onto your head.

“Try this one!” he said, balancing a ridiculous, oversized pirate hat.

You giggled, the silliness breaking down any lingering awkwardness. Twice joined you, donning a feathered cap that was just as ridiculous.

“Perfect match,” he declared with a goofy grin.

You caught his gaze and smiled softly, thinking about how far you’d come. Twice, the chaotic, sometimes anxious hero, was right here beside you — raw, vulnerable, and open.

He caught your gaze and blushed. “You’re really something special.”

You leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “So are you.”

_________________________________

Later, while the anime played on, Twice turned to you with a sudden seriousness. “You know, I never thought I’d find someone who gets me. Who sticks around despite all the chaos.”

You tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear. “I’m not going anywhere.”

His smile faltered for a moment, replaced by something softer, almost fragile. “Sometimes, I’m scared I’m too much. That I’ll mess it all up.”

You shook your head. “No. You’re enough. More than enough.”

He exhaled slowly, a weight lifting from his shoulders. “Thanks for believing in me.”

You took his hand in yours, the simple touch saying more than words ever could.

As the day continued, the memory of that single word — “husband” — echoed in your mind, a small spark that promised a future full of chaos, love, and maybe, just maybe, something more.

Mr. Compress - “A Slip of the Tongue”

The first time you visited Mr. Compress’s apartment, you expected something… flashier.

Maybe a place full of bright colors, rich velvet drapes, magic cards flying through the air, a hat rack overflowing with top hats. But no—it was surprisingly quiet. Warm wood floors, golden lighting, books stacked in every corner. The only truly flamboyant thing was a single, well-loved velvet coat on a mannequin by the door.

“This is cozy,” you’d said the first time you came in, a little stunned.

“And yet… utterly lacking in drama,” he replied, gesturing with flair. “Forgive me. I left my exploding doves in the other dimension.”

You laughed. You always laughed around him.

Even now—several months into whatever strange relationship you had—you still didn’t have the right words for it. He cooked for you. You brought wine. He told stories. You curled up under his arm. And sometimes, when the world quieted down, when the League wasn’t calling or the world wasn’t falling apart, you stayed the night.

But no one had said the words yet. Not those words. Love. Forever. Commitment.

Not even close.

_________________________________

Tonight, it was pouring rain, and you’d arrived with a dripping umbrella and two bags of groceries.

“Dinner is on me this time,” you’d insisted, sidestepping him when he tried to take the bags from your hands.

“Darling, you wound me,” he said with a grin behind his mask. “You know I take pride in feeding my guests.”

“I’m not a guest anymore,” you shot back, raising a brow. “Besides, I want to cook for you.”

He raised both gloved hands in surrender. “Far be it from me to deny a beautiful woman the pleasure of poisoning me with her affection.”

“Watch your mouth,” you said, elbowing him lightly as you kicked off your shoes. “I brought dessert too.”

“My heart is yours.”

“Damn right it is.”

The evening passed with soft jazz playing from a dusty old speaker. You moved around his kitchen like you belonged there—because lately, it kind of felt like you did. He lingered nearby, leaning against the counter, offering unnecessary tips just to stay close.

When the food was finally plated, you both settled at his low dinner table, sitting cross-legged with your knees brushing.

“Truly divine,” he declared after the first bite. “You’re trying to win me over. I feel it.”

“Trying?” you asked, smirking. “I’ve already got you wrapped around my little finger.”

He tipped an invisible hat. “Touché.”

_________________________________

You were cleaning up, sleeves rolled and humming under your breath, when he came up behind you to dry the dishes with a towel in hand.

“Have I mentioned how lovely you look tonight?” he asked softly.

You turned, flicking a sud-covered finger at him. “Don’t flirt while I’m doing chores. That’s cheating.”

“Darling, I only flirt when it’s inconvenient. It adds to the thrill.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “God, husband, calm down.”

Silence.

A beat passed.

You froze.

He did too—hands still in midair, towel half-wrapped around a plate.

“…I beg your pardon?” he said, almost too calmly.

You clapped a wet hand over your mouth. “I didn’t—oh my god—I didn’t mean—!”

He placed the plate down very carefully and turned to you, both gloved hands behind his back in classic magician form.

“Husband?” he echoed, voice pitched half an octave higher. “That’s… well, I must say I didn’t expect to be promoted mid-dishwashing session!”

Your cheeks went nuclear. “I—look, I didn’t mean it! It was a slip! I meant to say—like—boyfriend? Partner? I don’t know! It came out weird!”

He straightened dramatically, head tilted back, hand on his chest.

“Oh, the cruelty!” he cried. “To be crowned a husband, only to have the title ripped away mere seconds later!”

“Stop it,” you groaned, burying your face in a kitchen towel. “I want to crawl into the sink and die.”

“You wound me again! I was already picking out tuxedos.”

You smacked him with the towel.

_________________________________

Once the laughter settled and your face returned to a semi-normal shade, you both sat on the couch, close and quiet, tea cooling in your hands.

“I’m sorry,” you said again, more seriously this time. “I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

He tilted his masked head. “You didn’t. Not truly.”

You looked at him.

“I’m a performer, my dear. I may appear dramatic—but I promise, I do not take your words lightly.” His voice was softer now, stripped of showmanship. “Even an accidental word like ‘husband’… well, it struck me. But not in a bad way.”

Your throat tightened. “Yeah?”

He nodded slowly. “There are worse things to be than the man you accidentally associate with the word ‘forever.’”

Your breath caught in your chest. “I didn’t mean it like that. But… I don’t hate the idea.”

He turned toward you more fully, the golden glow of the lamp outlining the shape of his mask.

“I want to hear it again,” he said.

You blinked. “What?”

“Call me that. One more time.”

You hesitated. “Now you’re just messing with me.”

“I’m quite serious.”

You shifted, then said it softly—“husband”—like it might crumble in your mouth.

He inhaled slowly. “Goodness. That really is dangerous.”

Your lip curled into a shy smile. “Why?”

“Because I think I could get used to it.”

541 notes · View notes

kimberly-spirits13 · 2 months ago

Text

Old Sweatpants

Pairing: Jason Todd x reader

Warnings: fem reader, blood, medical care (probably incorrect too 😁), suggestive joke but nothing explicit, language but not terrible

Summary: Jason gets injured on patrol and needs to be stitched up at your apartment. A pair of men's sweatpants living in the back of your closet stirs up his jealousy and leads to him telling you how he feels.

Word Count: 3075

Amazing art by @ciricearts !!! Specific work here

It started with you dragging Jason into your apartment through the fireescape. He's dead weight on your shoulder and you pull him through the window and heave him onto the couch. You were pissed with him, and he was infatuated with you. Jason had been stupid; reckless really. The two of you were saving a group of 20 somethings from a group of muggers who were eager to take whatever they could from the drunk party goers. You didn't understand why anyone wouldn't be sober at night in this city.

______________________________________________________________

Jason wasn't paying attention to the muggers as much as he should have when the two of you split through the group. The largest mugger was on the receiving end of a skull cracking take down from you. Apparently, Jason had been too busy watching you swinging your limbs around and drop kicking men twice your size to notice the youngest of the group pulling out a small revolver. Nervously, he pointed it at Jason and struggled to pull the hammer back. The moment that the leader hit the ground, you looked towards the bright red helment in leather that you knew was Jason, only to screech at him to move. He cocked his head to the side in confusion, still staring at you.

"Gun!" you yelled, getting up to tackle Jason out of the way.

A shot rang out. Wide eyed, you whirled your head around to see the young guy standing with the smoking gun, shaking and knees wobbling.

"I- I did it? I did it!" He almost jumped with joy, "Boss will be so happy with me and I can-"

You cut his celebration short by hurling a baton at him, hitting him square in the head and knocking him back cold. The gun clattered to the ground and you quickly took it into your possession incase someone woke back up.

"Call GCPD and don't leave until they show up." you sternly instructed the now very sober, and very scared group of young adults, "tell them to expect a firearm delivered to their ballistics department within 24 hours."

Quickly, you ran over to Jason, falling on your knees with rivulets of sweat running down your face. He was kneeled over, clutching his thigh as best he could.

"J- Hood!" You tore his hands from the wound to inspect, "You okay?" Your eyes were wildly scanning all over the torn fabric and dark blood pooling into your hands.

"Don't worry about me, Doll. Never been better." He winced

"What were you doing? You should have been paying attention!" Your voice was dripping with anger and laced with fear, "He's a street level thug who could hardly pull back the hammer, you should have seen him!"

"Got distracted" Jason tried to shrug his shoulders but missed the mark.

"You were staring, idiot." You shot him a glance, trying to shield his view from seeing the blush hazing on your cheeks.

"There was a show."

You mumbled something about him being an idiot under your breath and yanked out a tourniquet from your belt. The bullet hadn't done terrible damage, but he'd need stitches to keep it from bleeding heavily.

It was a miracle that you even got him to your apartment.

______________________________________________________________

"Y/N/N, I'm taking this thing off my leg." Jason loudly informed you as you dug through your bathroom cabinet to grab your medical kit.

"Jason Peter Todd, if you bleed all over my apartment I'll shoot you again!" You shouted back.

"Hey! There's no need for the full government name!" Jason watched as you speedily walked back to where he was sitting and opened up the kit, pulling out sewing needles and gause wrapped in plastic. He tilted his head and furrowed his brows in confusion when you suddenly stopped.

"I need to get your pants off." You almost choked out

Jason bit his cheek to hold back a loud laugh, "Well you're pretty upfront about what you want Y/N. Take me to dinner first though!"

You swatted his other leg, glaring up at him. Quickly, you helped Jason get out of his pants and saw the full wound gouged into his thigh. The two of you ignored the tension it created and awkard silence that the moment created. Quietly, you started disinfecting and stitching up his leg.

"You're lucky this didn't hit anything important." you muttered under your breath, concentration drowning out any other emotion

"It hit me" He joked, "Seems important enough."

"Not important enough for you to take care of apparently." You looked up at him suddenly a storm of emotion in your eyes, "Jason, you can't be so careless, you could have gotten seriously hurt."

"Didn't mean to worry you Doll." Jason's voice lost all of its comedy and turned serious.

"You're just a pretty view and all." He mumbled.

Your face became hot and you turned your gaze back to your work to pretend that you didn't hear what he just said. After a few more minutes of work, you stood up.

"I've got a pair of sweats in the closet that should fit you. Don't bust your stitches."

Jason's brain came to a violent and sudden hault at your words. What did you mean you had a pair of sweatpants that should fit him? Surely you didn't mean you were giving him sweatpants that you wore?

"Here ya go." You tossed the pants towards him and began heading towards the kitchen to make a snack.

Jason caught the sweatpants and stared at you, silent, and analyzing you intently. You could feel his silence seeping into your bones. It was like an infection slowly beating its way into your immune system and rendering it useless.

At the counter, you poured yourself a glass of water and glanced up at him, "You good?"

Jason nodded in response, still staying silent. The sweatpants fit. Why did you have men's sweatpants in your closet? You never wore them as far as he knew, they wouldn't fit. He didn't think you were seeing anyone, and definitely not sleeping with anyone. A bile rose up in his throat and his eyes became scratchy. His stomach cramped up and it felt like the room was beginning to spin.

"Whenever you get a chance, just give 'em back and I'll wash them." You were shoving your favorite post patrol snack in your mouth and giving him a pointed look.

His brain stopped again. You were planning on using these sweatpants for another time? For who?

"Want a snack?" You asked, analyzing his now stoic appearence.

He didn't respond.

"Yo, Jay. Snack?" You asked again.

"Oh- no. I'm fine. I'll bring these back later." Jason stood up and started for the window.

"Don't start putting stress on your leg too early. You can stay here as long as you need." You stressed.

Jason raised his hand to stop you, "Yea, I got it. Thanks."

"Want me to take you back to your place?" You starred at him, concerned.

"no it's fine. Thanks for the fix up."

"Anytime."

______________________________________________________________

Jason hopped out of your window and didn't talk to you for three days. You had messaged him a few times but he never responded. The night everything happened, he collasped onto his bed but couldn't fall asleep. He was angry, hurt, confused, and worst of all, it was pointed at you. The two of you weren't really anything official, but he thought the constant back and forth of flirtacious comments and intensly sensative late night conversations at his favorite gargoyle meant something. Jason felt stupid. Of course someone like you had someone. All of this must have been you being nice.

Three days after the entire ordeal, Dick was over at Jason's apartment and saw the pair of sweatpants hanging on a chair in the kitchen.

"Oh, did Y/N give you the complimentary sweatpants treatment?" Dick pointed and laughed

"What?" Jason whipped his head around and stared at his older brother in confusion.

"Those are my old sweatpants. They just stay at her apartment now since we-"

"You motherfucker!" Jason threw his body weight onto Dick and backed him into the wall with a loud thud, "I'm gonna beat the shit out of you!"

"Woah, woah! Chill dude!" Dick caught his breath again and stared at Jason in shock, "Holy shit, what's wrong with you?"

"You're fucking around with Y/N?" He spat, "You knew I liked her!"

"Huh?" Dick was bewildered and then it clicked.

Dick roared with laughter, tears falling down his face, "Oh dude, that's wild." "Y/N and I are not a thing! Never were, never have been."

Jason still didn't loosen his grip on Dick's shirt collar, "What's been going on then?"

Dick rolled his eyes, "I got stabbed and Y/N patched me up. She got a pair of sweats from the shop downstairs and ran them back upstairs so that I wasn't walking through Gotham in my underwear. I brought them back incase something happened again and now they're the designated injury sweatpants."

Jason starred at Dick, his gaze peircing through his skull, trying to find any hint of deceit.

"Everyone knows you two have a thing for each other. It's painfully obvious Jaybird." "You know she asked me about you. Apparently you haven't talked in three days?" Dick said, taking a sigh of relief when Jason finally put him down.

"what did she say?" Jason asked tentatively, eyes falling to the floor.

"She asked if you were alright. Apparently you kind of just walked out once she stitched you up- Jason- did you just stomp off without saying anything??" Dick went wide eyed at the realization.

"Maybe." Jason mumbled.

"Dude. You're an idiot." Dick said exasperatedly.

"I've been getting that a lot recently." Jason admitted, "I gotta go talk to Y/N."

"Uh yea, duh." Dick headed for the door, "Good luck little bro. If she throws you off a building, just know you were always my favorite!"

"Ha. Ha." Jason threw up his middle finger as Dick shut the door behind him.

He really hoped you weren't going to kill him.

______________________________________________________________

You were clacking away at your computer, chipping away at some work you needed to get done for a case. Your favorite drink was sitting next to your laptop, and you were trying not to focus on the fact that Jason was basically ghosting you. A day ago, you had decided you must have offended him at some point and now he was ignoring you. It was immature, really. You were mad that all of your attempts at extending an olive branch had fell through. After three days, you weren't even sure what you did wrong. The noises of your thoughts crept into your typing as you started writing out what you were thinking, and then with frustration, deleting the previous sentence. Your eyes shot up when you heard a faint knock at the door, and you shut the laptop and quietly headed for the door.

When you looked through the peephole, you saw the distorted shape of Jason standing in the hallway, head low and a nervous stance taking over his body. You huffed out quietly and swung open the door.

"Long time no see, Jaybirdy." You said, feigning a sweet voice, "Whatcha been up to recently?"

"Y/N/N, we need to talk." Jason looked at you carefully like he was waiting for you to combust

"You've got my sweatpants?" You raised a brow.

"oh, yea." Jason handed you the pair of sweatpants and you carefully looked them over for any blood stains.

Once you were satisfied, you stepped aside and beckoned him inside. You walked to the kitchen and opened up the fridge, taking out a small container and popping it open.

"You want some?" You asked.

"No. Thanks." Jason stood awkwardly and stared at you.

Irritated, you sighed, "Okay, what's this all about Jason?" You turned around and tossed the container back into the fridge and leaned onto the counter facing him again with a peircing gaze.

"I-uh- needed to apologize for walking out on you the other night. Wasn't cool." He stumbled through his apology.

You arched your brow and gave him a look saying "and"?

He caught the memo. "And not returning any of your texts... or calls." "Was being a dick."

Your shoulders dropped and you relaxed your stance, "Did I do something to offend you? You've never just walked out on me Jason, or ghosted me for that matter."

"No! No, not at all!" Jason raised his hands in front of him.

"Well? What was that all about?" Slight irritation glossed over your face and then disappeared again into an unreadable gaze.

"It's uh, kinda stupid." He stammered, "I thought you were dating someone."

"You what?" You pushed your head a little bit foward, showing that you didn't hear his quick mumbling.

"I thought you were dating someone!" He said finally.

Confusion was painting in your eyes, "Huh? Why?"

"Well, you handed me a pair of guy's sweatpants that actually fit like it was nothing and I didn't think it made sense that you just had them for yourself, so I just thought they were a boyfriend's or something." Jason explained, looking back at you for a reaction.

You shut your eyes and bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing, "Jay, I'm offended." A humorous smile graced your face.

Jason's heart skipped a few beats seeing it again.

"After all of this time; sitting with you; flirting with you, much to the dismay of everyone around us; talking for hours at your favorite gargoyle!" You laughed, needing a moment to regain your composure.

"Yea, I know." He rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment.

"I got those after Dick got stabbed so that he wasn't wandering around Gotham in his boxers!"

"Yea, I know. He just told me." Jason glanced awkardly at you, "Kinda thought you two were a thing for a second."

You fake gagged at the notion and began walking around the counter to where he was standing, "Never. Never, ever, ever." You grimaced, "No offense to him."

"Doubt he'd mind." Jason let out a breathy laugh, "He pointed out that we're apparently very obvious."

"Obvious about what?" You questioned his noncommittal comment, knowing what he was talking about. You wanted him to admit it.

Jason felt his cheeks heat up and his eyes widen for a second.

"Well, I uh- I guess about the flirting- and stuff. Ya know. We do that a lot apparently." He fumbled around the words, trying to find the least awkward response, and managing to make it the most awkward.

"Yea- and why do you flirt around with me?" You asked, starring a hole into his soul.

"well, I mean- I guess that's what you do when you uh- like someone?" He stammered, the blush on his cheeks becoming more vibrant.

"You like me?" You reiterated.

"I mean, yea Y/N/N. You're the only person I've ever cared about like this." He looked at you like he wasn't anticipating for those words to come out, "Shit- I- I hope that doesn't make it weird. I can just leave, you probably don't feel that way."

Jason turned around, ready to make a speedy retreat for the front door. Goosebumps painted his arms when he felt you grab his wrist and pull him back towards you. You didn't let go.

"Jason Peter Todd, don't walk out on me again." You said, pulling him close.

"Again with the government names, Y/N, I feel like I'm in trouble." His breath hitched and he looked into your eyes trying to discern what you were thinking.

"Don't run away from me and I won't need to Jaybird." You said softly, "I like you a lot too. Just wanted you to make a move."

Jason felt his throat close up and open again for him to take a breath. His knees went numb and a buzzing noise entered his mind and left as quickly as it came. He was short circuting in real time.

"You do?"

"Yeah dumby. I don't stay out on a gargoyle IN GOTHAM for anyone." You emphasized, "You- you're my best friend Jay. And not like friend zone best friend. You're my favorite person."

Jason didn't say anything, just stared at you with his mouth slightly ajar.

You signed and your voice went soft, a vulnerability seeping into your voice, "I was hurt when you just went away. I thought I did something to hurt you and it didn't seem like you wanted to let me fix anything."

Jason gripped your hand harder and grabbed the other one, "No Y/N. I'm sorry, I should have talked to you." "I hate the miscommunication trope and here we are."

Your laugh made him smile. It was his greatest achievement in life. All he wanted to do was be the reason that you were smiling, never the reason you were upset and doubting your value to him.

"It's alright Jay. Just talk to me, okay?" You gently traced your thumb over his hand.

"Okay." He nodded.

There was a silence that filled the room again.

"What do we do now?" You asked softly.

"You wanted me to make the first move, right?" He replied.

"I mean, yea, kinda." You shrugged looking into his eyes.

"Well-" Jason leaned down and threaded his hands through your hair before moving to hold the back of your head before kissing you like he had been waiting for it his entire life.

Your eyes were wide with shock before you shut them tight and threw your arms over his shoulders, pulling him in closer and running your fingers through his hair. He tried to pull back at one point, but you tugged on the soft curls and brought him back in. He moved his hands to your waist, backing you into the counter, and complied with the demand.

After a minute, your chest burned and you pulled back, Jason's arms still wrapped around you before he picked you up and sat you on the counter ledge. He stood between your legs and kept you close.

"What if I take you out?" He asked breathless.

"Only if it means you'll kiss me like that again." You answered.

"Anytime." Jason smirked, "and maybe we'll get some new sweatpants to leave in your closet. Ya know. Just incase."

"Just incase." You nodded with a smile.

#dc x reader #dc comics #dc characters #batfam x reader #batboys x reader #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd fluff #jason todd fanfiction #red hood fic #red hood fanfiction #red hood imagine #red hood x you #red hood x y/n #batboys #batfam fanfic

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leighsartworks216 · 3 months ago

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With Him

Sylus x gn!Reader

The author's very obvious desire to nap with these guys at any given opportunity-

Warnings: fluff, domestic fluff, blood, injury, exhaustion, cuddling, literal sleeping together, comfort, no dialogue

Word Count: 763

Main Masterlist

First - Second - Third LADs Masterlists

AO3

Tag List Form

Sylus rolls his shoulders and neck with a sigh. It echoes slightly in the elevator, mirrored ceiling reflecting his exhausted face as he looks up. He glowers as he wipes away a stripe of blood from his cheek. Not his own. No, his Evol wiped itself out dealing with his own injuries. Now he's running on empty. His body aches more than it usually does, muscles groaning with every motion, patience left on a razor-thin wire with the headache pounding at his temples.

The elevator doors slide open quietly. He trudges out into the penthouse. Kicks off his shoes without a care for where they land. Shrugs off his jacket and tosses it onto a hook, tsking at the new tears and stains in the leather.

The entire building is rigged up with elaborate security; even a fly can't get in without him knowing about it. But as he walks further inside, he still glances around, like anybody could be waiting around any corner. Enemies aren't the only thing he has an eye out for, though.

The signs of you are everywhere: Dishes in the sink from dinner, your shoes lined up by the door, blankets and pillows moved in the living room, the lingering fragrance of you in the air.

He slowly cracks open the bedroom door. Light creeps out from behind him, reaching out across the floor. It illuminates the couch, and the book and handheld gaming system left on its cushions. Just past it, he can see the bed, and the impression of his beloved tucked under its covers.

His shoulders sag. He can finally recognize this place as being safe and secure now that he can see you. He almost groans in his overwhelming desire to just crawl in beside you, wrap you up tight in his arms and bury his face in your neck, breathing you in deep. But he's gross; bloody, dirty, smelly. You deserve better than that.

So, he creeps in slowly, carefully, doing his best not to wake you up as he gathers fresh clothes. Soft clothes. They're not designer, or even luxurious; you picked them out for him when he took you shopping, after you dragged him into a retail store. He'd raised a brow at you and said you could go to any high end store you wanted, but you'd wanted to go there. You were beaming when you found clothes for him, "normal" clothes, you'd said. And right now, he longs to feel normal.

He slips into the bathroom. Condensation still beads up on the shower door and tile walls. When he runs the hot water, a fresh wave of your shampoo and body wash comes wafting up through the air with the steam. The heat is heaven on his muscles. He makes a low sound in his throat as he just stands there, letting the water spray down on his hair and back, until he finally reaches for his shampoo.

He towels himself off with stilted movements. His arms are tired. He only bothers to half-dry his hair, just until it's left lightly damp, sticking up all over. He checks himself over in the mirror, looking for any remaining marks or injuries he missed. There's a few scars that haven't fully faded; nothing worth pulling out the kit for. He leans against the counter as he brushes his teeth, allowing his eyes to close while he does.

He turns off the bathroom light before he opens the door. The bedroom is completely dark. It takes his eyes a moment to adjust. You've barely shifted since he last saw you. An overwhelming wave of relief coasts over him as he's finally able to join you.

He pulls the blankets down on his side, crawls in and immediately travels past the middle to your side. His hands glide over your body as he wraps you up in his arms, sliding under your shirt and up your back, pulling you in close. He drops his head into the crook of your shoulder, nuzzling shamelessly against you. You don't wake up, but you do slip your arms loosely around his shoulders, tangling your fingers into his damp hair. It's all second nature, so ingrained into you to hold your partner.

You breathe right beside his ear. He hears it all: the soft sigh as you relax into his embrace, the steady inhale and exhale, the rasp of a snore - a reminder that you are alive, that you are safe, and that no matter how awful the world outside can be, you are here, with him.

---

Tag List (I'll update it soon I promise):

@the-golden-jhope @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @that-lost-one @always-just-red @22carolina08 @lunaizhere @sine-nomine0 @beautifulthingsiadore @lalaluch @nothankyew @terriblesoup @jeleryyy @nezuswritingdesk @anaathxma @ssushi @mina7820 @monophobix @mentaltrouble2201 @mskaylacharite @nerrivm @ichosesparklingtorment @schnittled @animegamerfox @flamedancer13 @rebloggingislove @moonlight-inthe-sea @persepolys @satorubabee @sleepykittycx @perla-drg @17chuuya @slovesyouuu @leiakitty @lemonn015

#fanfic #fanfiction #sylus #sylus x reader #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads #lads x reader #lnds #lnds x reader #gn reader #x gn reader #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader

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finelinevogue · 10 months ago

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OMG imagine kit and reader begin co stars in something and people making those compilations of them that are like “____ and ____ acting like a couple for 12 minutes and seven seconds straight” 🤭🤭🤭

oh im SOOO on for this🤭✨

the compilation

summary - you and kit are secretly dating but the fans are too perceptive and make a montage of your flirtiest moments

pairing - kit connor x co-star!reader

🫧🎥🫧🎬🫧🎥🫧🎬🫧🎥🫧🎬🫧🎥🫧🎬🫧

The video started with a short video of Kit being filmed for an interview, where he had to describe his co-star.

“What do I think about Y/N in 5 words?” He asked the man behind the camera.

The reporter confirmed the question and waited for Kit to respond.

“I don’t think there’s 5 words that are good enough.” Kit mumbled to himself but the microphone attached to him picked it up.

The rest of the people in the interview room swooned, but Kit was too busy trying to come up with a good enough answer to see.

“Okay…” Kit sat up straight, ready to answer properly.

“Kind. I know it’s a basic one, but it’s just true.”

“Funny. I’ve never known someone who could make me belly laugh before Y/N.”

“Compassionate. No matter how hard Y/N’s day is, you will always be granted a hug.” Kit laughed at that one, hearing how cheesy he sounded.

“Unpredictable. I feel like that needs no explanation.”

“And….” Kit smirked then, the camera zooming in on it, as he tried to think of an appropriate thing to say last, “I’ll go with safe.”

“Safe?” An interviewer questions.

“Yeah.” Kit responded with no intention to explain himself.

Once you watched the interview you would know exactly what he meant though, because you felt just as safe with Kit as he did with you.

🌊.

The next few clips were a compilation of videos that had been secretly recorded of you two from set or from friends.

The movie you’d been filming together had been a romance, which had only magnified your relationship seeing as you’d actually met through a mutual friend; Joe.

Joe would argue that he was the reason you were together. Kit would argue that it was his charm solely that got you together. You would argue that it was a bit of both, just to keep the peace.

The first clip that played was from a day that you visited the Heartstopper set.

You, Joe and Kit were all laying in “Nick’s” bed, laughing at something that Kit had just said. It must have been ridiculously funny because the next thing that happened was you rolling off the edge of the bed and onto the floor with a thump.

Kit had rolled to try and catch you but the thump on the floor suggested otherwise. The situation only made you laugh harder.

The second clip was something from Joe’s Instagram story, where he was filming a group of you walking down the River Thames. You were hitching a ride on Kit’s back, his arms around your legs that were wrapped around his waist. Your arms dangling around his neck and your cheek pressed against his.

The third clip was on the set of your new movie together.

You were both in Kit’s trailer and practicing some lines.

“You said you didn’t care!” You shouted, playing your character Rosa.

“Well I lied. I do care.” Kit shouted back, looking from his script to your face, playing his character Oscar.

“You’re insufferable.” You groaned.

“I’m sorry that me trying to figure out my feelings for you is insufferable.”

“F-feelings?” You questioned, your voice going quieter.

“I thought I was being obvious.” Kit chuckled, “Did you not think that there might’ve been a reason I cared that you kissed Danny?”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I cared because I wished you’d been kissing me instead.”

Then Kit broke character and launched himself on you, pretending to kiss you all over. You were belly laughing as Kit crushed himself over you, pushing you into the leather sofa that you’d been sitting on.

“Kit get off!” You laughed and then the video cut, leaving the viewers to question what happened next and curse whoever had decided to stop recording.

🌊.

The video then cut to an interview you’d done together and it had gone viral mainly for the way Kit had been looking at you throughout the whole thing.

It had been a normal interview and yet Kit had been feeling the extra love towards you that day, so he sat and watched you answer lovingly.

There had even been a point where he got caught, but that hadn’t worried him.

“And Kit? Your answer?” The interviewer asked.

He looked from you to the interviewer, realising he’d been asked something.

“Oh I’m so sorry. Could you repeat the question please?” He laughed it off, as did you and the interviewer.

“I was just wondering what attracted you to the role of Oscar?”

Kit hummed with a smile, forcing himself to not say your name as the answer. You nudged his shoulder to pull him out of his head.

“I think….”

🌊.

Then there was the interview where you’d been really anxious in.

It had been a rubbish day from start to finish, mainly because the anxiety weighing on your chest had been so heavy all day.

It was in an interview close to the end of the day that the small, intimate, moment came from.

“And I think that’s why we resonate–.” The interviewer was talking.

“I’m so sorry, can we stop for one moment please.” You interrupted in the most polite way you could.

“Yeah of course.” The interviewer nodded, sitting patiently.

It was not unknown that you suffered with anxiety, in fact you were pretty open about it. Why hide something that was such a huge part of you, especially when you were in a position where you could help break the stigma surrounding it.

Kit swerved his body so the cameras could no longer see you, just see his back. He knew the cameras would keep rolling and your mics would stay on, but he was trying to do whatever would be most comfortable for you.

“I’m sorry.” You could be heard saying.

Kit’s hands could be seen moving around to meet yours, both of your hands situated in your lap now. You’d often spoken out about how physical touch can ground you in these situations.

“No. Don’t be sorry.” Kit said, waiting for you to give the signal on whether he should or shouldn’t keep talking.

“Just felt a panic attack coming and I wanted to calm it before it actually came.”

Kit nodded.

“You did good. You’re doing good.”

“Thank you.” You whispered.

It was at least another three minutes before you felt okay enough to mentally return to the room. Kit turned back around in his chair, but kept ahold of your hand with his.

You apologised to the interviewer again, but she was completely fine with it and the producers had allowed her to regain her allotted interview time.

“Would you mind keeping that footage? I would quite like to share it to show that even ‘celebrities’ can feel like rubbish sometimes.” You laughed, Kit squeezing your hand in the process.

“Of course.”

“Ready?” Kit asked you once more. You nodded and the interview continued, Kit holding your hand for the rest of it and then for the rest of the day.

🌊.

The video ended the same way it began.

It was a similar interview to Kit’s, where you got asked to describe Kit in 5 words.

You couldn’t help but smile, because you love sharing the love so much - especially when it’s about your boyfriend who you care about a lot.

“Loyal. He’s so loyal to his friends and family.”

“Kind. He has so much love in his heart and he always shows it in the little moments.”

“Artistic. I don’t think he would agree, but he is.”

“Magnetic. Kit just attracts anyone and everyone to him, you can’t help but love him.”

“And one more?” The interviewer asked.

You pondered for a moment.

“Grumpy. You would not believe how much of a grump he is in a morning.” You laughed, not even thinking about the repercussions of admitting that you see Kit in the mornings.

It’s not a surprise that you’re both trending the next day and there’s a million theories about you two. Hence why the compilation video is made.

#kit connor #kit connor fic #kit connor fanfic #kit connor movie #kit connor heartstopper #kit connor x reader #kit connor fic rec #heartstopper

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go-21newstv · 9 days ago

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rafessecret · 2 months ago

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⋆˚࿔ bitchy¡ reader && sheriff¡rafe cameron

HE'S SO EASY TO MAKE JEALOUS.

You stretch yourself across the front desk like you own the damn station, one heel dangling, skirt riding up just enough to make it look like an accident. Your legs are shaved, oiled, and crossed at the knee like art. Perfectly manicured fingers trace slow, lazy circles against Deputy Harris’s forearm. Not Rafe’s. Never Rafe’s. Because that would be too easy.

You pick the dumbest one on purpose. Wide-eyed, fresh-faced, too naive to realise that when you touch his arm like that, it's not flirting. It's war. The pink gloss on your mouth is a weapon. The perfume on your collar is another. You play dumb and play sweet, but you’re watching Rafe like a hawk. Every little shift. Every little twitch.

Rafe watches from across the room, behind his desk, pretending to work. But you can feel his eyes burning into you. His jaw clenches like he’s chewing gravel. He shifts in his seat and leans back, and you can practically hear the leather creak beneath him. He's trying not to look. Trying not to care. Failing miserably.

Then you do the final blow. You glance over your shoulder, catch Rafe’s stare and hold it. Smirk. Then you lean in and whisper something in Harris’s ear. Something meaningless. Something with teeth. The kid laughs. Rafe stands so fast his chair groans against the floor. ❝Deputy, go do a full inventory on the east-side patrol kit. Take your time.❞ His voice is sharp. Controlled, but barely. Harris blinks, confused, but obeys. His cheeks are red. He nods and scurries off.

You blink all innocent. ❝Was it something I said?❞ You hum, already sliding off the desk, hips swaying with every step. He doesn’t answer, just turns on his heel and walks back into his office. The door's open, like bait. You step inside without hesitation. He’s behind his desk, stiff and quiet. You can tell by the way he won’t look at you that he’s mad. That low, simmering Rafe anger—the kind that doesn’t explode, just festers. The kind that builds.

❝You were picked up again two nights ago,❞ he starts, voice tight. ❝Drunk. Loud. In the middle of Main. You remember that?❞ Oh yeah, that's why you're here. You flop into the chair across from him, crossing your legs. ❝Vaguely.❞ ❝You can’t keep doing this.❞ He still won’t look at you. ❝Doing what? Living?❞ You tilt your head. ❝Are you going to start writing me tickets now, Sheriff?❞ His jaw ticks. He finally looks at you. Big mistake. You’re in a barely-there top, skirt riding high, gloss thick and glinting. You’re his favourite crime, and you know it.

❝You, uh,❞ he says suddenly, breaking eye contact. Clears his throat. ❝You have a crush on Harris or something?❞ perfect You nearly laugh. Nearly. ❝Jealous?❞ you purr, sweet and poisonous. ❝Don’t be. He’s not even cute.❞ He scowls. ❝It’s not a joke.❞ You lean back in the chair like you own it. ❝Didn’t say it was. Just saying—if I did have a crush on someone, I wouldn’t waste it on some rookie with shaky hands.❞

He’s quiet. Angry. You’ve hit the nerve and twisted. Rafe Cameron is not just hot. He’s terrifying. Massive in that uniform, always so contained. Always biting back everything you want him to let out. His hair is too perfect for a sheriff. His belt sits low on his hips. His hands are too big to be doing desk work. You like undoing him. Like watching him fight himself.

You drive him insane. Not because you try. Because you exist. All glossed lips, low-rise jeans, fur-trimmed jackets, and perfume that smells like sin. You’re the reason the station has a new no-loitering rule. You’re also the reason Rafe grinds his teeth in his sleep. He won’t touch you. Not yet. But God, he wants to.

And you? You want him ruined. The tension between you could snap a bone in half. You sit in that chair like a throne, and he sits behind the desk like a man praying to God for self-control. He wants to yell at you. Wants to tell you to stop showing up like this, half-dressed and full of attitude. But he doesn’t.

Because then you’d stop showing up. He doesn’t want that. ❝Are you done lecturing me, Sheriff?❞ you ask, dragging out the word like it tastes good in your mouth. He sighs and rubs a hand over his face. ❝Why do you do this?❞ he murmurs. You shrug. ❝Because you let me.❞

That lands heavy. He looks at you again—really looks. You can see it in his eyes. He’s losing. Slowly, beautifully. You lean forward, arms on your knees, and smile like a secret. ❝Want me to behave, Rafe?❞ you ask, voice low, dangerous. ❝Tell me to.❞ He doesn’t. Because he can’t. He’s too far gone. Watching you come in here week after week, looking like a pinup and acting like a problem. He’s already broken half a dozen rules for you. He’ll break half a dozen more.

And you’ll be waiting. Perfect. Poisonous. Smiling all pretty-like, as if you don’t know exactly what you’re doing. You stand slowly, skirt rising again as you lean over his desk just slightly. ❝I’ll see you around, Sheriff.❞

He doesn’t respond. Not out loud. But when you walk past his window later, you swear you hear his chair creak again. Swear you feel those eyes. Swear you win.

── ⋆ 𝐲𝐚𝐩 : yuh yuh yuh. already obsessed it’s actually criminal. i will perish if this flops. send asks about them and go read their little intro pls !! that one anon better be smiling rn (love u fr)

── ⋆ 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔 : @scne-vampire @browniepop62 @urcoolgf @folksriddle @loverliner

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dewwinchester · 1 year ago

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stitches | d.w.

synopsis: dean texts you for help, and you drop everything for him.

requested by: @dingo-ate-my-hot-lettuce-crazy

pairing: pre-series!dean winchester x reader

word count: 1.6k+

warnings: fluff, some angst, john winchester, blood, wounds/injury, stitching up wounds, typical spn series warnings. no use of y/n, no pronouns used!

a/n: if john winchester has no haters, i'm dead <33 also, it's currently 12am, so if the editing is a little wonky, pls forgive me

You gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles turning white as you navigated through the torrential downpour hammering down around you and your car. The rain was relentless, blinding you as it pounded against the windshield. The smell of wet asphalt filled your car as the tires slipped on the rain-soaked road. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears – a mixture of adrenaline from trying to avoid a horrific car wreck and anxiety from the message still illuminating your car in a dim light.

I need your help.

It wasn’t a message you were expecting. Normally, in your line of work, pleas for help came in the form of a frantic phone call or a scream in the dark. They never came in the form of a random text message.

And they never came from Dean Winchester.

You were having a relatively normal night, working a case and staking out a couple of vamps, when your phone buzzed with several messages from Dean. First, he asked if you were busy. Then, he asked if you were nearby. Moments later, he sent you an address to a motel. Then, came the message that caused you to leave the stakeout completely and go frantically speeding down the road.

Your tires screeched as you rounded a corner. The neon light of the motel soon appeared ahead, its reflection dancing across the many puddles on the asphalt. You pulled into the first parking spot you saw and stepped out of your car. The rain immediately soaked you to the bone, wetting your hair and your clothes, sending a chill through you, but you couldn't find yourself caring as your eyes scanned for Dean's room number.

The motel was rather seedy-looking – more so than normal. The wooden palings were splitting, and the paint was chipping off the trimmings and walls. There wasn't any other car in sight. You wondered just how bad things were if Dean had found himself in a place like this.

Once you found his room, you practically ran over to the door and threw it open, not bothering to knock. Your eyes immediately landed on Dean, who sat on the edge of one of the beds, his back to you. A wave of relief washed over you – he was alive – but the sight of his tense shoulders and the untouched beer bottle in his hand kept your anxiety simmering.

You closed the door behind you and took off your saturated jacket, leaving it next to Dean's leather one.

"Hey," you said with a sigh, "You okay?"

Dean responded with a curt nod but said nothing more. You stepped closer to him and placed your hand gently on his shoulder. He flinched at the touch, and you felt a pang in your chest. When you finally got close enough, you quickly scanned his face. The bags under his eyes were darker than usual, and his normally sharp gaze was clouded with exhaustion. HIs hair was wet and spiky, and his lip trembled from the cold.

Your eyes continued to trail down to his side, where his shirt clung to his skin, dark and wet with blood. Three jagged and deep gashes spread across Dean's side. His shirt was torn.

Your eyes widened as panic once again surged through you. You frantically looked around for anything you could use to stop the bleeding. You grabbed the first towel you could get your hands on and pressed it to his side, grimacing when Dean winced in pain.

"Jesus, Dean. What the hell happened?"

"Werewolf," he gritted out.

"I think you're gonna need stitches."

There was no first aid kit in sight, so your mind began running through alternatives. You could go to the front desk and ask if there were any supplies, but asking for anything more than a simple band-aid would cause suspicion, and the last thing you needed was someone knocking on the door asking too many questions.

You could use dental floss. You had known plenty of hunters that used it in the past and not had a problem, but you weren't sure there were any needles…

"There's a sewing kit in the bathroom."

You raised your eyebrows in surprise. "You read my mind."

“One of my many talents.”

----

Needle, thread, dental floss, tissues, water. You looked over the supplies in front of you, mind racing at a million miles an hour. Despite being a hunter yourself, you weren’t exactly a natural when it came to stitching wounds and performing first aid. In fact, the sight of too much blood caused your head to throb and your legs to go numb.

Dean had already taken off his shirt, leaving you to see the full extent of his injuries. The gashes started at the top of his ribs and curled around to his left shoulder blade. Blood continued to trail down his back, causing your mouth to go dry. Pins and needles tingled your toes, and the room began to spin…

You shook off your thoughts and shifted your weight between your two feet, hoping to get some blood flow back there. You put your thoughts and discomfort behind you and prepared to begin.

“This isn’t gonna feel great,” you said, trying to control the shake in your voice.

“Not my first time,” he replied.

You grabbed the needle and thread, and – with shaky hands – tried your best to thread the cotton through the eye. You sat behind him, deciding to start around his shoulder. With a damp cloth, you tried your best to clean around the area, whispering apologies whenever Dean flinched.

“What happened?” you asked quietly, using your gentlest touch to guide the needle through.

“I told you,” he said through gritted teeth, “werewolf.”

“Yeah, I know, but…” you trailed off. “Where’s your dad?”

Dean clenched his jaw, and you immediately knew you had touched on a rough subject. Throughout the time that you had known Dean, you had learnt his relationship with his father was far from healthy. John Winchester was not your favourite person in the world. In fact, you and Dean had gotten into plenty of arguments about him in the past.

“He’s not here.”

“That’s not what I meant,” you said, continuing your stitching. “Why isn’t he here?”

“Do we have to do this–?”

“--Yes.”

Dean sighed, scrubbing his hand down his face. The anger and tension radiating off him was palpable, his shoulders were tense and his breathing was heavy. You finished stitching the first gash, and tied the thread off with a neat little knot. Instead of immediately moving on to the next one, you moved around and knelt in front of Dean so you were eye level. You placed a hand on his right knee and traced gentle circles into his skin with your thumb. You raised your eyebrows, sending him a look that was simultaneously stern and empathetic.

You just wanted to know he was okay.

“We’d been stakin’ out the thing for weeks,” Dean began. “We finally pinpointed it to this boathouse. Dad was sure that it was in there, so he sent me in first to sweep the area.”

“And…?”

“Turns out it was a lot smarter than we thought,” Dean said, a dejected smile on his lips. “It was waitin’ there for us. Dad knew, but I didn’t.”

“Then why did he send you in there?”

Dean shrugged. “Couldn’t tell you. But the thing had me on the ground before I even realized what was goin’ on. Put it’s claws in me and ran.”

You shuddered.

“Dad didn’t stay,” Dean continued. “The second he realised it jumped ship, he went too. Left me with my phone and wallet… I walked here.”

“What?”

If Dean’s anger was palpable, you were damn-near irate. You pressed your lips together, trying to control yourself from spewing all sorts of profanities. If you had it your way, you would have marched your way up to John Winchester and given him what for. You would have knocked his lights out if Dean had let you.

You stood and pressed the heels of your palms to your eyes.

"He – you? God!"

"Alright hot-head, calm down."

"No, I will not calm down!" You spun on your heel, turning to face him again. "Your own father left you for dead!"

"He's done worse."

You laughed bitterly. "That doesn't surprise me."

"Alright," Dean sighed, raising a hand to stop your tirade. "I'm okay! I'm still here, aren't I?"

"Oh yeah, you're the pinnacle of okay."

"Your sarcasm isn't helping."

You shook your head. Angry tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you were too stubborn to let them fall.

"I just wish you would understand that you deserve better," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "You could leave his ass behind any time you like -"

"Oh yeah? And then what?"

You paused, and looked down to your feet.

"You could come with me?"

For half a second, Dean smiled. “You and I would kill each other in half an hour.”

He was right – but you’d never let him admit it.

“Why’d you text me then?” You asked. “If we’re just gonna kill one another–”

Dean shot you a pointed look.

“– I’m serious.” You said.

Dean stood up with a groan and walked over to you. You stood with your arms crossed, a slight frown creasing your brow. Nothing could be heard but the rain that battered against the windows and the thundering of your own heartbeat in your ears.

Dean tucked a strand of your wet hair behind your ear, “You’re the first one I thought of… The only one I wanted here.”

A blush crept onto your cheeks and you shook your head fondly. “You’re fantastic at changing the subject.”

Dean winked, but his smooth-talking was soon replaced by a painful scowl.

“Let’s finish this up later, shall we? I’d rather not bleed to death.”

You helped Dean back to the bed and prepared to finish stitching him up. You knew this was far from over – with Dean, it never was – but for now, you would focus on the rain that pattered against the roof and the relief that Dean was with you, safe.

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x reader fluff #dean winchester fluff #supernatural #dean winchester #spn #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean winchester x female!reader #dean x you #dean x y/n #dean winchester x y/n #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fic #dean fluff #dean fic #supernatural fic #*my writing

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batboysanonymous · 6 months ago

Text

Soft Hands, Sharp Edges

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel doesn’t know what to do with kindness. It unsettles him more than any blade, any shadow-drenched secret he’s ever carried. But when Y/N comes into his life, he begins to realize that maybe love isn’t spoken in grand confessions but in the quiet acts of care he’s spent a lifetime denying himself.

Azriel had spent his entire life repaying debts.

Debts to the shadows that had carried his whispered prayers in the dark when no one else had listened. Debts to the Night Court, to Rhysand, to the only family he had ever known. Debts to the people who needed him—the ones who relied on his skill, his efficiency, his quiet, lethal devotion.

Kindness, though—kindness was a language he had never been taught.

It was why, when Y/N pressed a steaming cup of tea into his hands one evening at the House of Wind, he hesitated.

He hadn’t seen her approach, though he should have. His shadows should have warned him, should have curled against his skin in anticipation. But somehow, she had slipped past all his defenses, her presence as natural as breathing.

Azriel stared at the cup. Then at her. Then back at the cup.

“What’s this?” His voice was flat, cautious. Suspicious. As if she had handed him a live grenade and was waiting for him to pull the pin.

Y/N only smiled. “Tea.”

He blinked. “…Why?”

The corners of her mouth twitched, as if she were holding back laughter. “Because you looked tired.”

Tired.

Azriel didn’t know what to do with that. He didn’t know how to process the idea that someone had looked at him—at the way his shoulders slumped beneath the weight of the latest mission, at the tension he carried like a second skin—and thought to do something about it.

So he stood there, fingers hovering just above the ceramic, waiting for the catch.

Y/N’s expression softened, and she nudged the cup closer. “It’s not poison, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Azriel huffed, his lips twitching despite himself. He finally took it, his scarred fingers brushing hers in the transfer. He expected her to flinch, the way so many others had when they first saw the remnants of his past etched into his skin.

She didn’t.

And that unsettled him even more than the tea.

He cleared his throat, shifting his grip on the mug. “I guess I could use it.”

Y/N only hummed, a quiet, knowing sound. And then she walked away, not lingering for a thank you, not waiting for him to react, as if this—this offering, this care—was simply natural.

As if he deserved it.

Azriel didn’t take his first sip until she was gone. He drank it slowly, fingers curling around the warmth, letting the quiet gesture settle into the cracks of him like rain against dry earth.

───────────────────────────────

It didn’t stop there.

The gifts kept coming.

Not grand things, not grand gestures, but small, thoughtful things.

An extra set of gloves left outside his door when the frost began creeping into the Illyrian mountains. A plate of his favorite dinner waiting at the long dining table before he could even reach for it. A first-aid kit tucked discreetly into the pocket of his leathers, no note, no explanation—but he knew.

Azriel knew.

And every time, without fail, he grumbled. He rolled his eyes. He told her, in the gruffest, most reluctant tone, that she didn’t need to fuss over him.

But he never refused.

And he never let go of those things easily.

───────────────────────────────

One night, after a particularly brutal mission, he found her waiting for him.

The townhouse was quiet, the others long asleep. Y/N sat curled in the armchair by the fire, a book resting open in her lap.

Azriel hesitated in the doorway, exhaustion weighing heavy in his bones. He had seen her waiting for him before, but this time, something about it hit him differently.

She looked up, and the moment her eyes met his, something in his chest tightened. She didn’t ask if he was okay. Didn’t prod for answers or explanations. She just studied him for a moment, then slipped out of her chair, disappearing into the kitchen.

When she returned, she pressed something warm into his hands.

Not tea this time.

Hot chocolate.

Azriel stared at it, blinking. “I—”

“You looked like you needed something sweeter,” she murmured.

His throat went tight.

For a long moment, he just stood there, gripping the mug like it was an anchor. Then, before he could stop himself, he muttered, “Thank you.”

Y/N smiled. That soft, quiet smile that made something in him ache.

“Always,” she whispered.

And for the first time in a long time, Azriel believed it.

But kindness had always been a double-edged blade.

Azriel had been cut by it before, had been given glimpses of warmth only for it to be ripped away.

So when Y/N’s kindness became something steady, something he could almost count on, something that settled into his life like it belonged there—he panicked.

He started pulling away.

It wasn’t obvious at first. Just small things. Taking his meals in the shadows instead of at the dining table. Leaving for training before she woke up. Letting the gifts pile up in his room instead of keeping them in sight.

But Y/N noticed. Of course she noticed.

And one night, when she caught him slipping out onto the balcony, she finally confronted him.

“Az.”

Her voice was soft, but it stopped him in his tracks. He turned, shadows curling at his feet, his chest tightening at the concern written across her face.

She stepped closer, stopping just short of touching him. “Did I do something wrong?”

The question nearly broke him.

He shook his head. “No. You—” He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Her brows furrowed. “Then why are you avoiding me?”

He looked away. “I’m not.”

“Azriel.”

Her voice was firm now, and he hated how much he liked hearing his name in her mouth, how much he wanted to close the space between them, to let himself have this, just for a moment.

Instead, he said quietly, “I don’t know how to accept it.”

She blinked. “Accept what?”

“This.” He gestured vaguely, frustration lacing his voice. “The tea. The gloves. The way you—” He exhaled, shaking his head. “The way you see me.”

She was quiet for a long moment. Then, softly, she said, “Az, you don’t have to earn kindness.”

He flinched.

She reached for his hand, slow and deliberate, as if giving him the chance to pull away. When he didn’t, she laced her fingers through his.

His breath caught.

“I don’t do those things because I expect something from you,” she murmured. “I do them because I want to. Because I—” She hesitated, then lifted his scarred hand to her lips, pressing the softest kiss to his knuckles. “Because I care about you.”

His chest caved in on itself.

She had said it so simply. So easily.

Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Azriel had no words. No armor against this. Against her.

So he did the only thing he could do.

He let himself have this.

Just for a moment.

He tugged her closer, wrapping his arms around her, burying his face in the crook of her neck. She melted into him without hesitation, her warmth, her scent, her presence grounding him in a way nothing else ever had.

For once, he didn’t question it.

For once, he let himself hold on.

#acotarxreader #angst #batboys x reader #x reader #acotar #slow burn #azriel x reader #tension #night court #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel #pro azriel #fem reader #reader insert #female reader #imagine #x you #one shot

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