#been stuck in that second one for a while now :/

[brookghaib-blog]

Almost Loved - III

Pairing: Robert ‘Bob’ Reynolds x reader

Summary: Four months of dates, gave Y/N hope that she found the one after hopeless years, Bob looks in love, treats beautiful. There's one step that looks like it's coming. Until Bob breaks it off with her. Encountering each other a year and an half later. What happened ?

Word count: 4,9k

--

Tampa, Florida - 18 months ago

The message came while she sat alone at the café.

The same café he’d taken her to on their second date — a cozy little spot tucked between a record store and a flower shop. The rain outside had begun to mist against the windows, soft and quiet, and her fingers curled tighter around the mug of untouched coffee.

She stared at her phone screen. The message glowed like a wound.

“I’m sorry. I can’t do this anymore. Please don’t try to contact me.”

Just one sentence.

That was it.

No explanation. No lead-up. No punctuation.

It felt like someone had cut the cord between her heart and lungs, and she couldn’t breathe properly after reading it.

At first, she thought it was a joke — some horribly mistimed prank. Her fingers had fumbled across the keyboard as she typed back, “What? Bob, what’s going on?” But when she hit send, the message didn't deliver. Her stomach turned.

Then she tried to call him. Straight to voicemail.

Again. And again.

She refreshed their conversation. Nothing. She tried Instagram. Blocked. Facebook. Twitter. Even TikTok. Gone.

He had vanished like a ghost, severing every possible string between them with the coldest precision.

Three days ago, he had kissed her forehead while she laughed on his couch, wrapped in one of his oversized hoodies. Three days ago, they had watched old movies and shared Chinese takeout and talked about maybe going away for a weekend soon. He had brushed her hair out of her eyes and murmured that she made everything feel lighter. That she made him feel lighter.

What changed in three days?

She didn’t remember getting home. She must have walked through the rain. Or maybe Serena drove her. She couldn’t recall.

All she remembered was collapsing onto the couch, phone still clutched in her hand like a lifeline she didn’t realize had snapped.

The tears came in waves — violent, choking sobs that ripped out of her chest without mercy. The kind of crying that made your bones ache. The kind that felt like dying without dying.

She didn’t eat. Didn’t move.

She just laid there, hours ticking by, her face pressed into a throw pillow that smelled faintly like lavender and something burnt — a candle she’d left too long one night after falling asleep next to him.

Every time her phone buzzed, her heart jumped.

But it was never him.

Eventually, she opened the Photos app. It was a compulsion, really — one she didn’t even think about before doing. His face filled her screen in a thousand variations: blurry concert selfies, videos of him trying to dance, sleepy morning snaps where his hair stuck up in every direction.

She watched a video of them in bed. He was teasing her — holding the phone while she hid under the covers, half-asleep and protesting.

“Stop filming me, Bob,” her voice murmured in the clip, laughing.

“But you’re the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispered back.

She cried harder.

Every memory felt poisoned now. Every smile was a lie retroactively written into her timeline. Had he known then? Had he been planning his escape even as he tucked her under his arm and called her his favorite part of the day?

She started to spiral — picking apart everything.

Was it her laugh?

Was it the way she always second-guessed herself?

Did she talk too much?

Not enough?

Had she annoyed him that last morning when she asked if he wanted her to stay a little longer?

She counted the flaws in herself like tally marks on a prison wall. Every insecurity that had ever lived quietly in the background suddenly screamed for attention. The scars, the softness of her stomach, the anxious ticks, the way she sometimes cried during sad commercials — all of it. She dissected their relationship until it was a corpse beneath a microscope.

But she found nothing. No answer.

No closure.

Just silence.

At some point, Serena found her there — curled up in a blanket cocoon, phone still glowing dimly beside her, tears drying sticky on her cheeks.

She didn’t ask questions. Just crawled onto the couch with her, arms wrapping tight around her body like scaffolding trying to hold up a crumbling house.

Still, Y/N didn’t sleep.

Not really.

She stared at the ceiling for hours, the ghost of his hand still felt on her skin. She remembered the way he used to run his fingers through her hair when she couldn't sleep. The way he made tea without asking when she was anxious. The way he once told her he’d never had anything in his life that made him want to stay until her.

She wanted to scream.

Instead, she whispered into the dark, barely breathing, “Why, Bob? Why would you leave like that?”

Y/N stopped going to the café.

She couldn’t bring herself to walk past it without thinking of that message. The same wooden bench outside still stood where she had sat waiting for him, so sure that the future was just beginning — not ending. The wind blew through the streets the same way, as if the world hadn’t even noticed her heart had shattered.

But she noticed. Every second of every day.

The mornings were the worst.

Waking up felt like punishment. That small, stupid moment between sleep and consciousness — the one where her body forgot to be heartbroken — was always cruelly short. She’d blink awake and roll toward the space beside her, expecting warmth. Memory. Him.

But there was only a cold pillow and her own hollow chest.

Sometimes she reached out for her phone first thing, hope still clinging to her like a disease. Maybe there’d be a message. Maybe he’d changed his mind.

But no.

There was never anything from Bob. Not a word. Not even a missed call or a blank message by accident. Nothing.

And that silence — that intentional silence — burned worse than anything he could’ve said.

Some days she didn’t get out of bed.

Others, she wandered around her apartment aimlessly, dressed in the same hoodie she’d stolen from him months ago, sleeves covering her hands like a child playing dress-up in someone else’s life. She didn’t shower. She barely ate. Every little sound in the hallway made her jump, wondering if maybe — maybe — he was outside, realizing he’d made a mistake.

But he never came.

Serena came.

Every damn day.

Even when Y/N didn’t answer the door. Even when she texted her to go away, to leave her alone, to stop acting like everything could be fixed with smoothies and TV marathons.

Serena came anyway.

Sometimes with groceries. Sometimes with takeout. Sometimes with nothing but her own heavy heart, and eyes that looked like they ached for Y/N just as much.

“Open the door,” she’d say gently through it. “I’m not leaving.”

Y/N didn’t talk much. When she did, it wasn’t about Bob.

Not directly, at least.

She’d say things like “I just feel gross today,” or “I think I’m too sensitive for my own good,” or “I don’t get what I did wrong.” Her voice always cracked on that last one. As if she were still searching for the missing puzzle piece that would make it all make sense.

But there was nothing to find.

Only silence. Absence. An ache that grew heavier with time.

There were nights when she cried so hard she couldn’t breathe. Where the tears weren’t elegant or cinematic, but wild and ugly and loud — curled up on the bathroom floor, clutching her phone like it might suddenly, miraculously ring. Her knuckles white from gripping it. Her throat hoarse from whispering his name.

Other nights, the grief was quieter. Still, but no less brutal. She’d stare at the wall for hours. No music. No TV. Just silence — the same kind Bob had left her in.

Her mind replayed everything they had — their jokes, the mornings tangled in each other, the dumb nicknames, the whispered confessions. She picked apart his last weekend with her again and again. He kissed her. He held her. He looked at her like she was his. How could it have all been a lie?

She’d swing between sorrow and fury.

Sometimes she hated him. Really hated him. For the way he left. For not being man enough to face her. For blocking her without giving her a single damn answer.

“What kind of coward does that?” she once snapped, eyes red and voice raw.

Serena didn’t answer. Just rubbed her back and stayed close. She never pushed. Never said, “Maybe it’s time to move on.” Because she knew that would break Y/N more than anything.

Instead, she listened. Held her when she crumbled. Sat in silence when Y/N couldn’t bear words.

One day, Y/N found the video again. The one of Bob doing a mini vlog on a beach day.

She watched it ten times.

Then threw her phone across the room.

The screen cracked.

So did something inside her.

But still, the pain stayed.

The world moved forward in tiny increments. Days blending into weeks. People started asking where she’d been. She avoided them. She couldn’t stand the idea of pretending to be okay — of lying to their faces while her soul was still bleeding.

Only Serena saw the worst of it.

The way she’d sometimes sit in the shower for an hour, water gone cold, just to feel something. Serena siting on the floor holding her hand. The way she tried to go on a date but canceled last minute because even the idea of holding someone else’s hand made her feel sick.

“It’s not fair,” she whispered once, voice shaking. “He made me feel like I was the one.”

And she meant it. Because she was. He looked at her like she was the only thing tethering him to the world. He kissed her like every breath depended on her lips.

But then he let her go like she was nothing.

And somehow, she had to live with that.

--

New York - Present day

It was an unusually cold morning in the city — the kind where the wind clawed through even the thickest jackets, and the sky hung heavy with clouds that threatened rain. Serena tugged her coat tighter around her as she emerged from the coffe shop with a carboard with two coffes. One for her. One for Y/N, who’d finally agreed to go on a walk with her later, though she looked more ghost than girl these days, all she didn't need was Toby to turn out to be an asshole after seeing Bob.

She was halfway down the block when she saw them.

Bob.

And some blonde woman walking beside him.

Serena froze mid-step. For a second, her brain didn’t fully register it — like her body needed a moment to buffer the image. But there he was. Tall. Familiar. That same tired, haunted face she’d only seen in Y/N’s photo gallery, in the images Y/N had refused to delete even when her heart was breaking.

He hadn’t changed much.

Still walked like he carried the weight of something massive. Still had that slumped posture, like the world had knocked the fight out of him. But he looked clean now. Sober. Shaved. Dressed in clothes that actually fit. He looked like someone trying.

But Serena didn’t care.

All she saw was the man who had destroyed her best friend.

And the blonde woman beside him — sharp-eyed, confident, her presence powerful enough to command a room — was laughing at something he’d said. Laughing. At him. Bob was smiling, in that awkward, gentle way that made it feel private. Familiar.

Serena’s stomach turned.

Of course. Of course he’d moved on. Of course he had some new girl on his arm, someone probably more exciting, more adventurous. Someone who didn’t cry herself to sleep for a month straight. Someone who didn’t need fixing.

She didn’t even realize she was storming toward them until Bob turned and spotted her.

His face shifted immediately.

“Serena?” His voice cracked, uncertain.

Yelena stopped walking, looking between the two with mild curiosity and a hint of protective alertness — she didn’t know this woman, but Bob’s expression said plenty.

Serena looked at him, lips tightening. “Wow. What a small world.”

Bob took a tentative step forward. “I didn’t think I’d see you. I—do you mind if we talk for a second?”

“Oh, you want to talk?” Serena let out a dry, humorless laugh. “That’s rich. That’s new.”

Yelena’s eyes narrowed. “Is there a problem?”

Serena looked her over, eyes scanning her from boots to blonde hair. She could’ve been a model. Either way, Serena felt that old, sharp burst of rage she hadn’t let out in weeks. Her voice dropped. Bitter. Cold.

“So… this is the reason, huh? All that heartbreak and disappearing — and it was for her.” She shook her head, chuckling bitterly. “Wow. Y/N really was too good for you.”

Bob blinked, startled. “No, it’s not—wait. You think—? She’s not—Yelena’s a friend. She’s—”

“I don’t give a shit who she is, Bob,” Serena cut him off, voice sharp. “You could be with a goddamn saint and it wouldn’t change what you did. You ghosted her. Blocked her on everything. After saying you loved her. After making her believe she was your whole damn world.”

“I did love her,” he whispered, pained.

Serena’s nostrils flared. “Then you should’ve fought harder. You should’ve told her the truth. You don’t get to say you loved her when you left her sobbing on the floor, not knowing if you were dead or just bored.”

Bob’s mouth opened, but no words came. His throat bobbed, and his hands trembled slightly at his sides. The air between them tightened, thick with everything unsaid.

Yelena, sensing this was personal, shifted uncomfortably. “I’ll give you a minute,” she muttered to Bob, stepping away just out of earshot but still watching from a distance.

Bob swallowed hard. “I know you hate me. You have every right to. But I was—I was sick, Serena. I wasn’t sober when I left. I was trying to protect her—”

“Bullshit,” Serena snapped. “Don’t do that. Don’t give me that noble, self-sacrificing crap. You left without a word. You left her with nothing. You didn’t protect her. You abandoned her.”

Bob looked down, jaw clenched, eyes glassy.

“I was scared,” he admitted, voice low. “I was so deep into it—into everything. And I was ashamed. She didn’t know I was using. She thought I was just a little messed up, but it was more than that. Dealers were after me. I OD’d that week and didn’t tell anyone. I thought... maybe if I disappeared, she’d be better off.”

Serena stared at him. The anger didn’t leave. But now, layered underneath it, was something more dangerous: the temptation to feel sorry for him.

“I don't give a fuck. She wasn’t better off,” she said, quieter now. “You crushed her. She stopped going out. She barely ate. She cried herself to sleep for weeks, Bob. Do you even know what that’s like? Watching someone you love break apart because someone else decided they weren’t worthy of the truth? Good for you, not only you lied you put her in danger but using whatever shit you were doing, and whoever you were with.”

Bob’s hands were in fists now. He looked wrecked.

“I know I ruined it. I know I don’t deserve her.”

Serena exhaled slowly, bitter. “At least you’re right about one thing.”

He winced.

“She loved you so hard, Bob. Like... really loved you. The kind of love that could’ve saved someone, if you’d let her. And now? She’s trying so hard to survive the idea that maybe she was never enough.”

His lip trembled, and for a moment, Serena saw it — the haunted, broken man underneath the calm. His silence wasn’t apathy. It was shame.

“I think about her every day,” he whispered. “Every day, Serena. There hasn’t been a second I haven’t regretted what I did.”

Serena shook her head, the anger softening just barely.

“That doesn’t fix anything. You can’t just show up and say sorry and expect it all to be okay.”

“I know,” he said again, tears finally slipping. “I just—I needed you to know she wasn’t the problem. I was. I am.”

They stood there in silence for a moment. The wind howled between buildings. The sky darkened more.

Serena looked at him, then at the coffee in her hands — one for her, one for Y/N.

“She’s different now,” Serena said softly, stepping back. “She’s not the same girl you left. And even if she was… you’ve got a long road ahead if you think you can walk back into her life.”

Bob nodded slowly, not expecting anything more.

Serena didn’t say goodbye. She just turned, heels clicking on the pavement, coffee tray held tightly, heart aching all over again — this time not just for Y/N, but maybe, just a little... for the man who still loved her, too late.

--

The apartment was quiet, save for the muffled sounds of the city outside. Y/N sat curled in a blanket on the couch, nursing the same cup of lukewarm tea she’d reheated twice but hadn’t touched. Her eyes were fixed on the TV, but she wasn’t watching — just letting it run in the background. Serena walked in, kicked off her boots, and tossed her bag onto the counter.

“You been out of that spot today?” she asked casually, eyeing her from across the room.

Y/N didn’t answer. She just pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders and gave a half-hearted shrug.

Serena sighed, but didn’t push. She walked into the kitchen and put down the cardboard, grabbed a soda from the fridge, cracked it open, then leaned against the doorway. Her eyes were hesitant.

“I ran into someone today,” she said, too carefully.

Y/N looked over, brows lifting. “Yeah?”

Serena scratched the back of her neck. “It was... Bob.”

Y/N’s face fell.

“Oh.”

A silence settled between them. Y/N’s grip on her mug tightened, but she said nothing.

“He was with a blonde chick,” Serena added quickly. “Not like that. At least he told she was just a friend but... yeah we never know.”

Y/N gave a humorless huff of air. “Figures.”

Serena took a beat. She walked over and sat at the edge of the couch, her tone gentler now.

“He looked like hell, Y/N. Not in a bad way—like, he’s clean. He just... looks like he’s carrying a lot.”

Y/N stared ahead again. “Okay.”

Serena hesitated. “He told me something. Something I think you didn’t know.”

Y/N didn’t move, but the tension in her shoulders rose.

“He said he was using back when you were together.”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

Serena nodded slowly. “He had a drug problem. Pretty bad, from what I could tell. He hid it from you. Said he was trying to stop while you were dating, but he was still deep in it.”

Y/N was quiet for a long time. Her throat tightened.

“No... he... he never told me that,” she whispered. “I didn’t know.”

“I know. That’s why I’m telling you now.”

"Was that...why?"

Y/N’s thoughts ran wild — fragments of memories she hadn’t questioned at the time. Nights he’d disappear for a little too long. Moods that shifted without warning. The way he’d go quiet, distant, for no reason she could figure out. Her gut had tugged at her back then — but he always smiled, always kissed her forehead, always said he was just tired.

“I thought I was going crazy,” she murmured. “When he left, I thought maybe I’d done something wrong. Like I loved him too much, or needed too much.”

Serena’s voice softened. “You didn’t. He just wasn’t ready to let someone love him like that.”

Y/N looked down at her lap. “I was waiting for him that day, you know? At the café. I waited for an hour. I thought he was just late. Then the text came, and it was so... cold. No warning. Just ‘I’m sorry. Take care of yourself.’”

Serena frowned. “He said he didn’t know how else to do it. He said if he saw you, he’d stay. And he didn’t want to drag you into that.”

“That’s not his decision to make.”

“No, it’s not,” Serena agreed. “But people who are spiraling... they don’t think straight. They don’t think in ‘what’s fair.’ They think in survival. I don't know, I was not so nice to him about it either.”

Y/N’s eyes welled, but she blinked the tears back. “He blocked me everywhere, Rena. Every account. Like I was nothing.”

“I know.”

“God, I was so angry with myself. Picking apart every moment. Every time I raised my voice, every time I didn’t text back fast enough. I thought... I thought if I’d just been a little more—”

“Y/N,” Serena interrupted gently. “This wasn’t about you. None of it was.”

Y/N let her head fall back against the couch, closing her eyes. She exhaled slowly, trying not to fall apart again. Not over this. Not again.

“I don’t know what hurts more,” she said quietly. “That he was suffering and I didn’t know... or that he still didn’t trust me with the truth.”

Serena leaned over, rubbing her back lightly.

“He was ashamed,” she said. “And maybe he still is. But you? You were never the problem. You were just the one thing he thought he didn’t deserve.”

Y/N sat with that for a long time. The words settled heavy in her chest, warm and cold all at once.

“He could’ve told me,” she whispered.

“I know.”

Y/N sat cross-legged on the couch, knees pulled to her chest. Her fingers traced aimless patterns over the blanket draped over her legs, eyes unfocused and glassy. Serena sat on the floor in front of the coffee table, her back leaning against the couch, watching her in silence.

“Do you think I should call him?” Y/N whispered. The words slipped out like they’d been waiting in her throat for hours.

Serena tilted her head back against the cushion, looking up at her friend. “Honestly?”

Y/N nodded slowly, bracing herself.

Serena sighed. “No. I don’t think you should.”

Y/N didn’t react right away. Her jaw tensed, but she kept her eyes forward. “Because you hate him.”

“No,” Serena said, voice gentle but unwavering. “Because I love you.”

Silence stretched between them. Y/N’s throat was tight. She hated how those words could hurt more than comfort sometimes.

“I just…” Y/N swallowed. “What if I never understand why he left unless I ask? What if this is my only chance?”

Serena shifted to sit beside her on the couch, turning to face her fully. “Babe, he had his reasons. As shitty as they were. But does knowing them change what he did?”

“It might,” Y/N said quietly. “If he was in pain… if he was sick… then maybe it wasn’t about me at all.”

“That doesn’t mean he didn’t still break your heart.”

Y/N ran a hand down her face, frustrated and exhausted. “God, I know. But what if… what if the reason he left is exactly why we could work now? He’s clean, he’s sober. And he’s not hiding anymore.”

She looked at Serena, desperate for clarity that wouldn’t come.

“I keep thinking,” she said, voice cracking, “maybe it wasn’t that he didn’t love me. Maybe it was that he loved me too much and didn’t want me to see him like that.”

“Y/N…”

“No, listen,” she rushed on, her voice thin and trembling. “Maybe it scared him. Maybe he thought he was protecting me. And now he’s better and I’m still here and he’s still in my head and I feel so—so unfinished, Rena. Like there’s still this open wound that never closed because I never got to say anything. He just disappeared. He made me feel like I wasn’t enough, like I was disposable, and I was never okay after that.”

Serena took her hand gently. “You don’t need him to fix that, you know.”

“I don’t know anything anymore,” Y/N said, the tears coming now. “I don’t know if I want closure or if I want him. I don’t know if I miss him or if I just miss the version of me that was happy. He made me laugh, Rena. He’d say stupid shit just to make me smile. He used to kiss my forehead like it was the most sacred thing. Like I was some kind of... light in the middle of all his dark.”

Her voice broke on that last sentence. She covered her face with her hands, and Serena slid closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“I know, baby,” Serena murmured. “I remember.”

Y/N cried for a while — not loud sobs, just quiet, breathy whimpers like a sound too old to still hurt this much. When she finally looked up, her face was puffy and red, mascara smudged under her eyes.

“What if he’s already moved on?” she asked, barely audible. “What if I call and he says he’s happy now? What if that girl you saw really is someone? What if she’s healthy and stable and... everything I’m not?”

“Then you cry,” Serena said. “And I bring ice cream. And we scream at the TV and bad-mouth his stupid golden retriever smile.”

Y/N let out a soft laugh, even through her tears. “He really does have a stupid golden retriever smile.”

“You loved him. That’s not a crime.”

“I still do, Rena. That’s the worst part.”

Serena looked at her with sad, understanding eyes. “That doesn’t mean you have to go back.”

“But what if I don’t and I regret it for the rest of my life?”

“Then you’ll survive. You’ve already survived the worst part — him leaving.”

Y/N nodded, but the weight on her chest didn’t lift. She looked down at her lap, her thumb absently rubbing a spot on her wrist like a nervous tick. Her thoughts were loud and messy, like too many radio stations all fighting for attention in her head.

Was she being delusional? Was she romanticizing someone who shattered her? Or was this just the voice of healing — the one that wanted answers, peace, maybe even a second chance?

“I wish I had a sign,” she whispered. “Something to tell me if I should let it go... or fight for him.”

Serena stood and bent down to kiss the top of her head. “Maybe the sign is that you’re still not sure. And maybe... that’s okay.”

Y/N didn’t respond. She just sat in the stillness of it all — torn between past and present, between hope and self-preservation.

That night, when she lay in bed, she stared at her phone far too long. Bob’s contact wasn’t there anymore. But her fingers hovered over the search bar like they might summon something anyway.

A message she’d never send.

What if she texted him? What if he never replied? What if it opened a door she wasn’t ready to walk through—or worse, slammed it shut for good?

The silence pressed heavy against her chest, making it hard to breathe. The room felt too small, too empty, and yet it was filled with the ghosts of what they once were. She could almost hear the echo of his laugh, the way his blue eyes caught the light, that shy smile he gave when he wasn’t sure if he dared to hope.

Her heart twisted painfully. How could the same man who made her feel so alive have vanished like smoke?

Her fingers curled tight into the blanket, nails digging into the fabric, desperate for something real to hold onto.

She whispered into the darkness, voice fragile and raw:

“God, if you’re listening... if you ever listen to me at all... please... give me a sign. Please tell me if I should let go. If I should forget him and move on. Because I don’t know how to live with this waiting anymore.”

The silence answered back, cold and still.

“But if there’s even a chance,” she added, tears wetting her cheeks now, “if there’s any way that he’s still out there—if he’s not gone for good—then please, just tell me. Give me something. A sign that it’s not over.”

Her breath hitched as the panic rolled in waves, swelling in her chest and threatening to drown her. Her mind spun out — all the ‘what ifs’ and ‘maybes’ twisting like barbed wire.

What if he’s hurting too? What if he’s scared? What if I’m the only one holding onto a ghost? What if I’m deluding myself into thinking we ever had a chance?

The room suddenly felt unbearably lonely.

“I don’t know if I can do this without him,” she whispered. “I don’t know if I want to be whole if it means he’s not part of it. But maybe... maybe he doesn’t want me. Maybe he already chose to forget me.”

Her hands trembled as she pressed them against her face, willing the tears to stop, but they came anyway — slow and steady, a river that refused to dry up.

“I’m so tired of pretending I’m okay,” she admitted. “I smile, I laugh with Serena, but inside I’m just a mess. I’m scared I’ll wake up one day and realize I’ve wasted my time waiting for someone who never wanted to stay.”

Her voice cracked with the weight of the truth she couldn’t say out loud.

“But I don’t know how to stop.”

The night deepened around her like a shroud. Y/N closed her eyes, heart pounding like a storm.

“Please,” she breathed one last time, a prayer thrown out to a universe that had always felt indifferent. “Please don’t let this be the end.”

[petalbcrnes]

𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘, 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐀 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄𓈒 𝅄 ✶ ۪ ݁ w/ the BAT-BOYS𓈒

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　

𝅄 ꒰ ⌕ ꒱ ۪ ݁ After being a brat all day, you send them pictures wearing lingerie, while they are out on patrol𓈒 ݁ ۪ ୧

↦   ⟡   ∬ incl  ﹒  jason﹐dick﹐tim & duke𓈒

❛   ꜝ   ┈   ✺ cw ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎mature and suggestive content𓈒 ‎‎ ‎ ‎ᰍ

︩︪ ׅnotes𓈒⠀i’ve been working on this for two whole days. i loved every second of it but dear god did i give my sweat and blood for it. there are every reaction of the boys to the pictures also in phone text for alongside text id. hope you all enjoy!⠀ꞌꞋ ࣪

𓈒 ᯇ 🧷 : links𓈒　　mlist　　rules𓈒 ୧

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦

𓏲𓏲⠀.. You’ve been a tease all day— pulling every trick in the book just to get a reaction out of your boyfriend. In the early hours of the mornings you didn’t let him go— clinging to him to make him stay in bed, while your touch turns from innocent to something a little more wicked. He’d warn you— hushed whispers by your ear telling you that you were playing with fire. You didn’t care. You wanted to touch that fire and feel it on your skin. That’s what landed you in this situation. ✶

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦

. 　 ✺ 　 ⁺ 𝐉𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐎𝐃𝐃 ︶︶

It was already evening— the time to curl up with your sweet boyfriend on the couch, watching the shows on the screen in front of you, while the two of you exchanged nothing but sweet nothings and soft touches.

That was the norm for most evenings, but not this one. You had a different plan for this evening. Jason would go out for patrol soon. He liked to make these moments right before he left just a little more special. While that was sweet of him, this time you craved more.

You made sure to show him that. Even now, when the two of you are curled on the couch together, you moved a little closer. Jason instinctively gives you more space, opening his arms and wrapping you in his hold. He doesn’t even notice what you’re planning.

You shuffle even closer, moving yourself on his lap. In response he lets out a choked breath he can’t hold back. Maybe he thinks you won’t notice. But you do. He moves on the couch, trying to make the two of you more comfortable.

You’re almost annoyed. Jason will never assume anything you do is seducing him unless you spell it out for him, after that he’s putty in your hands— eyes glossed over and knuckles white, wanting more and more of you.

You just need to try harder, tease him even more.

You squirm on his lap. You can feel his chest rise with every unsteady breath. You could turn around— see how affected he is by the look in his eyes. But you can feel how he hardens against you and that’s all the reassurance you need.

You push even more— while moving on his lap, your hand drifts across the exposed skin of his arms, mindlessly tracing shapes on the surface.

The dam finally breaks. His hands land on your hips, their firm touch hold you down. That just makes you feel how affected he is even more. You turn to face Jason. A truly wonderful sight awaits you.

His brows are furrowed. There is a small pout on his lips. Just like always, his eyes are glossed over, trained on you. There’s a silent question in them. His fingers dig into the plush skin of your hips and in response you grind even harder— he almost moans at the movement, but the sound gets stuck in his throat— only a choked whimper leaves his mouth.

“What are you up to, pretty?” He asks, one brows raised.

He keeps his firm hold on you, as if to tame you— for his sake, and yours as well. You know if you continue to tease him like this, all it would take for him to flip you over on this very couch and take you there is only your consent to do so— only a few words— ‘I want you.’

“Nothing.” You hum in response, the feather-light touch on his arm rises, reaching his chest. “Can’t we have a little fun?”

He chuckles, the sound akin to a melody to your ears. Jason moves against the couch, giving you more space to settle on his lap. You move your legs so now you’re straddling him. Your hands still stay on his chest. He’s opened himself up to you. By instinct.

“I think you want more than a little fun.” He murmurs while his hand leaves your hip and settles on the back of your neck.

He guides you to present the surface of your neck to him. You tilt your head. His lips softly settle on the sensitive skin. You can feel every tender kisses he leaves on your pulse. Every little kiss has you melting in his hold.

“I want to have fun too. Unfortunately, I have to go out for patrol.” He says with one final kiss on your neck.

“You’re no fair. Leaving me with only kisses.”

The pout on your lips makes him laugh. He tilts his head, eyes locked on your figure on his lap. You can tell he wants more. You can even feel that he wants more— his dick is still hard underneath you. Every time you move you can feel his hips thrust up slightly. He wants this just as much as you do.

“You’re such a brat— a needy brat.”

“Well, this ‘needy brat’ wants to spend a very long night with their oh-so sweet boyfriend.”

He shifts his hands beneath your thighs. You tilt your head in question at his touch. Suddenly, he’s lifting you up while he sits up. The way Jason can manhandle you in any position makes you crave him even more. Your wrap around him even tighter by instinct, trying to savor the feel of his body against yours.

“You’ll have to be patient, pretty. Then you will have me all to yourself.”

That conversation was a few hours ago. Jason has been out on patrol and you have been left unsatisfied, needy on the bed you share with your boyfriend. You keep thinking of him. His hands on your hips and thighs; his eyes— so telling of how much he needs you.

You need him too, just as much he needs you. Why not send him a little present while he’s away? Just to remind him what he’s got waiting for him at home. The pretty red lingerie you bought a few days ago just to wear for him would be perfect for this.

Red is his color, no?

It takes a few minutes to finally to put on the lacy fabric— the way it flows around your body is downright sinful. For a moment you thing this might be a little too much.

Then you decide against that train of thought and start taking pictures— on the bed; in front of the mirror; on your knees— all just for your sweet boyfriend.

You sent the pictures and waited for a response.

[Text ID: Jason: “you just couldn’t wait until i got home.” Reader: “just sending you a little something to keep you company.” Jason: “you really are a tease tonight.” Reader: “only for you.” Jason: “let’s see if you’ll keep up with that attitude when i actually get home.” Reader: “all talk. waiting for you to prove it.” Text ID end.]

You turn off your phone, satisfied with yourself. You’ve successfully teased your boyfriend all day, and probably made him hard while he’s out there on the streets of Gotham fighting god knows who. You rummage the closet, looking for one of his shirts to wear to sleep. After finding it, you settle on the bed, the soft sheets lulling you to sleep.

It’s only after a few hours of sleep you hear the window of the bedroom open. You know it’s him— you can recognize his quiet steps and shuffle of his leather jacket anywhere. You pretend to be asleep, trying best to hide the growing smirk on your face.

“I know you’re awake, pretty.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice. He moves closer to you. You can feel how the bed creaks under his weight. Suddenly, there’s not enough oxygen in the air.

You’re in for a long night.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦

. 　 ✺ 　 ⁺ 𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐒𝐎𝐍 ︶︶

Dick has always been so sweet to you— bordering on his affections being saccharine, something that makes your teeth ache with how tender every touch and word of his is. You know he’d give you anything you ask him. All he wants is to please you.

His eagerness makes teasing him even more entertaining. You know there’s a line you can cross— when he’ll turn the tables on you. Suddenly, you’ll be the one begging for him to touch you, to unravel you with his fingers and tongue— you’ll beg for all of him. You’re sure he gets off on your neediness. You’ll have to find a way to balance the scales. The first move is to catch him off guard.

Dick is currently in the kitchen, mindlessly humming the song that has been stuck in his head this week. His attention is on the cookie batter in front of him. He insisted to bake for you tonight before he left for patrol. You almost feel bad about what you’re about to do. He seems so caught up with his mission to bake for you.

But you need something else from him. You move to the kitchen. Dick notices you immediately. He only turns his head slightly your way.

“Hi, lovely! I’m sorry, I have to go out before I finish baking.” He’s so enthusiastic to see you. He immediately points to the batter. “Came here for a taste?”

Oh, you did come here for a taste. Just not the one he thinks. You’re sure his taste would be more delightful on your tongue.

“It’s alright. I can take it from here.” You tell him, approaching him from behind and wrapping your arms around him.

He melts into your touch. His back settles against your chest. You trail kisses along the exposed skin of his neck. You can feel how his spine straightens. You hum against his neck, still leaving soft kisses.

“Baby, what are you doing?” He asks with a shaky voice.

“Want me to stop?”

He looks over his shoulder at you and you see the frown on his face.

Cute.

He tilts his neck to give you better access, eyes locked on you. His hands lay on your hands that are currently still wrapped around him.

“I didn’t say that.”

You smile against his neck. He preens at the sensation. You continue your kisses, getting a taste of him against your tongue. You savor it all. His taste, sounds and the small ways he tries to move closer to you.

You want to push a little more. Let’s see how much more you can do before he actually flips the tables on you.

You free your hands from his. He notices the absence of your touch. His eyes find yours again with a silent question in them. You just smirk as an answer. He raises a brow and a similar smirk forms on his lips.

Your hands drift lower and lower. You can see how the smirk grows even bigger on his lips. There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes. Your hands settle on his sweatpants, fingers tease the waistband— tugging the fabric and tracing the exposed skin beneath with your fingers.

You can hear him laugh.

Maybe you’ve already crossed the line.

“Now you’re just being a brat, lovely.”

It takes him only a second to switch the position the two of are in. Suddenly he isn’t the one cornered against the kitchen counter— it’s you. He’s flipped you from behind him and pushed your front to the cool marble surface.

You squirm in his hold— more firm than your own when you had him in your arms.

“Two can play this game, lovely. But I play it much better.” He whispers, his lips close to your ear.

Dick leaves a single kiss on your pulse point on your neck before returning your ear. He nicks your earlobe and you let out a small yelp. Your body moves on its own, slightly bending over against the counter and grinding against him.

You hear him groan behind you, an amused chuckle following.

“You just had to get a taste. Couldn’t wait until after patrol. You’re all bark, aren’t you? No bite.”

“Shut up—”

The words die on your tongue as you feel him push himself even closer to you. You can feel how hard he is against you. You whimper at the sensation. You try and grind against him but he stops you by the firm hold on your hip.

“Not yet. You’ve been a brat. You have to earn it.”

“But you’ll be gone for hours!”

“You can wait right, baby?”

He asks you in the softest voice you’ve ever heard. That’s the most infuriating and intoxicating thing about all of this. He has you bent over the kitchen counter, his dick already hard against your ass and somehow he still denies you. He knows you’re drunk on his touch and as a punishment for being a ‘brat’, he’s teasing you back.

The hours after he leaves for patrol are agonizing. You toss and turn in the bed. The sheets are too hot on your skin. You’d rather have something else on your skin— or someone else.

Unfortunately, Dick decided to punish you by leaving you high and dry by going on patrol. You know he’s affected by tonight as well, but he still has a way of making you the needy mess. He said he played this game better than you did. Let’s see if he’ll keep up this confidence after the little present you plan on sending his way.

Blue light be his color, but it always looked good on you as well. Especially when it’s the lacy and intricate fabric hugging your body. Sending the pictures were easy. You know he’d be even more affected after this.

[Text ID: Dick: “is this payback?” Reader: “you're the one who said you played this game better. i like proving you wrong.” Dick: “you really are all bark. will you be this eager when i get back? or will you melt in my hands just like before i left?” Reader: “keep thinking that.” Dick: “i am thinking of all the ways i'll get you begging. you don't have to remind me, lovely.” Text ID end.]

You spend the next hours in a haze. Your mind keeps imagining Dick— what he’ll do when he returns; what he will say; how he’ll handle you. Curse him and the hold he has over you.

You’re settled comfortably in bed, almost asleep when you hear footsteps approaching the bed. You didn’t even hear the window creak open. In the dark you can make out the blue of his suit. You don’t even have the time to close your eyes to pretend to he asleep, he’s already right next to you, hovering over your figure.

“Don’t pretend to be asleep, lovely. Prove that you have the bite.”

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦

. 　 ✺ 　 ⁺ 𝐓𝐈𝐌 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐊𝐄 ︶︶

There’s something mesmerizing about how Tim gets ready for patrol. It’s a routine he’s repeated almost every night. You’ve grown used to seeing him hunched over a desk, cleaning his weapons and going over the patrol route for the third time.

You like to watch him when he does all of this. His brows are furrowed, concentration evident on his face. His lips thin every time his fingers graze another one of his supplies. You do love his hands when they’re handling something. Especially when they’re handling you.

Unfortunately, tonight you aren’t receiving that attention from him. Tim is in another world right now, too far away to grasp how much you need him. You hear him hum in concentration. He flips a dagger in his hands, eyes locked on it.

You might actually be jealous of a dagger. Time to fix your problem.

You waste no time approaching him. Tim is used to your presence— he doesn’t even look behind to sense you walking over. Instead he leans on the chair’s back, as if he’s trying to maneuver closer to you. He’s sweet. But you need more than that right now.

When you reach him, your hands settle on his shoulders. You can feel him already preen at your touch. He lets out a small satisfied sound at the feel of your fingers against his shoulders.

You know he’s stressed most of the time— knots tangle themselves up underneath his skin and he can’t ask for help, or won’t allow himself that short reverie. But you— as his partner— take it up on yourself to help him unwind.

Your fingers push a little deeper. Tim tilts his head to give you more access. You peek over and see how he closes his eyes in pleasure of the feeling.

“Feels good?” You ask, even though you already now the answer to your question.

He hums as a yes, a small smile appearing on his face. “Feels very good. But why now?”

Nothing gets past him. Sometimes you want to curse his beautiful and genius brain. Your fingers trace circles on his skin, trying to untangle every knot. You feel him getting even more distracted. He’s leaning into your touch, searching for the pleasure only you can give him.

“Can’t I just make my boyfriend feel good for a little while?”

“I think you want to do more than just ‘making me feel good for a little while.’”

Tim tilts his head up, looking right at you. His eyes unravel every string of confidence you had just a few moments ago. You can feel the way your cheeks heat up. You’re sure he can notice how affected you are as well.

There’s a satisfied smile on his stupidly pretty face. You wish you could wipe it off of him, turn the tables on him for once.

Maybe you can.

Your hands drift from his shoulder, one settling on his jaw and another on his cheek— holding him in place. You see the way he licks his lips, almost in anticipation.

“You want a kiss?”

Tim raises a brow, as if offended you’d ask him that.

“What? You’re going to make me beg for it?” He quips, challenging you to push back.

You know how this will go. You might have him in your hands right now, looking up at you with those glossed over and wanting eyes, but he can play the long game a lot better than you.

“You’re such an ass—”

“You were literally desperate for my affections not even a second ago.” He interrupts your little tantrum. “Are you mad it didn’t go your way, baby?”

“Shut up. Don’t you have some equipment to show more attention to than you show me?” You huff, hands settling on your hips.

He laughs at the pout on your lips. Smug bastard— a pretty bastard— but still.

“Don’t be a brat and I’ll give you all the kisses you want. After patrol, alright?”

That’s how you ended up here— on the bed and utterly alone, missing your boyfriend and his stupid kisses. He’s probably out there smug, satisfied with the fact that he’s got you all needy and wanting for him.

You have to fire back somehow— show him what he’s missing.

You did get a new lingerie set a few days ago. It was supposed to be a surprise, but desperate times calls for desperate measures. Right now, you need him to be the desperate one, not you. The pictures you sent will have him just as needy as you. You’re sure of that.

[Text ID: Tim: “all you’re doing is showing me how much you need me.” Reader: “don't act too cocky. i can keep myself company.” Tim: “sure. while thinking of me right? leaving me on read isn't going to make me thing otherwise.” Text ID end]

You go to bed even more frustrated. He’s right and you know it. You could only get off when you’re thinking of him— pretty and long hands, skilled with how they unravel you; prettier eyes that lock on you and analyze your every expression filled with pleasure. God curse him and his stupidly pretty face.

You spend the next few hours like this, needy for him. In the dark of the bedroom, you hear the door creak open. You know it’s him— you can feel that it is him. Your body instinctively grows hotter in response to his presence. You try and pretend to be asleep, but nothing could get past him.

Tim laughs, so free and satisfied.

“You thought you could tease me like that and I’d return begging for you? I know you aren’t asleep. I’ve got to teach you a few lessons you’ve seem to forgotten.”

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦

. 　 ✺ 　 ⁺ 𝐃𝐔𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐒 ︶︶

Over the course of your relationship with Duke, you’ve learned that he is very kind— so eager to please and give, whatever it takes for you to be happy. Every satisfied smile you give him is a reward to him. All he wants to do is to make you happy.

He’s right in front of you right now, searching for his misplaced helmet. He has to be out for patrol in about an hour and he desperately needs that helmet.

You feel a little guilty. You’re searching right alongside him. But most of your attention is on his face— the concentration on his face; the way his pretty eyes dart across the room, a shining glint in them— basically, Duke is gorgeous, and you’re having trouble concentrating.

“Babe, have you found it yet? There’s no luck on my end.” He says, still looking around the room.

You’re really starting to feel the guilt. He needs his helmet and you’re too busy checking him out. He’s taken over your mind and you can barely even pay attention to your surroundings. That’s what makes you almost trip over something. You look down and see a flash of yellow near your feet.

Duke’s helmet.

You pick it up, excited to show it to him. Suddenly, a devious idea forms in your mind. Truly, an evil little idea. You could keep the helmet hostage just for a little while. Just for a minute. Duke could get it back. Maybe with a little kiss?

You find him still rummaging around the apartment you two share for his helmet. His eyes lock on you instantly, the light in them glowing a little brighter. There’s an equally bright smile on his face.

“Hi, baby. Did you find it?”

“Yes, I did!” You proudly show of his helmet, the triangle eyes of it staring right at him.

Oh, right. The plan.

“I would be lost without you.” He moves closer. “Thank you for finding it.”

“Wait just a second!”

He blinks, eyes growing a little wider. The smile is still on his face. He tilts his head, the confusion seeping onto his face.

“What’s wrong?”

God, you do feel actually guilty for this. But you desperately need him, so you have to do this.

“I’m not giving you the helmet.” You say, trying to fake the confidence and holding the helmet close to your chest.

He smiles even wider. He’s really pretty when he does that. You tell yourself to focus, to stay strong against your boyfriend and his disarmingly charming smiles.

“Why not, baby?”

“Give me a kiss or two and I might return it.”

“Might?”

“Yes. I might deem you worthy of returning the helmet to you. Actually, make that three kisses.”

He chuckles, the smile reaching his eyes. He moves a little closer and you can feel your knees weaken. He doesn’t even know how much sway he was over you.

“You drive a hard bargain, babe.”

“The kisses, Thomas. Or no helmet.”

He narrows his eyes at you, but the smile doesn’t leave his face. There’s a mischievous look in his eyes. You want to look inside his beautiful mind and figure out what he’s planning.

“So, you’re holding my helmet hostage for a few kisses?”

“Yes, I am. Make your choice, pretty boy.”

“I think you’re just being a brat.” He rolls his eyes playfully. “Want a kiss? Ask for it properly.”

It’s now your turn to narrow your eyes at him, but in annoyance. He’s playing you, and you know it. Unfortunately for him, you’re stubborn and not giving in. You stomp your foot on the floor and hug the helmet closer to your chest.

“You won’t hear me begging. Good luck with that.”

“Really? Not even when I do this?”

“Do what?—”

Suddenly you feel his hands on your waist. They wrap around you and you instinctively melt in his hold. He feels so warm. You want to stay in his arms forever and never leave. He locks his eyes on you.

“Hi.” He mutters, a playful grin on his lips. “Am I getting my helmet back?”

“I already said—”

He must have a talent for getting you to shut up. He leaves a little kiss on your cheek, lips warm against your skin and his hand cupping your cheek. The small piece of his affection already has you going limp in his hands. You don’t even notice how his hand drifts closer to his helmet and how he quickly snatches it away from you.

“Hey! Give that back!” You exclaim, but no matter how much you squirm, he keeps you in his hold and the helmet away from your hands.

“Thought you’d give me the helmet back if I gave you a kiss.”

“You know I didn’t mean a kiss on the cheek!”

“So you didn’t like it?”

“I didn't say that…”

He lets you go from his hold. He slips the helmet on, finally ready to go out on patrol.

“Trust me, I’ll come home and I’ll kiss you senseless.”

You roll your eyes. “Sure.”

“Hey.” He clicks his tongue. “Gorgeous, I’m not lying.”

You smile at him one last time and he’s already out of your apartment for patrol. You spend the next few hours waiting for him to return so he can follow up on his promise. Your mind is already going wild with every scenario that could play out.

Would he kiss you first? What would he do next? Would he finally untangle the knot that has been burning inside of you this entire night? Duke is someone who loves to give at heart, especially when it comes to you. He’d be good to you, right?

Why not speed up that process— give him something to look forwards to?

You have that lingerie you bought just to show off to him. The ivory one with the small and intricate sun rays sewn in with a lighter cream color. He’d like that little surprise, right?

Only one way to find out.

[Text ID: Duke: “is this just for me?” Reader: “for who else, sunshine?” Duke: “You're driving me crazy.” Reader: “that’s the whole point.” Duke: “does the fabric have little sun rays on it baby?” Reader: “come home soon and find out.” Text ID end.]

You feel satisfied enough, happy even— you’ve successfully teased your boyfriend so much that he’s probably rushing to come home. You settle on the soft sheets of the bed and wait for his arrival, drifting in and out of sleep as you do so.

It only takes a hour or two for Duke to come back. He opens the door to the bedroom gently, careful not to frighten you. You’re awake, of course. You’ve been waiting for him all night. But you don’t plan on giving in that easily. You keep your eyes closed, pretending to be asleep.

“Don’t pretend with me, baby.” His voice is saccharine sweet. “I know you’re awake.”

He sits right by your side, his hand touching the exposed skin of your shoulder above the sheet.

“I wonder if you’re still wearing that lingerie. Don’t you want to give me a show?”

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　

.... 🌷 .. ! , ... wow you made it all the way here. hope you enjoyed all 4.6k words of this. my hands r literally numb !!! ty for reading it all <3

﹒   ♪   ┊ INBOX OPEN.⠀⠀feel free to send me asks and suggestions in my inbox. ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

˖ `· . 𓏵 © 𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐁𝐂𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐒 don’t use my work without my consent. ... ⏤ㅤ Ⳋ ⊹

[oscpstri]

everything but you | bearman

bearman x fem!reader, 768

ollie bearman had everything— the car, the dream, the career. but the one thing he wished for but never had, was you. and he hated it.

INCLUDES: reader is arthur leclerc's girlfriend, sorry we compare careers here but i love the both of them ok pls dont kill me, slight angst

NOTE: inspired by jessie's girl (the glee version again) !! this was originally supposed to be another set of drivers but i switched to ollie bcs the damn lacy edits have gotten to me again man. also im kinda wasted writing this so pls bare w me

( masterlist | more OB87 )

Ollie Bearman was in Formula 1. Arthur Leclerc was not. And that should have been enough.

He had the seat, the career, the fame, the experience. He was in every media day panel and in every post-race interview. He had casual conversations with world champions and raced wheel-to-wheel with the greats. He lived the life he always dreamed of, high at the top, only getting better.

Arthur never made it to Formula 1. He could have if time allowed him. He didn't have Lewis Hamilton's phone number saved in his phone, nor did he talk to Fernando Alonso every weekend before a race. He wasn't the one who flew private planes with the other rookies, nor laughed beside a four-time world champion during a driver's parade.

Ollie had everything Arthur wanted. Everything but the girl.

"Fuck, I'm so stupid. What if I never walk again." You sit up from the hospital bed, grimacing at the pain in your ankle.

Ollie sat in front of you on a small stool, looking at the bandages wrapped around your foot. "Ok first of all, you're being dramatic. It's a sprain."

You look up at Ollie with pursed lips, he meets your eyes with a certain tenderness that you always found comforting. "Second of all, you're not stupid. You got excited, it happens."

You groan in embarrassment, covering your face with your hands. "I can't believe I'm sitting in a hospital room because of my boyfriend."

Ollie's eye twitches at this, "Who didn't pick up, by the way."

You place your hands on your lap, slumping in the bed as you look at the Brit. "Hey, he's probably busy on the sim."

So? Ollie wanted to say out loud, but refused.

You were at home when you got the news that Arthur would be competing in more endurance racing for the rest of year. Happy for him, you started jumping up and down and landed on your foot wrong, resulting in you spraining your ankle and calling your best friend at 8 in the morning.

You insisted that you were fine but by the time Ollie got there, your ankle was swollen and he knew better than to leave you in pain. So he drove you to the hospital to get properly treated.

"Thanks, Ollie." You turn towards him, a smile on your face as he leaves the apartment keys on the table. "You didn't have to do all that, you know."

He smiles back. "Anything for you."

You see his reply as friendly, Ollie's heart skips a beat.

"You wanna go to Qualifying later? I could scrounge up a spare pass."

You shake your head politely, "No, thanks. I'm waiting for Arthur to get here for tomorrow."

Just as fast as it sped up, Ollie's heart shattered once more. Arthur, right.

It wasn’t supposed to bother him this much. You and Ollie were childhood best friends and always in the same circles. You'd been at every single one of Ollie's races in the lower Formulas and tried your absolute best to watch as many as you could now that he was in Formula 1. You were his friend first. You’d been there the whole time— before the call-ups, before the pressure, before Arthur ever made a move.

Ollie had every chance. Every moment. Every excuse to say something. But he didn’t. Too focused. Too careful. Too convinced he had time. After all, Ollie was the reason you were in the Prema garage all the time in the first place.

But Arthur? Arthur didn’t wait. He just said what he felt and you picked him.

Now Ollie was racing in front of the world while silently choking on the fact that the guy still stuck in his shadow had the one thing he didn’t.

He saw you at the race the next day. You were wearing his team colors, in his garage, with his hat on, and shouting his name from the pit lane. But no matter how loud you screamed for Ollie Bearman, the sound of your laugh resonated louder when you talked to Arthur Leclerc.

Ollie won, he had podium, he had the champagne, but he didn't have the look of love in your eyes whenever you looked at him. He didn't have his hands on your waist as the crowd screamed when he popped the champagne.

He had the seat, the headlines, the future every young driver dreamed of.

But none of it mattered when you were in the garage with someone else— someone he’d beaten a hundred times— and still lost to in the only way that mattered.

[oopsiedaisydeer]

dolly meets chris for the first time

fluff, minor angst, party, mentions of bruises, meet cute sorta vibes

word count - 2k (oopsies)

She really wasn’t sure why she came tonight.

Her friend had promised her that tonight would be fun, “chill and lowkey” were his words, and she’d held out the hope that just maybe, maybe he was right, speaking the truth. Really, she had. But from the second she stepped through the front door — music thudding through the floorboards, strangers crowding too close, that sharp tang of weed and spilled beer in the air — she knew she’d made a mistake.

An uneasy chaotic vibe lingered in the walls, buzzing under her skin, setting her already-anxious nerves on edge. A group of guys slouched on the couch looked like they belonged to another world to her entirely, the kind that dealt in shady glances and unspoken threats. One of them sized her up with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

She kept walking, head down, heart fluttering in her chest like a moth. The kitchen was quieter, though not by much. No sign of her friend, but she stayed anyway… lingering by the fridge, fingers curled around a red cup of something sweet and vaguely fruity. Might as well wait a few minutes before she dipped.

Chris had been in a funk all night, muscles wound tight, almost ready to snap at any given second. He had been hiding in the upstairs ensuite for twenty minutes now, pacing, chain-smoking the last of his cigarettes, and regretting his entire life. Now he was stuck there because he was pretty sure someone was getting busy in the room adjacent.

Not that he really cared about walking past them — he didn’t — but he knew that there was someone out in the hallway waiting for him, and he really didn’t want to run into him anytime soon. He’d never known sleeping with a girl to get him in this much trouble. But Chris guessed the usual rules didn’t apply when you go to bed with the sister of a guy who had already had it out for him since second grade. 

He hadn’t even expected to run into him tonight, parties around this neck of town usually being more relaxed than the ones he usually ended up at. 

Chris craned his ear to the door again then, and when he heard no moans, he peeked through the door to confirm they were indeed asleep. He slipped past the couple and back out into the hall, which was empty, save for a girl lingering in the entryway.

Great, Chris thought to himself, all I gotta do is slip past this chick out the back door and I’m a free man.

Just as he was making his way towards the kitchen though, the girl turns her head, and past her he sees the very man he’s trying to avoid. Standing in the kitchen. Shit. He hasn’t noticed Chris yet, too busy talking with one of his buddies. Stupid pretentious prick. 

He needs something, some safe way outta here, because he really isn’t in the mood to get his shit rocked by a guy who’s almost a foot taller than him. He ducks instinctively back into the shadows of the hallway, heart hammering like the first time he ran a red light.

As he’s stood stock-still in the hallway, blue eyes glancing around frantically, trying to come up with a plan, he notices the girl again. He hadn’t meant to look at her twice, but she hasn’t moved since he came out of the room, perched just inside the hallway to be out of view from the rest of the party. What’s she hiding from? Chris wonders. 

She looked like a girl who didn’t belong here, not in this place full of loud boys and things that were bound to be broken by morning.

And Chris couldn’t stop staring.

She’s very pretty, that’s for sure, way out of his league too. Long hair tied back in some fancy do, with a ribbon adorning it. She looked like something someone had taken care of once — and maybe no one had in a while. She’s wearing a sort of white frilly blouse with too many buttons, and the skirt she has on has got a lovely pattern… covering what seems to be an even lovelier ass. 

Goddamnit I need to quit being a perv and get the fuck out of here, he thinks to himself. The girl glances back again then, this time her eyes finding his. He swears he gets put in a kind of trance as her beautiful eyes and long lashes study him, no expression on her face but still, her glance washes over his entire frame, and he wonders maybe if she can see his very soul. Probably not anything interesting about his soul though, as the moment’s quickly broken when she turns back around.

A weird feeling settled in his chest then. The party noise blurred. The air around her felt... different. Calmer. Like the world quieted itself just a little to make space for her. 

Chris shifted back a step, debating it. He didn’t want to scare her off. She looked like the type of girl who’d vanish at the first wrong move — and he’d made a hell of a lot of those tonight already. He told himself to just leave. Slip out the side door and be done with it.

But she had turned her head. Slowly. Like she’d felt him watching. And their eyes had met — if only for a second. And something in her gaze had hit Chris in the ribs. Not like a punch, but soft and unsure, steady. She looked at him like she was trying to figure out whether he was real, or trouble, or both.

Minutes went by like this. And then Chris swallowed, watching, unblinking, as the girl turned and vanished from his sight. He stood there, motionless, like he’d just missed a train he didn’t know he wanted to catch. Before he could talk himself out of it, he moved.

Scurrying after her, Chris all but forgets the reason he was so afraid to leave the hallway in the first place. The girl slips through the crowd in the living and dining room, her smaller frame making it that much easier for her as Chris struggles to keep up. He finds her again at the door though, where she’s paused to put on her jacket. He gets frozen again, watching her, how doll-like she looks, hair tucked into her scarf, blush-ridden cheeks.

Finally, courage seems to find his tongue, and Chris tries his best to sound confident, charming even. “Hey,” he smiles, “I don’t think we’ve met.”

She hears him before she sees him. The steady sound of boots behind her, slow enough to not spook her, loud enough that he probably wanted her to know he was there. She tightened her grip on her coat sleeve, heart doing this weird fluttery thing like she’d just stepped onto a train she wasn’t sure was hers. And then, “Hey,” said a voice, a little raspy, low, but still kind. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

She turned, not too fast, and there he was, closer now. Hoodie a little wrinkled, bruising faint along the side of his jaw, hair a mess like he’d run his hands through it too many times. He looked… tired. Kind of strung out, but not in a scary way.

She looks up at him then, a surprised expression twitching on her lips, as if she’s confused he’s speaking to her. He takes this as an opportunity to move closer, stepping towards her until there’s barely a metre between them.

“I’m Chris,” he said, sticking his hand out, and then smiled like maybe he hadn’t done that in a while. “And I really hope you’re not leaving. I only just got the guts to say hi.” With his other hand, he reached out gingerly, like he might fiddle with one of the buttons on her coat, then seemed to think better of it, hand dropping back to his side.

She blinked, and cautiously, she took his hand. It was warm, a little rough, and when he held it, he didn’t try to dap her up or do some flirtatious thing. He just… held it, gently, thumb rubbing over the back of her hand.

“I was just—” she started, gesturing behind him, then shrugging one shoulder. “Not really my kind of scene.”

He let her hand go, real slow, like he was trying to be respectful or something. And then, with a crooked little half-smile, he said, “Figured as much.”

That made her laugh. Just barely. Like a puff of air she hadn’t meant to let out.

Chris noticed. And smiled wider.

“Would it be weird if I asked if you wanted to hang out?” Chris said to her, the words tumbling out of his mouth all in one breath. 

“Um,” she bites her lip, not quite sure what to do with the moment at hand.

Then quickly, Chris steps closer, reaching out as if to take her hand again before stopping mid-way. “Not in like a creepy way. Just… I dunno. I’ve had kind of a shitty night, and you seem like someone who’s not gonna make it worse.” He smiles as he says this, awaiting her response patiently.

That made her tilt her head at him. The honesty caught her off guard. He wasn’t trying to impress her. Wasn’t performing. Just… asking. Just another person who didn’t want to be alone.

He really did look like a guy her mother would tell her to stay away from. The barely faded bruises, the posture, the too-casual clothes, they all seemed to scream trouble. But up close, his eyes didn’t match. They weren’t cold or cocky. They were just… tired. Honest. A little hopeful. A nice blue colour. It hits her all at once then — that this guy, standing in front of her, he’s just a boy.

Just a boy with sharp edges and soft eyes, pretending he wasn’t hoping she’d say yes.

“Okay then,” she said, surprising herself. She didn’t usually do this, say yes to strangers with bruised knuckles and sleepy eyes. But something about Chris felt like a detour worth taking. “Yeah. I could do that.”

His face lit up like he hadn’t expected it. Like he never expected good things to land on him.

Chris grabs his coat then too, walking to the wooden door and opening it for her. The girl steps forward, flashing another tight-lipped smile of appreciation at him. It’s been a long time since Chris has felt more like a gentleman than a stupid flirt. Maybe tonight was a sign that his luck was changing. 

He shut the door behind him, and shoving his hands in his coat pockets, spoke again, “I think I’m going to call you Dolly,” he tells the girl, who looks at him all confused, brow furrowing. He smiles, heart warming at her innocent gaze. “You look like one of those old dolls. You know with the button eyes and the ribbons and the plaits.”

She wasn’t sure if she liked being named after something so delicate. But something about the way he said it, like he didn’t mean it as an insult, like he actually meant precious, made her cheeks warm.

“You like McDonald’s chips?” he asked as they stepped out into the night.

She glanced at him. “Are you asking because that’s all you can afford, or because you think it’ll impress me?”

He snorted. “Definitely the first one.”

She smiled. “I like them anyway.”

“Well, I think we’re going to be great friends, then, Dolly.” Chris smiles at her, nudging her slightly with his arm.

They walked in step, slow down the cracked pavement, their breath curling like smoke in the cold air. The street was quiet, just the occasional hum of a passing car, or the rustle of a tree losing its last few leaves. 

And all night, Chris kept glancing over at her, like he couldn’t quite believe she was still there.

dividers by @enchanthings ꨄ

a/n: this took a whiiiiile to get right, but i rlly hope u like it!!!!! hopefully setting up for some future fluff/angst so that this au isn't all smut lmao

thank u so much for reading!!! likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated 💌

[harbours-lighthouse]

𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐏𝐓.𝐈𝐈

— part one

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 — Jason Todd x F!Reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 — The argument Jason had with you is sending him spiralling. Will either of you find each other before it's too late? Will this be what spells out your inevitable split, or will you break away from fate and everything that tells you that this won't work?

𝐀/𝐍 — I finished this while still recovering from some pretty harrowing COVID, so I apologise if it feels a little janky. It might not be, but I struggled to view the fic as one whole thing and not tiny little snippets, and that's probably because of my silly light-headedness and sickly brain :)) Anyway, I hope you enjoy <3 (and I hope I tagged everyone lol).

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: none; just hurt/comfort

Jason can’t breathe—he’s sure of it. Each inhale feels like knives piercing through him. You left nearly an hour ago, but it’s his watch strapped on his wrist that tells him that. The clock hanging above the fridge in your kitchen isn’t working anymore—something he should have fixed—and the silver hands are stuck at 9.50 PM.

You walked out of the apartment at 9.48 PM.

Those silver hands glint and he’s sure that the clock knows what it’s doing. What it’s doing to him.

At first, anger swelled inside of him like a tide, reaching past his exhaustion to grab at his senses. He nearly whirled to slam his fist into a wall when you left, but the little voice in his head stopped him. The one that reminded him of you. 

Don’t. You’re not going to be that person. 

That person who hurts. That person who wrecks something precious just to stave off the grief gnawing at him. That person who loses everything by being the worst thing he could possibly be. 

And then that anger dissipated a little like smoke, and something else took its place. It felt like dread, thick and heavy. It clung to him like spidery hands and it still does.

Jason runs a hand through his hair, wincing when his fingernails catch on the scab at his temple. It makes it all rush back to him—the fact that he’s been gone, and that you’ve left.

He snatches his keys off the little cabinet in the foyer, and the door slams shut behind him like an omen.

Like something final. 

He didn’t bring his bike with him—he’d simply dropped onto your fire escape. If he’d been anyone else, he knows you would have thrown a frying pan at him, but you’d basically been sitting on the couch and watching that damned window like it might lure him back to you. You knew the second there was a flurry of shadow that he was there, and the window had slid open only a few seconds after he knocked on the frosted glass.

But now he really wishes he had brought his bike, because going on foot makes his search for you all the more difficult. Gotham City is large, and he knows you cover ground quickly when you’re not thinking about your destination.

Jason’s chest tightens, like ropes slowly looping around each of his lungs. He knows how cold panic feels, but this is hot—molten. If the ropes don’t stop him from breathing, then it’s the heat of his frustration.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he says beneath his breath, like a quiet prayer of desperation. He feels vile for saying it—how can he say it when you’re not here to answer it?

His feet carry him down the narrow steps that lead up to your apartment complex, before turning onto the street. The holes in the asphalt glint with residue rain water, and the chilling wind nips at his skin.

You must be freezing, your cardigan can only do so much. 

Each street is as familiar as the last, but he doesn't know how familiar they are to you. Have you taken the route you normally take to the bus stop? Did you simply keep walking past that tiny sliver of shelter from the weather on Gotham’s icy mornings? Or have you messed with him and taken a completely different path? Are you winding through the city like a clever and scared hare, and he the fox?

He hears a ruckus somewhere to his left, loud voices caught on the wind like paper notes.

He cuts across the street with long strides, puddles of water disturbed abruptly in his wake. The shadows don't scare him—whatever lingers inside alleyways doesn't know what violence is.

But Jason is still afraid because he knows that you're not as familiar with Gotham's cruelty. This city chews people up and spits them back out. This city is nothing but barbed wire and a pulsing heart made of teeth.

And Jason can be just as sharp as the place he grew up in.

“I don’t need your help,” Jason sneers, and he feels like he's said this twice already. The words chaff against him, like they're not as smooth and true as he thinks they are.

He watches the way your fists unclench by your sides, something close to resignation pinching around your face.

“I think you do,” you say too softly.

Jason feels like he might burst into flames, the kind that lick at him as punishment. 

“You don't know what I need,” he grounds out, and he watches you crumble. 

Why had he said those things? You'd been waiting for him for a whole month—Jason knows he hadn't been fair to you for that, but he couldn't find the right thing to say. What does ‘I'm sorry’ do in a situation like this? Begging you to forgive him seems… pointless. All his life he's asked for forgiveness, and never gotten it, even when a ticking time bomb sat next to him. 

Why would you be any different?

But the silence that rang through the apartment after you left felt like a bell echoing in his ears, a sort of chant meant to torture him. Guilt had streaked red and hot through him while he stood there, unable to move, think, or breathe.

Jason couldn't let you go like that, even if his whole body screamed for him to just leave; the fact that you left your apartment for the sake of getting away from him is sitting heavily on his chest, too.

The roar of a car cuts through the noise in his head, and Jason makes his way to the crossroad ahead of him. Headlights glare through the dark haze of the night, splitting beams across the asphalt. Engines prattle while the city and guilt gnaws at him. He hears the rhythmic chirping of the crosswalk button, and squints up at the little walking man— 

—it’s red. 

That colour is everything inside Jason. A pulsing shade that burns through him like a fever. All you’d ever done was try to soothe that burn, and the one time that you try to soothe your own, he lashes out. His throat tightens painfully. 

You’re everything to Jason, and you’re alone. He let you leave. 

What sort of a man does that? 

What sort of lover does that?

Jason’s eyes flit across every moving object, hoping to see you—maybe you’d step out of one of the corner stores, hair lit up by the sickly-green glow spilling from the windows. Or maybe you’d come to a stop by the curb, and he’d run to you—that’s what he should have done in the first place. 

Instead all he can see are flashes of white as cars zip by him or stand still at the intersections. Red tail-lights gleam like eyes and there’s so much noise. It fills the entire street, fills his head, and all Jason can see when he blinks is your face crumbling with regret and hurt. 

The hurt he buried inside of you when he didn’t send word for a whole month.

The regret he caused when you realised you couldn’t say anything that mattered. 

What is wrong with him?

In the corner of his eye, Jason catches movement—and his heart stops. 

It’s you, and you’ve just slipped out of a phone booth.

Jason inhales and it’s sharp, piercing through him. He watches as you grip your hair, fists shaking. You look so lost and Jason’s moving before he can think. A car horn blasts at him, but the noise is lost in the rapid pulsing of blood in his ears. He can feel the wind clawing at him, but even its cold fingers can’t steal away the heat beneath his skin—hot shame and guilt, it builds while the air in his lungs becomes stuck. 

“Sweetheart!” Jason calls without thinking, and his voice catches on the word. 

You spin, eyes wide—everything is spinning, but Jason stands as still as a statue in your vision. Had he known how desperate you were to go back to him? Was this why he didn’t answer the landline at the apartment?

You watch with your mouth dry as Jason comes to a stop in front of you, several paces away. You hate that distance—when did you get so distant?

“Jason,” you utter quietly, and if Jason hadn’t watched your lips form to say that single word, he wouldn’t have caught it at all. 

“I’m… so sorry,” Jason says heavily, and your heart squeezes as if a hand had been shoved through your chest and grabbed the beating muscle. 

You know how difficult it is for him to say that—mostly because he doesn’t ever believe that you’ll forgive him. All you’ve ever done is forgive him. How can he not see that? 

Tears burn the back of your eyes, and you blink rapidly. Cars leave behind the rush of air and sound, surrounding the two of you like beams of metal and light. Gotham watches the two of you like a cruel mother, and you feel your stomach bunch with nerves. 

“I—” you swallow thickly, “I called the apartment… thought you might still be there.”

Jason blinks, eyes combing across your face while his shoulders sag with the weight of that knowledge. 

“I wasn’t there, I’d left already.” 

“So you came looking for me?” 

Jason feels like hands are grabbing at his ribcage and splitting it open. He’s afraid that when he speaks again, everything he feels might spill out from his mouth—I love you I love you I love you I love you! 

“Yeah,” he settles with. “I should have—I should have gone looking for you sooner.” 

“You should have come home sooner,” you say. 

Jason nods, his jaw tightening while his throat throbs. He hasn’t felt this desperate in a long time.

“I’m really sorry, doll,” he murmurs, “I know you needed me, and I wasn’t…”

He can’t finish the sentence: I wasn’t there. 

You close your eyes while the burn becomes overwhelming, the first few tears falling like thin, silver ribbons. You never want to cry when there’s something hot and angry settled in your chest, but maybe you’re not really angry. Maybe you’re just tired and terribly in love.

“I forgive you, Jason,” you cry softly, and Jason’s body aches—as if the weight of your sorrow were breaking down his muscles, slowly eating away at his nerves.

Maybe you’d both been distant, but that never meant you had abandoned his soul. He is still irrevocably connected to you, so tightly that if you didn’t have physical forms, he’s sure the both of you would have merged into one single thing. 

He doesn’t know what that looks like, but Jason knows that it’s all that he wants.

Jason moves, almost senselessly, and his hands reach for you. They hover, not quite touching, and you open your eyes to find his outstretched hands. You don’t think or wait or pull away. His skin feels warm when you slip your fingers between his, intertwining your hands like a woven tapestry of calluses and scars. 

And forgiveness. 

“I’m sorry for leaving,” you say, voice thick with tears. 

Jason shakes his head instantly. “No, don’t—” 

He brings you closer, pulling you into him. Gunpowder and leather overwhelm your senses and you want to drown in it. You latch onto him like he might slip through your fingers—like he might be gone if you blink once, twice. 

You breathe him in and feel his chest shudder beneath your cheek.

“I’m not going to do that again,” Jason whispers brokenly, and his lips press against your scalp. “I won’t keep you waiting like that—I’m sorry that I did.”

You feel the ache in your chest slowly ease, though it doesn’t leave fully. 

“And,” he chokes around the dryness in his throat, “I’m sorry for all the things I said. I… I do need your help—more than I think I do. And you know me better than anyone else—I shouldn’t have pushed you away like that.”

You can hear the regret inside of him. It pulses like a heartbeat, and you want to soothe it. Blow it away like smoke. 

“It’s okay, Jason. I promise that it’s okay.”

Jason’s warm hands tighten around you, shielding you away from the rest of Gotham. 

“I love you,” Jason says, and there’s no hesitancy lingering behind the words. 

No shame.

No regret. 

No guilt. 

You want to cry even harder, but instead a lightness fills you, breathing air back into your lungs. Pure air, not the kind Gotham offers. Just the kind that Jason brings. 

“I love you too,” you reply softly.

The cars don’t slow, even when you feel like they should.

*** 

Luigi’s Pizza Place simmers with heat and spices, melted cheese and crispy bacon. Jason stands beside you with his hand firmly wrapped around yours. Both of you stare up at the menu, even though you both know the prices by heart. 

“We could get a hawaiian,” you say, and you hear Jason’s long exhale. 

“Sweetheart… we’ve talked about this.” 

“I will not hear any hawaiian pizza slander, Todd.” 

“It’s fruit on pizza—” 

“Invalid argument.”

Jason scoffs as you both shuffle along with the rest of the queue. 

“How is that an invalid argument?” 

You idly watch the staff flitter behind the counter. “Olives are a fruit, but no one complains about that.” 

“That’s… different,” Jason sighs. 

“How so?” 

“Because it’s still savoury.” 

“So? We put BBQ sauce on a bunch of pizzas and that’s sweet too. What’s wrong with pineapple being sweet?” 

“Baby,” there’s a laugh stuck in Jason’s words. “I don’t think that works the same way.” 

“Whatever—also, why is it that there’s more hate for hawaiian pizza than there is for those weird gummy pizzas?” 

Jason tugs you closer to him as a group of teenagers enter the place, loud voices bouncing inside the heated shop. 

“That I will agree with—that stuff's disgusting,” Jason mutters, and you squeeze his hand. 

“That’s probably better than any apology you’ve ever given me.”

A kiss is firmly planted against your temple.

“Minx,” Jason mumbles, and you smile wider than you have in a long time.

Thank you for reading, God bless <3

tags: @kitkatlover015 @batslilwhore @freythecrazyfae @soulsforsales @joinmeforadoublesuicide @sweetistic @zephrnyx @twismare

© harbours-lighthouse 2025 / i do not give permission for my work to be reposted, translated, or fed into ai. all works belong to me unless stated otherwise.

[fleurliz]

𝒟rop top

anton x f!r    (  ≧ᗜ≦)    fluff   ──────✿  ❕ kissing , reader wear a skirt,pure fluff

The sky cracked open sometime after sunset — you felt the first drops as you and Anton stumbled out of the old café, hands brushing but not quite holding yet.

When he looked up and saw the black clouds and the first fat raindrops, he laughed. “Uh-oh.”

Neither of you had an umbrella. Neither of you even thought about running for shelter.

You were in that little skirt he always said he liked, the one that made his ears turn pink when you spun around in it. Now it was sticking to your thighs, rain dripping from your hair, but all you could see was him.

“God, you’re gonna catch a cold,” he murmured, but his hands were already cradling your face, thumbs swiping at the wet strands stuck to your cheeks.

“And you’re gonna ruin your pretty hair,” you shot back, breathless. It made him laugh, that quiet little laugh only you ever heard.

You squealed when a cold drop splashed on your forehead. He caught your hand — warm, so warm even as the rain fell colder — and tugged you down the street.

“Run!” he yelled, laughing so hard he nearly tripped.

You ran with him, both of you dodging puddles, laughing too loud, the rain soaking through your clothes in seconds. You clutched his hand like your life depended on it — like if you let go, the sky itself would swallow you whole.

At the corner, he slowed down, breathless, hair plastered to his forehead. You were both panting, chests heaving, raindrops running down your eyelashes.

You were about to say something stupid — a giggly “We’re so wet!” — when he caught your wrist and yanked you flush against him. The laughter died in your throat.

His eyes darted over your face, wide and dark, searching. His thumb brushed your bottom lip, and the rain kept drumming on his shoulders, yours, the street around you.

Then he kissed you.

Not gentle. Not shy.

He kissed you like he’d been drowning for years and only just found air again. His mouth moved against yours with an aching hunger — tasting the rain on your tongue, stealing every breath you tried to take. His fingers slid into your wet hair, tugging just enough to make your knees weak.

You gasped into him, hands fisting his shirt so hard you knew you’d stretch it out. He didn’t care. His other hand splayed wide over your back, holding you there, chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat.

It was messy. It was wet. It was everything.

When he finally pulled back, your lips were swollen, your eyes half-closed, and your laugh came out shaky. He pressed his forehead to yours, still breathing hard, a grin splitting his face.

“God, I’ve wanted to do that since you ordered that stupid iced latte,” he panted.

You giggled, pushing your nose against his. “You’re insane, Anton.”

“Only for you.” And just like that — he kissed you again, harder this time, in the middle of the street while the rain kept falling like it would never stop.

guyss i had this in my draft for so long so i dont rlly know if thats great ?😭 i just wanted to post something and it sas there soo… u can send req if u want about any of the riize’s member !!

[dietcane]

⚢ barbed wire baby - dirty little secret

cw: dead dove, do not eat !!, age gap (ellie is late 30's, reader is 21), elements of domestic violence, toxic relationship, death, themes of organized crime (gangs/mafia/drug cartels), cheating, bribery, abuse (physical, drugs, alcohol), mentioned gambling, bloodplay, strap-on usage, heavy manipulation, dark!ellie, spitting, rough sex, oral sex, depictions of mental instability. more to be added!!

synopsis: as the adrenaline becomes more and more overwhelming, so does the danger. stakes are higher than ever. dingy prison cells, double entendres whispered through jail phones. knowing glances exchanged with prison guards. her modern day bonnie to her clyde. your life weighs in the balance. you know ellie has pull inside and out. you have to decide if you're willing to risk everything for her. are you?

DIRTY LITTLE SECRET

⤷ m.list | a/n: first chapters are soo short. lengthy ones soon!

Time rolled by quickly following the day of Ellie’s conjugal visit. Thirty minutes felt like five, hours felt like ten. Mindlessly slugging around Ellie’s too-big mansion. Cold hallways, impersonal decor, and ceilings that made you feel miniature from the sheer height of them. Following daily routines like second nature- brush teeth, shower, skincare, make-up, fix hair, attend whatever Ellie’s scheduled you for. Meaningless little things. Charity events, small outings so you’re not stuck in the house, fancy dinners with people of her caliber. Dangerous people, that is, adorned in thick Armani suits with glinting watches from brands that you’ve never heard of in your life.

Days become weeks and weeks become months. Life is a blur. Not much to keep in mind when you're being puppeteered from behind iron bars. Ellie has made no effort to get herself out or vy for a retrial. Content with the schedule she’s been abiding by for the last one hundred forty-two days.

Her men aren't dormant, though, despite her absence. Tirelessly working, arranging deals, carrying out hits, the usual. Trudging through the endless, eerie halls covered in blood. Bloody footprints caked into the tiled floors, seeping into the divots of grout and the stark paleness of the slabs of granite. Distinct screams sounding from the basement, the exhale of air from the suppressor and the heavy thunk of cold bodies hitting the concrete floor.

You didn't leave your room most days if Ellie didn't schedule or force you to attend one of her “graciously” planned events or activities for you. Majority of your days were spent in bed, pajama shorts around your ankles and panties long discarded, just trying to alleviate the pent-up arousal impending in your stomach. It didn't work much. Ellie knew your body much better than you did. Couldn't get yourself over the daunting brink while plagued with nausea. Nauseous from the cloying, sterile scent of bleach and hospital grade cleaning supplies. Nauseous from the coil of guilt and disgust roiling in the pit of your stomach every time you walked past the heavily guarded and locked basement door. Trapped away beneath thick deadbolts, nightlatches, and a series of biometric locks. Overkill, you think. One of Ellie’s best guardsmen- her right hand man, honestly- keeps an eye on this door- Abby Anderson. A heavyset blondie with striking blue eyes that tend to wander. Broad arms covered in scars and faint hair. She's not bad-looking. Stark opposite to Ellie, though.

Today, unfortunately, the basement guard has been swapped out with your usual bodyguard- Dina- and now you're under Abby’s watch. She’s gruff when she barges into your room, dress and cardigan clutched into her fist, arm extended. Your skin is sweat slick where you’re bare and naked in the middle of your bed, a spot carved out into the sheets. Knees propped up and spread. Your fingers are curled in between your thighs and they’re dripping with your own slick. She doesn't even look at you.

Your fumble to sit up, blanket pulled over your lower half, plagued with bouts of embarrassment and horror. You drag your dirtied fingers over the comforter, trying to even make yourself look even the closest semblance to presentable. Her eyes don’t even bother to look at you now. Eyes that once trailed over you whole and unashamedly- for a moment that brings you an inkling of comfort. It’s nice to think for a moment that she doesn’t want to see you vulnerable. Not without your permission. But then your brain oh-so helpfully supplies you all of the vague memories of Ellie leaving you out on display for all of her soldiers and men to see. One time? Completely bare with only a thick, leather collar hanging around your neck. Early on into the relationship. Mouthed off at her. Rattling off nonsense with an attitude just to be annoying. To be stubborn. Ellie wasn’t a fan of back talk. Or spunk for that matter. Made you sit at her feet like a dog. Of course you mouthed off about that too. For an entire week, she made you sit with the suffocating leather collar and leash. All while adorning a black eye, of course.

Her nose is turned up like it's inconveniencing her to even be in your presence. You swear that she even wipes her hand on her tactile weapon belt, slung heavy around her hips, when your fingers graze the back of her hand. You feel like you’re beneath her. Her expression is bored and her tongue is prodding into her cheek. You’re staring. Freckles, scarred cheek, blue eyes, pretty lashes. She’s hot. But you keep it to yourself.

“Not sure Els would really appreciate you finger deep with no panties around her guards, yeah? Keep it to yourself, pretty.” Her voice doesn’t sound how you’d expect it to. You expected her to be harsher, more brute-like. It’s slick. Like one of those dommes in videos you’d tumbled over in the depths of the internet- late at night and pent up. Slick with a honey dew seductive caliber. You deduce the fact you definitely want Abby Anderson- your wife’s right-hand man- to jump your bones, even if that’s the last thing that ever happens to you. The thought plagues you with guilt, but you try to mediate it with the excuse of ovulation. Wife is incarcerated, you’re frustratingly warm, and you’re ovulating! You’re clearly not yourself.

-

Silence has become severely familiar to you. One of your closest adversaries. Bleak nights spent sitting on balconies, silent alongside nothing but the stars and the moon to keep you company. Some nights you lay in bed and just think. Thinking about how life would be if you had heed the warning about Ellie’s bars. Bars tucked into shady, yet so lively corners of New York City. Maybe you’d still be in school, continuing your major. Slumped over psychology textbooks with shitty plastic chicken flavored cup ramen and half melted pints of Ben and Jerry’s- a frivolous purchase for a broke, barely scraping by university student. I mean, come on, nearly five dollars for a pint? Breyers sells the same thing for the same price for way more! But hey, cramming for exams with the bliss of a thirty minute affair with a spoon a five buck delicacy. Burnt coffee from communal coffee pots, sticky countertops and mildewy showers shared with halls of girls and snuck in friends and boyfriends. Truly a romanticized experience for you. Silence always brings you back here. Brings you back to every moment where you’ve dwelled over every decision you’ve ever made. Thoughts of how every single choice you’ve made led to over choices. Butterfly effect and the whole nine yards. The silence is deafening, suffocating and all consuming.

Ellie’s favorite black Mercedes SUV is silent. The interior is cold and dark, windows are up, and the AC is steadily blowing, just at the settings how Ellie favors it. Just enough to prick the hair up on her arms and wake her up when she has to force herself through grueling business proposals at ten in the morning almost every day of the week. The dress and cardigan she pulled for you today doesn’t do much to alleviate the pulsating blow of chilled air throughout the car. A white poplin and lace MiuMiu dress with a boring white shrug and a pair of pale slingback pumps from Dior. The color is reminiscent of what you think a decaying ballet pointe shoe would look like. Reminiscent of pointe shoes that have been carved and shanked and dulled at the platform. Wilted at the wings and vamp. A pale, dusted pink. Pointe shoes that have been on relevé much too long and turned and piqued for years. So much emotion and grace muddled into the color of a pair of bleak pair of heels. You hate it. It’s stiff and expensive, just how Ellie wants you to be.

You’re in the backseat alone, though. Abby driving, gun perched in her lap, clutched with her left hand. Ambidextrous, maybe. Her right hand rests lazily against the bottom of the steering wheel, occasionally steering towards exits and down dirt-pathed back roads. Another guard, Caitlyn, is in the passenger seat. Killer aim from what you’ve gathered amidst brief presences in Ellie’s meetings. Caitlyn wields snipers and shotguns in steady hands trained on frantic targets and never misses. She’s lethal. Ellie’s favorite contract killer- her perfectly trained mercenary for hire. Her eyes are tired and deadpan where they meet you through the rearview mirror. Dark blue hair- odd choice for their field of work- with lighter, yet calculating even more blue eyes. Scanning, analyzing, horrifying.

Prison is not a place you enjoy frequenting. The drive there is tedious and tense, sandwiched between two women with years of experience and blood on their hands. They’re unapologetic with how they presented themselves. Brutish, rough, heavy. While Ellie was purposeful with how she carried herself. Kept home and work separate. Guns and knives tucked away neatly into locked cabinets and drawers, all hidden away in her heavily guarded and locked office room, where her guards were opposites. Constantly in their suits and tactile belts with guns strapped around ankles under slacks and pocket knives hidden under sleeves of custom-tailored and fitted suit jackets.

You’ve learned to dissociate during the drive from Ellie’s mansion to her tucked away hiding spot that she calls her reprieve from her everyday chores. Her reprieve from you, maybe. Your chest burns. The thought is sour and no matter how much you try to swallow, it doesn't let up. It's saccharine, cloying, excessive. Too much.

Your lungs feel like they're contracting faster than they can expand. In, out, out. You're gasping, almost. Silently. Caitlyn’s eyes find yours through the rear view mirror. She's judging you. Unimpressed, like she's shaming you. Furrowed brows pinched together in an expression of utter contempt. She's looking at you like you're a child. Like you're beneath her.

You're not crying, yet.

You're getting worked up over nothing. Rubbing the heel of your palm over your restlessly beating heart and over contracting lungs. Because maybe, just maybe, your wife sees your absence as a reprieve. Sees her heavily scheduled and monitored days and routines as a break from you. Basking in the solace of freedom from you. The solace of having someone so attached and dependent on you. Ellie was probably having the time of her life- her men inside with her, being puppeteered to cater to her whims to let her roam and reign however she’d liked.

You weren’t useful to her. Not like how her guardsmen were. They fought and bled for her. You were just… there.

You don't enjoy that. Jealousy and envy plague you paralyzed. You try to meet her eyes through the mirror again, but her eyes are trained on the street before the three of you. You shift in your seat uncomfortably. Sat in the middle seat of the second row in Ellie’s SUV, you get a clear gaze of them both. Yet, they pay you no mind. Why are you so invisible?

Shaky hands fumble through carved-out compartments on backseat doors. Rifling through pens and paper clips and other meaningless office supplies, your hand drags over one of Ellie’s switchblades she keeps in her truck. It's cold and heavy where it rests in the palm of your hand. Engraved with her initials. Abby and Caitlyn don't notice, don't spare you a passing glimpse, a tiny eye contact. Nothing.

You're alone on the road, no other cars around, only you, Abby, and Caitlyn confined to the SUV. Your hands and body move before your mind does. Before your consciousness.

Your hand wraps around Caitlyn’s head from behind the seat. She grunts in surprise and jolts. A strength in your arms erupts like never before- have you always been this strong? It's a three-second affair. Caitlyn’s head is held starkly against the headrest of Ellie’s Mercedes.

A firm swipe. It's jagged, unconfident. Not a surgical cut. It's done with shaky impulsive hands. A jagged line from the left carotid to her right. Caitlyn’s blood is warm where it trickles over your fingers. She’s not going to make it, you guess. Asphyxia or blood loss. Abby is cursing and trying to swerve to pull over. Caitlyn is gurgling and trying to grasp at her throat, but the wound is far too big and you doubt Abby’s attempt at a half-assed tourniquet will do much.

Abby pushes you back, flat against the seat. You sit there, staring at your hands. Blade flat against your thighs, still extended outwards, covered in maroon shades. Soaking wet. You touch your face gingerly. Trembling fingers drenched in someone else’s bodily fluids. You frown. Wipe your eyes afterwards. Wrong hand, you make the mental note, not to wipe with your left hand. You’re sat in the backseat, Caitlyn’s blood, smeared mascara, and eyeliner smudged around your eyes. Not a pretty sight, you’d bet. Ellie wouldn't like it.

Her blood has stained your sweater. Her blood cascaded down from the silver engraved blade, lacing around your fingers, and dribbling down your arm. There’s a puddle of it in her lap, steadily streaming into the seats. There are flecks of it on your dress. You realize that it’s not just Caitlyn’s blood on your dress.

A steady stream of it dripping onto your dress. Your nose is bleeding.

You’re not mentally present anymore. Your mind lags behind and the world keeps spinning. Why did you do that?

“Ellie’s going to have a time with you later. Can’t imagine how she’d feel when she finds out you ganked the chick she’d been banging for the past year and a half.”

For good measure (or overkill, honestly) you shiv the blade into the back of the headrest where Caitlyn is sitting. You earn a sickening crack in return. If she wasn't dead before, she is now.

-

The shower is ice cold. You couldn't move the entire way home. Manhandled by Abby into the house, heavy boot steps followed by meek clinks of heels. She had to undress you since you wouldn't move.

The water going down the drain is a painful scarlet. Swirls around your toes and leaves streaky lines down your body.

The once-white porcelain shower floor is now like a soaking wet canvas. Drenched in water color reds and pinks and faint traces of orange-red variants. Swirled and dragged down to pool around the drain. A faint ring resides there. Mocking you. You killed Caitlyn. In a fit of rage. Like a child. A petulant child so worked up with unbridled rage that they’d resorted to violence. Unstable and unable. It’s embarrassing. You close your eyes. Maybe shutting them out will block out the mockery of the blood drying around the drain, to shield you from the backlash of your actions. To play as a fortress against the impending breakdown festering underneath your surface.

Caitlyn’s dying expression is burned into your retinas. Melded to the backs of your eyelids. You see her when your eyes are open, when they’re closed, even when you try to dissociate yourself out of the world. Out of the world and into the back of your mind when nothing can bother you, just your everlasting state of peace.

Sickly, seeing that excited you. You know it’s wrong. Far more than wrong, really. The smile starts off slow, A small quirk of the corner of your mouth when you start to recount how her eyes glazed over. How her lips trembled and her nostrils flared. How her hands smacked weakly at your right hand over her forehead, holding her still. How she writhed when she squirmed in her seat as you dragged the blade across her neck. How warm her blood felt over your cold hands. The weight of the blade in your palm.

The smile becomes a grin- full teeth, all expression. A quivering smile, canines pointed. Then it becomes a laugh- hysterical, loud, full body. Abby’s large hands are stabilizing your shaking body. You can barely stand. The laugh is all consuming and it throws you off kilter. You’re leaning against her, soaking wet, blood stained face, and you’re laughing!

The tears followed shortly. Hysterical laughter followed by the onslaught of body wracking sobs. Abby’s hand grips your hair tightly, holding your face beneath the steady stream of the shower, You’re still laughing. Laughs and sobs quickly become sobs and chokes and coughs.

Her hand drags roughly over your face, dragging calloused palms over sensitive cheeks and rubs over dried blood in its path. She’s cleaning you- rather roughly, but cleaning you nonetheless. You can’t stop inhaling the water. A steady stream buffing over your eyes, down the slope of your nose and into your mouth. Streaming into your nostrils, settling down your throat. It’s cold water but it burns the lining of your throat like scalding hot water. What drowning feels like, maybe. Like a million tiny shards of glass are trailing down every lining in your body until they’re all covered and bleeding.

Abby yanks you back and you cough pathetically.

“Figured you needed a chaser after all that. Boss won’t like it if I brought her girl to come see her all doped up, hm? It’s not the adrenaline anymore makin’ you laugh. Just pure you. You sick fuck, probably enjoyed it, right? Baby’s first kill?”

Her voice is mocking and doing so much for you. It’s silken and honey-like and it rattles around your brain. Probably affecting the brain chemistry you have up there- or maybe the lack thereof since you just murdered one of your wife’s best workers and laughed about it afterwards. You swallow and adjust your footing. Avoiding eye contact. You decide you’ll jump her bones if you look her in the eye.

The water’s off now. You didn’t notice she did it. Too caught up in the whirlwind of your brain- scattered, messy, unattentive. The blood has long dried around the drain. Ring of Caitlyn’s life crusted around the holed steel circle. Red, blatant, and present. The goosebumps on your arms are starting to bud. Pricking up and spreading. Your fingers graze over your arms, fingertips dragged over soft bumps, almost like braille. The goosebumps aren’t just from the cold. Fleshy braille blossoming from the sheer recount of Caitlyn and the presence of Abby alone.

Your eyes fix on the drain. The smile is bigger than before. Standing in the porcelain shower, dripping wet, arms wrapped around yourself, smile wider than ever. And in that exact moment? You don’t feel an ounce of regret.

-

Your heels click as you’re walked down the corridor of the non-contact visit room by one of Ellie’s men, Jesse, and Abby. Similar outfit as your one from this morning, long vintage MiuMiu dress with the same dulled out ballerina-destroyed-pointe-shoe pink heels. No sweater this time- the only good one to go with this dress was currently blood stained and being bleached by one of Ellie’s many servants and maids- whole yadda yadda.

Ellie’s the only inmate in there. A row of double ended glass walls with phones haphazardly attached to the walls. She’s manspreading on the other side- hideous jumpsuit unzipped and hanging lowly around her hips, wife beater on display. There’s a cigarette hanging between her pointer and middle finger. She’s staring directly at you, just lazily smirking at you. You stand behind the chair across from her, on the other side of the glass. Abby slides behind you, pulling it out and gesturing for you to sit. Your eye catches the phone to the right of you. Ellie is still staring, analyzing. Looking.

Her right hand finds the black phone to her side and you mirror her action instinctively. Her breaths are light through the phone. You hold it up to your ear and avoid her incessant eye contact.

“Where’s Caitlyn, baby?”

A single eye twitch, barely perceptible if Ellie wasn’t looking at you so harshly. It gives you away instantaneously. Nausea washes over you quickly. Nausea, regret, guilt.

Ellie knows it too. The way she looks right through you. Makes you feel like you absolutely have to tell her every single secret you’ve ever held dear to your heart. Spill every single little meaningless thought you have just to appease her. You’re tense, paralyzed with guilt and everything underneath the sun.

“I don’t know why I did it. The way she looked at me, Els. Made me angry and it happened before I knew why. But, I don’t feel sorry. I can’t feel sorry,”

You tumbled and spewed off like a dam finally breaking. Every single thought streaming out of your lips without much regard. Only impulse. Adrenaline. So many words yet you couldn’t properly deduce it to one feeling. You felt sick.

Ellie takes a drag from the cigarette between her fingers. She doesn’t respond to you, just simply stares. The smirk widens, she’s smiling at you now. She doesn’t express disappointment or contempt. Just stares at you down the slope of her nose. Flicks the ash off the end of the cigarette onto the table beneath the two of you. The smoke warbles into the air, curling and warping in all of its ashen grey glory. You wrinkle your nose at the smell unconsciously and Ellie chuckles. A soft exhale of air. Real quiet. The hair on your arms prick at the sound and you cross your legs.

Your body suddenly feels warm. Ellie notices that too. Notices everything.

“Got Caitlyn with my blade, eh? Figured Abs over here told you about me an’ her, too. Did that bother you too? Does it bother you that I went to Caitlyn to fulfill my needs because you’re not enough? She knew how to shut up and take it when I needed it. You’re far too much at times, angel.” Her tone is heavy and brutal. You know it’s true. Your hands are trembling now and tears are pricking at your eyes. It does bother you.

Psychological warfare. One of Ellie’s strong suits. Knows how to build you up and tear you down tenfold. Tells you all the right things, says it how you want to hear it. Whispers those sweet nothings that really mean nothing to her. Nothing to her but everything for you. The ring on your left hand suddenly feels heavier than it ever has. Like it has enough weight to keep your hand flush against the table, paralyzed still. The band feels restricting, contracting and shrinking around the fleshy skin of your finger. It feels impersonal, now. Like it’s not meant to be yours. Like it’s meant to be for another. Maybe like it’s Caitlyn’s.

“Yes! I hurt Caitlyn and in return I feel no remorse.”

“Au contraire, sweetheart.”

You bang your hand against the table. Chest heaving in a fit of frustration. Ellie is looking at you like you’re a child. Just like how Caitlyn looked down at you. A petulant child with a knack for temper tantrums. Contempt. Contempt. Contempt. That’s all they see of you, right? You’re beneath them. Unworthy. Useless. You’re not going to be on their level, ever.

“First kill does that to someone like you, cutie. You’re just a walking pendulum of instability today, aren’t ‘ya? Sitting there all wet in your panties thinkin’ about how you hurt Cait. Am I right?”

She’s baiting you. Egging you on for a reaction so she can retaliate, with ease. Waiting for you to hit that brink so she can exploit it over and over and over again. You’re close. Temper rising, pendulum swinging. Rocking between emotion to emotion, each one on two opposite sides of the spectrum. Adrenaline coursing and rampaging to paralyzed with bouts of hysteria. Pendulum. Always swinging, save for the calm-before-the-storm moments. The moments when you remember how well acquainted you are with silence. How a part of you silence truly is. Those brief moments of quiet and solace and tranquility.

Ellie’s steady breathing is grounding you. Your nails have carved crescent-shaped scars into your palm. You rock back and forth in the chair and you’re vaguely aware of where you are. Your trembling hands grasp a little tighter around the jail phone. It’s cold to the touch. Freezing where it presses against your ear. Shaky, unstable, unfit.

But the thing is, Ellie is right. You’re angry and pent up and frustratingly wet in your seat. Your eyes find hers and she offers you a smile.

“‘S just us in here. No cameras. Put your feet up on your chair and give me a show. Show me how bothered you are. Flip the pretty little dress I bought you up so I can see everything, yeah?”

You push back in the chair you’re in. Tug your dress up, tug panties down. You reluctantly spread your legs, completely baren to the guards behind Ellie. The position is awkward. Fingers delving between soaked sticky folds, spreading and displaying, all for Ellie.

Your body is burning hot but your fingers are cold. Freezing, shaky. You’re hesitant. Dragging your fingers through your slick, swallowing back shaky whimpers. Her eyes are on you and that's all you want. It spurs you a little further, slipping the tip of your finger in. You gasp how Ellie likes it. You’re performing for her. A practiced art. Steady pumping of fingers and small drags with the pad of your thumb over your over-sensitive clit.

Ellie’s put out her cigarette now. Burning tip put out on the palm of the guard nearest to her. She’d never believed in ashtrays. More convenient to put it out on the nearest surface. Whether that’d be you, herself, a table, or even her soldiers.

Green eyes laser focus onto you. Unmoving, attentive. Momentarily, her eyes flick up to Abby behind you. In seconds, you’re livid.

You pull back. Fingers wiped haphazardly against lacy fabric. Panties snatched back up your legs in a fit of rage. Standing on your feet. Fists clenched and nostrils flared. Your fingers are sticky against your palm. You're faintly aware of how it feels. It grounds you more. Just slightly.

Ellie smiles, leaning back completely. The chair she’s in is tilting on its two back legs. She looks so fucking good.

She squints at you before clicking her tongue and standing up.

Her voice is loud enough that you can hear her through the reinforced glass.

“God, I’ve got to get you on valium or something. Acting like a fuckin’ baby.”

Your eyes start to prick with tears and you sit back down. You weren't a child. Grown adult. A woman. Who could control her rapidly swinging range of emotions. You were good. Stable.

Not a fucking baby.

A woman saddled with a temper that was kept in check. You could do that, right? Keep it settled and hidden. To appease Ellie. That's all that matters to you.

Validation. One word. Ten letters. Still such significant weight. It's all you want. Not money, not material, not the latest new fad- but Ellie’s validation.

That's what you were going after when you slid Ellie’s favorite blade across Caitlyn’s neck, right? Seeking out validation when you watched her eyes glaze over and the way her shaky hands tried to grasp at the steady bubble of the blood seeping from her carotids.

Seeking out validation when you stood underneath the freezing cold stream of Ellie’s shower. When you stared and watched the blood clawed its way out of your skin in streaky globs and spiralled around the drain. Watched it dry and settle and sink into the textured floor of the shower. Watched the drain pool with scarlet water as it released steadily.

Seeking out validation when you barely struggled against Abby when she held you underneath the water that burned your lungs. When you let her manhandle you under the steady onslaught of ice cold water and you smiled. You let her. Didn't argue, fuss, or fight.

All for Ellie’s validation, right?

She made you act that way. It was all for her. Whether she liked that or not.

taglist: @bambiaches @mabermaple @starrdelight @vahnilla @elliesfavtoy @sulliefimmie @oneinameliann @eriiwaiii2 @azxteria @l0veylace @valeisaslut @slutforabbyanderson @hitmehardmommy @billiegabbysyd @the-sick-habit

cmnt to be added or removed!!

- jadie loves u!

[callme-holly]

𝐮𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 - 𝐃.𝐂

||۶ৎ part 2 of the unprofessional series !! a darry curtis x teacher!reader au

⊹₊⋆.˚୨୧⋆.˚₊ ⊹

You tried to convince yourself it was a one-off, that the conversation with Darry had stuck with you because it was unexpected. Because you were tired and just wanted to go home… Nothing more than that. 

But that didn’t seem to excuse the fact that the words he’d spoken to you ran through your mind anytime it got empty, his voice echoing throughout your head, destroying that ebbing silence you’d grown accustomed to. 

It didn’t explain the way your stomach would flip anytime you saw someone tall and broad-shouldered or the way you’d tune in the moment you heard Ponyboy mention his ‘brothers’. 

When you did see him, he never stayed long. Some days he’d walk Pony to the gates, drop him off with a few quick words and a subtle glance in your direction. You never spoke, but you noticed him every single time. 

One time, you both caught each other’s eyes, holding his gaze for a few fleeting seconds in a way that sent your mind into a tailspin for the following week. 

It wasn't long after that when Pony hung back after class, lingering by your desk while everyone else filed out, looking uncertain and slightly awkward.

"Miss?" He mumbled, shifting from one foot to the other. "I was wondering if you could help me with something..." He held out a crumpled piece of paper; the project instructions you'd given on Of Mice and Men. "I don't really get what you meant by 'symbolic framework'."

With a gentle smile, you took the sheet from him, gesturing for him to pull up a chair. "You want me to go over it with you."

You didn't miss the look of relief that washed over him at that, and he nodded quickly, sitting down beside you and leaning forward with an engagement that made your job feel worthwhile.

For the next half hour, you talked him through the instructions, going over each step in a detail that seemed to map things out clearly. You talked about the author's intentions and how the words carried more than they let on. Pony listened closely, hanging onto each word and offering little insights when there was a gap to speak.

And it was times like that that made you remember exactly why you had so much faith in him—he was a bright kid, one of the smartest you'd ever seen. The other students seemed to flunk the class, brushing it aside as nothing more than words and boring books. But Pony... He understood. And that was important to you.

Neither of you seemed to realise how much time had passed until the clock hit 4 and the door to your classroom creaked open slowly, the hinges squealing out, desperate for the relief of replacement. You glanced up sharply, breath catching.

Darry.

He stood in the doorway, hair still damp with sweat from the long shift he'd no doubt just got off of, boots tracking dirt across the linoleum in a way that would usually make you wince had he been any other parent. His expression was unreadable, but it wasn't unkind.

"hey," he mumbled softly. "Didn't realise you were staying late."

You stood sharply, smoothing down your blouse and tucking your hair behind your ear, suddenly incredibly apologetic.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't realise the time. I didn't mean to keep him so long! I should've called home to say---"

But Darry simply waved you off, eyes softening, the faintest hint of a smile pulling at his lips. "Don't worry. I hope he wasn't a bother."

"Not at all. He asked good questions."

There was a pause, long and lingering. Pony stood and hoisted his bag over his shoulder, grabbing the project sheet, now adorned with fresh notes, and thanked you quietly. He slipped out into the hallway and you let out a long breath.

Darry didn't follow straight away.

Instead, he lingered near your desk, fists jammed in his pockets, boots scuffing against the floor. He looked as if he wanted to say something, like the words were burning, but he just didn't know how. So you started first.

"Everything okay?"

He nodded once, eyes flickering toward the door, then back to you.

"You're good for him."

The words landed with more weight than you expected, another mantra that would surely loop through your brain like a broken record.

You smiled sweetly and nodded, the expression genuine and fond. "He makes things easy. You've raised him well."

Darry let out a sigh the moment the words settled, as if that alone was a massive weight off his shoulders, like he'd needed to hear someone tell him that for months and you'd finally said it.

"He doesn't really talk about school much, but he mentions you. I can tell it means something to him. What you're doing."

Another beat of silence, warmer than the last. You studied him in the soft glow of the evening, every tired line of his face, every speck of grime left over from his job.

"You're doing a good job."

"Yeah?" he muttered and you nodded.

"Better than I see most parents treating their kids. It's clear you work hard. That you love him."

Darry looked away, his jaw clenched. He didn't speak for a few moments, and for a second you thought maybe you'd pushed things too far.

And then he smiled—not the guarded little twitch of the lips he'd given you before—a full, genuine smile. "I better get going," he said, backing towards the door, eyes never leaving yours. "I'll see you around."

It wasn't a question. And that's what made your heart race. He wanted to see you and meant to speak to you again…

You were in trouble. This, whatever it was becoming, was dangerous.

And yet, while that was a very conscious thought, it didn't stop you from wishing he'd show up again. 

||۶ৎ chapters

||۶ৎ tag list. @mrsdillonx , @goingdelux18 , @princesshailierawr , @r0seb100d , @groovydonutpost, @rizzraa , @sheepandlams , @marinefreaakk , @sugarrootwrites , @marilyn-girly , @itonlyhastobetruetoday , @dairyfairyy , @williamafton26 , @mystiqueonfleek007 , @atpeacee , @theoneandonly-vrg , @hge-cok , @warped-rabbithole , @muu-5uvii , @fatalloveanddevotion , @marianaissocool , @jamesdeanbby

lmk if anyone wants to be added or removed from taglist xx

[readreidsworld]

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky notices you haven’t been wearing your wedding ring

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It was one of those quiet Sunday mornings in the Barnes household sunlight spilling through the sheer curtains, the scent of fresh coffee drifting from the kitchen, and the sound of Bucky humming something old-timey under his breath.

You padded into the kitchen in one of his old Henley’s and a pair of fuzzy socks, hair tousled and cheeks still warm from sleep. He smiled when he saw you, his whole face lighting up in that boyish way that still made your heart do flips.

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead as you leaned against the counter beside him. His metal hand slid around your waist automatically, like it always did.

“Mornin’, Bucky.” You yawned, stretching your arms over your head, and that’s when you saw his eyes flick down for just a second. It was subtle, but you caught it. He didn’t say anything. Not right away.

But you knew Bucky Barnes better than anyone, and you recognized that soft flicker of doubt in his eyes before he turned back to the coffee.

You glanced down at your hand. Bare.

You hadn’t meant to leave your ring off not in any significant way. You’d taken it off last week while baking because dough had gotten stuck in the band, and then you’d forgotten to put it back on. It had sat safely in the little dish on your dresser, waiting for you.

But Bucky hadn’t asked about it. Not once.

You stood quietly for a moment, then reached for the coffee mug he’d already poured for you. His back was to you now, but his shoulders were a little stiffer than usual.

“Bucky,” you said gently, cradling the warm mug in your hands. “Can I ask you something?”

He turned slowly, expression soft but guarded. “Of course, doll.”

“Did you… notice I haven’t been wearing my ring?”

His eyes flicked to your bare finger again. He didn’t answer right away. Just gave a small, quiet nod. “Yeah. I noticed.”

You bit your lip. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

He shrugged, and the corner of his mouth twitched like he was trying not to let something deeper show. “Didn’t wanna make a big deal out of it. Figured maybe it was uncomfortable or you needed a break from it. I didn’t want you to feel like you had to wear it for me.”

You walked over to him and reached up to cup his face. His stubble scratched your palm as he leaned into your touch, almost instinctively.

“Bucky. I took it off while I was baking and just forgot to put it back on. That’s it.” Your thumb brushed across his cheekbone. “You think I’d ever want a break from being married to you?”

He looked down at you, eyes soft and unsure in that way that only you got to see.

“I know it’s just a ring,” he murmured. “But when I don’t see it, I guess… part of me wonders if maybe you”

“No,” you said firmly, already reaching for his hand. “I love you. I love being your wife. It has nothing to do with a ring on my finger.” You gave a sheepish smile. “Though I am gonna go put it back on right now.”

You turned to leave, but he tugged your wrist gently. “Wait.”

You paused, eyebrows raised.

He pulled a small box out of the junk drawer behind him. “Since we’re talkin’ about rings…”

You blinked. “Bucky?”

“I saw this the other day when I was picking up your favorite tea.” He opened the box to reveal a delicate chain. “So if you ever don’t wanna wear the ring on your finger, you can wear it on this. Around your neck. Still close to your heart.”

“James Buchanan Barnes,” you whispered, heart full and eyes shining. “You are the sweetest man on this entire planet.”

He grinned, relieved now. “I just love bein’ yours, sweetheart. I know it’s silly to get caught up in a ring, but… it reminds me every day that I get to call you mine.”

You took the chain from him, slipping it on so the ring rested just above your heart. “There. Now you’ve got me twice over.”

He pulled you into his arms, wrapping you up in warmth and familiar safety. “Yeah, but you had me first.”

You kissed him right there in the kitchen, sun streaming in, coffee long forgotten, both of you wrapped in a love that didn’t need gold or diamonds to prove it still sparkled just as brightly. You had slipped the wedding ring back onto your finger that morning. It felt warm again, like it belonged there like it never should’ve left in the first place.

Bucky noticed immediately, of course. You were just getting ready to leave the apartment, he was slipping on his leather jacket when you held your hand out to grab your phone and your ring glinted in the light.

He froze mid-motion, lips twitching into a grin so wide it practically split his face.

“You wore it.”

You looked down innocently. “Wore what?”

“Don’t play with me, doll,” he said, pulling you toward him by the hand in question. “Look at you, showin’ off.”

“I just figured since my very handsome husband gave me the prettiest ring in the world, I should wear it,” you said, eyes sparkling.

“Damn right,” he muttered, and before you could say another word, he dipped his head and kissed the hand with your ring like some old-fashioned heartthrob. “I’ll never get tired of seein’ it on you.”

You leaned into him with a smirk. “You gonna cry again?”

“I didn’t cry the first time,” he grumbled half heartedly, but the way his ears turned pink betrayed him.

You just grinned. “Sure you didn’t.”

[uconndallas]

Name: Whiteout

A/N: I’m not even gonna pretend to be chill. AZZI’S. PHONE. CASE. says “Paige Bueckers’ girlfriend.” i am actually unwell over this. Anyways here is chapter three of whiteout! <3

Summary: Paige and Azzi have been roommates all their college years teammates on the court but worlds apart off it. When a surprise snowstorm traps them together on campus overnight, old tensions boil up, and buried feelings start to surface. As the campus shuts down and the night stretches on, the walls between them begin to crumble. But can they face what’s really been hiding beneath the surface before the morning comes?

Chapter Three: Fracture Lines

The storm had settled into its rhythm. A constant hush punctuated by gusts that rattled the windows just enough to remind them they were still in it. Still stuck, together, in this room that had been a home, a battlefield, and now—something between the two.

Azzi still hadn’t moved from Paige’s bed.

Her shoulder was warm where it pressed against Paige’s, the blanket slung over both their legs now like a quiet agreement. Paige’s heart thudded at the closeness, but she didn’t pull away. Couldn’t. She’d been craving this nearness for too long to let it go now that it was here.

Neither of them spoke for a while. Their breathing synced like clock hands resetting.

Paige was the first to break it. “Why now?”

Azzi looked up. Her expression was soft but guarded, like someone peering through frosted glass. “Why what?”

“Why come over. Why… sit here.” Paige hesitated. “Why not keep pretending?”

Azzi tilted her head slightly, curls brushing her cheek. “Because I couldn’t do it anymore.”

Paige searched her face. “Do what?”

Azzi’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Lie to myself. Lie to you.”

The room felt smaller. Closer. Paige swallowed the sudden knot in her throat. “What were you lying about?”

Azzi looked down at their hands—still close, not quite touching now, but close enough that all it would take was the smallest shift.

“That I didn’t still love you.”

The words landed like snowfall—silent, heavy, impossible to ignore.

Paige exhaled sharply. “Azzi…”

She didn’t finish the sentence. Didn’t know how to. She had waited so long to hear those words, she hadn’t prepared for how much they would hurt. Not in a bad way. But in the way only the truth can—honest and cutting and overdue.

“I thought you hated me,” she said instead. “After everything.”

Azzi shook her head. “Never. I was angry. Hurt. Confused. But never that.”

There was a pause.

“I saw your name on my phone every day,” Azzi said. “In texts we didn’t send. In songs we used to share. In old photos that kept showing up in my memories like some kind of sick joke.”

Paige’s heart thudded. “Then why didn’t you say something?”

Azzi’s voice cracked. “Because I was scared you’d moved on. That you didn’t want this anymore.”

Paige looked at her. Really looked. “Azzi, I never moved on. I didn’t know how.”

Azzi smiled, but it was watery, fragile. “You always made me feel like I had to be the strong one. The calm one. Even when my heart was screaming.”

Paige hesitated, then finally—finally—reached over and laced their fingers together. Azzi’s grip was instant and tight. Like she’d been waiting for this anchor in the dark.

“You don’t have to be the strong one tonight,” Paige whispered. “You can just be with me.”

Azzi let out a breath that sounded like a sob. “God, I missed you.”

“I missed us.” Paige leaned her head gently onto Azzi’s shoulder. “But I think we can still find our way back.”

“I don’t know if we’re supposed to go back,” Azzi murmured. “Maybe we’re supposed to start something new.”

The words hung between them—hopeful, dangerous, true.

Paige sat up slightly, looking her in the eyes. “Then let’s start.”

Azzi’s eyes searched hers. “Now?”

“I don’t want to wait anymore.”

Azzi hesitated—just a second. Then she leaned in.

It wasn’t a dramatic kiss. It wasn’t even a kiss yet. But it was close—Paige’s forehead touching Azzi’s, both of them breathing the same fragile air, steadying themselves on each other.

“I still wear that hoodie,” Azzi whispered. “The one I spilled hot chocolate on.”

Paige grinned. “I know. I saw the stain last week.”

“I only wear it when I miss you.”

Paige reached up and tucked a curl behind her ear. “You don’t have to miss me anymore.”

Azzi’s lips curved into the smallest smile. “Good.”

And then, finally, finally—they kissed.

Soft. Slow. Like an apology and a promise tangled together. The kind of kiss that feels like a beginning, not an ending. The kind that makes you forget about storms and snow and power outages and all the ways you hurt each other just by staying silent.

Outside, the wind howled again—but softer now, as if it, too, had found some peace.

Inside, Paige and Azzi held on like the only thing left was each other.

[enjakey]

YOU’RE SO BEAUTIFUL

Enhypen 8th!Fem!Member

TW/N | 5k- I wrote this like 2-3 years ago tops. Maybe even four years ago. So keep that in mind- the timelines may confuse you. Also I’m like so fucking happy right now. I can’t believe I fucking found this. Feels like a gold mine. A small part of me has healed. I hope this heals you like it healed me | it’s kinda eluded that the pairing is JAKE x YOU

Summary: being the only girl in a k-pop group came with more backlash than you could expect, especially considering the fact that the rest of the members were chosen after you were; that you were the prize that they had fought for to debut with. No one was a fan of it, not even the members. But it was inevitable that everyone got close, started seeing each other as family. And though the members had accepted you, you feared that the fans never would (+ v-live scene w Jake very cute and fluffy)

There were a lot of qualities to admire about Y/N. That was the first thing he learnt about her since the day he landed his eyes on her when they were still on I-Land. She was the only girl there, that was something worthy enough to be admired. He gawked at her the way everyone else did when her presence was made official but he supported her more than anyone else.

There were rumours about her, lots of them. People said she was only here as an experiment or she was only scouted for the viewers' amusement. It could have been true and she could have been a ruse, but she was talented regardless of what they said or how much they wanted her gone. She deserved to shine brighter than any star and she deserved to win.

When Enhypen was born, Y/N stood beside Jake, an arm wrapped around him and Sunghoon and smiled like she had just conquered the world. Perhaps she did conquer the world, perhaps she stole everyone's heart. She was living her dream, enjoying every bit of it with glee and pride.

She fit in like a glove, like a puzzle piece that held everything together. There's no other place I could wish to be, she said and it was true. It was all true, coming right from the bottom of her heart. She got to know everyone, grew fond of her new life just the way everyone grew fond of her.

Jake saw her run in a princess dress for their music videos, then saunter into interviews with tight skirts and high heels. He listened to her sing like an angel, then laugh like a cartoon character. He watched her dance like a professional, then crash into couches with little to no shame. 

Jake didn't think much of it, at first. He'd look at her and he'd admire her. He'd look at her and it was like second nature to smile. He'd look at her and she'd look back, cracking a toothy grin then looking away. 

There was nothing to think much of until a couple of months ago when they were all piled into a hotel room. It was the end of a taxing day, they decided it was just best to rest and relax. While they fell into a conversation, Jake found himself laying on the curve of Y/N's waist. She didn't oppose it, just trailed her hand towards his hair, tips of her fingers brushing over his head.

She was afraid to move, in fear that he'd just sit straight and rid her of any of his contact for the rest of the night. Her breath clogged in her throat, chest barely moving as she concentrated on what Sunoo was saying. Her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed and her fingers stayed still.

It was Jake that moved, though, telling her to sleep on her back and she nimbly moved until he could sleep flat against her stomach. Y/N didn't have the heart to tell him that the ends of his hair tickled her skin and she didn't have the heart to move so she could fix her shirt. So her fingers went back to playing with his hair while he mindlessly hugged a pillow, chest rumbling with laughter with the rest of the boys.

Maybe she was droning everyone out as her concentration stuck to Jake's course strands, fresh from a change of colour. And she took her time playing, eventually finding it in herself to drag her nails across his scalp and Jake didn't mind it. He meekly smiled, even.

He didn't say anything when she ran her fingers through his hair. He enjoyed it, despite knowing that she probably messed up his parting. His heart warmed and he couldn't help the smile that etched across his face- but he could easily chalk it up to Sunoo's joke. 

He knew he was in trouble when his heart fluttered, butterfly wings trailing down his chest and landing in his stomach. He rolled his head to the side, just enough to glance at Y/N. She looked so at peace, so distracted. Maybe that was why she didn't ask him to translate any of what the rest said.

Since that night, all he thought about was her, all he could concentrate on was her. Interviews became a test on his attention span and sitting beside you while travelling was a challenge because all he wanted was her to touch him again, maybe play with his hair. She consumed his mind.

Y/N who laughed off her mistakes and clumsiness when she tripped on her shoes.

Y/N who acted like a crackhead with Niki.

Y/N who laughed at everything.

Y/N who hummed Fever all the time because it was her favourite song.

Y/N who asked him or Jay to translate something she couldn't understand during interviews.

Y/N fixed a strand of his stray hair because it bothered her.

Y/N who couldn't eat anything spicy.

Y/N who loved junk food.

Y/N who sucked in choreography but gave fresh ideas anyway.

Y/N who gave people nicknames if she couldn't pronounce their names properly.

Y/N who harmonised with Heesung with ease. 

Y/N who split her food with Sunoo because he was hungry.

Y/N who had the worst timing for jokes.

Y/N who was the polar opposite of everyone around her.

It was her, all her that he could think about, everything he could admire shone in a new light. Maybe Jake should have been concerned but he wasn't. He just let it sit aside, deciding that it would become a mess if he acknowledged it.

He didn't know what normal was anymore because he'd always want to sit beside Y/N. To have their shoulders touching or to have her rest her head on his chest when fell asleep in the car. To have his hand resting on the small of her back while they walked together or to let her fix his hair now and then. He was surprised no one caught onto his antics.

Whatever the definition of normal was, it seemed that way. He wished for it to stay that way until Y/N started growing quiet. It wasn't a huge change at first. The usually loud and bubbly girl deciding to keep her mouth shut could easily be blamed for being tired.

That, in fact, was her excuse. She blamed it on that particular day's schedule, saying that her head hurt and her throat closed up. Jake simply pet her head, Jungwon gave her a water bottle. Maybe no one was concerned because she smiled again the next day.

Y/N was a confident girl, someone who didn't let anyone push away her dreams, someone who didn't let anyone rain on her parade. She was a strong girl, braver than any of them. Smarter than any of them combined. 

So when that strong, confident and brave girl asked to spend the night alone in her room, everyone was stunned. "You barely ate anything," Jungwon argued.

"I'm not really hungry," she smiled tiredly, eyes drooping as her hand scratching her neck.

Y/N, who loved spending time with them, disappeared into the small room she deemed as her own and no one had the heart to question further. Jungwon turned to Sunoo, asking if she seemed different. Sunoo nodded as a response, Heeseung told everyone to stop worrying.

Y/N found herself splayed across her bed, lips quivering as she scrolled past Twitter. Her eyes scanned across every tweet that had something bad to say about her, marring her personality as a whole. Just because she was the only girl in Enhypen and just because she had no other choice.

She knew it was a controversial choice, but she thought it was a good one despite what the media had to say. She thought she was accepted by everyone, she thought the supposed fans liked the new rules. It was only when she started paying attention to Twitter when she realised how wrong she was.

It wouldn't take long for a sob to escape her lips but she still kept scrolling, obsessively reading through every word of hatred and wondered what she could do to make them like her. Then she realised that their opinions wouldn't change no matter what she did. Because she was a girl, trespassing into places that weren't meant to be explored and she wondered if rules were really placed to be followed and not be broken.

All she knew was to break the rules. So it didn't surprise her family when she got placed into Enhypen. All she knew was to think outside the box. So her friends weren't surprised by the choices she made. All she knew was to be unconventional and that was an issue now.

Her shoulders slumped and her back rested on her headboard as her vision went blurry as tears streamed down her cheeks. Her hands shivered, throat begging to let out another sob but she was afraid it'd alert everyone and she wasn't going to risk it.

So she laid there until her breath weighed down her lungs, phone was thrown somewhere across her head as she picked at her fingers. Maybe she'd feel better after crying, maybe she'd feel worse. She'd only find out the next day and she planned on falling asleep.

But it wasn't until Jay barged into the room, balancing a paper plate with cake on his palm, that she found it in herself to sit straight again. "You forgot about dessert!" He chuckled but heard no answer. It wasn't until his gaze fell on her that he realised something was wrong.

He found her wiping her cheeks and biting her lips. He stared at her, heart-clenching at the sight of her as she fisted the ends of her blanket. Jay slowly placed the cake on the table, closing the door with his heel. Standing at the foot of her bed, he cocked a brow. "What's wrong?" He whispered.

"I don't know," she mumbled, slumping back into the sheets and Jay tutted.

"That's a lie," he insisted and crawled into the bed beside her. He pulled her into his side with ease. arms wrapping around her as another sob raked he body and she leaned into his chest. "What's wrong?" He repeated. "Do you want to talk about it?" He pondered out loud.

"I don't know," she shook her head.

Jay tutted again, brushing his knuckles over her arm. "You'll feel better?" He tried.

Y/N took a second to contemplate her answer, hands fisting into his chest as her head found a comfortable position. "They hate me," she finally said. Tears streamed down her face once again. She sobbed into his chest, shirt stained with her breaks but that was the least of his concern.

"Who hates you?" His brows furrowed on instinct, a dumbfounded look on his face.

"Engene," she sniffled. "They hate me-"

"What?" Jay laughed, a hand covering his mouth as Y/N whined. 

"I'm being serious," she groaned. "Doesn't make me feel any better."

"I know, I know," he sighed. "What do they say about you?"

Was he asking the right questions? He didn't know. All he knew was that he needed to stop Y/N from crying. It wasn't a pretty sight, neither did he have it in him to see the girl he considered his baby sister cry.

He was so used to seeing her laugh, a smile brighter than the sun lighting everyone's day. What he saw now was a stark contrast, her cheeks scarred with salt tracks, lips dried into prunes.

"They said I wasn't necessary for Enhypen," she cried. "They called me names for being the only girl. They said I only got through I-Land because the management pulled some strings."

Jay sighed, chest weighed down by guilt as his knuckles touched her arm again. It wasn't his fault, he knew, but he didn't know about the issues she had to face on a daily basis. He wondered how long Y/N let the internet eat her from the inside out.

"They don't know what they're talking about," he insisted, bowing his head to see the look on her face.

"They hate me," she shook her head.

"Not all of them," Jay argued.

"Jay, even you hated me, at a point," she pointed out.

The thought of looking back at her time in I-Land brought bittersweet memories. She'd rather not look back. Most didn't want her there, deeming her to be an intruder, an outcast. Others thought it'd be best to leave her alone, convinced that she'd get eliminated in some way or another.

They probably weren't expecting her to win at all but she proved them wrong. Y/N didn't think victory would have consequences either.

"That's not true," Jay crooned but Y/N found herself pushing him away, almost rolling him off the bed. He chuckled as he got ahold of himself, returning to his previous position. Y/N crossed her arms, sniffling again.

"All of you hated me," she frowned, narrowed eyes fleeting past Jay.

"Hey, c'mon now," he cooed, reaching his arms to pull her back into his chest. Y/N didn't fight him. "We were all confused and threatened. It's different now," he defended.

"But still," she said. "Our fans hate me."

"Can they really call themselves an Engene if they don't love every member?"

Y/N falls silent at his retort, hands fisting into his chest again. He had a point, but it didn't excuse the fact that most people refused to accept her. The thought weighed her down as she pondered.

Jay probably wasn't the right person to be consoling her. He knew little to nothing about how she must have felt. But she stopped crying, and her breath seemed to steady. He must have been doing something right.

He took her silence positively, hand patting her forearm soothingly. And they laid there, silence consuming them as Y/N calmed down. Jay was waiting for her to fall asleep so he could leave her at peace.

But barging in were the rest of the guys, lead by Jake who smiled shyly. Y/N didn't lift her head, just whined when she realised she had to repeat herself. Jay chuckled, Sunoo asked what was going on. Niki sat on the corner of her bed, head cocked to the side.

Jake collapsed beside Y/N, wrapping his arm around her as well and Jay pulled away on instinct. Everyone watched as Jake lifted her off the bed despite her complaints. "I'm tired," she mumbled but he pushed her out the door by her shoulders.

Sunghoon made an attempt to follow them but he was stopped by Jay who told him to stay in the room while Jake talked to her. Heeseung snorted, sitting beside Niki as he taught for Y/n's phone. Jay continued to explain the chain of events that lead to her crying and Jungwon wondered how no one had any idea.

On the other hand, Jake had easily sat her down on the couch. He kneeled in front of her, shoulders separating her knees as his hands stayed on her legs. Y/N noticed how he didn't ask for permission to touch her like the last time when they were rehearsing choreography. He cooly dug his nails into the cotton of her pyjamas; Y/N sniffled her nose.

Jake shakes his head as his fingers slowly creep to her cheeks, thumbs rubbing away the salt tracks with ease, fingers caressing her jaw. She cracked a wet smile, corners of her eyes crinkling as he smiled back.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, darting his eyes across her face, memorising every dip and curve. Her flushed cheeks, skin glowing under the white lights, bleached white hair braided to her waist- Jake found himself swooning.

His words and accent went straight to Y/N's stomach, butterflies erupting within her existence. Despite that, she sucked in a breath, lips threatening to let another sob escape. "No," she shook her head and covered her face with her hands. Whatever she read on the internet came crashing down to her, shadowing all the good.

"Really," he insisted, chuckling as his hands wrapped around her wrists. He moved to sit beside her, lifting her legs to sprawl across his lap. "You deserve to be part of Enhypen just as much as the rest of us," he said.

"Right," she rolled her eyes. "That's why our fans hate me."

"They're not fans if they hate even one of us," Jake promised.

Though Jay said the same thing, Y/N felt a level of assurance when it came from Jake. Maybe she was being biased or maybe it was his smile that made everything seem better. Maybe it was because she knew he would protect her- just like she protected them when they needed to be.

Before she could respond, the rest of the guys emerged from out of her room, complaining that it was too small for six people to fit- too stuffy. And they all crashed on the couch, Jungwon taking the liberty to stand behind Y/N to massage her shoulders. Jay brought her abandoned cake, placing it on her lap and demanding for her to finish it.

It was enough to get her to laugh. That all too familiar laugh ricocheted off the walls and the guys laughed along with her.

"With every fan comes a hater," said Sunghoon, struggling to get the words out so she could understand. Y/N shook her head.

"How wise," she grinned and accepted it. Heeseung laughed as Sunghun, pointing a finger at him as he tried defending himself. 

Sunoo joined in the laughter; Niki teased Y/N, pointing out how easily she got back into being sarcastic and funny. She rolled her eyes at him, grinning again.

Jake put on a movie, one that she loved but he hated but he didn't mind watching it that night. He wrapped his arm around her, brushing his thumb over her shoulder until she was laughing at the movie.

Jay dragged Niki into the kitchen to help him clean up and by the end of the night, everyone had disappeared under the covers of their beds. Jake and Y/N, though, fells asleep on the couch- her head on his shoulder and his cheek pressed to his hair. No one bothered to wake them up, just laughed at them.

There was an awkward silence that followed once the V-Live started. You and Jake looked at each other, fighting the laughs that clogged your throats before looking at the camera again.

"I don't even know why we're doing this V-Live," you started, rubbing your palms against your thighs. "But here we are."

Jake chuckled at you, reaching beside him to grab the iPad to read the comments they for so far. "This our first time doing a V-Live together, isn't it?" He pointed out.

"Yeah, yeah it is," you nodded.

"This should be fun," he commented as he glanced at you again. "And by the way, we're gonna speak in English mostly."

"Yeah, sorry about that," you tittered. "But, yes, why are we doing this V-Live again?"

"That's a great question," Jake clasped his hands together, then reached past the camera to grab a small cup with folded pieces of paper. "For this," he started, placing it in front of you.

"What?"

"These are a bunch of questions written by our management and all we have to do is answer them."

"Amazing," you commented, a sly smile adorning her face. "Whose genius idea was it to write the questions on sticky notes?"

The pair of you burst into laughter while you tried peeling open one of the papers. Jake watched intently, resting his hand below his jaw as a wet scoff left your lips.

"So do we both answer it or one question each?" You asked before looking at the question.

"I think we both answer it?" He raised a brow. "Let's just both answer it."

"Fair enough," you agreed and opened the paper. "It says this question is for the both of us- yeah ok so they specify who the questions are for."

"Convenient."

"The question is what's today's TMI?" You read out and Jake pondered over his answer. "I honestly don't know," you breathed.

"Uh, today's TMI," Jake started. "I didn't eat proper breakfast?"

"Oh, I have one!" You pipped. "I'm wearing mismatched socks," you pointed to your feet. You couldn't exactly show them as proof because you were wearing a skirt. Jake hummed at your answer and pulled out the next question.

"This is for the both of us too," he said. "What did you do before sleeping last night?" Jake's commented with you while he folded the paper again, playing with its edges as he waited for you to come up with an answer.

It wasn't like you could just blubber out that you and he kissed each other asleep. Neither could you tell them that you and he spent dinner in your room while the others watched a movie.

"I took a long bath," you nodded, pursing your lips.

"I honestly didn't do anything specific," Jake said. "I was too tired so I just passed out," he animated his words with his hands and head as you held back a chortle.

"Next question," you announced. "Oh, this is for Jake. Do you think you'll ever get a tattoo? Wow, this is a great question," you mused, raising your brows.

"Who could have asked that question?" His face contorted into confusion.

"I'm pretty sure the management pulled some questions off the internet," you offered.

"Makes sense," Jake hummed. "But would I get a tattoo? Honestly, I don't think so. I'm too scared," he confessed.

"Seriously?" You tutted. "Come on! Such a bore," you slapped his arm with the back of your hand.

"No! I want to get one but I'm just scared!" He reasoned.

"You can't be scared of everything, man! Come on, you don't wanna skydive because you're scared of heights and now this," you raised your hands above your head.

"It's not my fault!" He insisted. "Would you get a tattoo?" He retaliated.

"Definitely, a hundred per cent," you assured with a gaped mouth. "Are you kidding me? I've been wanting a tattoo for so long."

"Damn, really?" Jake mused. "What would you get?"

"Maybe like tiny versions of the planets tattoos across my collarbone," you emphasised while tracing your fingers across your right collar bone. "Or do something cheesy on my finger or something," you shrugged.

"Cool, cool," Jake cracked his knuckles. "You should get it."

"I will," you smirked and reaches for the next question. "Ok, another question for you. What animal would you be if you were given a chance of transforming and what would you do? Damn these are such great questions."

"I'd be a dog and play with Layla all day," his answer came fast, though he said it quite shyly. You awed at him as he reached for the next question.

"This question is for you," he pointed at you. "What did you want to become before becoming an Idol?"

"Oh, wow," you sucked in a breath and picked at the sleeves of your sweater. "I feel like we've answered this question before," you noticed.

"I'm pretty sure we have," Jake agreed.

"You know what this feels like?"

"What?"

"One of those BuzzFeed interviews," you said with a smile. "I've always wanted to do one of those, man, they always seem so much fun!" You enthused.

"Honestly, yeah," he chuckled.

"Especially the thirst tweet videos!" You flailed your hands around. "You know what? That's the first thing I'm gonna do when we get back home. I'm gonna look for Enhypen thirst tweets."

At that, Jake laughed at the way you found your amusement. "Did you want to work at Buzzfeed?"

"Yes, I did, actually," you confessed. "I wanted to work in Buzzfeed. Then I had a marine biology phase- I'm still going through that phase. And then there was the archaeology phase. I've always been good at biology and chemistry, so I thought maybe I could go into the biochemistry field. I'm big on psychology right now too. Like I'll read shit about psychology in my free time," you listed while counting on your fingers, eyes not leaving Jake's as you spoke.

"That's a lot," she snorted. "What about physics?

"No," you simply said shaking your head.

Jake laughed harder. "No?"

"No!" You repeated. "I was so bad in physics and math. Like it wasn't even a joke," you laughed.

"Come on," he breathed. "Really?"

"Yeah, really," you nodded your head. "But we all know you love physics," you pointed your hand towards like.

"We're like the complete opposite when it comes to school," he said.

"Exactly!" You drawled. "I love English, you hate it. I hate math, you love it," you listed and Jake agreed while nodding and laughing. You cleared your throat. "Anyways, next question."

Jake picked out the next question. "It's for you. What's your favourite animal- whale sharks," Jake answered for you, pursing his lips like he just answered the most obvious question in the world.

"Exactly, whale sharks," you snapped your fingers, smiling excitedly. "Like again with the marine biology thing. I wanted to specialise in sharks."

"I'm not surprised at all," Jake shook his head.

"Exactly," you smirked and reached to pick out another question.

Jake watched as you struggled to open the pieces of paper, the sticky note suddenly becoming the bane of your existence. He wanted nothing but to grab your face and tug you towards him- the way you chewed the inside of your cheek and played with your hair had him swooning.

He waited for you to read out the next question. "What are you craving right now?" You read out. "It's for the both of us."

"I want ramen," he said as a matter of factly.

"Why didn't I think of that?" You rolled your eyes, grinning. "I want boba tea."

Jake nodded then read out the next question. "This is for me. Compliment the person sitting next to you," he lifted his head to look at you, eyes sparkling.

He knew exactly what to say, he knew exactly how to compliment your hair and your outfit and your smile. But then he had to remind himself that he was on a V-Live with thousands of people watching and keeping track of his every move.

He sighed. "I feel like this is a trap," he said, holding up the piece of paper. "And I also feel like Heeseung wrote this wrote this," he chuckled.

"He might as well have," you burst into laughter. "But I don't think they knew. Do you think they're watching this right now?" You pointed towards the camera.

"Probably not," you shrugged. "But, yes, Jake. What's your answer to that question?" You blinked innocently, sitting straight in your chair with your hands gripping the end of your skirt. Jake wanted to gawk but instead, he just sneered a laugh.

"Jesus, ok," he scratched the side of his nose. "You look really beautiful today, Y/N. And I like the way you did your hair," Jake tried saying it without laughing. His jaw quivered as he leaned forward to pat your head.

"Thank you, Jake," you nodded, trying equally as hard to not laugh and ruined the moment.

"I'm trying so hard not to laugh."

"Same."

The pair of you chuckled and shook your head and you reached for the next question. "This is for me. Who would your bias be- you're kidding," you looked straight into the camera, dumbfounded and maybe a little disappointed in the question.

Jake, on the other hand, went all dramatic. He smouldered and ran a hand through his hair, wiggling his brows to get your attention. You cackled at him, throwing your head back as you told him to stop whatever he was doing because he was embarrassing himself.

"Seriously, this question-" You pinched the bridge of your nose. "I really feel like Niki wrote this question," you squint your eyes and licked the bottom of your lip, only to meet the sight of Jake who was still smouldering.

"Go on, Y/N," he crooned dramatically. "Answer the question," he wiggled his brows again.

"I can't," he choked on your own laughter. "Oh, my God. Like nah, man... I can't. You really can't pick," you reasoned, lightly slapping your fist against the table.

"Just answer it!" Jake urged and you groaned.

"Ok, maybe like Sunghoon or... Niki-it depends on my mood, my answer changes every day."

"Fine, then what's your answer today?" he asked.

"Myself," you smirked but then shook your head. "No, I'm kidding uh," you darted your eyes across the room, debating if you wanted to answer the question or not.

"Just spit out the answer."

"Listen," you sighed, earning another laugh from him. "Like I'm not gonna- nah, dude seriously. All of us are amazing. Jungwon, Jake, Sunoo, Jay... But because I know you want me to say you, I'm gonna say you, Jake," you grinned, pointing at him.

"You're mean," Jake scowled but his smile betrayed him.

"Ok, fine, genuinely speaking though," you started. "From a fan's point of view, you'd probably be my bias."

Jake awed at you, shyly smiling as he leaned to wrap his arm around you for a brief hug. He'd kiss your head if he could but the rest of the world didn't know about your relationship and neither were you planning on telling them.

Regardless, Jake liked the way things were as of now.

"Last question," you mumbled. "It's for you. What activity do you want to do with the members?"

"Ah," he patted his knee, pondering the question with a smile. "I wanna go fishing with everyone," she said.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he nodded.

"That'd be nice," you agreed. "It'd be chaotic, but nice regardless."

Jake leaned into you while the pair of you laughed. Then you pouted about how you enjoyed the Q&A and didn't want it to end. Jake crooned that he'd make sure to do something fun with the guys nice you got home.

It was obvious to everyone, as the pair of you talked between each other, that you were each other's bias.

[sturns-mermaid]

CHAPTER ONE: DIARY ENTRIES

master list | ask about this au here | playlist

WARNINGS: mention of disappearing, police, smoking, secrets

tag list here

wc: 1.5k

6/27

Dear diary, something happened this summer. Something big. Now the police are everywhere, knocking on doors, watching everyone like hawks.  Everyone’s on edge, pretending to smile, pretending like they’ve got nothing to hide. They don’t want the police to see how rough they are underneath the surface. You can see it when they talk too fast, when their hands shake a little, when they glance over their shoulders. 

Mom’s has me on lockdown since they closed campus. I hate being stuck here. Classes were supposed to start in a few days, but now it’s like time is frozen. No one’s going anywhere until they find her. 

6/29

Dear diary, I HATE HIM. He never called like he said he would. Liar. I saw him yesterday, walking into the police station while I was out (I snuck out. Like I'm going to sit in this house rotting while the world burns down outside). He didn’t even look at me. Walked right past like I was invisible. I hate him. I hate myself for believing him. 

7/2

Dear diary, classes should’ve started by now. Instead, the school’s shut down and everything is falling apart. Mom won’t stop pacing around the house, snapping at me over nothing. I've been sneaking onto the roof to smoke more, she hasn’t noticed the cigarette butts yet. 

Anyway… I heard something. There’s a suspect. No names or details, but they are whispering (online). The cops are being quiet on purpose, like they know more than they’re letting on. I bet they do. 

7/5

Dear diary, it’s been a few days. Mom made me go tour other universities “just in case.” Like, leaving town will fix any of this. Every headmaster looked at my application and saw Veritas Academy stamped on it, and suddenly their smiles got tight. Like, I’m some problem they don’t want to touch. Whatever. I've spent the rest of my time sleeping or wasting hours online. I'm gonna have to sneak out soon…my cigarette stash is running low. 

7/7

Dear diary, he called me this morning. Him. I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Not after how he treated me. Maybe he left a voicemail? Should I listen? 

I checked. He did. But I haven’t played it yet.  Maybe I should just delete it before the cops ask for my phone. They came by yesterday, Mom answered before I could even reach the bottom of the stairs. All I heard were low whispers. Do you think they’ll want to talk to me?

7/9

Dear diary, I deleted the voicemail. Probably stupid. Oh well. It’s not like Chris ever says anything worth hearing. The cops haven’t come back. I tried asking Mom what they said, but she shooed me off like I was five years old again. She caught me eavesdropping on the stairs and slammed the door right in the officer’s face. Like that’ll stop them. Like she's not hiding something, just like the rest of this town. I hate being kept in the dark. 

And Chris.., why was he even at the station? They barely talked. Why now? I can’t stop thinking about him. I bet he’d lose his mind if he knew I deleted his message without listening. 

7/12

Dear diary, they found something near the lake. Or at least that’s what Chris told me. He showed up on my roof yesterday, out of nowhere. I was digging through the ashtray for a half-smoked cigarette, no luck, when he climbed up like he used to. Handed me one of his and lit it for me. For a second, I thought I saw something familiar in his face. Like before. Like when we kissed that one time. I wish that kiss had never happened. 

Things like this weren’t supposed to happen in gated communities like Riverfall—or at least, that’s what they wanted you to believe. Behind the manicured lawns and white-fenced perfection, secrets simmered, waiting for cracks to show. No matter how polished the surface, the truth always had a way of slipping out. On June 10th, at exactly 8:45 AM, Madison jolted awake, squinting against the rays of sunlight slicing through her half-closed blinds.

Her phone buzzed angrily on the nightstand, flashing missed alarms she’d slept straight through, so much for an early start. The sticky warmth of summer clung to her skin, and her sheets were twisted around her legs like restraints. 

Her advisor has talked her into joining the town’s cheer summer camp event, a two-week ordeal of teaching drills and stunts to wide-eyed college freshmen. Madison hadn’t minded at the time. What else was she going to do with an empty summer stretching ahead like an endless sidewalk? Two weeks didn’t sound so bad. 

Her bedroom door flung open with a sharp creak. “Come on, sweetie, your father has to be at the office soon!” her mom barked, sweeping into the room in a pale blue dress that hugged her figure and swayed slightly as she moved. A stack of silver bracelets clinked on her wrist with every flick of her hand. She bent to scoop clothes off the carpet, bracelets rattling as she plucked a bra between two fingers, holding it like something offensive. Madison winced. Her mother hated clutter. Hated mess. And Madison's room with its scattered shirts, tangled charger cords, and open makeup bags was her personal battlefield.

A slight groan left her mouth as she grabbed a heap of clothes from her floor and spun on her heels, walking out of the room in a huff. “Up. I’m up.” Madison muttered, though her mom was already halfway out of the door, the soft jangle of her bracelets fading down the hallway. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her feet landing on the soft carpeted floor. Dragging herself to the mirror, she squinted at her reflection. Puffy eyes. Messy hair. A crease in her cheek from her pillow. Amazing. She took a hair tie from her wrist and scraped her long brown hair into a high ponytail, smoothing down the flyaways with a quick swipe of her palm.

From the corner of her eye, she caught the crumbled camp t-shirt tossed over her vanity chair, the one she was supposed to wear today. A simple white cotton shirt with the Riverfall Cheer logo in faded blue across the chest. She grabbed it, gave it a shake to smooth the wrinkles, and pulled it over the tank top she slept in. Black athletic shorts followed, snug at her waist, paired with worn white sneakers scuffed from last season's practices. At her vanity, she dabbed concealer under her eyes and swiped on a little mascara, just enough to make her look awake without seeming like she tried too hard. Lip balm. A spritz of floral body spray. Good enough. 

“Madison! Let's go!” her dad’s voice boomed from downstairs. “Coming!” she called back, snatching her water bottle and shoving her phone into her bag. A knot of nerves twisted low in her stomach as she glanced at the calendar pinned to her wall, the two weeks of cheer camp marked in neon yellow highlighter. Just two weeks. She could survive this. Probably. She hurried down the hall, her hair ponytail bouncing behind her as she passed family photos lining the staircase, each smile a little too posed, a little too perfect.

Outside, her dad’s car idled in the driveway. The engine was rumbling like a quiet thunder against the sleepy hum of the neighborhood. And as she pulled the door shut behind her, the warmth of the morning sun hit her skin, bright, golden, and blinding, while somewhere beneath the surface of this perfect town, something unseen stirred. 

Two weeks. Fourteen days of sticky summer heat, ponytails, and endless routines under the glaring sun. Madison had grumbled through the first few mornings, sore muscles, mosquito bites, lukewarm water bottles, but by the end of the first week, she was laughing with the freshman snapping pictures with her teammates, and texting Blossom late at night from the cabins when she was supposed to be sleeping. 

Her parents barely heard from her except for the occasional “I’m fine, mom, stop worrying” or a half-hearted thumbs-up emoji sent between practices. But then the messages stopped. It wasn't sudden. At first, it was easy for her parents to brush off bad service, busy days. Her mom texted twice, then three times. No answer. She called. Straight to voicemail. Her dad was more reasonable; she’d probably fallen asleep early, exhausted after long practices and early mornings of teaching the campers.

But Madison never came home.

 On the morning of June 24th, the Riverfall Cheer Summer Camp officially ended. Parents gathered in the parking lot of the old sports complex, engines idling, doors swinging, parents eagerly waving from the curb. Her duffel pack wasn’t packed. Her bed in the cabin was still unmade, her pillow flattened from use. Her toothbrush, her phone charger, and the extra pair of socks her mom insisted she pack were untouched.

Not one soul had seen her since the camp’s closing ceremony the night before, and whispers started almost immediately.

“Maybe she ran away.”

“She probably snuck off with one of the counselors.”

“Riverfall girls don’t just disappear.”

But she did. And in the perfect little riverfall, behind the painted fences and summer smiles, something rotten was beginning to seep through. 

note: first chapter done! hope everyone likes it :)

if i don't post the second soon i have other posts about this au waiting in drafts

divider made by me

[remuswriting]

MAKE ME BELIEVE; KOZUME KENMA

You're haunting Kenma.

WORD COUNT: 1,154 words

TAGS: Post Time Skip; Ghosts; Angst; Second Person POV

NOTES: This is just vibes. Nothing else.

Kenma doesn’t believe in ghosts. Kuroo has always been the one who does. Always screeching during horror movies and games. Sleeping with all the lights on afterwards. Scared of his own shadow.

He’s the complete opposite of Kenma, who finds horror stories and games to be overly corny. They’re too focused on trying to scare people that they can’t. Or that’s what he believes.

But then you came.

There’s a difference between believing in ghosts and knowing one. He forgets most of the time, because you’re solid. You can press your side against his and let him know you’re there. The breeze moves your hair when it brushes past you two. Your voice is clear next to him, as if you’re truly in the room with him.

It’s easier to believe you’re not dead than to acknowledge you are.

Right now, you stare at him from the living room. It’s destroyed with the couch flipped over and volleyball magazines Hinata leaves all over the room. There’s broken glass from a glass being thrown against the wall.

Your chest is heaving, as if you’re struggling to breathe. He doesn’t even know what you’re angry about. He doesn’t remember what happened, but he figures he’s truly in the wrong.

He’s torn between apologizing and leaving. What is he meant to do? There’s no rule book for dealing with ghosts. There’s no rule book for you.

It’s quiet for a long moment before he leaves. The front door slamming shut by accident.

“What’s going on with you?” Kuroo asks when they’ve settled into his apartment. He’s usually where Kenma goes when something happens with you. He doesn’t know about you, though. Kenma hasn’t been able to tell anyone. He doesn’t want to be seen as crazy. “You never just stop by.”

“Just needed to get out,” Kenma says, even though he regrets leaving. “I’ve not been sleeping.”

Kuroo immediately gets worried, like he always does. Similar to a mother hen, but one that kicks her kids when given the chance.

“Maybe you should talk to your doctor,” Kuroo says, and it’s a good suggestion. “He could prescribe you something.”

Kenma shakes his head. “You know how I feel about medication.”

It turns him into a zombie, unable to fully function after waking up. He can’t do it again.

Kuroo looks at him, unsure, but he finally nods. “Okay, but if it gets worse, just think about it?”

Kenma nods. “Okay,” he says, even though he won’t.

You’re in his living room when he gets home. His house is clean. Anime plays on the television, but you’re not really watching it. You’re just staring at it with vacant eyes. It’s a common occurrence of you not always being here in the moment.

“Hey,” he says, and you look over at him. Your eyes are still slightly vacant.

“I’m sorry,” you say, and he nods.

“Can you let me sleep tonight?” he asks, and you slowly nod.

“I have to leave soon,” you say, and your voice is distant. “I may not be back for a while.”

“Where are you going?” Kenma asks, panic surges through him. You’ve never left before. You’re the most consistent person in his life.

You look away from him. “I don’t know. Just somewhere.”

Kenma doesn’t understand. He’s never understood your existence when he remembers you’re a ghost. He doesn’t know why you’re here, and you never tell him either. It makes less sense why you have to leave.

“Why?”

You look back at him, but it still doesn’t feel like you’re there with him. He hates it. He misses your heaving frame and angry expression. At least you’d been there in the moment.

“I don’t know,” you say, honestly. “I just feel this pull, and I can’t say no.”

It’s quiet as Kenma takes that in. You’re a ghost. A pull can mean anything. It can mean you leaving for good.

“Are you coming back?”

You’re no longer as solid as you once were. Fading. You’re fading. He’s scared, but he doesn’t know how to say that. It’s stuck in his throat, along with his fear.

“Hopefully,” you say, and then you’re gone. Anime still plays on the television and the house is still clean, but you’re no longer on the couch. You’re just completely gone.

He slowly walks over to the couch and touches the cushion you sat on. It’s cold to the touch, as if you were never there—as if he’d completely imagined you.

Kenma sits down, right where you always did, and tries to remember how it felt when you pressed your sides together. He can’t, though. It’d been so fleeting. You’d never truly been solid, but he always told himself you were.

The days blur together, especially when Kenma sleeps less. He worries you’ll come back when he’s asleep and leave. He’s nauseous all the time and unable to sleep. His eyes are so heavy that sometimes they stay closed for just a little too long. It gets to the point that Kuroo tries to intervene. Kuroo tries to get him to get help, but Kenma can’t. He’ll be seen as crazy.

He’s forgetting what you look like. There aren’t any photos of you for him to look at. There aren’t any voice recordings for him to remember your voice. It’s torturous.

It’s nearing six in the morning when there’s a knock at his door. It startles him, and his eyes have been closed for just a little too long. He hurries to get up, even though he doesn’t know why someone would be out there.

The door is heavy as he opens it, and it’s you standing outside of it. He freezes. You’re solid in front of him. Outside of his house, which you’d been trapped in for so long. You’re not fading. You’re vibrant.

“Y/N?” he says, but it comes out more as a question.

“Kenma,” you say, and your voice is smooth and loud. “I came back.”

Then you’re running at him and wrapping your arms around him. You’re so warm and comforting, and he sags into you. His eyes burn, and he fears he’s going to cry, but he can’t help it. You’re back and you’re real.

“Am I dreaming?” he asks, and you shake your head. Your hair brushes against his skin.

He loves you. He misses you. He needs you.

“You came back,” he says, and he lets himself completely melt into you. You hold him up as he cries. Your fingers brush through his hair, and he could sleep just like this. “I’m so tired.”

You pull away slightly, and he tries to hold on to you tighter, but he’s too weak from exhaustion.

“Come on, let’s get you inside,” you say before holding his face so gently. “I’ll let you sleep for as long as you need to.”

Kenma smiles as he lets out a gentle laugh. “Thank you.”

[iguessitsjustme]

Pit Babe 2 Ep 8 Thoughts

I have snacks. I have sweet treats. I have wine. I am going to get drunk. Maybe. Time to watch Pit Babe. Under the cut:

I only care about this theme song. They went so hard on this and I am having a GREAT time every week.

So Jeff's pregnancy transferred to Charlie? I am going to believe that until proven wrong. And then I am still going to believe that.

Every second Kenta spends talking to Pete is a second of KentaKim time wasted. I know I know it's for the story to progress but hear me out. I want more KentaKim.

Yeah that happens. Next will be Un Baby and then you're all really in for it

Honestly? Smart. Who knows what those two will get up to if left alone

Jeff goes and drives a car while he cannot properly see and Charlie goes and takes Jeff's powers to save Jeff. Those two make such a fun, stupid, caring, self-sacrificing duo. They need the others or they will not make it out of this alive.

I wanted to like NorthSonic so much more than I do. I LOVE North but Sonic can kiss my ass. He better have a good freakin reason for being such a butt.

I really, really want Dean to be a good guy that is embracing his second chance. I want to believe him and root for him. I want to trust him. I am choosing to trust him I think. Because I want it so bad. And if that's a mistake on my part I have no regrets.

AHHHHH THE TICK TICK TICK TOCK IS BACK.

Alas I do not have any time to do a music analysis this week. Otherwise I would be ON THAT to do a part 2.

My dearest headphones. Now is not the time to decide you don't want to work. Jeff is telling the others about Charlie's vision and I would like to keep watching so do you mind just working. Just for me? Oh god bless you're back.

Most people use The Door. But Willy? Probably slinked in through sheer grit and determination to be a little stinker

I hope Chris is an evil little bean. That would be so much fun. Mostly because I just want more of him. And I feel like if he's evil we'll get more. Also it would be delicious to see Pete need to reconcile his lust for Chris (who looks like his dead crush) whomst he has fucked many-a-time with the fact that Chris is evil. Would be interesting to see how Pete would handle that. Or I hope it would be interesting. Pete is currently on thin ice with me. He's gotta give me more to work with.

This just makes me even more certain that Willy's power has to do with time

Oh this must have been the plan all along. Who benefits from Pete losing his powers? Tony. Only Tony. And possibly Chris. If he's evil. And working with Tony. And actually Way. Who is also an Enigma.

Oooo it's not working ooooo.

What if Chris has a power that nullifies powers that are used on him? Has no one thought of that? It would be very sexy of him. And very silly of Pete.

This framing is insane actually. With the reflection of the blinds, Pete is literally behind bars. He looks trapped. But Kenta looks like he is free. There is a literal barrier between them with the tree there. Kenta is talking to a man that is trapped somehow. Kenta may be the one in hiding, but he is not the one that is stuck.

Actually. They should all be asking Kenta's opinion on Chris. He probably has the most objective opinion of Way. There would be no biases in his judgement. Also, despite everything, Kenta is a good judge of character. Especially this season. Yeah he was brainwashed by Tony and his right hand man for the first season, but that gave him a unique perspective when he was able to break away. And because of his specific journey, he is neither too trusting nor too judgemental. He only believes what he sees and what can be proven. And I know that there's the whole he loved Pete thing and jealousy is a factor there but I do think he would acknowledge that. And I do think he probably has the healthiest dose of skepticism around Chris. Probably because of the jealousy a little bit but the rest of everyone was soooo quick to accept him as Not A Problem.

So if Charlie took Jeff's powers…is Alan gonna get the surgery he needs? Because boy…

I AM OUT OF MY WINE. New bottle new bottle

BABY BOY IF YOU DO NOT TELL YOUR BOYFRIEND THAT YOU NEED SURGERY I'M GONNA STRANGLE YOU

Boy if you don't schedule this surgery it WILL schedule itself

North better end this season happy or I'll be having words with the writers

Did you hear my scream?

Don't fully understand how we're putting all of this on North but sure. Don't make Sonic do any actual communicating that's fine.

I FUCKING knew it

Kim honey I know you got some colors to adhere to but you are SNEAKING. You should be wearing black

Fucking confirmed

Kenta baby nooooooooooo

TONY'S CHILD WAS NOT ON MY BINGO CARD. DIDN'T EVEN CONSIDER IT FOR CHRIS WHAT THE FUCK

What an absolute wild ride. I'm gonna go drink more wine and watch more shows. What a show. What a show.

[canisbrutus]

Could you... Make some headcanons...... about.... Hal/Justin ?..... Pleaseeeeeeee.... Love u. (⁠o⁠´⁠･⁠_⁠･⁠)⁠っ⊂⁠(⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠*⁠⊂⁠)

lol ok so these two are not a whole romantic ship in my lore. But: they do have their own little 'relationship' to say the least (and maybe justin has a little unrequited crush lol). anyway:

song blast rq - x

Hal & Justin 🔩🥚

The Basics

'rivals' first, business partners second.

looking at the bigger picture for a sec- as with all greaser/prep interactions, the preps scorn their slummish lifestyle and 'degeneracy' whenever possible.

however: they often hire their services whenever they dont want to dirty their own hands with something especially dicey.

and annoyingly, the preps make for nice, high paying clientele.

much like the actual mafia and corrupt upper class, these two cliques are entwined together in a way that's hard to separate.

as far as Hal and Justin go, however?

Justin isnt all that loyal to his business partners, typically.

but he can admire one's... strengths.

Hal, meanwhile, can see a cash cow from a mile away.

and Justin isn't all that hard to play like a fiddle, even without beating him to a pulp.

Expanded Lores

allow me to paint a picture for you.

Hattrick's been preoccupied with Galloway, and by doing so, he's holding out on supplying test answers to Justin for his side gig.

This won't do.

but Justin can't make any direct moves against a teacher, no no.

instead he slinks off into the alleys of new coventry, arms crossed behind his back and his chin held high.

Hal seems to be the easiest to 'bribe,' he thinks, largely due to his weight and associated stereotypes.

he was wrong. but it got his foot in the door for a Deal anyway.

in an attempt to deescalate the situation he held up a crisp $20 between his fingers, promising more where that came from, if he was just willing to do him a small favor.

Hal, of course, was a bit of a shark. He asked for $120.

he got it.

the next day Hattrick's car broke down and he wound up in the hospital with a broken femur.

future deals would be made in diner and deli booths alike (with Justin paying every time, of course).

generally they kept their deals 1-1. "man to man." Justin didn't want to pay any more greasers when Hal's proven himself to be capable, and Hal probably wasn't about to share his cut either.

had to stay strictly confidential anyway, you know?

none of the other preps needed to know Justin was cozying up to that Pig.

who's to say Hal didn't laugh at how hard he was milking this egg-eating snake with the rest of his boys, though?

admittedly Justin wasn't too pushy with haggling down his prices.

would make a counter-offer, sometimes, but usually Hal got what he wanted because Justin didn't wanna go through the hoops of trying to appease another greaser into not kicking his ass on sight on top of working for him.

that, and... well. it's obvious Justin has a type for the big strong and crass. Hal ticks all those boxes, even if he is notably more rough around the edges.

Justin however is nowhere near Hal's type. but that doesn't stop him from flexing a bit for emphasis on something.

it's funny trying to see that prep struggle to stay composed while pinned against the wall.

he often makes fun of him for a quick laugh anyhow.

always gets his heritage wrong. calls him German Boy.

Justin gets real haughty about that. claiming to be Flemish.

Belgian, German, Dutch; they're all the same to Hal. it drives the prep nuts.

they're not always completely antagonistic with eachother though, really.

Hal frequently offered him a cig for the hell of it (as he Always has Too Many). most of the time Justin would turn him down, but sometimes. sometimes. he'd take one if he had a headache for whatever reason.

Hal got a real kick outta loosening up this fool.

weird ass situationship.

somebody tell me why i have NOW'S YOUR CHANCE TO BE A stuck in my head now.

[writing masterpost]

[tentativefiction]

How to Love Your Dragon Part 1/?

Based off of How to Train Your Dragon, but fairly loosely. No warnings yet that I can think of. This is gonna be a huge challenge for me writing this, but oh well. I hope you enjoy :)

Word Count: 2739

Linkon. A cozy little island far, far away from the mainland. The weather is cold, the people are tough and the food is just about passable. The houses were fairly newly built, but sturdy; minus the occasional hole in the roof, or drafts between the stone. You had lived here your whole life. Born and bred. You’d never known anything else. You knew the streets like the back of your hand; you were even able to find your way across the rolling hills and sheer cliffs outside the village. The people, you’d met just about every single one of them. Everyday was the same. Wake up, eat, work, sleep, repeat. To any outsider’s gaze, it may seem incredibly boring. And it was. But it wasn’t always so.

You’ve seen many dragons in your lifetime, was born into the chaos in a powerful family. You’ve seen many people meet their end, lost friends and family. Your parents… However, you’ve never been the one to cut down a dragon before. You tried, you tried so many times, but it always ended the same; A giant open maw, claws as sharp as blades, hot plumes of smoke curling viciously around ferocious teeth. Inevitably, someone would always swoop in and save you just in the knick of time, before putting an end to the life which almost snuffed out your own. Part of you knows that if your now long deceased father wasn’t the village chief, people wouldn’t have stuck their neck out for you as they did. But even without your family privileges, you always did seem to have an unlimited amount of luck, fortunate in the face of death where many others have perished.

Eventually, after all the years of turmoil, loss and deaths on both sides, the dragons were no more. At least, that’s what most people want to believe. In reality, while their numbers are heavily dwindled, there are more of them out there. Maybe they do plan to move on for good, terrorise somewhere else far away, or maybe… they’re just regrouping. Perhaps one day, and one day soon, they’ll be back, but this time, you’ll be ready for them. You know you’ve always been considered a liability, heard friends and foes alike talk about it in hushed whispers. But you’ll show them. When the dragons come back, and you know they will, you’ll be the first to cut one down. Proving for good that you can take care of yourself and just as capable as your peers and late father.

—————————————————-

It is late when it happens. The sky is inky black and the stars twinkle in contrast. You are sat precariously on the edge of a sheer cliff, feet kicking absentmindedly as you watch the rough sea below you. Rough waves crash loudly against sharp rocks on the shore. You’ve been unable to sleep, tossing and turning the majority of the night until you just couldn’t stand it anymore, donning your coat and sulking just outside of the village. The stars and waves usually ease your mind, but not tonight it seems. Something at the back of your mind wouldn’t let you rest. Grabbing a small rock, you aim and throw it towards the sea, missing spectacularly. Grumbling to yourself, you stood, dusted yourself off and look to the sky one last time.

You frown, rub your eyes then look back. What is that? A dark smudge, makes its way across the sky, blotting out the stars as it goes. You scowl at it for a few seconds, before all the blood rushed from your face. It can’t be….

In a state of panic, you whip your head around, looking for something, anything. Set up just a little way along the drop is one of the old net guns, sat unused and most likely still loaded. Making a bee-line for it, you take off at a sprint, rocks giving way under your feet, but you barely notice; the only thing you can focus on is that shape blotting out the stars in the sky, getting further and further away.

Finally, your trembling hand makes contact with the cold metal, whipping it up and aiming at the last place you saw it. Nothing. Frantically you turn the gun every which way, desperate in your search. Just as you think all is lost, body deflating in disappointment you see it. Without an ounce of hesitation, your finger curls around the trigger. You fire. Time seems to come to a standstill as you wait with bated breath, the net flying so fast you could barely make out where it had gone.

You hear it before you see it. A booming bestial roar shakes the ground as you watch the shape fall from the sky, gaining momentum as it plummets down like a bird with its wings cut, the sounds of trees breaking resounding in its wake. There you stand, trying to gain your breath as you pant, the gravity of the situation just now becoming clear. A dragon. You just hit a dragon. And it is somewhere out there, most likely defenceless and injured. Now is your chance.

With speed that you didn’t even know you possessed, you sprint back home, creep into the house so you wouldn’t wake up your grandmother, grab your sword, and bolt towards the outskirts of the village. There were still a few hours before dawn, you had time.

As you navigate hills and trees using the stars above as your map, your mind runs a mile a minute. Thoughts of slaying the dragon run rampant as you wonder just what kind of dragon you hit. There aren’t many known to use darkness as a shield, so that ruled out the usual suspects- the Gronkles, The Deadly Nadders and the Monstrous Nightmares. In fact, only one type of dragon immediately comes to mind, but you know for a fact that they are extinct.

The Abysm Sovereign. Not much was known about them. Often seen as the rarest kind of dragon, which was fortunate as very few had encountered one of the deadly beasts and lived to tell the tale. They were black as night and their fires were unnatural and sinister. They also never stole food and never travelled with the others. None had been seen for many years, even before the defeat of their brethren, so most likely all deceased. Apart from that, the Book of Dragons had very little information. You shake the thoughts from your head. It doesn’t matter what kind of monster it is. It will be weakened. You can kill it. You must.

You follow a scorched trail of broken trees that must have withstood the mighty dragon’s fall becoming more prevalent as it eventually leads you to a huge open clearing. Crouching low, your eyes quickly scan the area for any signs of movement. There is none. Your shoulders slump as you let out a sigh. You are too late. If it landed here, it was long gone; possibly it was already convening with the others to launch a full scale attack. You needed to alert the others.

Just as you were about to turn, head slumped, you heard a loud crash. Jolting back around you saw it. A huge behemoth of a dragon, its scales blacker than obsidian, accented with a deep crimson. Its mighty claws dug into the side of the cliff, trying to climb its way back up, but it inevitably loses its grip carving deep grooves into the stone as it crashes back down into the grass with a loud thud. But it tries again. And again. You watch, fascinated as it falls once more, a loud roar echocing deafeningly in your ears as it hits the ground. This time, it doesn’t get back up. A large wing rises as it tucks its snout in and curls up into a protective ball. All is still and quiet once more.

‘Woah,’ you mutter to yourself, jaw open as you try to get a closer look. All of a sudden, your feet slide out from underneath you, your back slamming against the jagged rocks as you slide down into the clearing, landing face first in the dirt. Your whole body freezes in terror. Just a few feet away sat the biggest dragon you’ve ever seen in your life. And now you’re on the same level as it.

Hesitantly, you raise your head and look to the direction you last saw it. It hadn’t stirred; it didn’t know you were there. Taking a deep breath you stood slowly, keeping low to the ground. This is good. You wanted to kill the beast, now you can. Slowly, you tip toe your way across the open clearing, mindful of your steps and any branches on the floor that might give you away. You quietly unsheathe your sword, ready for a fight.

‘You can do this,’ you think to yourself as you’re finally upon the dragon, which is still curled up on itself. You notice the net you had shot tangled in the dragon’s tail and back legs painfully and feel a pang of regret. Quickly, you scold yourself. This creature would not have felt remorse for you if the shoe was on the other foot. Shakily, you raise your sword above it, hardening your expression. You think about everything you’ve lost, everyone you’ve lost. This may not bring them back, but it’s a start. You take a deep breath, before plunging the blade down, but stop suddenly when you hear a low growl. Glancing up, you see the dragon had moved its wing. Its deep crimson eyes bore into you, but it makes no move to stop you. You stare back at it, a challenge in your gaze. You expect it to try to move, fight back, lunge at you, anything except the pure defeat in its gaze as it runs its eyes over you once before closing them.

Your hands tremble around the pommel of your sword as you try to hold it still, the tip still pointing at the pitiful creature. With a deep breath, you hold the blade higher, ready to thrust it into the dragons heart, but the small whine that escapes the dragon makes you pause. You can’t do it. You can’t kill this defenceless animal. You’d been fooling yourself this whole time.

In what might possibly be the stupidest thing you’ve ever done in your life, you lean down and begin cutting at the tight rope around the dragons legs, wincing at the deep marks it leaves in its wake. The beast holds very still as you hack and slash all the pieces you can find. Just as the last threads of the rope cut, you’re about to let out a sigh of relief when all of a sudden you find your back pushed roughly against the ground, the obsidian dragon pinning you down with hot fury burning in its gaze. It opens its mouth revealing a full set of deadly razor sharp teeth and it snarls menacingly. You feel the heat of its breath, the anger in its eyes and you brace for death. There’s nobody to save you this time. You have nobody to blame but yourself. You close your eyes.

The heavy weight of the dragon is gone in an instant. Your eyes snap open as you sit up. The dragon had walked away and now with its limbs free, it was once again trying to scale the cliff. To your surprise, just like before, it plummets back to the ground.

“Can you not fly?” Your voice shocks yourself as you watch confused.

The dragon turns its head to look at you, huffs, then ignores you. It looks around, for what, you’re not certain. Hesitantly, you creep closer. You’re able to make out a deep nasty gash marring his right wing, blood sluggishly oozing out of it.

“Did you hit something on the way down?” It grumbles back, like it can understand you and you feel like you’re being reprimanded. You stumble even closer, but stop as it turns its head to snarl at you, light bouncing menacingly off of bone white teeth. “Okay, okay. I’ll stay here.” You held your hands out in surrender. If you didn’t know any better you could swear the beast nods at you.

Sitting down, you observe the dragon as it paces back and forth, tail flicking behind it in agitation. It stomps over to the small pond in the middle of the clearing and tries to take a bite out of the fish minding their own business.

“Hungry?” The dragon turns to look at you expectantly, “um, no, sorry, I don’t have anything with me.” The dragon huffs and you swear you see it roll its eyes, before lying down.

Standing on shaky legs, you make your way closer, forever determined on pushing your luck. You’re about a metre away from it when you sit down once more. The dragon watches you curiously, before beginning to lick its front legs with its long tongue, grooming itself. With the dragons attention elsewhere, you creep forward until you’re but an arms-length away. The dragon knows you’re there, but makes no move to stop you, which is all the encouragement you need to reach out a shaky hand.

The creature abandons its grooming as it watches you through slitted pupils. It growls as your hand is just about to come into contact with its snout. Panic grips you and you freeze, your hand still outstretched. When the dragon makes no move you maim or bite off your hand, you turn your head away. A curious chirp comes from the dragon as you move your hand but an inch away from its face. There, you hold it still. You let out a gasp of surprise as you feel its smooth scales underneath your palm as it nudges you gently. Turning slowly, you meet the dragons intense gaze, before looking at where your hand touches its face.

A smile breaks out on your face. It actually let you touch it, and you still have both arms in tact! You can’t help the laugh of joy that bubbles from your throat. You may never have been the strongest warrior or the most competent dragon fighter, but you’re certainly the only person to have touched one without any violence. The moment, however is short lived as the sudden noise startles the dragon. It flinches its head back and bellows a roar at you before it makes an attempt to fly away, only to crash back down again the other side of the clearing. You stare at your still outstretched hand, then back at the dragon which refuses to look at you again.

Over the horizon, the sun was halfway on its ascent to the clouds and a chill spreads up your spine. Shit, you need to get home. Your grandma will notice you’re not home. Standing quickly, you brush yourself off.

“I have to go. If you’re still here tonight, I’ll be back. And I’ll bring you something to eat.” The dragon makes no move like it’s even heard you.

You manage to climb your way up out of the clearing and make a mad dash back towards the village. Nobody would believe this. Even so, nobody could know. For whatever reason, that dragon didn’t kill you and you need to know why. You can’t have anyone from the village finding it. It’s not like it’s the first secret you’ve kept from everyone. It should be easy.