#and why he's so good at taking things from people without them noticing!!

[cricket-reader]

Glass Hours

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summary: After a series of awful dates, Bucky is fed up with the way each man leaves her bruised. He gets a call late one night and doesn't hesitate to be there for her. Something fragile blooms that night, beautiful as the first snowdrop flowers after a long winter. (Thunderbolts!Bucky)

word count: 4,223

A/N: prompt fill for day 2 @juneofdoom | "I’m worried about you" | Protective

{Read on A03} | what i'm listening to

Bucky smiled as he walked into the common room, where giggling filtered throughout the room. His heart skipped a beat, seeing the woman he’s grown to admire lounging on the couch surrounded by Yelena and Ava.

It had taken a while for her to find her place amongst the New Avengers, but as soon as she realised that they were all just people trying to survive in this crazy world, same as her, she began to relax.

He remembers the first time he caught her in the kitchen, cooking up a feast for breakfast. At first, he had thought she was someone’s fling or girlfriend that they hadn’t mentioned. As soon as she turned around to put the hashbrowns on a serving plate behind her, her entire body tensed upon seeing she wasn’t alone. He’s surprised she didn’t drop the sizzling pan, given how shocked she was to see him standing on the other side of the island with his arms crossed. She clumsily introduced herself as the personal chef that Valentina had hired, disproving his original assumption.

Through the months, the team had fully accepted her into their circle, including her on movie nights and trips to the mall, to training (even if she mostly used the gym to swim) and girls' nights out. And over the months, Bucky has grown closer and closer to her.

At first, it was nothing more than platonic on his end, but then it grew into something more. His gaze lingered on her every time she entered the room, he began to anticipate her needs—whether she needed her morning coffee (with an unhealthy amount of sugar), a steaming cup of tea (usually chai), or some chocolate to cheer her up. He noticed the little things that no one else paid attention to: the way she always waited before talking, hesitant still even as she made herself a home with them; the way she’d always try to make herself smaller, never trying to take up too much space. He couldn’t understand it, not when she was sunshine personified.

“Okay, but look at Todd, though, you can’t deny-”

“Lena!” She shrieks with laughter. “You can’t seriously be trying to set me up with that guy.”

“What’s so wrong with Todd?” Yelena questions, biting her lip.

“His profile is all fish pics and gym selfies!” She makes a dramatic gagging noise before bursting out into giggles with the girls as they look over his profile.

If there is one thing Bucky hates about her, however, it is the number of dates she goes on. Every time, without fail, she is way too good for them. He hates watching her trudge home from another horrific date time and time again, hates watching her creep into Yelena’s room with tear tracks running down her face—Ava booking it to the room as soon as Yelena texts her. He doesn’t understand how these boys (because with the way they treat her, they can’t possibly be called men) could possibly forsake her. Not when she was an angel walking on earth, overflowing with kindness and care, not when she was the most gorgeous person he’d ever had the chance to lay eyes on.

He clenches his jaw as he walks over to the fridge to get his post-workout protein shake. He doesn’t understand why, even after everything those losers online put her through, she continued. She deserved someone that was willing to upend the world for her, someone who would never take her for granted, someone who would cherish her for all her days.

He wishes that someone could be him.

It’s something he knows that will never come to fruition. No, she deserves someone whose hands aren’t stained with blood, whose mind isn’t filled with horrors unspeakable, whose heart isn’t shattered into pieces. She deserves the world, and he is but a scarred man.

“Bucky!” Yelena calls him over, gesturing wildly. “Come look at Todd!”

His hand clenches around the bottle as he turns to face the three girls on the couch. Ava is smirking at him, Yelena is still recovering from her giggle attack, and the object of his affection is beet-red. She stares down at her phone, hair falling down into her face. She nudges Yelena, shooting a scathing glare towards the blonde as Bucky approaches.

Bucky barely chances a glance at the loser on the screen before saying, “You could do better.”

“Look at him, though,” Yelena tries her best not to burst out into another fit of laughter. “I mean, he’s got the smile, he works out and has a body to show for it, he likes fish? What more could you want in a man?”

Bucky frowns.

“I’m not going out with him,” she says. “I’m not that desperate yet.”

The girls giggle again, peering over her shoulder to look at the next guy. Bucky’s stomach swirls at the thought of her going on another date, at the thought of her falling for him, at the thought of them getting married and her completely forgetting about him, abandoning him just as the last person he had fallen for did. Instead of continuing to watch this horror show, Bucky stalks away, dented protein shake in hand.

“I’m just saying,” Alexei says, voice as boisterous as always as he slings an arm around Bob and Bucky. “If the girls all are going out tonight, why don’t we find dates as well? Even John has gone to see his girl!”

Bob shifts out of his grip, “Yelena and Ava are not dating anyone, and John went to see his kid.”

“Well, our resident chef is on a date! We should be out, we go to bar and all get ladies. Easy for men like us.”

Bucky grumbled under his breath, knocking Alexei’s arm off of him. He didn’t think anyone else would be in the common room since the girls and Walker had left for the evening. Staying out in the open was just a strategic move. If she came home early, heartbroken and in need of company, Ava and Yelena wouldn’t be there to comfort her. Which left him to await her return, ready to do anything to take that frown off her face, to make her forget about that stupid loser who wasn’t worth her time.

He’s just about to go back into his room when his ringtone cuts through the room. Her name flashes across his screen, sending his heart racing. He picks up right away, jogging to his room to grab his jacket. “Doll? What’s up? I thought you were on a date.”

Her sniffles cut through the phone like knives to his heart. “Doll?” His voice is laced with urgency and anxiety.

“I didn’t know who else to call,” she murmurs, voice warbled. He can hear how she’s on the verge of a breakdown. “Lena and Ava are busy and John too, and Bob never has his phone on him, and I didn’t want to call Alexei… and I didn’t wanna bother you, but… I didn’t have anyone else. I’m sorry.”

“Doll, tell me what’s going on. Where are you?” Bucky races out of his room to the elevator, ignoring Alexei’s confused shouts and Bob’s worried look.

“I’m-” she hiccups over a sob- “I’m at the bar… The Loft? Well, I’m in the alleyway, but it’s right next to it.”

“I’m on my way, okay, are you safe right now?” Bucky sprints over to his motorcycle.

“Hurry, Bucky,” she whimpers before devolving into muffled sobs. His heart aches as he mounts the bike.

“Okay, babydoll. I’m on my way,” he transfers the call to his Bluetooth helmet—an element he swore he’d never find a use for. He’s never felt more grateful for it than now.

He zips through traffic, weaving in between cars and angering every driver along the way. His mind is focused on her, the sniffling and crying echoing in his motorcycle helmet.

He pulls up to the bar, not even bothering to follow the parking rules listed on the nearby sign.

The sight that greets him is enough to stop his heart. Curled up against a dirty brick wall, the light of his life trembles like a flower. He can’t see her face from here, but he knows the sight of her wobbling lips and tear-filled eyes will knock him off his feet. He approaches slowly, footsteps intentionally audible. He sees her tense, her head whipping up to view the intruder. Upon seeing him, her entire body melts into the pavement.

Rage boils under the surface when he sees the blooming bruise upon her cheek, the red handprint on her arm. He keeps his face dangerously calm as he crouches down beside her. Her pretty dress is torn by the thin sleeve, falling dangerously down her chest. He doesn’t hesitate to shrug off his jacket and wrap her up in it.

“I’m sorry, Bucky,” she murmurs, her words slightly slurred. “I didn’t wan’ you to see me like this… I’m a mess.”

Bucky wants to shake her until she regains her common sense. She has nothing to be sorry for; the only one that should be sorry is the asshole who did this to her. He knows that if that man isn’t, he sure as hell will be by the time he’s done with him. “No need to be sorry, angel. You did good calling me.”

She chokes on a sob. “I just went to the bathroom, Buck… I didn’t think he’d… Why was I so stupid?”

Clenching his jaw, he brings his flesh hand to the delicate skin on her face, wiping away the salty tears. “You’re not stupid.”

“But-” hiccup- “that’s like the first rule of bein’ a girl an’ goin’ to bars. Don’t leave your drink unattended.”

“It was supposed to be attended by that asshole you went out with. He should’a never done that.”

“It was the first time I met him, though, Buck. I… I shouldn’t have trusted him.”

The mere fact that women couldn’t even trust men on the first date was enough to send his skin ablaze. No woman should ever have to fear for their safety like that. “I think it’s a damn tragedy that you can’t trust no one these days.”

“C’mon, doll, let's get a taxi,” Bucky says, offering a hand to her. She readily takes it. He almost smiles at the way she lets out a little yelp at how easy it was for him to lift her off the ground. He adjusts the jacket around her shoulders, making sure that it won’t fall and expose her before going out to the street.

He hails a taxi, and soon enough, they’re sitting in the warm backseat. He tries to ignore the feeling inside him that ignites upon seeing her in his jacket. The last thing she wants right now is more unwanted attention. That doesn’t, however, stop his heart from racing as she leans her head on his shoulder, eyes drooping shut as sleep overtakes her.

When they pull up to the Watchtower, she’s still out cold. He pays the taxi driver and manoeuvres himself out of the cab without waking her. He lifts her into his arms and brings her up to their sleeping quarters. Alexei and Bob are still in the living room, both looking awfully concerned for their resident chef. Alexei opens his mouth, but Bob is quick to shut him up.

Bucky reaches her room and stops at the precipice. He’s never been allowed in there, never seen so much as a glimpse into her tiny world. It feels almost too intimate. He shuffles her around, trying to open the door without waking her.

As soon as he enters, he is overwhelmed by her scent. It seeps into every pore of her room, candles and perfumes and lotions scattered about. They’re all the same scent, that smell that he’s known to associate with her. He glances around the room, noting how it looks very clustered yet also tidy. Knick-knacks line her shelves and desk, and a giant bookcase filled to the brim with a variety of books sits opposite the door. It’s everything he would have suspected of her room.

He sets her down on her unmade bed, gently pulling the killer high heels from her feet. He frowns at the sight of her smudged makeup, knowing that it needs to come off. He feels like an invader as he rifles through her bathroom drawers and closet—not that there’s anything incriminating in there, just average bathroom stuff and an unholy amount of unused bath bombs and salts and body scrubs.

He finds a bottle of micellar water that claims to work on even waterproof makeup, and hopes that this is what she usually uses. He didn’t see any makeup wipes, so it would have to do.

When he comes back into the room, she’s sitting up on the bed, arms wrapped around her legs. He startles her out of her staring contest with the wall. She looks at him, eyes glancing down to the bottle and cotton pads in his hands. Her brows draw together. “What’re you doing?” She asks, rubbing her eyes.

“I was just gonna take off your makeup. Didn’t want you to fall asleep with it on.”

“Bucky Barnes,” she chuckles, wet and sad sounding, “What even are you?”

He furrows his brows. “What do you mean?”

“You’re like… like the best man I’ve ever known. You’re so… so sweet and–and whoever said chivalry is dead, hasn’t met you.”

The tips of Bucky’s ears heat, heart thumping erratically in his chest. It has to be the drugs, he tells himself. She would never say something like that to him sober. “Okay, doll,” he says, not allowing himself to believe that his words are genuine. He walks over to the bed. “This is what you use to take off your makeup, right, sweetheart? Didn’t see anything else.”

“Mhm,” she hums, her inquisitive eyes boring a hole into his head. “You looked through all my stuff?”

Bucky splutters, “No–just–I’m sorry, I just didn’t want you to sleep in the makeup. I didn’t see anything, just-”

She laughs at his stuttering apology, “It’s okay, Bucky.”

His heart skips a beat when his eyes meet hers. He can only chalk it up to the intoxication, but she’s looking at him like he hung the entire galaxy. He’s never seen them look so expressive, so loving—and it’s him that she’s looking at. The makeup comes off surprisingly easily, given how gentle he’s being. And when he’s finished, he finds that she’s still looking at him with that same expression, equal parts content and reverent.

He clears his throat when he realises he’s been staring too long. Getting up to throw away the dirty cotton pads and return the bottle to the bathroom, he is stopped by her hand reaching out to grab his vibranium hand. He instantly stills, turning back to look at the delicate thing resting in such a dangerous weapon.

“Please don’t leave me, Buck. I don’ wanna be alone tonight.”

He swallows past the emotion wedged in his throat, knowing that this is a huge leap for her. It’s the inebriation, he knows, but some part of him preens at the way she’s asking for his help—something she rarely allows herself to ask of anyone.

“Okay, doll. Do you wanna get into something more comfortable?” Bucky asks, eyes dropping down to see that the right side of the dress had fallen down again, the jacket hanging loosely off her frame. He quickly averts his eyes.

She nods, stumbling to her feet and ambling over to the closet. He watches her grab a huge sweatshirt and a pair of shorts. He has to tamp down the protective instinct to follow her into the bathroom to make sure she doesn’t pass out and hit her head. He settles for listening to her, hearing the way she hums as the clothing rustles and plops onto the floor.

When she emerges from the bathroom, swallowed up in that giant hoodie, his mouth dries. He’d been looking for that hoodie for ages. He had declared his search a lost cause after the resident hoodie stealer (Ava) had denied having it. This whole time, it was squirreled away in her room.

“Nice hoodie,” he can’t help but comment, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Thanks!” She chirps, flopping dramatically onto the bed. “Ava gave it to me.”

Bucky shakes his head; he should have known.

“Used to smell really good, but now it just smells like me,” she pouts, fiddling with that stupid loose string that’s still hanging on the sleeve. Bucky’s face bursts into flames, his insides melting. She doesn’t know what she’s saying, Bucky reminds himself.

“You should get some sleep, babydoll. I’ll be here all night if you need me.” Bucky gets up from the bed, ready to camp out on one of her chairs. It’s far from the worst place he’s slept. Besides, if it’d give her peace of mind, he’d sleep on a bed of coals.

He situates himself on her desk chair and watches as she tangles herself up in several soft blankets. She tosses and turns a few times before she eventually faces him. He fights back the smile on his face at the sight of her head poking out from the covers, sleepy eyes blinking up at him.

She frowns suddenly, the space between her brows creasing. “You’re gonna sleep there?”

“Told ya, I’m not leaving you… unless you want me to go-”

“No! I just…” she trails off, eyes drooping shut for a second before blinking back to him. “Wouldn’t you rather sleep in a bed?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout me, doll. Just get some sleep.”

“Would you…” she trails off, biting her lip and looking at the floor. He sees the apples of her cheeks redden.

“Yeah?” Bucky doesn’t tell her that he’d do anything for her, that whatever she asked, he’d give her. On the off chance that she does remember any of this tomorrow, he’ll need all the plausible deniability he can get.

“If you wanted… You could sleep with me,” she murmurs, hiding her rosy cheeks with her fluffy blanket. Clenching his jaw, Bucky reminds himself that there is no possible way that she could truly mean that.

“Doll,” he mutters, painstakingly aware of how much his heart yearns to have her close after the scare she gave him. “I don’t think you want that.”

“Lena and Ava do it all the time,” she protests, eyes wide and glimmering. Bucky bites down on his lip, her eyes practically begging him to give in.

“That’s… that’s different.”

“Why? I trust you, Bucky, and I really don’t want to be alone right now.” She sniffles a little. “Unless… unless you don’t want to, of course.”

Resolve crumbling like wet sand, Bucky can’t help but acquiesce to her plea. “Okay, um… I’ll just… If you’re sure.”

She opens up her mountain of blankets, inviting him in to stay the night. He shuffles into bed beside her, careful to keep his distance. Her eyes remained fixed on him. Bucky meets her unwavering gaze, tracing every freckle with his eyes. “You really scared me tonight, doll,” Bucky whispers, the confession releasing the heavy pressure that had been put upon his chest since the first sound of her distress came over his phone speaker.

Her eyes dart up to meet his. “I’m sorry,” she says, voice barely audible.

“Don’t have to be sorry,” he murmurs, daring to reach out a hand to tuck away a stray strand of hair. “I’m worried about you, that’s all. I always worry about you. None of those guys deserve you, and… and I hate seeing you get hurt all the time.”

She burrows her head into his chest then, tears burning at the corners of her eyes. “I think I’m done.”

Bucky furrows his brows. “What d’ya mean, doll?”

She chuckles, wet and sad, low in her throat. “I don’t think love exists. Not for me anyway.”

Heart surging with a protective heat, he says, “Of course, it does. You… you’ll find the perfect person.”

“And how many more times am I gonna have to get hurt?” She questions, fingers playing with the strings on her hoodie. “Feels like no one wants genuine connection ‘cept me. All they want is a fling or… or someone to control. I’m just so tired of it all.”

Bucky hums low in his throat, reaching around her to pull her into a comforting hug.

“Why can’t there be more men like you?” She murmurs, eyes drifting shut.

Bucky bites back his immediate thought: why not me? He knows why. Despite how hard he tries, no one will ever be able to look past his blood-stained history. He may be “gentlemanly” and “sweet”, but that won’t erase the fact that he will always be seen as the ruthless assassin that HYDRA forged in fire and pain.

After a long period of silence, her hesitant voice breaks through the room, “Would you ever date someone like me?”

Bucky’s mind blanks, leaving him scrambling for the appropriate response to such a question. Whilst there’s no doubt in his mind that he would, it doesn’t mean he should say such a thing. His silence is apparently too long, for she pulls away from him.

“Sorry, that was… I shouldn’t have asked that. I didn’t… I wasn’t thinking straight. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” he mutters, feeling colder than ever without her body pressed up against him.

“It’s just that Ava said something, but I didn’t believe her, and I shouldn’t have. She always likes picking on you guys, and maybe it was a joke-”

“What did she say?” Bucky questions, heart beating faster. All those looks she shot him whenever he was around her, stealing his hoodie to give it to her, that couldn’t all be by happenstance. Which means she knows, and if she knows and she told her…

“She said that you’re always more grumpy than usual when I go out on dates, that she’s surprised you haven’t asked me out.” She shakes her head, eyes gleaming with mirth. “Could you imagine that?” Her bitter laugh cuts through his heart. “You asking me out?”

“Why d’ya find that so hard to believe, doll?” Bucky asks, hoping his voice sounds more unaffected to her than it does to him.

She raises a brow, eyes sweeping across his face. “C’mon, Buck! You can’t tell me that you’d ever go for a girl like me. Not when you’re like… the most perfect guy ever.”

“That’s not… I’m not-”

“Hush,” she interrupts him. “I’m practically a nobody. You’re an Avenger. I’m just a girl that likes to cook.”

“That’s not what I see when I look at you,” Bucky says, and to her furrowed brows, he continues, “I see a woman with more kindness and compassion than she knows what to do with—someone who always lends a shoulder to those who need it. I see a gal that loves to read, cook and bake. I see a girl who doesn’t know her true worth, that doesn’t realise she lights up every room she walks into. I… I see the girl that has stolen my heart by insisting that I eat your sweet treats and by listening to what I have to say and… well, I could go on and on, but I think you get the gist of it.”

Bucky’s hand is unreasonably clammy, his heart stuttering in his chest as she just stares at him. They stay like that for a while, and Bucky is certain that he said too much. He wishes he could shove it all back down, wishes he never got into bed with her, wishes he knew when to shut his trap.

Bucky sits up when he notices that tears are streaming down her face. Damn, he really fucked this up, is all he can think.

“Shit,” he mutters, heart in his throat. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to spring that all on you-”

“Don’t… No… I just… no one’s ever said anything that nice to me before.” She wipes her eyes, sitting up alongside him. “You… you really feel that way about me?”

Bucky can feel the tips of his ears burning, the apples of his cheeks following suit. “Yeah.”

“I… I like you too.”

Bucky’s heart explodes into a swarm of butterflies. Never in a million years did he think that she’d return his feelings. He doesn’t know what he did to be deserving of such affection, but he’ll do his damndest to be worthy of it.

“Let’s talk more when you’re sober, doll,” he suggests. He grins at her adorable pout. “I’ll still be here in the morning, and I’ll still be head over heels for you if you’re worried about that.”

“Fine,” she murmurs, lying back down and pulling the blankets up to her chin. “As long as you get down here to cuddle with me.”

“Of course,” he says, his heart the most giddy it’s been since the early nineteen hundreds. That night, surrounded by her warmth and comforting scent, he gets the best sleep he’s had since being put in cryo.

Taglist: @harleycao @hallecarey1 @filmsbyblair

[transboyswitchytales]

Caught In A Bear Trap

Request by Anon : Unsupervised you mentioned witch hunters.. I’d love to see what would happen if a witch hunter happened upon Baby, and Agatha and Rio track them down and decimated them because no one touches baby but THEM. I can’t get it out of my mind and I’d love to see your take on it!

Warning: TORTURE/GORE /BLOOD / ANGST /DEATH / HURT READER / Nicky mentioned / Upsetting story / Prequel to Unsupervised / short fic / DARKFIC /Angst for sure

Anon I hope this is ok 🖤 if you want a part two let me know! I made it short because it is ouchie.

'Oh, I know that I can't live without you But this world will keep turning if you do Would you even want me looking like a zombie? Would you even want me, want me, want me?'- YUNGBLUD

You would look back at this moment as one of your biggest mistakes.

You knew better. But it was the 60s in San Francisco. And it was just a small blip

Later Agatha would implement a rule for what you’d done, the carelessness and brazenness in which you ignored your gut.

Rio had always told you to trust your tummy. She said every animal was made with fight or flight. Just as a a hare’s big ears stand at attention for a rustling in the forest.

Rio said that the hare knows and doesn’t second guess before he runs.

And she grabbed your arm tightly and said this last thing, a thing you’d think of later.

“A hare is small but trusts its instincts and runs. Baby it doesn’t matter the size. A grizzled bear still sniffs the ground for hunters. If he doesn’t he’ll step in a trap.” She’d cupped your cheek lovingly, “trust your tummy, don’t step into a trap.” Rio said it like it was the most important thing.

And those words repeated over and over as they sliced your skin.

But it was San Francisco in 1961. You were on Haight Street. It was the age of hippies and acid. Rio had commented offhandedly that marijuanaha would never be as good as it is now. You didn’t ask why she thought that. You simply smoked and did magic and listened to music.

You’d begged Agatha to stay in this city. She’d been reluctant at first. But being a witch sort of blended in with these rough looking hippies. They’re dreads and bell bottom pants made your long hair and earthy life style sorta normal.

Agatha also enjoyed how happy you and Rio seemed to be.

So she and Rio found an apartment with the bay windows. All that light. Rio buying endless plants into the place. Agatha was happy to find her first queer book shop. It seemed people were finally putting up stories of queer people.

Even if it was smaller and hard to find.

You three were happy. It was a starling wake up call.

On a Tuesday afternoon Rio and Agatha had needed to go to the local apothecary. It was in china town and you didn’t want to go. Agatha didn’t like the idea of leaving you. But you told her you would stay in the apartment, listen to vynil and make ice tea.

Rio hesitated as well, but you promised them youd have dinner ready by the time they got back.

You hadn’t even realized.

Perhaps they should have trusted their tummy’s.

You thought you’d bake your sourdough loaf today. But you noticed a lack of bread flour and figured the corner store might have some. If not you’d head over to Gabriel’s Bakery. He always gave you stuff for free.

You left the house. Wearing your happy hippy attire. Double checking you didn’t forget your two wedding rings on the sink from doing breakfast dishes. You walked to the corner store.

You will never forget it.

You bought Rio a new strand of mint. She’d been talking about wanting to grow it and you thought she’d be happy to see it in your kitchen. You loved getting them gifts. Small things to make them know you were always thinking of them.

You made an extra stop with your basket in the grocery store to find a bag of loose leaf tea for Aggie.

You checked out, handing the guy cash, you thanked him, and grabbed your brown bag. Walking out the store like your world wasn’t about to change.

Because that’s the thing about big trauma, no one ever knows before it hits.

You can spend everyday worrying and you’ll never be prepared for the truly earth shattering events.

Like this one.

You stupid fucking rabbit.

You were walking, aware of your surroundings for the most part. You were a powerful witch. Trained in necromancy, potions, and even mind control. You’d recently been more interested in speaking with the dead. But that was a different story.

It was a sunny day.

You’d gotten comfortable in San Francisco. You’d grown soft. No longer paranoid of what lurked in the shadows.

And you should be. You should be.

They came from behind, and you never even saw them coming. Didn’t even hear your head crack on the cement. No, you walked right into a trap, silly rabbit.

But you woke up to men in surgical masks. You woke in pain as they opened your veins. Letting the blood come out of you like the plague times.

You were naked on a cement floor, in chains. Like how so many witches before had been.

How poetic.

History repeating itself it seemed.

They’d used magic, ironically, these assholes had tortured another witch to make runes. You couldn’t use your magic, it sat like a phantom limb.

You screamed as they used their scalpels and medical instruments. Dunked your face in water until you stopped twitching. Then they’d wake you up again. Your vocal cords gave up on your screams as they cut you open over and over. Seemingly amazed at your ability to heal.

A resilient animal you were.

You wept until you had no tears left and in your mind you disassociated.

You left your body as they played with you like a child plays the game operation with tweezers.

Your muscles begged for release. Your body lost so much blood. Your magic was depleted. You had no fight. You had no will.

You did not speak to them once. Not as they asked you questions and tortured you. They asked about your coven. They asked about how you acquired income. They wanted to know how old you were. What tricks you could do.

You had thought yourself powerful. A witch. A fucking Harkness no less. You thought yourself strong. You were not a rabbit. You were the bear. How had you been so foolish to forget a world full of traps?

A man kicked your naked bloody body with his boot in your ribs. You slid across the bloody cement floor with a thud. Scabs breaking open once more, puss and blood leaking from wounds you could no longer keep track of.

If Agatha were here she’d sing to you as Rio licked them close. Aggie would wash the blood out of your hair. You sometimes hallucinated her above you. Only for your eyes to adjust once more.

You weren’t sure, as there was no windows, how long you’d held prisoner.

You shivered on the cold wet cement. With a broken left shoulder, two dislocated wrists, and you couldn’t feel your right leg. You weren’t sure if the nerves even worked anymore. They’d drilled into your knee cap.

You closed your eyes and remembered the smell of Agatha’s hair. That perfect scent as she held you at night, the comfort of her arms. You focused on the gap in Rios teeth as she threw her head back to laugh.

You hoped Agatha would forgive Rio.You hoped Rio would forgive herself for the job she was about to do.

Because you would die soon. You hoped it would come fast.

And you were ready. You made peace with it around the point one of the witch hunters had taken a hammer to your fingers. Where were your wedding rings? What did a corpse need with wedding rings?

You were done.

You lived a great life. A life full of Agatha and Rio.

How fantastic it had been to be loved by them. How lucky you were to have gotten to hold them close. To share laughter and kisses.

You lay in your blood unable to open your left eye anymore.

And you hoped Agatha would find your Yule gifts. You knew San Francisco lit up for Christmas. You’d already bought their gifts. You’d already written the love notes. You wondered if Rio would be able to play your records, listen to your favorite songs. Or would Agatha shatter each vynil? Would she turn away from love. You hoped not. You wanted Agatha to love.

You hoped Agatha would forgive you for giving up.

You were just so tired. And you’d fought for so long. You couldn’t stay awake one more minute.

You wanted to see Nicky again.

You wanted Rio to take you in her arms. Place the last kiss you’d ever be given on your split broken skin. And you could just give in. Not hurt one more moment.

Your eyes lulled back.

The room grew quiet.

You no longer felt.

You opened your eyes to see Rio. And you coughed blood and Rio had her hand in your chest.

“Take…me.” You signaled and her eyes turned black. So deep dark black.

“I’m going to. I’m taking you home baby. Agatha HURRY UP!” Rio screamed and you looked to the side to see…

Agatha covered in purple magic.

She was killing so many. They begged for mercy and she tortured their minds and made them kill themselves, slowly too. One man was taking his own eyes out with his fingers.

Agatha was making them relive what they’d done to you….but to those they loved most.

She wanted them to see it. See it how she seen it in their minds.

“AGATHA WE DONT HAVE TIME! COME ON!” Rio screamed and you coughed again.

“No..no baby. Hey come on. I don’t want to do my job. Come on. We looked everywhere for you. Please don’t. Fight baby. You promised. You promised me. You said I’d take you when you were an old crone. Please don’t go. Please don’t. I can’t do it. I can’t take you. I’m not strong enough.”

Rio was shaking and her hands were in your chest cavity. She was beating your heart.

Your cold black heart.

“It’-s..o..—k” you rasped out and she shook her head.

“No. I won’t do it. They can take me. Take me instead no. I can’t do it again. Don’t make me.” Rio sobbed and Agatha must have heard because she fell to her knees.

“No..no, no baby. Please stay awake. You can’t go. No please no. I can’t do this without you. “ Agatha begged and you couldn’t speak

The sound of your heart being squished between Rios hands was louder now.

“RIO IF YOU TAKE HER I WILL NEVER FORGOVE YOU. DONT DO THIS TO ME AGAIN. FIX IT! Fix it now. PLEASE MY LOVE!” Agatha gasped and you couldn’t keep your eyes open. It was too much.

“NO NO! YOU STAY WITH ME! YOU PROMISED NICKY YOU’D STAY WITH ME!” Agatha screams at you.

And then it’s black.

Goodnight moon.

‘If I can’t reach you…let my song teach you?’

But you hear Nicky…he’s laughing. You smell the wildflowers of Salem. You feel warmth return to you.

“Mama!”

And then��.

And then pain hits your chest and you inhale once more.

Your life flashes so fast by you. And you are no longer with your son.

Blinking a few times you see a fuzzy shade of red… a room. It’s not home, it smells of incense and fermented magic. You blink and realize you aren’t dead.

Magic inscriptions hang in the walls.

Pain, lots of pain in your body. But not dead.

You hear someone’s speaking Cantonese. And you know the language but you can’t concentrate on the sounds.

You realize as your eyes adjust that you are in someone’s basement in china town. At the local medicine woman’s shop. You know this room.

Rio and Agatha can be heard arguing with said elder. You try to move your hands but you feel heavy.

Agatha lets out an earth quake of a sob and you know she sees you are awake.

You are alive.

[godricgryffinsnore]

So......tadaaaa, just when you thought you have striked off another request from the list, you have another.

(because I need some good Harry Potte/reader stuff, even if it takes weeks)

He was in a pretty bad mood, he had been stood up on a first date. He slumped on his way back when a girl came and sat beside him on the train, crying.

[slow burn please. Like the slowest slow burn. I am looking for a long slow burn...And Sirius is alive.]

All the Quiet Things ♡ : A Harry Potter Fan Fiction.

pairing : Harry Potter x fem!reader

summary : When a chance meeting on a train changes the course of two very different lives, what begins as quiet companionship turns into something deeper—something far more difficult to ignore. Amid shared silences, buried feelings, and a few missteps along the way, two souls learn what it means to heal, to choose, and to love without fear.

warnings : Emotional distress, crying, and healing, Jealousy, arguments, and dramatic love confession, Strong language and romantic angst, Explicit sexual content (18+): oral (both), unprotected sex, praise/dirty talk, slow to rough progression, Embarrassing moment (others overhear them), Canon divergence (Sirius, Remus & Cedric alive), Comfort, fluff, and aftercare. Please let me know if I missed any.

author's note : English is not my first language, so please forgive me for any grammatical errors or spelling errors. Re-blogging is completely fine with me, but please don't copy my work. I love you all. Enjoy <3. THIS IS AN 18+ FAN FICTION. PLEASE DO NOT ENTER IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE OR IF YOU ARE A MINOR!!!

della's note : Ya, so it happened... I don't know how, where or when I got the urge to write a smut scene, but I did. But don't worry, if you want this fic in a free-smut type of way, you can read it without the smut too. Smut is at the very end of the fan fic... and I will let you know when it starts. I REALLY HOPE YOU LIKE IT <333

word count : 4.8k

main master list <3

banners : @uzmacchiato and @cafekitsune

He had never liked dates.

He didn't know why he’d even said yes. Lavender had cornered him with her glittering eyes and her sugar-slick voice, and something about the way Ron had elbowed him had made Harry nod before his brain could catch up.

Now, it was raining. Of course it was raining.

The coffee shop had smelled too sweet, and the date never showed. Harry had sat at the window, watching the clouds gather like an omen. He didn’t even like coffee. He’d stared at his reflection in the glass—scar, glasses, eyes too tired for eighteen—and had wondered what he looked like to the rest of the world.

The train back to Grimmauld Place was nearly empty. The wet streets had scared the tourists off, and he was grateful for the silence.

He slumped into the seat by the window, coat damp, hair clinging to his forehead. His jaw was tight. The overhead lights buzzed.

Then—

A soft sound. A sniffle.

He turned, and there she was.

A girl. His age. Book pressed tight to her chest, sleeves too long, eyes swollen and red.

She sat across from him, not noticing him at all, crumpling into the corner like she was trying to disappear.

Harry should have looked away.

But she was crying. Not loud, not the kind of crying that begged attention—no. This was the silent kind. The lonely kind.

The kind he knew well.

“Are you alright?” he asked before he could stop himself.

She startled, blinking up at him like she'd only just realized he was there. Her lashes were soaked, and there was a smudge of ink on her cheek.

“I’m fine,” she whispered. It was the automatic kind of lie.

He didn’t believe her.

But he didn’t press.

The train groaned into motion, and the city lights outside blurred into gold.

She turned her face to the window, but not before he saw it—that broken sort of look, the kind people wore when they’d held on too tightly to something that slipped right through their fingers.

He wanted to ask. Who hurt you? Why are you crying? What book is that?

But instead, he sat in silence. Watching the rain. Listening to her breathe.

They didn’t speak again that night.

When the train stopped, she stood and disappeared into the dark, and he didn’t even know her name.

── .✦

They saw each other again.

Weeks later, in the library at Grimmauld Place.

It was Sirius who called her in. “Harry! This is the one I told you about—she’s working with the new historical records team from the Ministry. She’s got the brains of a Ravenclaw and the patience of a saint.”

Harry turned, and there she was.

She didn’t look surprised to see him. But she did smile—a small, knowing thing that twisted something deep in his chest.

“You’re the girl from the train,” he said, before he could stop himself.

Her eyes flickered. “And you’re the boy who stared at me like I was made of glass.”

Sirius looked between them, brows raised.

Neither of them explained.

── .✦

Weeks became months.

She started showing up more.

She was clever. Quiet. Laughed softly at Sirius’s ridiculous stories, asked sharp questions during Order meetings, and always smelled faintly like old parchment and stormy nights.

Harry liked talking to her. He liked the way her mind worked—how she made him feel like he wasn’t just the Boy Who Lived but a person with questions and dreams and wounds that didn’t need to be hidden.

But it wasn’t easy. Nothing ever was.

There were arguments. Disagreements. He didn’t like how she looked at Malfoy when he visited to give intel, didn’t like how she smiled when she spoke to Cedric Diggory at the Ministry.

She didn’t like how he shut down when he was hurting. How he’d go quiet and cold and pretend like nothing ever touched him.

“Harry,” she said one night, voice sharp with something unnameable, “You don't get to decide who I talk to.”

“I’m not deciding,” he snapped. “I’m just saying—Diggory? Really?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

And that’s when it began.

The bitterness. The bite. The awkward silences at meetings. The thunder in his chest when she smiled at someone else. The way she flinched when he ignored her in front of Ron and Hermione.

They became enemies in the way only people who used to care could be.

But oh—he still watched her.

He knew how she took her tea. Knew she cried when she read tragic poetry. Knew she kept a picture of her little sister in her notebook and touched it when she thought no one was looking.

She knew him too.

She knew how he clenched his fist when he lied. Knew when his nightmares came back, even when he didn’t say a word.

But they were silent. Too prideful. Too afraid.

Until the night everything broke.

── .✦

It was a storm.

It always had to be a storm.

Grimmauld Place, the attic, papers flying, windows rattling. The Order had had a terrible night, and Sirius had been nearly killed, and Harry found her pacing, wild-eyed, her hands shaking.

“You could’ve died!” she shouted at him. “You just ran in! No plan—no—nothing! What if—what if I never saw you again, you bloody stupid boy?!”

“I didn’t need a plan!” he yelled back. “I needed to save him!”

“You’re reckless! Arrogant! Self-sacrificing and completely idiotic—!”

“And you’re impossible!” he roared. “You smile at Cedric like I don’t exist, then act like you care—!”

“Because I do care, you great big idiot! I always did!”

Silence.

Breathing.

The storm howled outside, but inside—utter stillness.

“I always did,” she whispered again. “From the moment you asked if I was okay on that train.”

Harry stared.

She looked like everything he’d ever wanted and been too scared to ask for.

“I love you,” he said, voice hoarse, cracking. “I love you and it’s miserable. You make me feel like I’m worth something and I hate it because I’m terrified of losing you.”

And then—

They kissed.

Like a war ending. Like peace being signed on trembling lips. Like two storms learning how to hold hands without turning to thunder.

── .✦

They didn’t speak about the kiss.

Not the next day. Not the day after that.

She went back to the library. Harry helped Molly with dinner. They exchanged glances like secret letters—quiet, cautious, trembling with things unsaid.

Sirius noticed, of course.

“Why are you walking like you’re being haunted by your own hormones?” he muttered to Harry in the hallway, raising a brow. “Did something happen or not?”

Harry flushed so deeply he might’ve been hexed.

But no answer came.

Because the truth was this: kissing her had felt like magic, real magic—the kind Hogwarts never taught. And now, he was afraid that if he said it aloud, it would vanish into smoke.

── .✦

A week later, she packed her bag.

The Ministry needed her in Bulgaria for a temporary assignment. Three months. Maybe four. She didn’t tell Harry until the morning she was leaving.

“I didn’t think you’d care,” she said quietly, her fingers knotting in the strap of her satchel.

Harry stared at her.

“I care too much,” he replied. “That’s the whole problem.”

She smiled sadly. “You’re not the problem, Harry. You never were.”

And before he could say something—anything—she was gone.

── .✦

He wrote to her.

Every week.

He never sent them.

They were scrawled on napkins, the corners of maps, the back of old Order memos. He’d fold them, unfold them. Sometimes burn them in the fireplace, watching the words curl into ash.

I miss the way you whisper when you read aloud. I miss your damn tea order. I miss your stupid bookmark collection and the way you smell like lavender and rain. I miss you like a wound. Like air.

She wrote too.

But never to him.

She wrote poetry. Scribbled it between research notes. Tiny verses that felt like bleeding.

He looks at me like I’m holy and runs from me like I’m fire.

── .✦

When she came back, it was snowing.

December wrapped London in white lace, and the streets were muffled with softness. She arrived at Grimmauld Place with wind-blushed cheeks and frozen fingers.

Harry didn’t know she was coming.

He opened the door and nearly dropped his wand.

She looked... different. Softer, maybe. A little older. But the second their eyes met, something in his chest cracked wide open.

“You’re back,” he said dumbly.

“Apparently,” she whispered.

And then—

He stepped aside, and she walked back into the house. Into his world. Into the place that always felt like it had been waiting for her.

── .✦

It wasn’t easy.

They were awkward. Stilted. She would laugh too loud around others, and he would grow quiet again, like a tide retreating. He was still jealous. She still didn’t explain the way she’d touched Cedric’s arm at the last Order meeting. The tension curled between them like smoke—every conversation a slow unravelling.

Then one night—it broke.

A Christmas party. Too much firewhisky. A hallway. A sideways glance.

He snapped.

“You still love him, don’t you?” he said, sharp as glass. “You talk to me like I matter, and then you run to him every time he walks into a room.”

She turned slowly. Her eyes were on fire.

“How dare you,” she hissed. “You don’t get to dictate who I speak to, Potter. You don’t even speak to me unless it’s convenient for your bruised ego!”

His breath hitched.

“You kissed me,” he said.

“You kissed me,” she snapped. “And then you disappeared.”

“I was scared!”

“So was I!”

A pause.

A breath.

Her eyes glistened. “You think you’re the only one who’s been broken? You think you’re the only one who’s terrified of being loved just to be left?”

Harry’s hands shook. “I’m not good at this.”

“Neither am I,” she whispered. “But I’m still here. I’m trying.”

And then—softly.

“I love you,” she breathed, voice raw. “I’ve loved you since the train. Since the moment you looked at me like I wasn’t invisible.”

His chest cracked. Splintered.

“I love you,” he said back. “I love you so much it hurts.”

And this time, when they kissed—it wasn’t fireworks.

It was home.

── .✦

“You’re an idiot.”

Harry turned, startled. Sirius was leaning in the doorway of the kitchen, arms crossed, an infuriating grin on his face.

“I haven’t said anything yet.”

“You don’t have to. You’ve got that guilty ‘I kissed her again and now I don’t know if it meant everything or nothing’ look.”

Harry groaned and dropped his head to the table.

Sirius chuckled. “Relax, Prongslet. I’m proud of you. Took you what—two years and a raging argument to finally confess?”

“I hate you.”

“No, you hate how much you care. You hate that she makes you nervous. You hate that you want forever and don’t know if she does.”

Harry looked up. “Do you think she does?”

Sirius tilted his head, suddenly serious. “She looks at you like you hung the stars, Harry. That kind of love doesn’t fade.”

── .✦

Meanwhile, upstairs, she stood in front of the mirror, still trembling from that kiss.

She touched her lips, blinking at herself like she wasn’t sure she was real. There was something quiet blooming in her chest—hope, maybe. Or peace. Or the terrifying beginnings of both.

And then—

“Mistletoe,” Sirius announced, bursting into the room.

She screamed and spun, nearly throwing her hairbrush.

“What the hell—?!”

He grinned. “I need your help with some holiday decorations.”

“Sirius Black, if you ever want to live to see another Christmas—”

“Don’t worry,” he interrupted with a wink. “The mistletoe’s not for me.”

He disappeared before she could hex him.

── .✦

The next few weeks were... soft.

Not perfect. But gentle.

She and Harry spoke more. Laughed more. There were long walks in the snow. Quiet tea in the library. Glances that lingered like poetry.

And the touches—

A hand brushing hers when passing her a quill. A shoulder leaning too close while reading by the fireplace. A pinky that hooked hers under the dinner table.

They didn’t talk about labels. Or plans. Or the future.

They just were.

And it was enough—for now.

── .✦

New Year’s Eve.

The entire house was glowing—candles floating in the air, laughter echoing through the halls, the scent of cinnamon and firewhisky thick in the air.

At 11:59, Sirius shouted, “Make a wish!”

Harry didn’t need to.

He was already standing beside her.

And when the clock struck twelve—

He kissed her. Quietly. Reverently. Like a prayer.

Not because he had to.

But because he could.

Because she was real. And here. And his.

And when she smiled against his lips, he felt like maybe, just maybe, all the quiet things were the most beautiful.

── .✦

It was late January when they went back to Hogwarts.

Not as students, no—not anymore.

McGonagall had invited them to speak to the sixth-years about magical ethics and wartime resilience. (Sirius joked that his own speech would be titled “Don’t Trust the Government, or Your Mother.”)

But really, it was just an excuse. An excuse to go back. To remember. To stand in those halls again and feel, for a moment, seventeen.

They walked through the front doors together, their fingers brushing but not quite intertwining, boots crunching on the snow-slicked stone.

The castle was quiet, blanketed in soft winter. Icicles like crystal daggers hung from the towers. Somewhere, faintly, a choir of enchanted birds sang from the rafters.

She looked up at the ceiling of the Great Hall and whispered, “It still feels like home.”

Harry looked at her.

So do you.

But he didn’t say it.

── .✦

Later that night, she found a small box on her pillow in the guest quarters.

Wrapped in dark green ribbon.

No note.

She opened it carefully—and gasped.

A charm bracelet.

Delicate. Golden. With three tiny charms already affixed.

A lightning bolt.

A teacup.

A moon.

When she touched them, they shimmered with warmth—enchanted.

The lightning bolt whispered, I’ll protect you.

The teacup murmured, I remember.

And the moon breathed, Even when we’re apart, you’re never alone.

She covered her mouth with her hand, eyes burning.

He hadn’t said a word.

But it was the most beautiful confession she’d ever heard.

── .✦

They went into Hogsmeade the next day.

It was bright with winter sunlight, the sky a sheet of silver-blue. They laughed together in the snow, tried butterbeer with cinnamon, got caught in a tangle of enchanted scarves at Gladrags.

And then—

He saw it.

A man. Laughing with her near Honeydukes. Brushing snowflakes from her cheek.

Cedric.

Harry froze.

He knew they were friends. He knew.

But still.

His blood went hot.

Jealousy curled through him like smoke. He stood, fists clenched, eyes locked on the soft, lingering way she looked at Cedric as he handed her a sugar quill.

Later, she found Harry sitting alone by the Shrieking Shack.

“What’s wrong?”

He didn’t look at her.

“Nothing.”

“You’re lying.”

A pause.

He exhaled sharply. “You smiled at him like I wasn’t even there.”

She blinked. “Harry—”

“You still like him, don’t you?”

Now she was angry.

“Are you serious? Cedric is my friend. He’s been there since before you even looked my way!”

“I’ve always looked at you,” he snapped. “You just never saw me.”

“Oh, I saw you. I saw you when you ignored me. When you let me walk away. When you kissed me and vanished.”

“I was scared!”

“I wasn’t,” she hissed, eyes glistening. “And I still showed up. I still loved you. Even when you gave me nothing.”

His breath caught.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

She turned away. “Maybe sorry isn’t enough anymore.”

── .✦

She didn’t speak to him for three days.

Not in the corridors, not in the common areas, not even during the goodbye dinner in the Great Hall.

Harry felt like the walls were closing in.

Everywhere he went, he looked for her. Every empty chair she used to occupy, every ghost of her laugh echoing down the halls—it all clawed at him.

And yet, he said nothing.

Until Sirius—who’d had quite enough—shoved him up the Astronomy Tower steps one evening, locked the door behind him with a muttered, “For Merlin’s sake, fix it,” and vanished.

She was there.

Of course she was.

The stars tangled in her hair, her arms wrapped around her knees, staring out at the frost-glittered grounds below. She didn’t look up when he entered.

“I thought you’d given up,” she said softly.

He stepped closer. “Never. Not on you.”

She still wouldn’t look at him. “Then why did you keep leaving?”

Harry’s voice cracked. “Because I didn’t think I deserved you.”

Her breath caught.

“Because I was terrified that the second I touched something good, it would disappear. Like everything else.”

She turned then. Slowly. Her eyes—shining, tired, beautiful.

“And what changed?”

He stepped forward, close enough to brush her cheek with his breath.

“You didn’t disappear,” he whispered. “You stayed. Even when I didn’t deserve it. Even when I was a coward.”

A beat passed.

Then another.

And then—quietly, trembling—he dropped to his knees before her.

“I love you.”

She stared.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out another charm for the bracelet.

A star.

“Every time I lost my way, I followed you,” he murmured. “You were the light.”

Her lips parted. Her heart pounded.

He took her hand. “Let me try. Let me show you that I can be soft. That I can be better. That I can love you the way you deserve—without fear, without running.”

The silence cracked wide open.

And she kissed him.

Not in a storm of fire—but in a hush of stars. Slow. Gentle. Forgiving.

Her fingers trembled against his jaw.

“I love you,” she breathed back. “I think I always did.”

── .✦

Years later, Harry would still remember that night.

The soft rustle of her laughter, the way her fingers laced through his. The first time he felt like the world had stopped spinning just so they could finally begin.

They’d return to Grimmauld Place, hand in hand.

She’d read to him by the fireplace.

He’d cook (badly) and she’d pretend to love it.

Sirius would roll his eyes and tell Remus that finally, the idiots had figured it out.

And Harry—

Harry would never forget what she said to him one night, curled against his chest beneath a sea of blankets.

“You don’t have to fight for me anymore,” she whispered.

And he’d kiss the top of her head and murmur,

“No. But I’ll love you like I still have to.”

Grimmauld Place, the night they moved in.

The house was quiet. For once. Sirius and Remus had left for an Order errand, something vague and dangerous-sounding that neither Harry nor she had pressed too hard about. The silence that followed their departure was warm—not heavy. Not haunted. Just theirs.

And then Harry walked out of the kitchen with two mugs of tea—shirtless.

Shirtless.

With the waistband of his grey sweatpants slung far too low on his hips, hair still damp from a rushed shower.

She was curled up on the sofa, blanket around her legs and a book balanced lazily in her lap, but when she looked up and saw him standing there, her Harry, in their house—something shifted.

She grinned. “You’re not even trying to be subtle, are you?”

Harry raised a brow and handed her the mug. “Subtle?”

She gestured lazily to his very bare chest. “You’re practically begging to be devoured.”

His smirk curled up devilishly. “You offering?”

She blinked. “Oh, I’m more than offering.”

And just like that—air crackled.

Harry set his mug down slowly. Purposefully. Then crawled onto the couch, straddling her legs with a wicked look in his eye. “You think I planned this? That I came out here thinking, ‘Let’s seduce her tonight’?”

She leaned back, smirking. “Did you?”

“No,” he murmured, mouth brushing her jaw, “but now that we’re here... I’m thinking about a lot of things.”

His lips were hot as they kissed down her neck, teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp. He chuckled against her skin.

“Sensitive, aren’t we?”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

So he did.

── .✦

They kissed like the air between them had finally caught fire. Slow at first, teasing, his tongue coaxing hers into a rhythm that made her toes curl under the blanket. His hands found her thighs, pushing the fabric aside, letting his fingers trail up and up until they ghosted over the soft cotton between her legs.

“You’re already wet,” he whispered against her lips, voice low and wrecked. “Is this all for me?”

“All of it,” she breathed. “Always for you.”

He groaned, deep and desperate, and kissed her again before sliding down the couch and settling between her legs.

“Let me taste you.”

She nodded, eyes wide, heart racing.

He tugged her panties off slowly, dragging the damp fabric down her legs like it was a gift he’d been aching to unwrap. And then he licked a stripe up her slit—slow, reverent—before moaning like he’d been starving for her.

“Fuck, sweetheart… you taste so good.”

His tongue was sinful. Deliberate. He licked, sucked, and circled her clit with slow precision, using his fingers to tease her open. She arched, hips rocking toward his mouth, gasping his name.

“Harry—oh, God—”

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured, voice thick, lips wet. “Let me hear you. Let me make you come.”

He slipped a finger inside her. Then another. Curling them just right while his tongue stayed locked on her clit, flicking harder, faster.

She cried out—sharp, broken—and came with a full-body tremble, hand tangled in his hair.

But he wasn’t done.

He kissed his way up her body, letting her feel every inch of his weight as he pressed her into the couch. Her fingers found the waistband of his pants and shoved them down, gasping when his cock sprang free, hot and heavy against her thigh.

She flipped them suddenly, pushing him back onto the cushions.

“My turn.”

He stared up at her, dazed. “Are you—”

But she was already sinking down between his legs, tongue darting out to lick the tip of his cock. He groaned, head tipping back, one hand gripping the couch while the other threaded into her hair.

“Shit—fuck, baby…”

She took him deep, slow at first, letting her tongue swirl as she hollowed her cheeks, moaning around him. He bucked instinctively, hips twitching, then stilled.

“Merlin, you’re gonna ruin me.”

She looked up at him with tear-filled eyes, mouth full of him, and smiled.

That did it.

He pulled her up, breathless. “I need to be inside you.”

“Then take me.”

And he did.

── .✦

He lined himself up and pushed in slowly—so slowly—watching her eyes flutter shut, her mouth fall open in a silent moan.

“Fucking hell,” he whispered, burying himself to the hilt. “You feel perfect. So fucking tight, sweetheart…”

She gasped, clinging to his shoulders. “Move, Harry, please—”

He pulled out almost completely, then thrust back in hard. She cried out.

And he talked her through every second.

“Just like that.” “Taking me so well.” “You were made for me, weren’t you?” “Look at me. I want to see your face when you fall apart.”

Their rhythm built—slow and deep, then faster, harder. Their bodies tangled, sweat-slicked and desperate, Harry’s name falling from her lips like a prayer.

He kissed her through her next orgasm—held her as she shook around him, tightening impossibly—and then buried his face in her neck as he followed, moaning into her skin.

They collapsed in a tangle of limbs and breath and love.

── .✦

Later, when the sweat cooled and the stars were peeking through the curtains, he pulled the blanket over them and kissed her temple.

“You okay?”

She smiled sleepily. “I’m perfect.”

He looked down at her, wonder in his eyes.

“We live here now,” he whispered.

“We love here now,” she corrected.

And Harry Potter—her best friend, her storm, her home—held her tighter and said,

“Only you. Always you.”

── .✦

The first morning in their home.

The sunlight spilled in warm and golden. It bathed their skin in honey, lit her collarbones, kissed the curve of her thigh where Harry’s hand had curled all night long.

He was awake before her.

Still naked, hair a disaster, the sheet barely covering his lower half, and his eyes were locked on her. Soft. Mesmerized.

She stirred, blinking against the morning light.

“Harry?” her voice was hoarse, sleep-heavy.

He smiled. “Morning, sweetheart.”

“Mmm… I’m sore.” She winced as she stretched, then gasped when she felt it—the dull ache of being loved properly.

Harry leaned over, kissing her bare shoulder. “Good sore?”

She glanced at him and raised a brow. “Smug much?”

He kissed her again. “You were perfect. You always are.”

Her fingers found his curls and tugged him in. “Then do something perfect again, Potter.”

He smirked—slow, sinful—and slid the sheet down, exposing her breasts to the cool morning air.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

── .✦

It wasn’t fast this time.

It was slow.

He worshipped her.

Kissed his way down her body like every inch of her was sacred. Bit at her hips. Licked at her inner thighs. Suckled her clit with aching tenderness that turned quickly filthy, his tongue moving in perfect circles while his fingers dipped into her soaked heat.

She gasped, cried out, her hand over her mouth to keep quiet—but he pulled it away.

“Don’t,” he whispered, voice dark. “Let them hear. Let the whole bloody house know who you belong to.”

She came with a strangled moan.

But he didn’t stop.

He flipped her over and took her from behind, her chest pressed to their pillows while his hands gripped her hips, fucking her slow and deep.

“You feel that?” he panted, voice rough. “That’s mine. All of this—yours and mine.”

She clawed at the sheets. “Yes, Harry, oh fuck—”

He reached around to rub her clit in fast circles, hips slamming into her harder now, all rhythm lost in raw need.

“Come on, baby,” he whispered. “Come for me again. Let me feel you fall apart.”

And she did. Shaking. Crying his name.

He followed a second later with a broken, “Fuck—yes—”, spilling inside her as he buried himself one last time.

── .✦

Later, when they finally dragged themselves to the bathroom, still shaky-legged and flushed, she tried to brush her teeth.

Tried.

Harry stood behind her in nothing but boxers, arms wrapped around her waist, his face in her neck.

“Stop,” she giggled through a mouth full of toothpaste. “Let me brush.”

“I like watching you,” he said, voice gravelly. “You’re too pretty to ignore.”

“You’re a menace.”

“I’m your menace.”

She spat, wiped her mouth, and turned around to face him—only to find herself lifted onto the sink, Harry between her legs again.

“Again?” she laughed, arms around his neck.

He kissed her, slow and deep. “Always.”

── .✦

Bonus :

Grimmauld Place, still warm from last night’s sins.

The kitchen smelled like toast. And sin. Mostly sin.

She was perched on the counter in one of Harry’s oversized T-shirts, her legs swinging lazily while Harry hovered at the stove, flipping eggs with the focus of a man who was absolutely trying to avoid a conversation.

Not with her.

No, she was grinning like the cat who’d eaten the canary. It was the other two occupants of the house they were both actively ignoring.

Because Sirius and Remus were seated at the kitchen table. And they were smirking.

“Well,” Sirius said, dramatically stirring his tea, “someone had a very active morning.”

Harry’s shoulders tensed. “Do we need to do this?”

Remus tried to keep a straight face. Failed. “You moaned her name like it was your Patronus.”

“Loudly,” Sirius added. “Repeatedly.”

“Honestly, I thought it was a murder.”

“A very sexy murder.”

Harry turned around slowly, face beet red, spatula still in hand. “You two have no boundaries.”

Remus lifted his mug. “We raised you. There’s nothing left to protect.”

Sirius leaned forward, chin in hand. “Though I have to say, I’m deeply offended you didn’t use a Silencing Charm. I live here, Harry. I live here.”

Harry turned to her, horrified. “Why didn’t we use a—”

She just beamed. “Because I like making you moan.”

Sirius choked on his tea. Remus actually blushed.

Harry groaned and buried his face in the kitchen towel. “I’m moving out.”

“You just moved in,” Sirius grinned. “And now you’ve christened the whole damn house.”

Remus chuckled. “Honestly, we’re just happy for you both.”

Sirius grinned, eyes sparkling. “Disgusted. Traumatized. But happy.”

Harry handed her a plate, still scarlet. “You’re evil.”

She kissed his cheek sweetly. “You moaned my name first, Potter.”

Sirius and Remus both groaned.

Harry hid his face in her neck.

The kitchen was filled with laughter, toast, and a love that was far too loud to be ashamed of.

[codeword-art]

I may add this as a small addition to my longer post regarding Hans's loneliness epidemic.

Hans has a very bombastic personality. He's a chatterbox, inappropriate, arrogant, stubborn, hypersexual, likes to tease and jest, and is energetic as all hell, which is why it can be so hard to notice he's such a lonely little loser like 95% of the game.

I believe a good portion of this personality is a facade or a persona that Hans puts on when he's forced into social interactions with others. He takes everything up to a hundred because he's trying too hard. Things like Hans chirping Henry's ears off and playing around with him are real, but it's because Hans is comfortable with Henry and allows himself to open up and have a little fun. He can also be this way with characters like Godwin and his Oats.

However, people expect him to be a certain way as a nobleman. They're supposed to be proud, stern, with a love for women (which I believe stems from Hans' own doubts about his own sexuality), and well, arrogant. I believe without a shadow of doubt that Hanush's defamation of Hans has corrupted Hans' sense of self-worth and makes him act out exactly in the way Hanush says he will. A perfect self-fulfilling prophecy.

Walk around Rattay for ten seconds, ask a peasant what they think of their young lord, and you'll see how far corrupted their opinions of Hans are. Captain Benard (also Oats) is the only one who gives him any grace and knows how kind-hearted and brave Hans truly is. You can't entirely blame them because Hans does exactly what they think he will, but when you tell a child their worthless, they don't question it, they just believe it.

The small glimpse we get to see of the real Hans, when he's exposing his entire heart perched atop a bed, talking about romance and knights, in a quiet and careful voice, stuttering and terrified, shows us how loving and gentle Hans can be. How calm and truly brave he is.

[goodolddumbbanana]

[SWAP SUN AU]

So this au is kinda mixed with Emo Uncle Nexus.

To sum up, what would happen if Sun makes a deal with The Wither Some to save Nexus from his madness, and accidentally takes Nexus's role to be a bad guy.

"Look, we don't even need Nexus that much. He is a good vessel, but that is it. We can create something like him anytime we want."

"And w--why do you say this to me?"

"Because we need something from you, Sun. And that thing is more valuable than anything Nexus can provide."

"What?!"

" Don't you want him to be happy? Don't you want him to be safe, and have a chance to be his own person? I can help with that?"

"Wh-- I don't understand!? What do you want?!"

"We want to make a deal. I give you Nexus, freshly made, without any negative star power or wither storm infected.

He will be just as new as the day he dies, even more healthier, and less insane."

" And if I say yes you are just using that chance to hurt people, right? Like hell I believe you!!"

"No no.. please, we never intend to harm anybody. We just want peace, and friendship. For Nexus, we just ask you one tiny bitty favour."

"... What is it?"

"Just open a door for us, that is all that we ever want."

Anyway, Sun makes a deal, with very naive thoughts that no one will get hurt.

Nexus comes back, and gets his redemption arc.

(It is a very slow process, because Nexus is still very messed up in his head, he is just more stable and aware of situations. To sum up, he still has the intelligence and health of New Moon)

So they are happy, for a while, until the void comes to take his deed.

The door they mentioned before was actually inside Sun's head, and by Sun said yes to their deal, Sun has accidentally become a puppet for the Void.

And it happens very slowly that no one even noticed there is something odd about Sun. Not until too late.

Sun only wants his family to be safe so even when being a mindless puppet, Sun still doesn't hurt the celestial family and wants them to join him.

Moon, Solar, Monty, even Lunar has failed and is being captured and in the process of being controlled by the void.

Only Nexus escapes, and this all because the deal Sun makes. And now my boy, with a cripple leg, needs to rescue everyone with the help of Earth, Jack and Dazzle.

Boy very in distress after his redemption arc lol.

It will be fun

[dragoneye01]

Drum All Night Long Part 1 of 2 (Remmick x Reader Smut)

Word Count: 2,411

Summary: Remmick finds himself drawn into a dingy bar by the amazing drumming of a mysterious person. He soon realizes that he needs to meet them. Needs them no matter what.

Remmick had been following you for some months now, taking a keen interest in your musical career. It started when he had walked into a bar on a drizzly night, trying to get out of the wet. He ordered a drink, knowing he’d never drink it, but bartenders didn’t like the look of someone just hanging around without paying for something. He was always cold, but he was trying to dry himself off when he heard the music. It was okay, nothing too special. The lead singer’s voice would crack and every now and then the guitarist wouldn’t keep up with the tempo, but the drummer was what caught his attention. 

The way you kept the tempo, the way you created a beat to the music was amazing. You’d do little flourishes on the cymbals and hit the toms just right, even going so far to spin your drumsticks in between hits. Remmick was enamored, he was smitten, even. The way you beat those drums was like the beat of a heart he no longer had. Your addition to the music made him feel something deep within himself. 

After the music was over, he wanted to find you, to talk to you, to lure you in. Drummers, with all their equipment, usually took the longest to pack their things up, so Remmick knew he had time. Tonight, what stood in his way was the bouncer of the green room. He was sent away, knowing there was no way to get in unless he killed the bouncer, but that would bring him too much attention.

So, instead, he came back the next night, and the next night. You sometimes played with different groups, but the drumming was the same, beautiful heartbeat of each song. Remmick was disappointed whenever he’d come by and you weren’t there. But after a couple months, his luck began to change.

On an especially good night, you on the drums, playing with your whole soul, and playing with a group who harmonized so well, Remmick felt himself elevated by the music. This was exactly what he needed, what he wanted more than anything else. After the set, another band came on, but something was different. You didn’t race off to the green room, you didn’t disappear. He watched as you put your sticks in a bag and went over to the bar for a drink. This was his moment, and he had to act.

You sat at the bar, quietly sipping from your glass and rummaging in your bag. The click of the sticks caught Remmick’s attention and he slid into the seat next to you, but made sure not to sit uncomfortably close, even though he wanted to.

“You the drummer?” He asked as nonchalantly as he could. You looked up from your drink in confusion, but your gaze softened at his earnest look.

“Yeah, I drum,” you gestured to the sticks in your bag. “Are you just hanging out or are you a musician, too?”

“I’m just a travelin’ musician, trying to make a dime or two.” Remmick said humbly. You leaned back and noticed the banjo hanging off his back.

“A banjo? I haven’t heard music like that in such a long time.” You sighed in content. Remmick gulped, looking at how your pulse picked up.

“Hey, how about this? Why don’t you and me go outside and you can show me some tunes. I can tap a beat if you want.” The grin on your face would’ve made Remmick’s heart flutter if he was anywhere near alive. He had to keep his composure, though.

“That sounds mighty fine.” He agreed, leaving his drink on the counter and walking out with you. This night was not rainy, but the air was cool and pure, a perfect night. The moon was even a waxing gibbous right now, shining a little light down.

“You start.” Remmick said, pulling his banjo into his arms, cradling it in preparation. You sat on the sidewalk, a couple people walking by. The night was still young. You started rat-a-tat-tatting on the pavement, solid and steady. Remmick’s fingers picked up a tune that matched the beat of your sticks. Something simple, not too fancy. You nodded your head to the rhythm, adding a few harder hits to the walk. Before he knew what he was doing, Remmick started to sing an old folk song he remembered from the good old days. Once his voice started, you looked up in awe, a smile spreading on your face. You continued to beat your sticks, and listen to the honey-covered words and sway. Remmick watched, loving your love for music. He strummed away until the very end, when you both finished the song at the same time. It was magnificent, beautiful, harmony in heaven.

Remmick looked at you and knew he couldn’t let you go. Not now, not ever.

“Wow, you didn’t say you could sing, too!” You exclaimed, putting your sticks away and getting ready to stand. Remmick offered you his hand and you took it as he pulled you up to your feet. He was strong and you stumbled into him, not all an accident on either part.

“Darlin’ I can do a lot more than just sing.” He said and you could feel his breath fan over your face.

“You said you travel, right? Are you staying in a hotel?” You asked coyly. Remmick didn’t know how to answer that he slept in abandoned cars and buildings.

“Nah, I’m…” He trailed off.

“It’s ok, I get it.” You interrupted. “Would you wanna come by my place? It’s not that far from here, we could walk. I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. I know we just met and-“ you started to rambled.

“I’d really like that.” Remmick inserted, making you smile a bit. You both started walking, Remmick following your stride up and down the streets.

“I have a couple roommates, but they’re out of town, playing a gig a couple states over. So the place has been so quiet lately.”

“Do you like the quiet?” Remmick asked.

“I don’t not like the quiet. I just always play music or something to keep me steady. It’s like a force of habit.

“I can relate.”

“It’s right up here. I’m on the third floor.” The apartment complex was run-down with bars over the first floor windows. You started walking up a pair of wooden steps on the side of the building, leading Remmick up to the third floor. Unlocking the door, the apartment was dark except for the moonlight coming in.

“Ya know, I don’t even know your name.” Remmick said, standing on the threshold of your home, knowing he’d have to be invited in.

“Oh, shit. Sorry, sorry. My name is (Y/n). What’s yours?”

“Remmick.”

“Well, Remmick, come in.” You said, not realizing just how much power you were giving in. Remmick stepped into your home, kindly taking off his boots. You pulled off your shoes and walked in, going over to the light switch.

“Wait,” Remmick whispered, and you realized he was right behind you. You could feel his chest as he breathed.

“No lights?” You asked, a little breathless.

“Moon’s bright enough.”

You bit your lip when you felt his hands run over your shoulders and down your arms. You ended up leaning back, your spine against his chest.

“Tell me to stop if I’m-“

“Don’t stop.” You murmured, feeling his hands over yours. “Are your hands as good with people as they are with that banjo?”

Remmick rested his head in the crook of your neck and shoulder, placing a kiss on your throat. “Wanna find out?”

“Fuck, yes.” You breathed. Before you could say anything else, Remmick spun you around in his arms, trapping you against the wall. You could’ve sworn his eyes were glowing red the way he looked at you. You didn’t have time to overthink it, though, because his lips were on yours and you weren’t about to roll over. He relished in the way you pushed against him, the way you pushed your tongue into his mouth, the way you were suddenly against him, fingers pulling his hair. He moaned softly into the kiss, loving that you were a bit rough with him.

“You like that?” You asked, pulling away for a moment. Remmick nodded, hungrily. You pushed him back, your hands pulling at his shirt. He was quick to catch your drift and pulled it over his head, letting you lead him to the couch. You bit his lip with your teeth and he thought he was in heaven right now after years in hell. He looped his fingers into the belt loops on your jeans, pulling your hips against his own. You both fell back on the couch, the thing creaking a bit at the added weight.

His hand was down your pants, feeling your pussy through your underwear and you sighed in content. When he started to trace his thumb over your clit, you were quick to lose the pants. His cold hands ran under your shirt, cupping your breasts and grinning into the kiss when he realized you weren’t wearing a bra.

“God, I want you on top of me.” You said, rutting your hips against his and feeling his cold hands over your nipples.

“Now, I can do that for ya.” He murmured, pulling you from your position on top, to lying back on the couch. He hovered over you, lifting your shirt over your head, and he started to pull his pants off. Your eyes caught a glint of gold as you noticed the chain around his neck. Biting your lip, you yanked on it a bit, pulling him closer to kiss you. Remmick was afire at this, loving the way the metal bit into his skin and how you wanted him so badly. This was better than he could’ve ever hoped.

“Hold on.” He whispered in your ear, licking the shell of it before one of his hands pulled your underwear aside and started to test the waters of your opening. You spread your legs farther as he fingered you, curling and swirling inside you. To keep your moans down, you bit his shoulder, nails scratching at his arms. Remmick’s eyes rolled back, wanting to fuck you senseless right there, right now with the way you bit him.

“Shit you’re just so… perfect for me.” He said, fingers knuckle deep.

“You gonna fuck me stupid or do I have to do that for you?” You teased. Remmick felt like he met his match and he didn’t want to let you go. Pulling his underwear down, his dick sprung out, leaking with pre-cum.

“Wait, wait, condom.” You said, reaching into the side table and pulling one out. Remmick was unperturbed since being a vampire meant he couldn’t reproduce that way, but he wanted to humor your caution. He leaned back and rolled the condom onto his cock, watching as you eyed him hungrily. He yanked your hips forward, letting his tip enter you. The look on your face was priceless. The way you shut your eyes and opened your mouth to sigh in pleasure. That look would be forever singed into Remmick’s mind.

“You ready for this? You ready for me to fuck you within an inch of your life, darlin’?” He asked, gripping your hips and pushing them down into the couch. You quickly nodded your head.

“Actions speak louder than pretty words.” You teased, but you barely got the sentence out before he was inside you. A gasp left your mouth and you lifted your hips to meet his. Remmick growled, fucking you relentlessly. He lifted your legs up, wrapping them around his waist to angle himself better. The way your walls milked his cock, taking him like this, and just fitting him so well. He felt your skin against his own and shuddered in pleasure, in love with how you gripped him so tightly. Your legs were locked around his hips like a vice.

“Fuck me harder, Remmick.” You panted in his ear, one of your hands yanking his hair. He groaned, twitching inside of you. His hips snapped forward, the lewd sound of skin slapping skin filling the apartment.

“Harder?” He asked, nibbling your ear.

“Hard as you can.” You begged. Your wish was his command as he pounded into you, feeling the warmth of friction and how your body reacted to his. He noticed your legs shaking, your chest heaving, your tits bouncing with each thrust, and how you tilted your head back in pleasure. It was so hard to stay human-like. He wanted so badly to let his claws sink into your skin, to let his teeth out, to fuck you like the creature he was. Remmick bit your neck with his all too human teeth and shuddered when he felt you clench around him. You let out a gasp and a breathy moan as you came, your pussy squeezing his cock. Remmick let go of his grip on your neck and leaned back a bit, his necklace, leaving an indent on your collarbone from how tightly he had gripped you. He kept thrusting as hard as he could and noticed how your legs still gripped him until he finally came. He let out a guttural moan, his cock slapping inside you. When he felt himself finish, he pulled back just a bit to look at how fucked out you were. He grinned at the hickey forming on your neck and how his nails had left a few red lines on your hips. He fell forward, laying on top of you for a moment, both your breaths mixing with each other. He stayed this way until you were both breathing in tune with one another, chests rising and falling in rhythm.

“I so need a shower.” You said after a long while. Remmick slowly pulled himself off of you, allowing you to sit up.

“A shower don’t sound too bad.” He eyed you, a little smirk on his face.

“Fuck, c’mon, then.” You laughed, slowly standing from the couch. Your legs were so shaky that you leaned into Remmick, leading him over to where the bathroom was, the shower awaiting. Remmick knew in that moment, as the hot water hit his back and as you leaned into his arms, that he was not leaving this town without you.

[bbyg4rl]

hi i just wanted to be a little vulnerable with you guys today to mark a year after my breakup.

idk if its 2nd june yet for you guys but its alr 2nd here. and this day last year, i found enough courage in me to break up with my ex boyfriend. and im so proud of myself for making it a year with my sanity intact because i thought my life was over this time last year.

he was my first ever actual boyfriend and id been dating him since before i was 15 so nearly 3 years. in those 3 years that we were together, he manipulated me, isolated me from my friends, filmed me without my consent, forced me to perform sexual acts with him in public, near his friends and eventually SA'd me.

i know i couldve said no or pushed him off or broken up with him anytime in those 3 years but i felt so scared. more scared of losing him than my myself i think. when he got mad he got mad mad. and he would say these things about how i couldnt survive a day without him (this was in relation to my health, i have rly bad anemia and i used to faint rly often back then)

he would feed me food and take care of me when my health was off so i ended up feeling like i owed him anything that he asked of me because he took care of me. but really it was all just control, he controlled how much i ate and when, how much money i spent and where (eventhough it was my own)

he didnt like that i talked to my friends about us so i cut them off and for the longest time i was stuck in this toxic environment without realising it. i was ready to move out of my house for him.

but eventually it started chipping on my sanity little by little. i started noticing little things like how he was okay w having his hand in my pants in public but wouldnt hold my hand while walking. how he took pictures of me and told me it was just for hum but his friends would comment about it, how he would treat me if i didnt have sex with him that week. how he used to force feed me food when i couldn't finish it, how he used to take my money away when i spent too much that month.

it all boiled down to huge fight and i confronted him, even then, i was still trying to make it work. but then he cheated on me to "teach me a lesson" and when i threatened to leave him, he let his friends have their way with me. they filmed the whole thing, and sent it along w a lot of my nudes to my whole school.

he was 18 at the time and i was still 17 so he couldve been booked for cp but i was too pussy to go to the cops. thankfully, i had a lot of friends in my school before i met him, and these ppl stood up for me, i never thought almost all of the 300 people in my class would turn on him and collectively delete my tape. im so so grateful for them.

i broke up with him june 2nd 2024 and went through the most depressing part of my life for 6 months after that. unlearning all that he had taught me was a shit show and i wouldnt wish it on anyone. its been a year, im 18 now and i feel happier and stronger and more in control than i ever did. im so proud of myself for making it because there have been a few attempts along the line.

idk why but i just felt like finally talking about it after a year is a good way to end that chapter of my life. if you are going through anything similar, please remember it will get better eventually and there are so many people who care enough to help you. me included. my asks and dms are always open if you need help 💕

[yuh13lo]

Surprise tour

The night before the tour kicked off, the Sturniolo triplets were sprawled around their shared living room, half-packed suitcases open, snacks everywhere, and that restless energy that always hit right before something big.

Matt sat on the couch with his girlfriend tucked under his arm, her legs draped over his. She was scrolling through the tour schedule on her phone, chewing her lip like she was trying to memorize it.

Chris, tossing socks into his bag across the room, eyed the two of them.

“So…you’re coming, right?” he asked her casually.

She looked up, a little surprised. “Wait, seriously?”

Nick glanced up from his laptop. “Uh, yeah. Obviously. You think Matt’s gonna be okay going a month without you? He’d combust.”

Matt squeezed her knee. “Told you. I want you there.”

She laughed nervously. “But like…do you guys really think it’s a good idea? I don’t want to cause drama with fans or be in the way. I know how people can get—”

“Hey,” Nick cut in, sitting forward. “You’re not ‘in the way.’ You’re part of this now. We want you there.”

Chris flopped onto the other end of the couch, tossing a hoodie over Matt’s head just to mess with him. “Besides, we’re not asking you to hop on stage and grab the mic. Just be around. With us. It’s chill.”

Matt pulled the hoodie off, grinning. “We just… keep it lowkey. Like, you don’t have to hide in the van or pretend you’re someone’s cousin.”

“But no ducking behind walls either,” Chris added, teasing. “You can be seen. We’re just not making some huge internet announcement.”

She nodded slowly, the nerves still visible, but the corners of her mouth tugged up. “So… I’m like a tour ghost?”

Nick laughed. “Exactly. A cool ghost. A hot ghost.”

Matt glared. “Alright, relax.”

She leaned into Matt’s side, her voice soft. “Okay. I’ll come. But only if we stop at Buc-ee’s again.”

Chris and Nick both groaned at the same time.

Matt just smiled. “Deal.”

The first few shows flew by in a blur of travel-sized shampoo bottles, hotel card keys, energy drinks, and chaotic dressing rooms.

She found her rhythm by working the merch booth.

It started as a “just for now” thing—helping the crew unpack boxes and organize sizes before fans poured in. But after the first night, when she noticed a nervous girl near the table trying to pick between a black or cream hoodie, she stepped in with a gentle “you’d look good in the cream one, honestly”—and that girl’s face lit up—she was hooked.

She wasn’t there for recognition. She liked the motion of it. Being useful. Having something to do that wasn’t just waiting around for Matt to come offstage.

It didn’t take long for fans to start whispering about “the cute girl at the merch table.” She didn’t introduce herself. Didn’t wear a badge. But she smiled at everyone, complimented outfits, and tied hoodie sleeves around shoulders for indecisive shoppers. She moved like someone who belonged there—but didn’t need to explain why.

One night after a sold-out show in Houston, the boys collapsed into the van, sweaty and euphoric.

“Okay,” Chris panted, chugging water. “That might’ve been the loudest crowd yet.”

Matt leaned his head back against the seat, catching her eye. She was still in the tour tee she’d tied at the waist, hands fidgeting with her rings. “You good?”

She nodded, grinning. “I sold like forty hoodies. And someone said I look like the girl from that Buc-ee’s post—”

Chris sat up. “Wait, what post?”

Nick was already pulling it up on his phone.

There it was:

A fan had snapped a photo at Buc-ee’s two nights earlier. The four of them had been on a snack run after the Texas show, too tired to be stealthy. She had gone in with Matt, his arm casually around her shoulders as they walked the aisles.

In the photo, she was looking up at him, laughing at something stupid he said while holding a bag of Beaver Nuggets. Matt had no idea anyone was even watching.

The fan’s post had gone viral.

“Matt has a gf and she’s literally the cutest person ever 🥹 saw them at Buc-ee’s last night and they looked SO happy 😭💗💗”

Matt blinked at the phone.

“Well…guess that’s that,” he said slowly, scrolling through the comments.

She leaned over to look, expecting the worst.

But it wasn’t hate. It wasn’t chaos.

It was…

“Omg STOP they’re adorable.”

“She looks so sweet, I totally saw her at the merch table!”

“He deserves this for real.”

“The way she’s looking at him 😭 that’s LOVE.”

“I KNEW it!!! I’m so happy for them!!”

Chris tossed his arm dramatically over the backseat. “Fans are like… actually normal about this? Whoa.”

Nick grinned. “Guess you handled it right, Matt.”

Matt reached over, lacing his fingers through hers. “I didn’t do anything crazy. I just didn’t let go of your hand.”

She smiled, cheeks warm. “You didn’t even notice the camera.”

“I was looking at you,” he said simply.

Chris groaned. “Okay. That’s enough. I’m gonna puke.”

Nick grabbed a bag of Buc-ee’s jerky. “Let them have their moment, bro.”

From that night on, things didn’t change dramatically. Matt still didn’t make a “couple post.” He still didn’t label her in anything. But she wasn’t hidden anymore.

She helped fans pick merch. She danced offstage during soundchecks. She sat on the floor of green rooms while the boys vlogged in chaos around her. And sometimes, fans would catch moments—the way Matt handed her a water bottle without asking, or how she laughed a little too hard at Chris’s dumb jokes, or how Nick would nudge her playfully as they all walked out together.

She didn’t have to be in the spotlight to be seen.

She just had to be there.

And she was.

[anto-xyan]

Some of the ghouls with an Alternative MC

Leo Kurosagi

• He probably thinks you're old-fashioned

• But, because of your looks are so daring and original, he may use you to gain views....

• When he's on camera he'll say you look fantastic and amazing. Off camera? He'll probably call you a weirdo and make fun of you (even though he adores you and your outfits)

• Most of all, he likes how you don't care about other people's opinion, many times when you go on missions outside Darckwick, he notices the looks you get, and he knows you are aware of how people act around you, you are not stupid, but you have never given it a thought and he finds that amazing

• He usually asks you what subculture you belong to specifically, so to search a bit about it and get an idea to make a board on Pinterest to see similar things he could buy for you, mainly on Instagram (since you already explained to him that you don't support consumerism, which irritates him a bit, since that's what he consumes the most, but if you don't want to he'll respect it)

• He enjoys taking pictures of you, you always have such creative outfits that he needs to post them (the most beautiful ones he will keep for himself in his folder dedicated to you, he refuses to let others see something so personal to him) (he is a jealous bitch)

• If you ever receive negative comments on his videos, he will not only threaten them privately, but he will also publicly humiliate them on his account, and speaking abt that, he will do the same if someone dares to hurt you in person, only with the bonus that he will make them look bad in front of everyone present, no one touches his pretty girlfriend in his presence :)

Yuri Isami

• At first he doesn't know what to think, he thinks you look very disheveled and even ragged

• As he gets to know you more, he starts to get interested in you and your style

• “Specifically, why like that?”

• He is surprised to hear that the way you dress has more meaning than he thought, from the origin of sub culture, and everything it relates to, such as politics, feminism, and human rights

• He likes how passionate you are about the things you enjoy, he finds you adorable, and he sees himself reflected in you a little bit, which is why he always encourages you to join him in the lab and tell him more about whatever you wanna tell him

• He loves how decisive you are about your own things, how you do what you like without caring about others, he really wants to learn to be like you in that sense

• What he doesn't like very much is that whenever you listen to your music (with your headphones, obviously, since you both have very different tastes) you practically burst your ears with the volume on full blast, so, forget about loud music (at least while he is arround)

• If someone is mean to you or hurts you, he will immediately intervene "What do you think you're doing, you worm! Are you aware that you are insulting the girlfriend of THE Dr. Yuri Isami himself?! Think twice before you lay your disgusting hands on her!"

• When he feels insecure, one method you like to apply is to basically making him listen music with you, dedicating love songs to him so he listen that he means everything to you

• He loves you, your style, your mentality, everything. You became the most important person in his life <3

Lyca Colt

• When you met him for the first time, he was surprised how delighted you were with him, apparently you were not afraid of him nor did you judge him. He quickly became attached to you

• He doesn't really find what's weird about you, he sees that many people point you out in his time in class, he often hears not very positive things about you, But he doesn't understand, of course you're different, But there's nothing wrong with that, why are people so mean to you?

• The poor guy doesn't understand why people can't see the good in you, you are one of the few people who supported him from day one (not to say only you and Suba) that's why he is so fond of you

• Now every time he hears someone talk bad about you he starts snarling and clenching his fists, Needless to say he scares off all the bold idiots

• He doesn't know anything about fashion, But enjoys seeing you in original outfits every time

• "hey, is this new? I don't remember seeing it last time"

• Very attentive to your outfits, he always comments abt it

• Likes to draw you, thinks you are so pretty and you smell nice, every time you have lunch together he shows you what he has drawn of you this time

• He knows that you only wear clothes made by you or buy old and used clothes, so sometimes he asks Rui to teach him how to sew so he can make you gifts as nice as the ones you make for him

• In fact, giving you gifts became his hobby, anyone who saw his accessories would think that only someone who would be crazy enough would use them, but you LOVE them. They are made with so much love and it goes perfect with you! <3

• Get curious about your music, you know his ears are a little sensitive (after all, he is a werewolf) so you play him music that is softer and that you think he might like

• You both always attract attention when you go out together

• He's definitely head over heels in love with you, he just doesn't know it yet, he also doesn't know that you're almost in the same for him ꒰⁠⑅⁠ᵕ⁠༚⁠ᵕ⁠꒱⁠˖⁠♡

______________________________________________________________

Well, I'm alternative, so this is totally self-indulgent lol

I don't think I have (that many) spelling errors, seriously I hope it can be read without inconvenience, I repeat! English is not my first language (I only speak Spanish)

I made only my three favorites, but if anyone is interested in having me write for another character (or more) feel free to ask me!

[bruised-muses]

kleptomaniac keefe sencen send post

[gaywineauntsstuff]

Sometimes I feel like us as the bat family fandom forget how starry eyed people get about Nightwing canonically.

Because with the exception of early era Tim most of the Batkids are like. lol that’s my loser older brother or some variation of yeah…he’s some guy I guess? He helps me with homework?

And Nightwing is the canonically a center of multiversal light.

When Heroes meet Nightwing they do the vigorous handshake and the “it’s an honor to meet you sir, I have heard so much about you oh my god”

There are so many character where they are literally shown giggling and kicking their feet whenever Nightwing talks to them.

Even the people who don’t have the celebrity level worship of him respect the hell out of him and call him as soon as they need help.

From raven to Starfire to Superman to Superboy to all or the flashes there is so much respect and awe given to this one dude.

And it is deserved

But imagine you are Damian Wayne and you’ve been working with what 90% of the people you’ve met (all bats) have been calling an embarrassment to your father’s legacy.

Your mother hates him and your Grandfather doesn’t feel that strongly about him.

The red hood calls him an embarrassment and a coward and he couldn’t even keep Red Robin from running away.

Your father tells him that he never should have been Batman

And you’ve worked with him and you know what you think everyone is full of shit about him and you and him the new Batman and Robin are the best no matter what anyone says.

And fuck it the fact he keeps going in a suit that everyone tells him he’s not good enough for is scratching something in your brain that you’re refusing to acknowledge because why would you feel that way? You are the circus freak have nothing in common (shut up)

And then you meet the justice league and all the extended teams.

And people are falling over themselves to listen to a word out of your brothers, your Batman’s mouth. They wait for a nod or headshake and dictate decades worth of planning on it.

Both Drake and Todd’s hero teams ask him for advice with or without their designated bats presence.

The man of steel asks for child rearing advice and wonder woman cracks a joke about a spar

Newer heroes whisper about him in the halls

He’s literally your favorite hero’s favorite hero

And it’s breaking Damian’s Brain

Because well… he kinda gets slapped around in Gotham. He’s the butt of half the jokes the other Batkids make and Dick just smiles and takes it.

The rogues have a bounty on nightwings ass and he gets leered at by goons, rogues, civilians and anti-hero’s alike and he doesn’t say anything.

He lets oracle crack jokes about a pretty face and having to do everything herself

Let’s Jason run the alley despite the fact that apparently he knows how to take it back

Apparently he’s had 12 people tailing Drake since Paris and despite being the man Ra’s Al Ghul calls detective has yet to notice. (Because you can’t tell me Dick was just magically at the right place to catch Tim falling to his death on coincidence)

And necessary to peace talks because he’s the best they have at deescalation

Like imagine you are a child who was raised to believe power is this obvious, all consuming thing. That the ones who control the board are visibly larger than life figures who fought their way to the top and cling to power by even the thinnest hangnail if they had to.

People who ignore simpler morals or an overall greater goal or good

And then you’re taken in by the man who whispers the correct answers into the larger than life figures ear.

Like I feel like that would have such an impact because Dick didn’t take power from anyone to reach his goals, it’s why his siblings don’t really defer to him unless in crisis.

Dick didn’t take power, no people just looked at him and decided he was the best option to give it to.

Everyone basically looked at this kid and went, yeah you’re the future of all heroism.

And if that dude can’t even get Bruce Wayne’s respect what chance does Damian Wayne have

[insipid-drivel]

Horses: Since There Seems To Be A Knowledge Gap

I'm going to go ahead and preface this with: I comment pretty regularly on clips and photos featuring horses and horseback riding, often answering questions or providing explanations for how or why certain things are done. I was a stable hand and barrel racer growing up, and during my 11 year tenure on tumblr, Professional Horse Commentary is a very niche, yet very necessary, subject that needs filling. Here are some of the literary and creative gaps I've noticed in well meaning (and very good!) creators trying to portray horses and riding realistically that... well, most of you don't seem to even be aware of, because you wouldn't know unless you worked with horses directly!

Some Of The Most Common Horse + Riding Mistakes I See:

-Anybody can ride any horse if you hold on tight enough/have ridden once before.

Nope. No, no, no, no, aaaaaaaand, no. Horseback riding has, historically, been treated as a life skill taught from surprisingly young ages. It wasn't unusual in the pre-vehicular eras to start teaching children as young as 4 to begin to ride, because horses don't come with airbags, and every horse is different. For most adults, it can take months or years of regular lessons to learn to ride well in the saddle, and that's just riding; not working or practicing a sport.

Furthermore, horses often reject riders they don't know. Unless a horse has been trained like a teaching horse, which is taught to tolerate riders of all skill and experience levels, it will take extreme issue with having some random person try to climb on their back. Royalty, nobility, and the knighted classes are commonly associated with the "having a favorite special horse" trope, because it's true! Just like you can have a particularly special bond with a pet or service animal that verges on parental, the same can apply with horses. Happy horses love their owners/riders, and will straight-up do their best to murder anyone that tries to ride them without permission.

-Horses are stupid/have no personality.

There isn't a more dangerous assumption to make than assuming a horse is stupid. Every horse has a unique personality, with traits that can be consistent between breeds (again, like cat and dog breeds often have distinct behavior traits associated with them), but those traits manifest differently from animal to animal.

My mother had an Arabian horse, Zipper, that hated being kicked as a signal to gallop. One day, her mom and stepdad had a particularly unpleasant visitor; an older gentleman that insisted on riding Zipper, but refused to listen to my mother's warnings never to kick him. "Kicking" constitutes hitting the horse's side(s) with your heels, whether you have spurs on or not. Most horses only need a gentle squeeze to know what you want them to do.

Anyway, Zipper made eye-contact with my mom, asking for permission. He understood what she meant when she nodded at him. He proceeded to give this asshole of a rider road rash on the side of the paddock fence and sent him to the emergency room. He wouldn't have done it if he didn't have the permission from the rider he respected, and was intelligent enough to ask, "mind if I teach this guy a lesson?" with his eyes, and understand, "Go for it, buddy," from my mom in return.

-Riding bareback is possible to do if you hold onto the horse's mane really tight.

Riding a horse bareback (with no saddle, stirrups, or traditional harness around the horse's head) is unbelievably difficult to learn, particularly have testicles and value keeping them. Even professional riders and equestrians find ourselves relying on tack (the stuff you put on a horse to ride it) to stay stable on our horses, even if we've been riding that particular horse for years and have a very positive, trusting relationship.

Horses sweat like people do. The more they run, the more their hair saturates with sweat and makes staying seated on them slippery. Hell, an overworked horse can sweat so heavily that the saddle slips off its back. It's also essential to brush and bathe a horse before it's ridden in order to keep it healthier, so their hair is often quite slick from either being very clean or very damp. In order to ride like that, you have to develop the ability to synchronize your entire body's rhythm's with the rhythm of the horse's body beneath you, and quite literally move as one. Without stirrups, most people can't do it, and some people can never master bareback riding no matter how many years they spend trying to learn.

-You can be distracted and make casual conversation while a horse is standing untethered in the middle of a barn or field.

At every barn I've ever worked at, it's been standard practice with every single horse, regardless of age or temperament, to secure their heads while they're being tacked up or tacked down. The secures for doing this are simple ropes with clips that are designed to attach to the horse's halter (the headwear for a horse that isn't being ridden; they have no bit that goes in the horse's mouth, and no reins for a rider to hold) on metal O rings on either side of the horse's head. This is not distressing to the horse, because we give them plenty of slack to turn their heads and look around comfortably.

The problem with trying to tack up an unrestrained horse while chatting with fellow stable hands or riders is that horses know when you're distracted! And they often try to get away with stuff when they know you're not looking! In a barn, a horse often knows where the food is stored, and will often try to tiptoe off to sneak into the feed room.

Horses that get into the feed room are often at a high risk of dying. While extremely intelligent, they don't have the ability to throw up, and they don't have the ability to tell that their stomach is full and should stop eating. Allowing a horse into a feed/grain room WILL allow it to eat itself to death.

Other common woes stable hands and riders deal with when trying to handle a horse with an unrestrained head is getting bitten! Horses express affection between members of their own herd, and those they consider friends and family, through nibbling and surprisingly rough biting. It's not called "horseplay" for nothing, because during my years working with horses out in the pasture, it wasn't uncommon at all for me to find individuals with bloody bite marks on their withers (that high part on the middle of the back of their shoulders most people instinctively reach for when they try to get up), and on their backsides. I've been love-bitten by horses before, and while flattering, they hurt like hell on fleshy human skin.

So, for the safety of the horse, and everybody else, always make a show of somehow controlling the animal's head when hands-on and on the ground with them.

-Big Horse = War Horse

Startlingly, the opposite is usually the case! Draft and carriage horses, like Percherons and Friesians, were never meant to be used in warfare. Draft horses are usually bred to be extremely even-tempered, hard to spook, and trustworthy around small children and animals. Historically, they're the tractors of the farm if you could afford to upgrade from oxen, and were never built to be fast or agile in a battlefield situation.

More importantly, just because a horse is imposing and huge doesn't make it a good candidate for carrying heavy weights. A real thing that I had to be part of enforcing when I worked at a teaching ranch was a weight limit. Yeah, it felt shitty to tell people they couldn't ride because we didn't have any horses strong enough to carry them due to their weight, but it's a matter of the animal's safety. A big/tall/chonky horse is more likely to be built to pull heavy loads, but not carry them flat on their spines. Horses' muscular power is predominantly in their ability to run and pull things, and too heavy a rider can literally break a horse's spine and force us to euthanize it.

Some of the best war horses out there are from the "hot blood" family. Hot blooded horses are often from dry, hot, arid climates, are very small and slight (such as Arabian horses), and are notoriously fickle and flighty. They're also a lot more likely to paw/bite/kick when spooked, and have even sometimes been historically trained to fight alongside their rider if their rider is dismounted in combat; kicking and rearing to keep other soldiers at a distance.

-Any horse can be ridden if it likes you enough.

Just like it can take a lifetime to learn to ride easily, it can take a lifetime of training for a horse to comfortably take to being ridden or taking part in a job, like pulling a carriage. Much like service animals, horses are typically trained from extremely young ages to be reared into the job that's given to them, and an adult horse with no experience carrying a rider is going to be just as scared as a rider who's never actually ridden a horse.

Just as well, the process of tacking up a horse isn't always the most comfortable experience for the horse. To keep the saddle centered on the horse's back when moving at rough or fast paces, it's essential to tighten the belly strap (cinch) of the saddle as tightly as possible around the horse's belly. For the horse, it's like wearing a tight corset, chafes, and even leaves indents in their skin afterward that they love having rinsed with water and scratched. Some horses will learn to inflate their bellies while you're tightening the cinch so you can't get it as tight as it needs to be, and then exhale when they think you're done tightening it.

When you're working with a horse wearing a bridle, especially one with a bit, it can be a shocking sensory experience to a horse that's never used a bit before. While they lack a set of teeth naturally, so the bit doesn't actually hurt them, imagine having a metal rod shoved in your mouth horizontally! Unless you understand why it's important for the person you care about not dying, you'd be pretty pissed about having to keep it in there!

-Horseback riding isn't exercise.

If you're not using every muscle in your body to ride with, you're not doing it right.

Riding requires every ounce of muscle control you have in your entire body - although this doesn't mean it wasn't realistic for people with fat bodies to stay their weight while also being avid riders; it doesn't mean the muscles aren't there. To stay on the horse, you need to learn how it feels when it moves at different gaits (walk, trot, canter, gallop), how to instruct it to switch leads (dominant legs; essential for precise turning and ease of communication between you and the horse), and not falling off. While good riders look like they're barely moving at all, that's only because they're good riders. They know how to move so seamlessly with the horse, feeling their movements like their own, that they can compensate with their legs and waists to not bounce out of the saddle altogether or slide off to one side. I guarantee if you ride a horse longer than 30 minutes for the first time, your legs alone will barely work and feel like rubber.

-Horses aren't affectionate.

Horses are extraordinarily affectionate toward the right people. As prey animals, they're usually wary of people they don't know, or have only recently met. They also - again, like service animals - have a "work mode" and a "casual mode" depending upon what they're doing at the time. Horses will give kisses like puppies, wiggle their upper lips on your hair/arms to groom you, lean into neck-hugs, and even cuddle in their pasture or stall if it's time to nap and you join them by leaning against their sides. If they see you coming up from afar and are excited to see you, they'll whinny and squeal while galloping to meet you at the gate. They'll deliberately swat you with their tails to tease you, and will often follow you around the pasture if they're allowed to regardless of what you're up to.

-Riding crops are cruel.

Only cruel people use riding crops to hurt their horses. Spurs? I personally object to, because any horse that knows you well doesn't need something sharp jabbing them in the side for emphasis when you're trying to tell them where you want them to go. Crops? Are genuinely harmless tools used for signalling a horse.

I mean, think about it. Why would crops be inherently cruel instruments if you need to trust a horse not to be afraid of you and throw you off when you're riding it?

Crops are best used just to lightly tap on the left or right flank of the horse, and aren't universally used with all forms of riding. You'll mainly see crops used with English riding, and they're just tools for communicating with the horse without needing to speak.

-There's only one way to ride a horse.

Not. At. All. At most teaching ranches, you'll get two options: Western, or English, because they tend to be the most popular for shows and also the most common to find equipment for. English riding uses a thinner, smaller saddle, narrower stirrups, and much thinner bridles. I, personally, didn't like English style riding because I never felt very stable in such a thin saddle with such small stirrups, and didn't start learning until my mid teens. English style riding tends to focus more on your posture and deportment in the saddle, and your ability to show off your stability and apparent immovability on the horse. It was generally just a bit too stiff and formal for me.

Western style riding utilizes heavier bridles, bigger saddles (with the iconic horn on the front), and broader stirrups. Like its name may suggest, Western riding is more about figuring out how to be steady in the saddle while going fast and being mobile with your upper body. Western style riding is generally the style preferred for working-type shows, such as horseback archery, gunning, barrel racing, and even rodeo riding.

-Wealthy horse owners have no relationship with their horses.

This is loosely untrue, but I've seen cases where it is. Basically, horses need to feel like they're working for someone that matters to them in order to behave well with a rider and not get impatient or bored. While it's common for people to board horses at off-property ranches (boarding ranches) for cost and space purposes, it's been historically the truth that having help is usually necessary with horses at some point. What matters is who spends the most time with the animal treating it like a living being, rather than a mode of transport or a tool. There's no harm in stable hands handling the daily upkeep; hay bales and water buckets are heavy, and we're there to profit off the labor you don't want or have the time to do. You get up early to go to work; we get up early to look after your horses. Good owners/boarders visit often and spend as much of their spare time as they can with spending quality work and playtime with their horses. Otherwise, the horses look to the stable hands for emotional support and care.

So, maybe you're writing a knight that doesn't really care much for looking after his horse, but his squire is really dedicated to keeping up with it? There's a better chance of the horse having a more affectionate relationship with the squire thanks to the time the squire spends on looking after it, while the horse is more likely to tolerate the knight that owns it as being a source of discipline if it misbehaves. That doesn't mean the knight is its favorite person. When it comes to horses, their love must be earned, and you can only earn it by spending time with them hands-on.

-Horses can graze anywhere without concern.

This is a mistake that results in a lot of premature deaths! A big part of the cost of owning a horse - even before you buy one - is having the property that will be its pasture assessed for poisonous plants, and having those plants removed from being within the animal's reach. This is an essential part of farm upkeep every year, because horses really can't tell what's toxic and what isn't. One of the reasons it's essential to secure a horse when you aren't riding it is to ensure it only has a very limited range to graze on, and it's your responsibility as the owner/rider to know how to identify dangerous plants and keep your horses away from them.

There's probably more. AMA in my askbox if you have any questions, but that's all for now. Happy writing.

[hoshigray]

Heyyy. Can I request a college au. Reader is an average, socially awkward person but somehow managed to pulled the campus heartthrob, Geto (or gojo). And he's lowkey obsessed with her and try to be fucking her every chance he gets.

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: why not both? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ idk, felt like doing a threesome for some reason lmao

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Geto + Gojo x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern au! college setting - sex in public places; gymnasium locker room + dining hall + college dorms - oral (m! + f! receiving) - face + throat-fucking - fingering (f! receiving) - clitoral play (swiping, grinding and licking/sucking) - face-sitting - threesome - double penetration; anal and vaginal - cowgirl dp position - anal fingering (f! receiving) - kissing/making out - protected sex (psa: warp it up or get tf up) - overstimulation - pet names (angel, baby, cutie, my love, pretty girl, princess, sweetie, sweetheart) - sato + sugu being whipped over you, hehe~ - slight humor - mention of tears and drool.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.1k (pretty long for a req, lol)

“Oh, Y/n, it’s good to see you. Did you have a good weekend? Let’s walk each other to class; I was waiting for you.”

“Y/nnnn! This cold day is so much warmer now that you’re here. Let’s grab something to eat at the dining hall, okay?”

You thought college life couldn’t get any more difficult than it already is. Oh, how you were so wrong… 

Being on your own on campus was hard enough; states away from your family and having to rely on and take care of yourself while also striving for a better education. On top of this, making friends (outside of your roommates Shoko and Utahime) is such a social and excruciating chore as it’s challenging to put yourself out for people to notice you. Making small talk with your peers or talking/discussing group material in classes has your heart racing enough – not to mention trying to commit to clubs – making you feel a bit of a failure as a human being.

With that, you almost dwell on not trying at all. You’re utterly content with your inner circle with your roommates, waking up and heading to classes and back, eating college food, and sleeping after reading for a lecture. This routine of sticking to yourself was a notion you’ve grown to accept and find comfort in — no need to change it if it’s been doing you well this far.

That is until you meet them — Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru, the best friends of your roommate Shoko. 

Gojo is the star player of the school’s basketball team, a famous face among the class years, and the “disgustingly tactless, cutesy prince” of your year, as described by Utahime. By morning, he’s a dedicated student in his business administration major and history minor classes; by afternoon, he is his playful, social, and charismatic snow-haired soul, grabbing the attention of others and bringing life to those around him with his bright cadence. In addition, he’s a talented figure, capturing the hearts of many with his model work in fashion shows and playing fan-favorite roles in plays.

In contrast, Geto was a much more mellow star that pulled the hearts of students and professors alike. The raven-haired bioengineering major was a boy whose presence was easy not to notice yet quick to pull you in when making himself known. His tall, docile figure emitted an aura that accompanied the soothing tune of his voice, the perfect combination that made him trustworthy and obliging to the students around him and his lacrosse teammates. With the charming features of a heartthrob and the alluring speech of a leader, he’s someone many would turn to in search of a person to follow and praise.

Satoru and Suguru, two complete opposites – two best friends – who are, without a doubt, the twin stars of this school. However, there was one thing the two shared in common, something that made your heart skip and your mind race every time knowing this fact: the two were unmistakably and sickeningly in love with you!

How? You do not know. It all started when Shoko brought them over one night for dinner, and you saw them for a quick moment in the kitchen, quickly greeting them before rushing back into your room. Next thing you knew, you had begun to see and run into them every so often, which soon turned to at least once per day. And now, like a white bubbly puppy and a black, quietly affectionate cat, you could not shake them off you when and wherever you went.

Oh, it was something you were not used to, being sneaked up from behind by Gojo, who’d pull you in for a hug or lift you with every greeting in public (as if you weighed like nothing)! Especially in classes where Geto would surprise you with his calm voice and a warm hand on your shoulder to check if you were okay before claiming the chair next to you. And you couldn’t push them away — how could you when two of the most renowned faces on school grounds want to be around your presence!? Good Lord, it was all overwhelming, Shoko and Utahime having to step in to beat the boys into shape for making you uncomfortable.

And then there are those times when the two would butt heads with each other because of you! There have been a handful of times where if one had you to themselves, the other would bore glares to the former’s skull. Gojo would suck his teeth with his arm wrapped around your shoulder, white brows furrowed and ticked off blue eyes concealed by his dark circle shades. “Yo, Buddha with bangs, can you let go? Y/n promised to hang with me after their classes ended, and I’d be damned if you’d be third-wheeling.”

“That’s not happening, Satoru,” Geto’s hand grasps yours with more grip, royal purple eyes narrowed at his white-haired friend. “Y/n and I have a presentation to work on for tomorrow. Go lollygag somewhere else.”

Two positive bundles of life will immediately turn hostile when it comes to you, suffocating your very being as you’re stuck in the middle of them. It’s bad enough being with either of them has people notice and talk about you; it’s another thing when you’re being fought over like some small bunny between two snarling wolves. Oh God, why me!!??

But it wasn’t all bad. If anything, being fawned over by the two was a strange thing that has happened to you thus far, and not in a terrible way. Gojo has made you a lot more open and social than before, dragging you to parties he’s been invited to and to his crowded games (where he’s always sure to find you and blow a kiss). And spending time with Geto has sparked instances where you’re courageous enough to speak for yourself with a bit of a push from him, throwing in your inputs for class discussions or having him aid you in knowing your material when you two study together.

The two most popular guys in school who flatter and are obsequious over you. That in itself is enough to make your cheeks and ears dial in warmth, shielding your face in your pillows just thinking about them. You like them both, bound to be drawn in by the handsome boys and their pursuit of you.

However, their infatuation was something you’d find out goes beyond words and handholds. An obsession for you embroidered in their very minds…and bodies.

“…Mhahhh, Go—Mmmph! Gojooo…we shouldn’t be doing this…”

“Aww, c’mon, Y/n, you know I don’t like it when you call me by last name. It’s just the two of us here…Fuck, keep licking it like that…”

Sneaking into the basketball team’s locker room is one thing; sneaking in with the star player in the team with you between his legs on the bench and sucking his dick? Oh, that’s a can of worms you never thought you’d open in your entire life. 

Gojo brings his head back, banging on the locker behind him as the contact of your tongue on his pink tip sends shivers up to his shoulders. “Fuuuck, you feel so good, baby. Gonna make me cum again…” You peer up with lidded eyes as you suck his tip into your mouth, him humming at the warm sensation of your mouth swallowing his length whole. Your face is hot of embarrassment, being looked down on by him as you do such an indecent thing on him in a place of changing for men. 

This was his idea – bringing you to the gymnasium to watch him practice with his teammates for an upcoming game. Then, he pulls you aside once the guys want another fifteen-minute water break, bargaining into the men’s locker room and pulling you in for a hot kiss. Sucking on and nibbling on your lips and tongue has you mewl sweetly for him, distracted as he pulls his shorts and briefs down to expose the erection growing inside him. “Sorry, you just looked too cute watching me from the side,” he’d say with a hazy glint in his eyes shielded by his shades.

So here you are, sucking him off to the hilt, where your lips meet strands of his white pubes, making your boyfriend cum for the second time. Gojo brings a hand to your head for purchase, moaning as your hand massages his balls. “—Ahh, fuck…God, you’ve gotten so good at that, cutie. Can’t get enough of you...”

His words burn your ears, his aroused tone making your face even more hot to bear. Gosh, this was such a dangerous game; your nerves constantly on edge in hopes nobody would walk in.

However, your worries might have been what jinxed your fate because you two heard the door to the locker room open. You instantly move your mouth away from Gojo’s cock and stand to panic. But before you could, Gojo quickly grabbed you by the wrist and took you to one of the bathroom stalls. You sat on the toilet, bewildered at being dragged all over this fitness center. Then, Gojo brings his dick to your face again, and you give him the most shockingly confused expression as if he can’t hear the commotion of two people speaking where they used to be.

“Relax, no one’s coming here,” Liar, we almost got caught! He pushes the tip to your mouth, and you murmur on his length, filling your mouth and throat. “Let’s make this one quick, okay?”

You were too busy registering him place his hands on your head before he could slam himself to your mouth; the sudden thrust of his hips propelling his cock deep into the tight crevices of your throat makes you grip onto his shorts for dear life. The slap of his ruts fills your eardrums; you can’t tell how far or close the two guys who entered the locker room are. He’s making you focus on nothing but him — a selfish objection from a selfish man as he’s using you to relieve himself in the men’s locker room. God, this was such a bad situation, and yet your lower half couldn’t stop the throbs that have you shifting your thighs together. How embarrassing! 

“Hhnnn, fucking shit, your throat feels so good,”  he praises, his slender fingers massaging your scalp. Your tongue brushes the underside of his length in a way that has his pace go faster, and he has to keep his moans to a lower volume. “Shiiit, baby, I’m gonna cum…Take it all in…!”

You have no choice but to, forced to gulp down all of his load that he spills into your tight, warm throat. He still rocks his pelvis into you until every pump of his jizz is inside you. When your ears pick up the sound of the locker room door opening and closing with the dismissal of the two strangers, that’s when Gojo takes his long shaft out of your mouth, spit connecting from your tongue to his cockhead is wiped with haste. 

But then, Gojo pokes your cheek with his tip, a sign that he wants to go again. You throw quiet pleas, “N–No, Gojo! You have to get back to practice—“

“Shhh, those guys can survive a few games without me. And besides,” he gently slaps your cheek with his cock. How vulgar! “I’ll fuck your mouth til the end of the day if you don’t stop using my last name when it’s just the two of us here.” The playful grin on his lips doesn’t make that threat any better. “One more time, please?”

With hesitant eyes, you place kisses on his shaft while stroking him. “Only one more…okay, Satoru?”

He beams with the dimples of his cheeks. “Yes, pretty girl~.”

And it doesn’t stop there — because Geto is no better. 

“Aww, you two are so cute together~”

You squirm on the booth seat you’re sharing with your other boyfriend, you two sitting across from his friends — a senior couple he shares a lab with that invited him for dinner. Unsurprisingly, you were his plus one, knowing you’re not one for being around people you’re not familiar with. And yet here you are, caged by the wall and Geto’s frame to keep you in this conversation on the side of the busy dining hall.

Geto chuckles before brushing your cheek, "Aren’t we? But they’re the cutest thing to me.” He says as he places a swift kiss on your cheek; it’s an action that has your face grow in warmth — and the couple “awwing” at his affection.

The guy of the couple speaks to the dark, long-haired other. “I never knew you were one for relationships, Geto; you seem so busy with Bio and your clubs that you don’t seem to have time to lay low and be with someone.”

“Mmm, I thought so, too. That is until I met Y/n through a friend of mine,” you jerk at the silent touch of his pinkie grazing your thigh, noting it had sneaked under your skirt to graze its skin. Your eyes peek in his direction, finding that he remains eye contact with the guy he’s talking with. “And, you know, I got to know them here and there, shared some classes with them on the side. Now, I just can’t imagine them being out of my line of sight.”

The guy across laughs. “Sounds kinda obsessive!”

Geto shrugs with a chortle. “I guess it’s like that, I don’t know. I’m just really crazy about them; they’re my sweetheart after all.”

“That’s so sweet!” The girl senior across exclaims, turning to you to ask, “So, how long have you and Geto been a thing, Y/n?”

The question has you stumped for a bit as you weren’t ready to be thrown inquiries. And before you answer, you feel Geto’s hand rub on your thigh. “U-Umm, me—ahem—Geto and I have been a couple for quite a while now? My roommate was the one who introduced me to him—Mmmm!” You briskly flatten your lips at your squeak because the fingers inside your skirt pinch your skin. On command, you spread your legs for Geto to insert his hand inside your panties.

The girl asks more questions. “Oh? So, your roommate brought you two together. Did you know of them before?” 

“Well, not really…She and Geto—Ohh!” You bring your hand to your lips at the graze of Geto’s forefinger on your clit. You turn to him and are immediately locked into his violet gaze. He lifts a brow with an undisturbed smile, and you gulp. “I–I mean, Suguru and my roommate have been best friends since high school, so I kinda got…Nnmm,” you chew your lips when he bullies a digit between your folds to play and tease. “She was the one who introduced me to him…”

“Is that so? Hehe, it’s amazing how the world works, huh?” You listen, but your mind is too focused on Geto’s digits swiping and nestling across your wetness to have your body more excited about his touch. And it gets worse as he inserts his forefinger inside your vagina, causing you to jolt and suppress your mewl by leaning into his shoulder, gripping onto the sleeve of his turtleneck. “Here are two lovebirds all lovey-dovey with each other thanks to one friend bringing them together. It’s crazy imagining you two would’ve never met hadn’t that happened.”

Geto hums at that comment, “I agree; I have to thank Shoko for bringing this little angel to my arms.” He places a soft kiss on your forehead, completely nonchalant compared to the quickened pace of the digit scraping your insides. “Isn’t that right, my love?”

With trenched brows and a shaky breath, you try to reply to the awaiting couple. “Mhmm, yes, I’m so grateful that Suguru is in my life…He’s been such a help to me,” his forefinger goes slow, having you feel every dent and knuckle. “Hahhh, he’s so good to me, and I love him just as mu—Mmmph!!”

“Hmm? Are you okay, Y/n?” How can you tell the guy across from you that your boyfriend’s thumb just surprised your clit with a swipe?  You’d rather melt on this floor had you not buried your face into Geto’s shoulder. 

Speaking of who, he takes the initiative to answer for you. “I think they’re a little parched, must’ve been this lemonade I got for them. I’ll go get them some water—“

“Oh, no, no! I’ll go get the water; I was gonna get more of those garlic knots anyways.” The girl stops Geto from moving, sliding from the booth seat with her boyfriend’s hand to follow suit. “C’mon, let’s leave these lovebirds for a bit. We’ll be right back!”

And so they leave, thanking your lucky stars. Once their figures are nowhere to be seen within the sea of students, you probe the man with a trembling whimper. “Mmmph, Suguru, please, take it out before—Ahhh…! They come back…”

Luckily, he listens to your request with no argument, withdrawing his digit from your wet slick and underwear. And to your horror, he brings the finger to lick and suck and says with a dark look, “Just checking to see what I’ll be having later.”

It doesn’t matter wherever or whenever; Gojo and Geto will be sure that their love for you is expressed to you every chance they get. 

It doesn’t matter the day or hour, whether you are free from assignments, spending time with your roommates, or on your way out to study; those two will find a way to get to be with you. And, to be honest, it can be a bit overstimulating! 

When there are dates to the movies with Gojo, there’s private alone time with Geto on his bed as he eats you out. And when there are days when Geto holds hands with you and walks you to your classes, there are nights when Gojo will fuck you til his cock is warmed inside you in his slumber. It can go either way, the two competing for your affection and time when the other is out of sight. 

Again, sometimes it’s overwhelming for you, never knowing which of the two will have you all to themselves, nor knowing when you can have time to yourself! And it’s not like you haven’t tried putting your foot down to express your wish to be alone. But, albeit it can be utterly exhausting, you know those two love and cherish you so much that it drives them crazy. Hell, it’s driving you crazy just how much they can’t keep their hands off you! 

Especially now when they drag you to their shared dorm room, experiencing one of those days when the two wish to have you in the same presence. 

“Hahhh, damn, Y/n…you’re sucking me off so good,” Geto purrs with a whistle while lovingly patting your head. “So good for me, huh, sweetie?” 

The two stripped you off your clothes to be nude with them on the bed. Your naked frame straddles above Gojo, lying on his back with his face buried into your bare cunt for his mouth and tongue to please you orally. Meanwhile, you suck on Geto’s girth as he leans on the pillows and headboard. It’s his turn after sucking off Gojo (they settled this over rock-paper-scissors) and fingering you to warm you up first.

You whine of his member, Gojo’s tongue doing wonders on your delicate body. He licks on your clit just as you lap yours around Geto’s glans, and then he’ll suck your pearl right as you take in the tip with pursed cheeks. It’s such a mutual shared experience, with how Gojo’s hands wrap to your thighs to keep your chasm on his lips while you have Geto keen to your mouth and hands stroking him. 

“—Khhhh, Jesus Christ…Hohhh, right there, sweetie…” The raven-haired one coos as you kiss your way down to his balls to suck one as you continue to jerk him. “Heh, you doing good down there, Satoru?”

The snow-haired other removes his mouth from your folds, licking your essence that sticks to his lips like honey mixed with his saliva. “Hahaa, you have no idea. I could stay like this for hours,” his tongue licks your come to your clit tantalizingly slow, evoking you to almost choke on Geto’s girth. “Aww, look at you trying to move from me,” Gojo brings your hips back down to him for him to swirl around your labia, his grip on your thighs refusing to submit. “Don’t go anywhere, princess; I’m not finished until you cum on my face again.”

“Ohhh, shit, keep doing what you’re doing, Satoru,” Geto subtly bucks his hips, “I love the way they’re whining on my dick…”

With your puffy lips being busy in the front and your cunt being lapped and nibbled on from below, your senses are clouded by the two boys who seek nothing but your participation in experiencing pleasure. Your head gradually turns into mush with every rut to your throat and every lap around your clitoris. It’s to no surprise that your release seeps out of your body without preparation, crying on Geto’s length as your frame quivers in euphoric bliss. 

And if you think you couldn’t get swamped enough, think again. 

“—Nnngh, fuck, Y/n, you’re gripping on my dick like crazy…Hehe, is it because you can’t look me in the face? Damn, you’re such a cutie…”

Your face is nuzzled in the crook of Gojo’s neck as you’re straddling on top of him, your nude, sweaty bodies melted together to share heat. Your hips bounce up and down on his pelvis, where his rubber-covered length is scraping the walls of your vagina. His left curve grazes and jabs your sweet spots, and your body lies on top of Gojo, which brings more friction to your clitoris. 

“Hahhh, ahhnn—Ohhhh!” Your phrases have doubled down to that of whimpers of pleasure, thinking straight is impossible, and your mind is too deep in a haze to focus on anything outside of what’s happening. And it’s not like you can’t stop your hips from bouncing on his shaft — you’ve tried! But the moment your legs express so much as reluctance or fatigue, Gojo’s hands are right there on your ass to guide you back into the rhythm. So it’s expected when you climax on him once more, clamping onto him as you ride out another orgasmic wave. “Ahhaaa! Sa’toruuu, stooohhp—hic…! I’m ‘oo sens' tiveee!!” 

“You say that, but—hnnn! You’re rocking those hips of yours on your own, baby.” He chuckles at your slurred speech, placing kisses on your cheek as his hands massage your asscheeks. “Holy shit, you feel so unreal; wanna fuck you raw so bad with how tight you are.” 

“Don’t even think about it, Satoru,” you hear Geto’s voice from behind, the dent of the twin-size bed shifting with his added weight. “If I can’t go condom-less, you’re not getting any special treatment out of it either.”

“Psssh, yeah, yeah,” Gojo says with rolled azure eyes before he whispers to your ear. “Come on, angel, let’s get you prepped up.” The white-haired boy’s hands spread your butt, exposing his dick buried deep into your tight slit and your taint.  

Geto grins salaciously. “My, what a dirty sight for me, my love.” You chew your lips to his words, the heat in your ears causing them to ring. You then feel his fingers smothered in lube to meet your asshole, spiraling around it before inserting them one by one. Your holes instinctively contract, making Gojo hiss. “Relax, pretty girl,” he kisses your temple. “We’re gonna make you feel so good.”

You remind your figure to calm down, allowing Geto to play with your anus for it to accommodate the next foreign limb he’ll put inside. Gojo keeps kneading your butt, but he throws furtive thrusts up to your chasm to keep you on your toes. You gasp when Geto removes his digits suddenly, and now you bite your bottom lip at the contact of his cockhead touching your puckered entrance. “Stay calm for me, princess. Gonna go slow just for you…”

Breathing with your mouth is the only way you can function through his insertion; even after he properly lubed himself and the rubber, it never fails to amaze you how you’ve been able to take in his girthy dick times before. Every inch pushed inside you feels as if your breath is pulled away, feeling both your holes become occupied. And your head goes up at the snap of Geto’s pelvis smacking on your ass, mouth agape for drool to sneak down puffy lips. 

“Heh, there you are,” Gojo licks your spit before placing a kiss on your lips. “What a pretty face when you’re going dumb on our dicks, Y/n.”

You couldn’t even reply in modesty because Geto immediately goes pounding your ass with hunger. Your wails come out freely at the pacing of both boys propelling themselves into you. And it doesn’t help that your holes don’t stop contracting on their dicks as they push, the motion making you move your clit against Gojo and having your sore nerves active again. 

“Holy fuck,”Geto drills his cock into your taint, grinding his hips into you to make you whine aloud. He then bends to kiss your sweaty shoulder down to your spine. “You’re so tight, Y/n…like you’re gonna milk me dry.”

Words are exhilarated squeaks and shrills, your arms coming around Gojo’s neck and pressing your hot cheek on his. He snickers at how touchy you are, “Hey, baby,” he coaxes you through the onslaught of ruts that quicken in tempo. “God, you sound so fucking cute, angel…” 

“—Ahhahh…! Ohhh, guysss, pleaseee, slow d—Owwhhnn!!” You cry, eyes watering with the pokes and jabs on your velvety insides, the curve of Gojo scraping you in places you can’t reach, and Geto’s girth having your backside completely stretched for him. It’s all too much to focus on as your delicate bud is pressed on by your weight. “…Nhooo, God, I’m gonna—“

“Gonna cum, cutie?” You nod hurriedly, amusing Gojo for more chuckles. “Let’s cum together, yeah? Such a pretty girl…” And then, Gojo claims your lips for a steamy, passionate kiss, bringing a hand from your bottom to place behind your head to keep you on him. 

“—Hnngh!! Wait, sweetheart, don’t clamp onto me so sudden—Ohh, shit, shit, shiiit,” Black hair strands fall from Geto’s shoulders as he falters at your grip. “Gonna cum, too….Gahhh—“

Your crescendo is the first to appear, howling and mewling into Gojo’s lips while your trembling figure undergoes the shocks of the deep penetration on both ends. The fluttering sensations of your cunt and anus are what prompt the two men to spill their load into you simultaneously, groaning with pleasure from your body. Your head is undoubtedly dizzy, your brain spiraling with impulses as your frame jerks with every wave of your orgasm. 

After his climax is done, Geto slowly withdraws his cock from you. The condom filled with his essence. “Phew, that felt way too good.”

“For real, can’t get enough of this.” Gojo sighs while groping your asscheeks and kissing your forehead. “Ready for another round, baby? C’mon, let’s switch before Suguru gets all crybaby on us.” His sweet tone immediately flips to narrow his eyes at Geto for throwing his used, tied condom at Gojo's face for that comment. “Oh, you disgusting son of a bitch…”

“Shut up and switch, or else I’ll have you watch me pound Y/n for fifteen minutes.”

Being loved and obsessed by the two heartthrobs of the school is no easy work, which is evident when you can’t even get to nap by yourself after the sexual activities. With Gojo spooning Geto while he spoons you, there is no rest with these two; they might as well put collars around their necks and give you their leashes with how smitten they are to be around you.

Yet, at the same time, you don’t hate it — far from that. Because you know their feelings for you are genuine, you can see it in their sleeping faces as they’re probably thinking about you in your dreams as you observe. With a smile, you place kisses on their cheeks and silently leave the bed to use their shower. 

The warm water is just as welcoming and temperate as their love, keeping you safe and washing your anxiousness away. In your thoughts, you reflect on all the times you’ve grown because of them, and it goes to show that their involvement has done substantial help for you. And for that, you are forever grateful for them and will always reciprocate their feelings as you feel the same. 

“Hey, Y/n.”

Well, minus the immediate sense of apprehension that skyrockets once you hear Geto’s voice come behind you. You turn to see his naked self coming towards you to wrap his arms around your waist. “Suguru!? I–I thought you were sleep—“

“I was until you left my arms,” he says to your ear with his dulcet voice, his hands kneading the flesh of your wet hips. “Besides, saves us a lot of time if we share the shower, right?”

“Oh, Y/n~,” another voice enters the bathroom, and your dread plummets even further when Gojo opens the curtains with glee. “Don’t tell me you decided to shower without m—…Oh, you’re here, too.”

“Obviously,” Geto sucks his teeth at his roommate. “I live in this apartment and use this same shower, dumbass.”

Snowy eyebrows crease with irritation as Gojo enters the walk-in shower, sandwiching you between the two. “Well, don’t you think it’s rude for you to use the shower when our guest is using it first?”

“I could be asking you the same thing because who told you to come here?”

“Duh! I’m here to shower with my lover; are you stupid?”

“Are you? Don’t you see a boyfriend is trying to have some alone time with their partner?”

“Oh, eat horse shit.”

“Croak and die.”

You can only stand there and be mushed by the two tall boys arguing over you, unable to flee the scene as they both have their hands on you. Again, you don’t hate it at all. You love them just as much as they love and adore you. They may be the school favorites; however, you are the most precious thing they wish to engage with and want to keep to themselves.

…But would it kill them to give you some room once in a while!?

Jesus, how am I gonna survive with these two…

requests/thirsts are open hehe~ 🧸

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ header edit done by me + dividers by @/benkeibear.

[calcifiedunderland]

I love your selkie Jade fic!! It’s so good and so creative! I need a Floyd courting fic like I need air, maybe where Yuu has no idea what Floyd strange behavior is, but the octavinelle crew is acting very odd and extra smug when they see Floyd and the prefect together

🐬💥💌Request received! Thank you for your message, your delivery is ready~

THANK YOU!!! I’m glad you liked the Jade Selkie fic AH!!! I really wanted to write a Floyd version too hehe, hope you enjoy~

Floyd Leech, ft. Selkie

Jade ver.

Floyd was confident no one would dare take his pelt. It was easy to steal a selkie’s pelt when it was left unattended (like Jade’s) or hidden (like Azul’s). Floyd always knew where his was - always, always, on his person.

When he had to go to the surface to attend NRC, their father gave him two pieces of advice. One, always pay attention to your footwear. And two, always keep your pelt with you. Whether it’s in your bag, over your shoulders, or under your clothes.

People expected Floyd to be more lax with his skin, but he took the advice to heart more than Jade, who liked showing it off tantalizingly to those grubby landers. So, Floyd’s pelt was always under his clothes. He hated the feeling of extra layers, but he hated being parted with the pelt even more. The very thought of being taken away from the ocean made his human skin crawl.

Imagine his panic when he couldn’t find it once he returned to his dorm after club practice.

He’d tied the pelt securely underneath his basketball jersey, and practice went off without a hitch. He was fired up that day too. He’d won points left and right, and left the gym feeling great. Up until he realized his pelt was no longer snugly tied to his torso, and his heart dropped. He’d passed through the gym, the entire school, the mirror chamber, and through the Lounge up to his dorm. He could’ve lost it anywhere. To anyone.

Jade opened their dorm door to see Floyd flinging things around their room, and launching himself to Jade’s side to dig through his things. “What in the Seven’s are you doing, Floyd?” He didn’t even need to a response when Floyd turned to him with sheer panic on his face. Jade felt his throat tighten. Floyd lost his pelt.

Meanwhile, you stared at the… cloth? in front of you. Earlier today, you’d stopped by the gym while running errands for Crowley. As you made your way across, you noticed a teal heap amidst the basketballs. You knelt, curious, and picked it up. Wait, isn’t this what Jade and Floyd wear?

You didn’t really know what it was, only that it seemed special to them. You never wanted to be rude and ask him about it though, since you figured Floyd had his reasons for hiding it, while Jade has his own for flaunting it.

That thing was massive. You didn’t even see a zipper on it, so it couldn’t be a jacket. Not to mention, it felt kind of… leathery, almost. Like fish skin or something.

When you got to Ramshackle, you folded it neatly before tucking it in a spare shoebox you had. It had a few jewelry pieces in it with shells and pearls. You also chucked a shoe polish in, as well as some funky patterned socks you didn’t want. You decided to leave them in, tucked under the cloth. Maybe Floyd would like them.

The next day, you walked into Mostro Lounge with the box. You overheard some students freaking out, whispering about Floyd being in one of his moods, but this time it was even worse.

You frowned, suddenly nervous. Floyd’s freaking out? Why? You clutched the box a bit tighter. Was it because of the cloth?

In Azul’s office, Floyd was damn near about to blow the whole dorm up. It took Jade wrestling him down and Azul placating him, to get him to calm down just a fraction.

Even now, Jade had to keep watchful eye on him while Azul had a million contracts on his desk, hair wild from running his hands through it. Currently, Floyd was staring listlessly at the wall, bouncing his leg wildly. Who could have possibly been brazen enough to take Floyd’s pelt…? Jade and Azul had an understanding. They’d make them pay for this.

You overheard someone say Floyd was in Azul’s office, so you knocked on the door. “Hey, is Floyd in there?” You called, walking in. Jade glanced at Floyd, who seemed to at least compose himself in front of you. How interesting.

You stopped in front of Floyd, who looked up at you from the couch. He looked up at you, irritated. You cleared your throat, presenting the box to him. “I found your… belongings so I thought I’d give it back to you. It was in the gym, I figured you didn’t want to lose it.”

Floyd’s eyes zeroed in on the box, sensing the pelt, and he grabbed it from you. He nearly tore the top off, but at last he had his pelt back. He almost tore his uniform off then and there to feel it against his skin when he suddenly stopped.

You gave it back to him. You, gave it back to him. You gave it back.

Jade and Azul stared wide eyed at you and Floyd. You cleared your throat uncomfortably, “I also put some extra stuff in the box too, if you want it.”

Floyd lifted the skin a bit, and his eyes went wide. Glittering jewelry, shells, and pearls nestled in the folds of the pelt. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, and Jade and Azul gasped.

“Oho?” Jade said, grinning slowly. “Oho?” Azul looked shocked. Floyd lifted the pelt out, and more jewelry fell out between the folds. Jade lifted his hand to his mouth, looking sly, “how forward of you, (Name). And in front of us, too.” Azul rose an eyebrow, pleased, “I must say, I didn’t expect you to be the pelt thief. What an interesting development.”

Floyd was quiet, staring at everything in shock. He didn’t expect this from you, Shrimpy. You always were able to surprise him, but this took the bait. It was like everything started to make sense.

You had to know what you’d done. You gave Floyd jewelry, something merfolk did when they wanted to show affection. Not only that, you gave him things directly related to his interests. He eyed the shoe polish with interest, grinning widely. This was textbook courting rituals.

“Ne, shrimpy really is the best~” He stood, mood completely changed. You shrank back a bit as he leered over you. As he gazed into your eyes, you felt the acute sense that you just did something big.

“Don’t you worry Shrimpy, I’m gonna repay you back real good~” Floyd winked at you. You smiled nervously, conscious of the others’ smirks, “I-I should go.” You scurried out of Azul’s office, hearing Floyd’s raucous laughter echo behind you.

Floyd’s kinda weird today, you thought. You didn’t particularly mind it, though. Although dealing with Azul and Jade was a doozy.

Azul ran into you earlier, although you weren’t sure it was on accident. He’d hummed cryptically, with that sneaky businessman smirk he had when he knew something you didn’t. “I must say, it was incredibly forward of you to present Floyd’s pelt, especially with extra gifts. He was energetic all night, he hardly did any Lounge work,” Azul’s words somehow held little annoyance. Confusion filled you. His ‘pelt’? And the jewelry and shoe polish? Was it a big deal?

Azul continued, “You should find Jade later. He will want to speak to you, especially to go over your plans.” Your brow furrowed, echoing “plans?” Azul nodded, amused. “It’s more informal, since we’ve known you before. Just to discuss matters - the timing, ideal circumstance, your intentions, so forth.” He’d walked off before you could ask more. Your head swam.

You hadn’t been able to properly speak to Jade. He was all cordial smiles and, surprisingly, bowed to you multiple times. An amused smile graced his face, and he seemed to revel in your alarm. He’d brush past you just before you could ask him anything, and was always replaced by Floyd bounding up to you and taking you into his arms in giggles.

Ever since you gave him the box, Floyd was strangely clingy. His constant hugging and nuzzling you was borderline affectionate, and it made your heart stutter and stomach feel fluttery. You noted that he was wearing the jewelry you stuck in the box, next to the pelt peeking out of his shirt.

“Hey, (Name),” he said while leaning against you. You were both in the library. Floyd insisted on accompanying you everywhere, and seemed to be exhausted with how much he was yawning at you. “We should go swimmin,’ I’m bored here.”

You sighed, shutting your notebook. “I have work to do, Floyd.” You spied a couch nearby, “you could take a nap maybe, if you’re tired?” Floyd looked you up and down, before grinning. “Nah.”

He tossed you over his shoulder, and you shouted, making the ghost librarians shush you loudly. “Floyd!” He laughed and ran out before the ghosts could catch him.

He ran you all the way to the back of Mostro Lounge by the private fish tanks, where the tanks for the merfolk were. Finally he put you down, still cuddling you as the blue light from the waters washed over you.

Seeing the tanks, you suddenly remembered Azul talking about a pelt. Your mind flashed to the cloth you picked up from the gym. The skin-like texture. Floyd’s moodiness. The secrecy. You’d heard the word ‘Selkie’ being thrown around before, and you knew Floyd was a mer. The thought hid you like a truck - if the pelt belonged to Floyd, then was he a Selkie? Your heart pounded. And you gave the pelt back to him.

Jade walked in, holding a drink and potion in hand. “Ah, Floyd, you’re back.” Floyd grinned at him, shaking you side to side in his arms, “hey Jade~ me n’ Shrimpy are going to take a swim!” Jade smiled pleasantly, gaze locking onto you. “Could I have a moment with (name), please? It should only take a minute.”

Floyd pouted, but Jade gave him a look. Finally, let you go with a little sulk, but not before giving you a final squeeze. “I’ma be back, Shrimpy!~ Don’t go anywhere!” He flounced off, leaving you with Jade.

Jade handed you the drink and potion. “This is on the house, and this is an underwater breathing potion. I thought you may need one,” he said cryptically. You smiled warily at him, and you dumped the potion into the drink to mix it.

Jade sighed happily. “Mother and Father will be so thrilled.” You sipped your drink, throat feeling dry. “What do you mean?”

Jade continued as if he didn’t hear you, “please be gentle to Floyd. He’s never done this before, but I’ve never seen him so besotted with anything before.” Jade suddenly became serious, looking you in the eye. “You will not hurt him. And you won’t need to worry about him. I assure you, our parents took our lessons quite seriously where courting was concerned. He was always the one to wear his heart on his fins, so to speak. He’s quite romantic at heart, really.”

You nearly choked. “C-courting?!” Jade nodded, slowly grinning mischievously. “Of course. You made your intentions quite clear when you gave Floyd back his pelt. With some lovely courting gifts, no less.” Jade looked fondly at you, patting your shoulder. “You will be a welcome part of the family. Usually gifts such as jewelry come much later in the courting process, but I expect you’ll be betrothed quite soon with how taken Floyd is with you.”

Now you actually choked. “He- what?!” You couldn’t lie, you weren’t exactly upset about Floyd liking you, but courting? This was fast. Jade nodded. If he sensed your growing panic and confusion, he certainly ignored it (or found it entertaining) as he smiled at you. “Yes, he was quite pleased that you were the one who found his pelt. Ah, young love~”

You downed your drink as Floyd bounded back to you, sweeping you up. “Shrimpy~ I’m back!” He’d stripped off his outer garments. His pelt was draped over his shoulders like a towel, and he grinned down at you. “Let’s go~ I’ll keep ya safe, promise!”

As he waded into the waters, you decided to just accept your fate. You reached up and kissed Floyd on the cheek, pressing your face to his gently. He squished you against him as the water rose and his lower half meshed with the pelt, turning back into his eel form.

He rubbed his cheek against yours, “I’m happy you gave me back my pelt, Shrimpy.” You felt Floyd smile against your face, and you hugged him back. “Y’know what? I’m happy too, Floyd.”

THE MAN THE MYTH THE EEL!!! Floyd!!!!!

[damselneedssaving]

Love your writing! It's a bit heavy so no worries if you don't want to but I was wondering how the batboys™️ would react to the reader refusing to accept money from them even in a financial emergency because they're afraid of taking advantage of the fact their partner is rich asf (I'm a sucker for ✨polite✨ angst)

BATBOYS BUT THEY'RE DATING A POOR!F!READER WHO REFUSES TO TELL THEM AND ACCEPT THEIR HELP.

★ TAGS: older!damian wayne, older!duke thomas, angst, not poly, hurt/comfort, jason before he reformed, mentions of violence (not towards reader), small panic attack (not described in detail), anxiety, lots of comforting and love, it hurts them to see you struggle :(((

★ A/N: first ask, omg!! thank you for coming to save me 💞💞💞 i love angst, you are doing me a favour by requesting it, not to worry!! hope this is good enough <333 oh, and quick notice, but this is not at all meant to romanticise the situation depicted, please remember that not having much money is a real struggle that people go through and this work does not aim to diminish it

★ W/C: 3.5k (why is this so long—)

The paper on your door stares back at you blankly—no sympathy in its gaze, and certainly no mercy in its letters, all uppercase and practically shouting at you: EVICTION NOTICE.

You're sure the thud of your bag hitting the ground can be heard from multiple stories both above and below, but in that moment, staring at those two words with static ringing in your ears and the world closing in around you, it's hard to really care.

You think you spend a while standing there, just glaring at the door with no real thought behind your eyes, no real drive to your actions, just this void swallowing you whole.

It's almost hard to believe that just this morning, you were laughing and shoving the shoulder of your boyfriend as he teased you about something you can't even bother to remember. That just this morning, you were beaming and bright and shining all over as you joked without a care in the world.

And now...

Now this.

A light gasp coming from beside you snaps you out of your daze, tired eyes landing on a pair swimming in so much sympathy and pity that it makes you sick to your stomach, and before you even know it, the echo of your door slamming shut rings clear through the hall, paper all but gone from its wooden surface.

The next few days are a blur, spent either packing, or curled up in your bed with dry, crusty streaks coating your cheeks and a phone laying forgotten by your bedside table, arms too weak to pick it up and brain too tired to bother even trying.

This whole thing just came so fast, too fast, that you couldn't even bring yourself to keep the one thing you spent years trying to hide from your lover a secret anymore, not responding to his texts or calls to the point he shows up knocking at your door, and when you open it, his eyes aren't on you, but glued down.

Glued onto the piece of paper in his hands.

You take a second to quickly glance at your door, spotting another tape situated on it.

That motherfucker put up another notice.

Jaw clenched, you turn back to your boyfriend.

-> DICK GRAYSON <-

"Y'know..." he starts, tone soft with a hint of his usual playfulness, but, you notice, significantly watered down this time, "when I said you can come to me for anything, I meant it."

You part your lips to respond, but can't quite bring yourself to let any words actually escape, just like Dick can't seem to bring himself to lift his head up and meet your gaze.

(He doesn't because he feels like he failed you, staring at those two words without registering anything else as he wonders just how long this has been going on for, just how long has his girlfriend been suffering, while he sat there basking in riches and wealth?)

"I can help," he spits out almost too soon, almost too desperate, "I can wire you the money, pay off the—"

"No."

His head shoots up.

"No..?" he echoes, shoulders dropping and form all but kicked puppy. "What do you mean 'no'?"

"I mean: no, Dick."

Your hand goes up, fingers pinching your nose and head shaking from side-to-side as you curse yourself for not even bothering to answer at least one text.

For even showing him where you live in the first place, really.

"Why not?"

"Because," you force out, the word tasting bitter on your tongue, "I refuse to do that to you."

"Do what to me?"

"That," you hiss, gesturing in front of you as though what you're talking about is actually, physically there. "The asking for money, the begging for funds—God, Dick, I can't. I can't take advantage of you like that. That's not why I dated you."

"Dated?" Dick stares at you, brows knitted and eyes pouring out all the hurt siphoned by his voice.

"That's..." you trail off, shaking your head. "That came out wrong."

Your lips pull down, eyes glazing over before he catches your hands and refocuses your hazy pools towards him.

"Hey," he calls, soft and sweet. "You know you wouldn't be taking advantage of me, right?"

You scoff, and immediately, he lifts a hand up to cup your chin, coaxing your averted eyes back to him.

"I mean it," he says, firmer, "I'm your boyfriend. Your partner. I'm here to help. Money or otherwise."

"I can't, Dick. I can't."

With a tug, you crash into him, hands planted firmly on his chest as his arms curl around you, the warmth like a hammer to your shell, a crack in your dam, and before you even know it, the tears that were glistening in your eyes just moments ago start to spill over.

Dick's arms secure you, grip not faltering even while you soak his shirt in your ugly tears and snot, even while you squeeze it tight enough to dig into his chest through the fabric, even while you admit to lying to him for years about a situation that pains him so.

"Stay with me for a while."

"Huh?" You sniff.

"You said you won't accept my money," he continues, and you crane your neck to find him already looking down at you, "so accept my hospitality instead."

"Dick..."

"Just until you can get back onto your feet again," he pleads. "Just let me help until you can get back up on your own."

"I..."

"Please, [Name], I can't let you live on the streets. I can't."

And he means it, staring at you with such heartbreak, the sob you've worked so hard to keep down climbs back up your throat, sending you crashing straight back into his chest.

And as you stand there, his arms around you and his nose buried in your hair, you think to yourself that, just this once, you'll allow yourself to reach out.

-> JASON TODD <-

"Always fucking hated that prick," he growls out, voice all sharp edges and nasty scowls. "He looks at you like you're some piece of meat and not an actual fucking human being."

"Yeah... I hate him too."

Jason's eyes flit up, gaze narrow and lips taut. "Then why the fuck did you never tell me about this?"

You purse your own lips, words lost on your tongue—

"I can kill him."

—until he says something like that, of course.

"What?" you can't help but scoff out, incredulous. "Jason, no."

The paper scrunches in his hands, bunching up like some petty inconvenience rather than the words that have quite literally decided your living situation for the next who-knows-how-long.

"Why the hell not?"

"Wha—? Are you hearing yourself right now?"

When he only lifts a brow in response, you try for a different approach.

"I thought you only killed criminals."

"He looks at you like a criminal," he quips back, sharp and quick. "That's enough."

"No. You are not killing someone just because I didn't pay my fucking rent on time."

You cross your arms over your chest, stance firm, rigid, as stubborn as your will as you eye him down with a look that promises consequence should he choose not to listen.

A beat passes without a word.

Then—

"Fine." His shoulders fall with a grunt, but the topic doesn't fall alongside them. "If you won't let me kill him, then I'll just pay for your new apartment instead."

"No. No way."

His eyes narrow. "I wasn't asking."

You return the look. "Neither was I."

The moment stretches, the two of you glaring at each other with steely gazes and tight jaws, each equally as unyielding as the other.

(Jason thinks to himself that your glare isn't as fierce as usual. Like it's lacking something. A will. A drive. A reason to continue pushing forward. When did his girlfriend start to look so tired?)

His gaze softens. "Doll..."

Just like that, like his look is made up of some sort of soothing magic, your shoulders fall, and he catches you before you can go spiralling in a pool of your own thoughts.

"What's wrong?"

"I can't do that to you, Jay." You shake your head into his chest, voice all but muffled. "I can't use you like that. Not you."

"You wouldn't be using me, [Name]."

"Yes, I would," you grit out, squinting your eyes shut to force the sting away. "I would..."

He goes to respond, but you beat him to it.

"You've already had to go from having everything to having nothing before." You heave a breath, chest tightening with the effort of holding that damn salty water back. "And now that you've got it back... I can't take that from you."

"You wouldn't be taking it from me, [Name]."

You go to echo your response before, but it's his turn to beat you to talking.

"No, you wouldn't." You can feel him shake his head above yours. "I choose how I spend that money, doll. It's my decision. And if I choose to spend it on you, then it'll be spent on you. There is no using one another. I love you."

Your breath hitches, head shooting up to find his own already facing you, and his eyes are so soft, so sincere, that you can't help the sob that lurches from your throat, arms looping around his neck and pulling him down until his lips slot perfectly against yours.

And as he stands there, kissing you even through all the salty water that coats your lips, you yield just a little more to the idea of getting some help from someone you love.

-> TIM DRAKE <-

"So that's why you weren't answering any of my texts." He lets out a chuckle, but it comes out dry and insincere.

(He stares at the page. All of a sudden, it all makes sense. The refusal to eat at places that aren't small cafes or local diners, the avoidance of high-spending activities like shopping at the mall or going to theme parks, the amount of dates spent just streaming movies at yours or walking around the same park a dozen times over. How did he not see before? How can he call himself a detective and not notice his own girlfriend's struggling financial situation?)

"Sorry..." You go to hug one arm, voice small and gaze smaller.

"Y'know you could've told me, right?" He glances up, brows knitted and tone soft, reassuring. "You can tell me anything."

"I know."

"Then why didn't you?"

You look up and wince, Tim's defeated expression stirring something within you, something small but no less significant than all your other emotions.

"You already have so much on your plate," you start, averting your gaze because the look in his eyes is just too much to handle. "I didn't wanna worry you."

"I'm always worried about you," he responds simply, "I'm worried about whether or not you get home safe. I'm worried about whether or not you ate, or got enough sleep. I'm worried that some day, somehow, you'll grow bored and leave me. I worry all the time.

"It's how I show I care."

"I know that..." you trail off.

"Then you also know that giving me one more thing to worry about wouldn't make much of a difference."

You stay quiet, and so Tim sighs, carefully going to reach for your hands and cup them with just gentle enough of a hold to give you room to pull away should you choose to.

You don't, of course.

"You know you don't have to go through this alone." Tim's thumbs rub gentle circles over your knuckles, his voice a grounding source that anchors you, keeps you from straying too far into the ocean. "I'm here for you, always."

He's always been good at that. Being there for you. Comforting you. Of all his brothers, Tim is probably the most emotionally aware. The most painfully empathetic. It's so easy to yield when he's the one talking to you.

It's why you kept it a secret in the first place. You knew you'd fold so easily the second he confronts you.

So you plead, "Please, Tim."

His brows knit.

"Don't do this. I can... I can fix this myself."

His lips pull down. "You know you can't."

You want to defend yourself, to tell him he's wrong, you can, but your lips wobble, and a lump blocks your throat, and your eyes just start to shake like a breaking water tank threatening to spill all its contents.

And Tim sees it all.

"Tell you what," he starts lightly, soothingly, "I'll help pay for a new apartment and keep track of how much. Then, when you earn enough, you can pay it all back. You won't be using me. It'll be like a loan."

He knew your reservations before you even told him them. Of course he did. He's Tim. Your Tim. Your sweet, kind, loving Tim.

"I don't deserve you," you say, and you mean it, so he pulls you into his arms and rests his chin on your head, rubbing up and down your arms in that way that just releases all tension from your shoulders.

And as you both stand there together, the only sound being your silent sobs against his skin, you think you can just about get behind this compromise.

-> DUKE THOMAS <-

He whispers your name, soft, betrayed, with a look about the eye that almost cracks your heart in two.

"Why didn't you say anything..?" he asks, and his gaze is all blue, all rain showers and stormy clouds. "Why didn't you tell me you were still struggling with money?"

When you don't respond, he chooses to continue.

"I thought we told each other everything. Ride or die, remember? We—we've been through it all, haven't we..?"

You wait for a beat to pass before finally saying something.

"You... you just looked so happy lately. For a while now, actually. Ever since the Waynes took you in...

"I—I didn't wanna ruin that."

Duke goes quiet.

(In his mind, he's wondering where he went wrong, where on earth you got the idea that his happiness trumps your own, that you weren't both in this together. Did he... did he somehow do something to make you feel that way..?)

A quiet settles over the two of you, a sombre atmosphere that even the most classical of musicians couldn't put into notes, that even the most tragic of tales couldn't spin into words.

In that moment, for the first time since both you and Duke were little, the silence is static, no understanding or connection cutting through, no seemingly telepathic words jumping from one mind to the other, just a void, empty feeling that holds you hostage and threatens your very relationship.

"Duke—"

"Let me help," he cuts you off. Then he lifts his head, and his eyes are narrowed, determined.

"Huh?"

"Let me help you. I can. I have the money now," he says with a will, like he knows his words will come true, like he's so sure he'll be able to do this for you.

"No," you shoot him down, "I can't do that to you."

"Do what?" he scoffs out, arms folding over his chest. "Accept my help?"

"Accept your money," you correct him, and almost as soon as you do, he loses the hard look, settling for something softer instead—gentle. "I can't use you like that."

"[Name]. Don't you think I know that?"

You raise a brow.

"How you feel right now: don't you think I know it?"

You purse your lips, and he keeps going.

"Did you forget already who I was before this..? Did our time together mean that little to you..?"

The accusation is enough to make your eyes widen, words tumbling out your mouth so fast, you can't even second-guess them.

"No, no of course not!"

"[Name]." He shakes his head, pulling you into his arms. "I know what it's like to feel like you're using someone for money. Fuck, I know better than anyone else." His brows scrunch, expression looking pained for a second before steeling once more. "That's why it took me so long to even accept Bruce's offer."

You rest your hands gently against his chest, and then also let your head rest against his own, those brown swirls drowning you.

"So trust me when I say that this isn't you taking advantage of me, or using me for money," he whispers softly. "It's you accepting my help. It's you letting me in."

You blink, lashes growing wet.

"You could never be a burden to me. Ride or die, remember?"

You do. You do remember.

God, you remember it all.

And as he holds you close, as he rests his head against your own in your once again, shared silence, you're sure you'll remember it for the rest of time.

-> DAMIAN WAYNE <-

"Tt. I'll have Pennyworth hire a moving agency and wire you enough money so that this is never a problem again."

Your eyes blow wide, brows shooting straight up to your head, and mouth opening to protest like your life depends on it.

But Damian is already moving away.

In fact, he's already got his phone out, finger swiping away at it with a speed that could rival the Flash himself as he takes step after step down the hall.

So you bound straight after him.

"No! Wait, Damian, wait!"

He stops, your hands planted firm on his chest as you take a moment to catch your breath, the lack of movement you've been doing the past few days making just that short sprint feel like too much.

Fucking hell.

Your chin is tilted up.

"Have you been crying?"

You flinch. "No..."

His fingers trace your cheeks, right over the crusty streaks you know are there, and you wince as you're reminded of just how filthy you must appear in front of him.

"You have," he observes, moving your head from side-to-side gently, "You haven't been eating either."

You purse your lips, choosing not to respond lest you risk another observation that will shake you to your core.

"Beloved"—there he goes again with that petname. The one your heart lurches in your throat for—"you haven't been caring for yourself."

(When?—he wonders—when did you stop partaking in the act of caring for your own health? And why did you not think to come to him, your boyfriend, for help in doing so?)

"I..."

His fingers leave your chin, and you almost drop it to chase the feeling of them before catching yourself and quickly withdrawing.

God, just how touch-starved are you?

"It seems as though I'll need to ask for a larger amount to be wired through than I initially thought."

Once more, you find your eyes turning into saucers.

"No!"

He raises a brow.

"No," you repeat, quieter, but still just as sure, "Damian don't, please."

"Why not?"

"Because"—you think you're shaking, but there's no breeze in the hall, and it's nowhere near winter—"I... I can't take your money like that."

"It's not my money," he responds simply, logically, "it's my father's."

"I know. And I can't use you to get to his money."

"Technically speaking," Damian starts, his head tilting ever so slightly to the side and his lips still the straight line that they were just moments ago, "it's not even my father's money, it's his parents', and both are deceased, so I see no problem in taking it."

When he goes to add more, he stops abruptly, brows furrowing, and for the first time since appearing at your door, lips pulling down.

"Beloved, you're shaking."

"I can't stop..." you whisper, and perhaps it's quiet enough for him not to hear, but you don't even think you're saying it to him. "I can't stop."

"Habibti." He gently squeezes your arms, and your pupils dart up. "Copy me."

His chest rises and falls. His breathing. Copy his breathing.

He means copy his breathing.

So you do.

When his chest rises, so too does yours. And when it falls, yours falls straight after.

It takes a couple of tries before you're in complete sync. But once you are, once you've finally matched the pace of your boyfriend, the ringing in your ears dies down, and the world around you starts to clear up again. You start to feel real again.

"Better?"

You hum.

He pulls you into his arms.

And your eyes flutter shut.

"Rest assured, if you don't wish me to this much, I will not wire you the money," he finally speaks after a long while of standing there with you in his arms, "but I will find a way to get you out of this situation through other means. Even if those means cost me everything."

And as you stand there, the warmth of his presence blanketing your form, hiding you from the world, you let yourself quietly sink into the comfort of his words.

[emmyrosee]

Rintaro feels guilty leaving this time.

You’re expected to deliver your twins any day next week, and he’s expected to fly across the country for a charity event he really can’t even think straight for. You've assured him you'll be fine, his sister is more than capable of taking care of you while he's gone, but there's a pit in his stomach about the idea of leaving you.

But you send him anyways. With a kiss on his cheek and a promise to call him every day (if he had it his way, it would be every hour, but you wouldn't go for it).

The trip goes smooth enough, and he's grateful for you staying true to your word and calling him every night. It does make the time pass, you're safe, but he's more than eager to make it home to you.

He practically pushes his teammates out the door, he's the first one on the bus, his knee bounces anxiously the entire time- especially when the bus driver makes a wrong turn into straight construction, thrusting them in traffic for far, far too long without any service.

But you won't call him, right? Why would you, you've called him at night every day he's been here, and nothing of note has happened (not that that’s a negative to Rintaro, he’d rather your days be mundane and boring than active in your pregnancy).

His heart finally starts again once they pull into the airport parking lot, all of the teammates trying to not be annoyed at the events of the morning and trying to stay focused on the next steps of boarding the plane in a few hours.

Rintaro sighs, slipping his phone out and immediately calling you, not taking notice of just how many notifications bombarded his phone.

The line ring once, twice, and his shoulders relax as you finally pick up the phone. "Rin?" You ask, and you sound like you're in discomfort. But he merely brushes it off. You are very pregnant, after all, surely discomfort is normal.

"Hey babe, just got service from being in the bus, we've got a nasty delay because the fuck-head made us miss our fucking flight, so I might be home later than expected-"

“Rin, I'm in labor.”

Silence fills the line.

“No you’re not,” he says simply.

“As much as I would love to be kidding, I’m not. I’m 10 centimeters, babe.”

How you’re so calm right now, is beyond him.

Him, on the other hand, leaps up with absolute panic, a screechy “WHAT?” echoing through the airport. It catches more than a few looks from other people, but all Rin can think about is you.

You in the hospital, legs up in stirrups and gown being the only thing adorning your body. There's probably nurses and doctors everywhere, and Kaiya and Akito on the couch at home with his mother, waiting for the news.

"WHEN?"

"My water broke a few hours ago, got to the hospital with your sister and now they're getting ready for me to push. Your timing truly is impeccable."

“And you thought now was the best time to tell me?!”

“I tried to tell you earlier, but you had no service!” You defend.

Fuck, he could scalp the bus driver for getting fucking lost.

"okay, okay, okay lets calm down-"

You snort, "yeah I'll get right on that."

"Please, for everything unholy, don't joke right now," he pleads, and he hears you offer him a laughy 'sorry' on your end of the line. "Are you okay? Do you feel okay?"

"Well I don't feel particularly good, for all intents and purposes." You direct your attention to something else and he hears bustling in the background, "Rin I have to start pushing. Stay on the line.”

"No! Wait for me, I'll-"

"Yeah I'm not waiting for you," you snip. “I'll... be fine. Just stay on the call okay? For me?

Rintaro tries not to pass out as you start pushing, doctors encouragement coming through on the line, followed with your grunts of agony as you try to bring your two new babies into the world. He knows you’re strong, you don’t need him there, but there’s something deep inside of him that hurts at the idea that you don’t, he’s so close yet no where near close enough to be right there next to you, and he anxiously looks around him as he tries to find a private place for him to cheer you on, call your name, scream it, his soul in agony over something he has no control over.

It could be four minutes or four hours, rintaro has no idea as you finally scream in agony as a small wail breaks over the line, one akin to Akito and Kaiya’s as the two of them entered the world all those years ago.

“Beautiful!” His sister cheers, “just a bit more for Sachiko sis, you’ve got this!”

“No more,” you weakly whimper over the line, and Rintaro tears up as he chews on his thumb.

“Baby,” he chokes, “you’ve got this, okay? You can do this, I’m right here.”

“No you’re not!” You scream.

“Yes I am! I’m right here okay? I’m not going anywhere!”

“Rin I need you-“

“And I’m right here. I promise. Just close your eyes, I’m there, okay?”

Hes not there. He knows you know that. But right now, he can’t feel sorry for himself. He goes silent and listens to the bustling of the doctors and nurses preparing to bring Sachiko into the world, and rintaro has no clue how long it’s been before you’re ready to push again.

“Ready, momma?” He asks, and you let out a sob.

“Im so tired, Rin.”

“One more big push okay?” He chokes. “Push!”

And you do. You let out another shriek as you start to push, rintaro can practically see your legs tremble and face scrunch and throat tight as you let out another blood curdling cry, and before he can think, another set of crying fills the line.

His twins are here.

And he’s not.

“Good job, angel!” He hoots.

“She did so good, Rintaro,” his sister assures.

“I know she did,” he says, hand clutching his heart.

“They’re so handsome Rin,” You babble, and instantly, Rintaro’s face drops. “Such beautiful boys, they're so sweet, so handsome…”

Boys?

Oh fuck. Rintaro briefly thinks back at all the purples and pinks in the closet at home.

Immediately, Rin tries to conjure up an excited tone, squealing out a soft “boys?” in confirmation.

“She’s messing with you," his sister snickers. You’re laughing exhaustedly too, among your sniffles of agony and above the screaming of the newest twin.

“You’re a fucking asshole,” he says, breathless and his chuckles easing out.

“You've got new baby girls, Rintaro," his sister coos.

“We got them, boys!” He announces, causing an uproar of cheers to come from his teammates. He feels his heart sink to his stomach as his throat begins to swell. “I’m so proud of you baby… my good girls.”

“They’re so beautiful, Rin. So beautiful," you cry.

He sits on his suitcase and tries to imagine them, desperately, tiny hands pawing at the air, crying at the newness of the bright light and the world…

All without him. He’s not there.

“Who was born first?” He chokes, desperate to keep his voice steady. It was a complete tossup with the names, whoever was out first or second is precisely how the names would fall. But he just needs you to keep talking to him.

You understand, and you answer shakily, “Sachie,” you sigh. “Sachiko was 20 minutes later.”

“Late; just like momma.”

“Watch it.”

He chuckles around a flood of tears, a hand coming up to bring his hand up to cover his face. Hot, bubbled tears slip down to roll over his thick fingers, trying to stay composed in the airport that’s bustling with too many people.

“Im so proud of you,” he chokes, eyes screwing shut. Not long after, a massive hand claps down on his shoulder, Komori’s eyes flickering with understanding and apology. He’s got nothing to apologize for, but Rintaro takes the kindness regardless and puts a free hand on top of his to squeeze the emotions out. “My amazing girl. Fuck, I can’t wait to see you.”

“Rin, I have to go,” you say, and he hears the gruff voice of the doctor. “I love you so much. Come home safe, you’re no use to me dead.”

“Okay, princess,” he sighs shakily, burying his face in Komori’s stomach to cry. “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby. You’re gonna be fine.”

He’s 99% sure he should be saying that to you, and not you to him. But regardless.

He waits for the line to die before taking the phone from his ear, blinking up at Komori with absolute heaviness in his heart.

“I should’ve been there,” he whimpers.

“You couldn’t control it, buddy.”

“But I should’ve been there. Not three cities over for some charity that I don't even care about."

It doesn’t matter the assurances Komori could try to pass him. It doesn’t matter that you’re okay, you’re strong and you don’t need him in this moment.

He should’ve been there to squeeze your hand, watch his two babies come into this world with you, kiss your forehead and whisper loving words in your ear.

And he couldn’t manage even that.