#scruff wc

[eggfeather]

scruff

[rosemist50]

Designs for new cats in A Starless Clan: Thunder! They're all Cats of the Park. First is Rook and Scruff, Riverstar's No. 1 fan and an old guy that's kinda cool actually. Next is Wafflepaw!!! And... Wasp? The two that Frostpaw and Nightheart took back home. After is Bee, Frostpaw's therapist, and Molly, a cat with "a clever sense of humor". Then Chalk and Firefly, both ex-kittypets, implied to be mates but could also be taken platonically which is cool. Firefly's tag is meant to be that Minecraft firefly that was never added that was just two pixels. Firefly was pregnant and said she'd name her kits Frost and Night, so I just threw them in there too, why not. Then is Lark and Marlow, and Lark's kits Weevil and Peg.

⚠️ BIG spoilers under the cut (and in the tags): ⚠️

Finally here are four she-cats that had minor design changes relating to the plot, two aren't from the book but I thought I'd just put them in anyway. These design changes were much too minor for me to justify making whole new fullbodies, so headshots it is 👍 We got Squirrelstar (flight), Sparrowstar (Fur), and Nightstar (RC) for new/confirmed leaders, and Curlfeather with the rare honor of being a Dark Forest cat AND a woman. I think it's just the absolute coolest that Sparrowstar and Owlstar are siblings and became leaders of different clans, not only leaders but both are the 2nd leaders of their clans. You can just feel the potential!!!!

[staariblestars]

Well, it all keeps spinning, spinning 'round and 'round And upside down! Who's to say what's impossible and can't be found? I don't want this feeling to go away Please don't go away

Happiest guy got his apprentice name :D Lookout,,, The Stoatening is upon everyone in @forgotten-elegy <33

reference done by @kyonchi !!!

[yarrowleef]

this is SUCH a nit pick in the grand scheme of things, but i have been writing drabbles of original cat fiction so i have reason to think of little things like how to characterize quirks of cat body language (both real and imagined). anyway I keep getting caught on the bizarre description of "keeping your tail tucked in at your side" as part of their hunting training. it is such a weird and unnatural mental image. curling your tail around one side of your body seems way more likely to make it brush something as you're sliding by it....

am i misunderstanding the description, are they trying to say "keep your tail level with the rest of your body"?? surely it would be easier to just...say that then, right.

I think the authors are trying to come up with some kind of "unique" warrior training tactic, but this sounds way more awkward than just. keeping your tail behind you and not dragging it.

[rainy-day-gracie]

mine

jackson!joel miller x reader

cw: holy moly uhhhhh smutty as all hell!! unprotected piv sex, oral f!receiving, rough sex, assplay, biting, daddy kink, breeding/bulge kink, 1 spank, begging, swearing, pre-established relationship (fwb but it's complicated), jackson!joel miller because i love him so much, joel calls reader baby and good girl, porn with feelings!!

*reader is able bodied, joel can pick her up (against a wall), has stretch marks on her thighs (joel likes to bite them haha)*

a/n: part 2 to jealous!! wrote this in the midst of spring finals so please don't be mad if it's a little over the top nasty, i haven't seen the sun in four days whoops this is therapy for me

read part one, jealous, here!

masterlist

wc: 1.3k

-

Joel laid a quick slap to your ass before reaching down your legs, pulling your jeans up to your waist. He didn't bother with the zipper or button, as both of you knowing they would be coming off the moment you went inside.

"You fucking prick," you whispered between breaths, waiting for your cunt to stop pulsing, clutching the wooden railing of the porch.

"I didn't go too far, did I?" Joel mumbled as you stood up straight on shaky legs.

You turned to face him, that handsome face and dark brown eyes that could see past any armor you had on.

A grin spread across your lips. "A fucking prick I want to suck. Get in the house, old man."

Joel's eyebrows shot up, a smirk rising to his mouth. "Yes, ma'am."

You giggled as he wrapped his arms around your waist, practically throwing you through the front door, into your small living room.

"I wanna taste you, baby," Joel whispered in your ear, spinning and pinning you against the closed door. You jumped, wrapping your legs around his hips as you clashed your lips together.

Hands gripping your ass, holding you firm against the cold wood, you kissed him with a passion, burning like a cigar or whiskey. His teeth sunk into your bottom lip, a whine ripping from your throat at the sting. You dug your fingers into his thick curls, grinding your clothed cunt against his tented denim in reply.

"Oh, fuck, baby," he groaned, ripping his lips from yours, dragging them down your exposed neck. The scruff of his facial hair had you grinning with pleasure, the rough scrape addicting. "Gonna have me creamin' my jeans if you keep that up."

"Good."

With a grunt, Joel pulled you from the door, all but tossing you onto the sofa in the living room. Kneeling at your feet, and prying your legs apart, he made quick work of your jeans, practically ripping them off like he'd done your panties.

"Oh, yes," he breathed, driving his nose into the bush of hair above your pussy. Inhaling your scent, he closed his eyes like he was dreaming. "Oh, just fuckin' perfect.”

You tossed your head back as he nipped lightly at the stretch marks of your thighs, a moan escaping you as he sucked a hickey into the soft flesh.

"Please, just fuck me, Joel," you begged, eyes pinched shut as he licked a lewd stripe up from your ass to your cunt. "Please-"

"Oh, good girl, gettin' all polite," Joel said, the words vibrating over your skin. "I just wanna kiss you for a little bit, baby."

His thumb teased at the hole below your cunt, making your breath catch in your lungs.

"You haven't had it back here before, huh?" Joel murmured, using his free hand to pop open the buttons of your shirt. He hummed with approval as he exposed your perked nipples to the cold air of your living room.

His spit on your cunt dripped down to your ass, and he chuckled at the ease the first knuckle of his thumb slid past the tight muscle. "Gonna feel so good, opening up this little virgin asshole."

You moaned at the vulgarity, and he licked at your soaked cunt as he slid in a bit further, and further, until you clenched around his tongue and thumb filling you.

"Doin' so good, such a good girl for me," Joel said into your cunt, his lips and stubble scraping against your clit as you tugged on his hair. "I'm gonna fill this ass one day. You want that?"

"Y-Yes," you whimpered, finding words difficult to form as he tugged his thumb out of your hole, all the way to his blunt nail, and thrusted in as he fucked you on his tongue.

In and out, he played with your ass, licking at your cunt like it was his favorite pastime. You grinded on his hand and mouth, vision going white.

"You gonna cum, baby?"

"Hmhmm," you whined, nails digging into his scalp.

His thumb was replaced by two of his fingers, stretching your hole wider, and rubbing his rough stubble against your clit. You cried out in pleasure at the sting, and he chuckled against your stretch marks.

"Go on then. Cum on my fingers in your ass."

Your back arched off the couch in a perfect bow, guttural moans ripping from your throat as you obeyed. Slick gushing from your cunt, Joel drank every drop like a dying man, and fucked your ass on his fingers as your arousal slid down your pussy.

"Such a good fuckin' girl, how the fuck did I ever leave this cunt?" Joel wondered aloud, pulling his fingers from you as the pulsing quit.

"Fuck me, please, Joel," you begged, reaching for his belt, and zipper.

Freeing his cock, it was almost painful how badly he wanted you. The tip was flushed with pressure, his balls tight by his base.

Pulling him down onto the couch, you switched places, straddling his hips with a greedy smile. Rubbing your soaked cunt against his hard cock, he closed his eyes, brows scrunched together.

"Are you okay?" You asked, pushing a curl from his forehead.

He chuckled softly. "I'm right as rain. Tryin' to not cum before I'm even inside of you."

You giggled, grinding your cunt down again. He clenched his jaw, a groan lost behind his gritted teeth.

Doing it again, he lost his patience.

Wrapping his hand around your throat, and gripping his cock in the other, he held your gaze with a wicked smirk as he sunk his cock into your folds.

You moaned, finally feeling full again.

"You wanna ride it, yeah?" Joel breathed, his whiskey breath warm by your face.

"Yes, daddy," you whispered, pressing a hand to his grip on your neck, encouraging the touch. "Yes."

Joel laid a soft kiss to your lips, your pulse thundering underneath his calloused palm. "C'mon, then, ride it for your daddy."

Letting go of your neck, Joel leaned back against the couch pillows, holding instead onto your soft thighs straddling him, his fingertips heaven against your skin.

You grinded down on his cock, no one ever reaching so deep inside of you before. The tip bulged at the bottom of your belly, and Joel watched it rise and fall as you fucked yourself on his cock.

"You feel so good, daddy," you whimpered, gasping as he pressed one of his hands against that bulge between your hips.

"Daddy's real deep, huh, baby?" Joel groaned, letting you ride him slowly, deeply. "You like it when I'm in your belly like that?"

You nodded, and he pressed down harder, his other hand palming your ass as you bounced on his cock.

Tears sprung to your eyes, a third earth-shattering orgasm coiling inside of you. You clenched around him, grinding your clit on his pelvis, on his dark hair above his base.

"You want daddy to put a baby in your belly?" Joel's voice was guttural, his eyes pinched shut. "Put a baby in your belly and everyone will know you're mine, all round and ripe with my..."

"God, Joel!" You cried, gripping his shoulders, pressing your chests together. He was still fully clothed, damp with sweat from your body heats.

He captured your lips in a fiery kiss, running his rough hands up your back, holding you against him with dark passion.

As you came on his cock with a moan against his lips, he thrusted deep, deep, inside of you until he hit your cervix.

Holding you down on his cock, he came violently, biting your lip as he emptied into your cunt.

You held one another on the come down, catching your breaths, kissing softly.

"Now I know what happens when I make you jealous," you whispered against his mouth with a wicked smile.

Joel grinned. "Lucky you.

-

everyone stay safe out there! read smut and fight facism :)

[d1stalker]

A Peaceful Repose [Logan Howlett]

Summary: After some time away on a mission, Logan comes home, and all he wants to do is be around you

Warnings: clingy logan, showering together, sooo much fluff WC: 1.6k - MASTERLIST

----

The door of your apartment slowly creaks open, followed by the sound of a familiar, heavy tread against the wooden floor. Your heart skips a beat, in both relief and excitement—Logan’s back. 

But as he steps into the room, the sight of him makes you pause. He looks every bit as exhausted as you imagined, but it’s more than that. His clothes are torn and stained with dirt and dried blood, and a faint, musty smell of sweat and grime clings to him. His normally fierce gaze is dulled with fatigue, and the well-kept scruff on his face has grown wilder, more unkempt.

Your nose wrinkles slightly as you take in the full picture. “Logan…” you start, hesitating as he drops his bag on the floor with a loud thud. He catches your expression, and despite everything, he smirks, though it’s softer than usual, his eyes gleaming as they meet yours.

“Missed you,” he murmurs, his voice gravelly and rough, but filled with a warmth that makes your heart swell.

“I missed you too,” you reply, stepping forward to close the distance between you. He reaches out, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you close despite the state he’s in. The embrace is tight, almost desperate, and you feel the stiffness in his muscles, the way his body seems to sag against yours, as if holding you is the only thing keeping him upright. And as much as you want to melt into him, as much as you want to rest your head on his shoulder and breathe in his scent, the feel of the grit against your skin pulls you back.

“Logan, you need a shower.” Your voice gently chides as you lean back to look up at him, your hands smoothing over his chest before you brush a lock of hair away from his forehead, your fingers grazing the sweat-dampened strands.

He lets out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating through his chest as he holds you, the warmth of his breath fanning across your cheek. “I just wanna hold you,” he grumbles, his face nuzzling into your hair.

You tilt your head back a bit, giving him a fond, but pointed look. “Not like this, you don’t,” you tease, pressing a kiss to his cheek before wrinkling your nose again. “Seriously, babe, you stink.”

His mouth quirks into a tired, yet genuine smile, a rare sight that always makes your heart flutter. “Can’t blame a guy for trying,” he mutters, his eyes softening as he looks down at you.

��Go on,” you urge, giving him a gentle nudge toward the washroom. 

But Logan doesn’t move right away. Instead, he gives you a look, one that’s almost boyish in its vulnerability. “Can you come with me?” he asks, almost begging. “I’ve missed you… a lot.”

The sincerity in his tone, the way his eyes seem to plead with you, makes it impossible to refuse. You sigh, pretending to be more exasperated than you are, but the truth is, you’ve missed him just as much. “Alright, alright,” you relent, rolling your eyes playfully. “We’ll get cleaned up.”

A hint of relief washes over his features as he takes your hand, his rough fingers intertwining with yours as you lead him toward the bathroom. Once inside, you turn on the shower, adjusting the temperature until the steam begins to rise around you.

You turn to face him, your hands resting on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat under your palms. “Let’s get you out of these clothes,” you say softly, reaching for the hem of his shirt. 

His hands cover yours, guiding them as he helps you pull the fabric over his head, his gaze never leaving your face. You can’t help but notice the remnants of bruises and cuts scattered across his body, and your heart aches to see him like this, knowing the toll the mission must have taken on him.

When he’s finally undressed, you shed your clothes quickly and step into the shower. Logan wraps his arms around your waist as he presses his forehead against yours, eyes closing as he takes in the moment.

The warm water cascades over both of you, and you can feel the rise and fall of his chest, each breath syncing with your own. There’s a stillness between you, a moment suspended in time where nothing else exists but the two of you.

“God, I missed this,” he murmurs affectionately, gazing down at you with a quiet longing. 

“Me too,” you echo your voice barely above a whisper as if speaking too loudly might break the fragile intimacy of the moment. You reach for the soap, lathering it between your hands, the bubbles forming quickly as the scent of fresh citrus fills the air.

Logan watches you with an almost reverent expression as you begin to work the soap across his chest, your fingers tracing the hard lines of his muscles. His skin, though scarred and battered, is warm beneath your touch, the tension slowly melting away under the soothing rhythm of your hands.

He lets out a low, contented hum as you wash him, his eyes slipping closed as he leans into your touch. “That feels good,” he breathes, the words rumbling through his chest. 

You smile quietly, taking your time as you work your way across his torso, roaming every inch of him. When you reach his shoulders, you pause, stepping a little closer so you can run your hands up the back of his neck and into his hair, your fingers gently massaging his scalp.

The sound he lets out is almost a groan, and you can feel his body relax even further as your fingers work through the tangles in his hair. You can’t help but lean in, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. It’s a lazy, unhurried gesture, one that speaks of comfort, and Logan responds immediately, turning his head slightly to capture your lips.

The kiss is slow, achingly slow, devoid of the usual urgency or passion, but instead filled with something deeper—love, trust, and a profound sense of belonging. His lips are warm and soft against yours, and you find yourself sighing at the familiar taste of him.

When you finally pull back, your breath mingles with his, and he opens his eyes to meet yours. He doesn’t say anything, but his hands slide from your waist up to your back, pulling you so close into his orbit that there’s no space left between you. He holds you like this, his chin resting on the top of your head as the water continues to pour over both of you. It’s not about desire, but rather a need to feel you close, to reassure himself that you’re here, safe and sound in his arms.

You continue to wash him, your hands moving slowly and gently over his body, lathering his hair with care as the water rinses away the grime of the mission. Every so often, Logan presses a soft kiss to your forehead or the top of your head, small gestures of affection that make your heart ache with how much you love him.

As you wash the soap from his hair, you reach up to run your fingers through it one last time, making sure it’s clean. You notice his eyes are half-closed as his head begins to droop down toward your shoulder.

“You’re going to fall asleep standing up,” you tease gently, running your hands down his chest before stepping back to grab the showerhead, directing the water over his shoulders and back.

“Can’t help it,” he murmurs thickly with drowsiness. “You’ve got magic hands.”

After you’ve both rinsed off, you turn off the shower and reach for a towel, wrapping it around yourself before grabbing one for Logan. He takes it from you with a small, grateful smile, quickly drying off before he wraps the towel around his waist. But before you can do the same, he brings you into his arms again, his damp skin cool against yours as he holds you close.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, his voice low and soft as he leads you towards the bed. He pulls back the covers, and the two of you climb in, still damp from the shower. Logan pulls you close, his strong arms encircling you as he pushes his face into the crook of your neck.

The scent of fresh soap and clean skin fills the air, and you can feel the last bits of tension leaving his body as he settles into the bed, his breathing evening out as the warmth of your embrace soothes him.

“You’re warm,” he mumbles.

“So are you,” you respond, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Your fingers trace soothing circles on his back, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

Logan hums in satisfaction, his arms tightening around you as he presses closer. 

“You’re my everything,” he whispers.

You turn in his arms so you can face him, your hand resting against his chest. “And you’re mine,” you whisper back, your thumb brushing over his heart in a slow, soothing motion. 

In the quiet of the room, the only sound is the steady rhythm of Logan’s breathing and the faint thump of his heartbeat beneath your hand. You feel completely safe, completely loved, wrapped up in his arms, and you know that he feels the same. 

Drifting off to sleep, the last thing you hear is his voice, low and filled with affection. “Don’t ever leave me,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your forehead.

“Never,” you assure. “I’ll always be here.”

Logan lets out a deep, contented sigh, pressing a final kiss to your temple. And as the warmth of his embrace lulls you into sleep, you can’t help but think about how you were always meant to be here, by his side.

----

[mercvry-glow]

you, me, and empty space between us

parings. jack abbot x doctor!reader

warnings. widower!jack, age gap as always (jack late 40s, reader late 20s early 30s), jack literally talks reader off the ledge, undefined relationship but they're clearly in love and going through something, unspecified mental health issues, panic attacks, possible suicidal ideation, talks of losing people, bittersweet ending though.

notes. ever since we learned jack was a widower i've been cursed with angsty thoughts. I think this one is really hard as we see both the reader and jack struggle with each other. I love them your honor, and I'm really in my noah kahan loneliness era for this man. as always any feedback is appreciated and I love all of you!

wc. 2700+

You don’t know when it had become so hard to breathe.

It wasn’t after the first patient death, or even the fourth or fifth. That was just life in the Pitt, and you had grown accustomed to it long ago… at least that’s what you thought.

It certainly wasn’t when he had walked in—Jack Abbot, all swagger and scruff, fresh on shift while you were finishing yours. You truly don’t know when you came to love him as more than a mentor. Maybe it was in the quiet, exhausted nights on his couch, or the rare mornings when your coffee mugs clinked in place of words.

Never open, always tucked away.

And maybe that’s why it hits you like a punch to the chest—because it’s something so small, something that you have no business caring about.

A glint of gold as he reaches for his first chart of the night.

His wedding band.

Still there. Still shining. Still hers.

And your breath just… goes. Like someone pulled the air from your lungs and replaced it with something heavy and wet and cruel.

You don’t even remember walking to the lockers. Just the click of the door behind you, the fluorescent lights buzzing too loud, and the burn behind your eyes as your hands shook, held tight against your sides. Everything became too much all at once. 

God, you're so tired.

Tired of the codes and the screaming and the silence that follows. Tired of watching children and parents die and pretending you’re not breaking a little more each time. Tired of watching your friends break each and every day more and more as this job steals their youth like it’s doing to yours. Tired of giving your heart to a man who, no matter how gently he touches you, will never touch you like you’re loved by him.

Not like he touched her.

You don't even cry. Not at first. You just run up the stairs, heart hammering like it's trying to escape, destination both known and unknown to your frazzled brain. Then you do cry—loud, ugly, shoulder-shaking sobs that don't stop. Not even when someone passes. Not even when your pager buzzes again.

You make it up to the roof before anyone sees you.

The cold Pittsburgh wind bites at your cheeks, but at least here, you can breathe again. 

Kind of.

 You wrap your arms around yourself, eyes burning as you stare out over the city like it's supposed to give you some kind of answer.

But it doesn't.

It never does.

You’re not even sure how long you’ve been up here.

The city stretches out below, distant and indifferent—cars moving like blood cells in some great, uncaring artery. You’ve spent your whole life trying to keep things alive, and now, standing here, arms wrapped around yourself in the wind, you’re not sure how to keep yourself going.

It’s not just Jack.

 It’s everything.

You’re tired in your bones. In your soul, if that’s a thing people really have.

Tired of the endless codes that ring like alarms in your dreams. Tired of holding hands that go cold while families scream down the hall. Tired of smiling when you’re empty. Laughing when your throat aches from swallowing everything you can’t say.

Tired of being second. 

To a memory. 

To a career.

 To a system that chews you up and spits you back out with new scars and fewer tears left to give.

You love your job. God, you do. But lately it feels like it’s eating you alive. And no one sees it. No one wants to see it.  Because you're the one who keeps it together. The calm in the storm. The smile at the desk. The one who always says, “I’m fine. Go. I’ve got this.”

But you don’t.

You don’t got this. Not anymore

You’re drowning.

And Jack—Jack is just the wound you thought you could bandage, only to realize it was deeper than you ever let yourself admit.

You see the way he softens when he talks about her, the few times you got to hear. 

The weight in his voice when he says her name.

And you? You’re the comfort. The quiet. The body he falls into when his ghosts get too loud, too much to handle alone.

But not the one he chooses.

Never the one he chooses.

A sob claws its way up your throat, and this time you don’t stop it. You sink, knees scraped by the roof's edge, standing past the metal railing and let it all go—the grief, the love, the years of being almost enough in every aspect of your life.

You cry until you’re raw. Until your breath hitches like a broken record.

Until you feel like there’s nothing left inside you. 

And still, the world keeps turning. The city lights don’t flicker. The wind doesn’t pause.

You are so deeply, achingly alone.

And in this moment, you don't even want to be saved. You just want to rest. 

To be done. 

“You know,” comes a familiar voice behind you, easy and low, “if you wanted to get me alone on the rooftop , all you had to do was ask. I would’ve brought you coffee.”

You flinch. Just barely. But he sees it.

Jack steps closer, hands tucked in his cargo pockets like he’s just wandered up here on a whim, not after checking every paitent room and hallway trying to find you. There’s that half-smile tugging at his mouth, the one he uses like armor—dry wit and soft hazel eyes, his whole coping mechanism wrapped in a single expression.

But the smile falters when you don’t answer.

When he really looks at you.

You’re standing with your hands pulled to your chest, fingers white-knuckled in your scrubs, eyes red and swollen. Shoulders shaking just enough to make him stop in his tracks after realizing you’re past the guard rail. 

“Hey,” he says again, quieter this time. “What happened?”

You shake your head. A tiny, useless motion. You can't even bring yourself to look at him, back still turned.

He steps toward you, trying to search your face. “Talk to me. Did something happen with a patient? Was it that kid from earlier? Or—”

“No,” you whisper, barely audible. “It’s nothing.”

“That,” he says, voice a touch sharper, “is a lie. And a bad one, kid.”

You let out a bitter little laugh that turns into another sob. “Everything’s just… too much.”

Jack doesn’t speak right away. Just watches you, the tension in his jaw building slowly. “You’re scaring me,” he admits, quietly.

“Fuck,” you snap through the tears. “Now you actually see me?.”

That stuns him. You can sense it—how his shoulders tighten, how his eyes scanning like they’ve missed something right in front of them.

You wobble, or try to move—your knees tremble under you, and Jack moves instantly, hands ready to grab you. 

You pull away.

“I’m tired, Jack,” you say, voice breaking. “So goddamn tired. Of being here. Of being overworked. Of watching people die. Of pretending I don’t care that you still wear her ring when you’re in my bed.”

Silence slams between you.

He swallows hard, words clearly stuck in his throat.

“I know she meant everything to you,” you say, softer now. “And I would never try to take her place. But it’s killing me. Being your person… Being the one you come to… but never for.”

His mouth opens, then closes again.

You laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “And look, now I’m making my issues about you again. God, I’m tired of that too.”

Jack steps forward, hesitant, like he’s approaching something fragile. Or dangerous. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

“I didn’t want to make it real,” you whisper. “Because if I said it out loud, I’d have to admit that I’m not okay. That this job—this place—you—are breaking me.”

He’s quiet for a long time. The wind whistles around you both, cold and uncaring.

“I didn’t know,” he finally says. “I should’ve. But I didn’t. And I’m sorry.”

You look up at him, exhausted and open and completely undone. “I don’t want you to say sorry. I just… I wanted to matter.”

“You do,” he says, quick and firm. “You matter to me,”

You shake your head again, biting back another sob.

He doesn’t try to touch you this time. He just stands there in the silence you’ve created, eyes on yours like they’re the only thing he sees now.

And maybe—for the first time—they are.

Jack exhales slowly, like he’s trying to steady his own heart before he reaches for yours.

“You wanna know something?” he says, his voice rough but quiet. “First week I met you, I thought you weren’t cut out for this. All business, too rigid, straight spine, soft. Honestly? Scared the hell out of me, I thought you’d be gone by the end of the week.”

You huff, tired, but something like a breath of a laugh escapes you.

“But then you stayed two hours after your shift because a twelve-year-old was afraid of needles,” he continues. “And I saw it. That heart of yours—the one you hide behind clipped words and all that damn competence. You care so much it hurts you.”

He pauses, lets that sink in. You turn your face slightly toward him, just enough for him to see your profile in the wind.

“I know you think nobody sees you,” Jack says. “That you’re just some extra in other people’s stories. But I see you. I always see you.”

Your lips part, but no words come.

“You’re the one holding the line when everyone else is cracking. You’re the one who stays up on nights like this, falling apart where no one can find you. But I found you. And I’m not going anywhere.”

He steps forward again, slowly, cautiously. Like he’s giving you every chance to step back under the rails and hoping you don’t choose the other way down.

“I don’t wear this ring because I’m not over her,” he says, tugging at the band absently. “I wear it because she made me better. And you… you keep me better.”

That stops your breath cold.

“I never meant to make you feel like you were just something temporary,” he says. “You’re not. Not to me.”

“Then why not just say it?” you choke, voice trembling.

He looks at you like he wants to. Like the words are right there on his tongue—but something stops him. Not fear. Not doubt. Just the weight of everything this moment holds.

“I’m saying what I can,” he says instead. “Until I can say it all.”

He steps closer, right in front of you now, eyes searching yours.

“You matter, okay? Not just as my best resident. Not just as a damn good doctor. You matter to me. You’re not alone in this. Even if you feel like you are.”

Silence again. Heavy, but different this time.

“I don’t know what happens next,” he adds, quieter now. “But I know I don’t want to face it without you.”

You feel something give inside you—something that’s been clinging to the edge for weeks, maybe months. You don’t fall apart again, not this time. But you do lean forward. Just a little. Just enough.

Jack reaches out to touch you, wanting to pull you in. Standing right there on the other side of the guard rails, steady as gravity.

 Letting you decide.

You stand there for a second, barely breathing. His words echo in your chest, ringing against all the places that have been cracked and hollowed out.

You matter to me.

It shouldn't be enough. Not after all this. But somehow, it is. Or maybe it’s just enough to stop the bleeding.

Your shoulders slump as the tension you’ve carried finally starts to unwind. You don’t fall into him, not dramatically. You just… lean. Your forehead comes to rest against his chest, tentative, uncertain. But you stay there.

And Jack? He doesn’t hesitate.

His arms move around you with a kind of quiet reverence—gentle but solid, like he’s anchoring you to the hospital roof. One hand settles between your shoulder blades, the other against the back of your head, cradling you like he’s afraid you’ll break again.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he murmurs against your hair.

“I scared myself,” you whisper back, voice hoarse.

“You could’ve told me,” he says, not accusing—just brokenhearted.

“I didn’t know how,” you admit. “I thought if I said it out loud, I’d lose everything and never come back together.”

Jack pulls back just enough to look at you. His thumb brushes gently along your wind bitten cheeks, catching a stray tear you didn’t even feel fall.

“You are coming back together,” he says, firm but soft. “Right now. Piece by piece. You’re still here. That’s what matters.”

You nod, barely, like you’re still trying to believe him.

“I don’t need you to be okay all the time,” he continues. “You don’t have to be strong for anyone. You get to fall apart. You get to feel this.”

“But what if it doesn’t stop?” you whisper, voice cracking. “What if it just keeps coming?”

“Then we’ll face it together,” he says, without missing a beat. “Shift by shift. day by day. As long as it takes.”

Your eyes search his, and for once, there’s no hiding behind sarcasm or guarded silences. Just truth. And maybe something deeper behind it—something he’s still not quite ready to name, but it’s there. Burning steady like a soft fire.

You close your eyes, letting yourself rest in the warmth of him, in the safety of this rooftop moment.

And for the first time in weeks—maybe longer—you take a full, deep breath.

You both stand like that for a long time—no words, just breath and heartbeat and wind. The hum of the city below feels miles away, like a different world. Up here, it's just the two of you.

Eventually, Jack shifts a little, his arms still around you. His voice is soft, barely above the wind.

“Hey,” he says gently. “How about we get back on the safer side of the rail, yeah?”

You realize, with a sudden twist in your stomach, that you’re still on the wrong side. Still too close to the edge, with nothing but cold air and steel keeping you tethered.

You don’t move right away. Your fingers grip the rail, not because you want to jump—God, no—but because the world still feels unsteady. Like if you let go, you might float off into something you can't control.

Jack doesn’t rush you.

He stays with you, warm and steady at your side, hands never leaving you. “One step,” he says softly. “Just one. I’ve got you.”

You look at him, and there’s nothing performative in his expression. No pity. No fear. Just calm, unwavering care.

You nod once. Then slowly, carefully, you swing your leg over the first bar. He helps you the rest of the way, hands guiding you gently, like you’re something precious. When both feet land solidly on the rooftop again, you don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath until it finally releases in a shaky exhale.

“There you go,” he murmurs. “Safe and sound. Mostly.”

You laugh, barely. “I must look like a mess.”

“You look like someone who’s been through hell,” Jack says. “And is still standing. That’s not a mess. That’s a goddamn miracle.”

You look up at him, eyes glassy, and something flickers between you. Quiet. Heavy. Unspoken.

His hand lifts slowly, brushing a strand of hair from your face, then lingering—fingertips grazing your jaw, gentle as rain. He looks at you like he’s trying to memorize the moment.

“Can I…” he starts, then stops, catching himself. “I’m not asking to fix it. I just—”

You answer by leaning in.

It’s not rushed. Not desperate. Just soft. Slow. Like an exhale. Like the kind of kiss that says I’m still here. I still want this.

His lips meet yours, warm and steady, one hand still at your waist, the other against your cheek. There’s no fire in it—not tonight. Just light. Just steady comfort.

When you pull back, your forehead rests against his, both of you breathing a little easier now.

“You sure about this?” you whisper.

Jack doesn’t even blink. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m sure.”

You nod. You believe him. And for the first time in what feels like forever, you believe in yourself again, too.

mercvry-glow 2025

[hxney-lemcn]

SOS — Overblots x gn! reader

summery: The one time you try to be proactive its like the world has it out for you; or, you get hurt while cleaning Ramshackle dorm and the overblot boys are the one who helps you.

tw: mentions of blood, injury, Malleus is a bit overdramatic...so is Grim.

wc: 1.8k (~230 each character)

Master List

No phone, no tv, not even a book. Not wanting to leave the comfort of your dorm, you decide to start something you’ve been putting off for quite some time now. Cleaning. You started with the living quarters, then the kitchen, then the closet. When you finished with the first floor you decided you’d clean your room and be done. Fate seemed to not be on your side, as when you climbed up the creaky steps, one step was a bit too creaky. When you put your full weight on it, you let out a gasp as the wood gave out from under you. Yes, that's right, your dorm was so run down that the stairs gave out on you. And there you lay in pain, no way to contact anyone. Thankfully, Grim came back from whatever he was doing to avoid helping you clean, you had never seen him look so horrified when he found you among the rubble of wood, splinters galore with bruises and scratches covering your skin. You also never saw Grim run so fast for something that wasn’t his premium cans of tuna. You could only hope he could find help quickly, it felt like something was wrong with your ankle and you wanted to get help asap.

❥ Riddle Rosehearts

At first, Riddle watched the panicked Grim wearily. He was always with the Aduece duo so he thought Grim was panicked from their troubling shenanigans. Instead, he felt his heart drop when Grim sputtered your name among the words fallen and hurt. Riddle rushed to the Ramshackle dorm with Cater and Trey in tow. When he found you, battered and bruised he felt his blood boil. He knew your dorm was run down, that it needed repair, but he didn’t think that Crowley would be so neglectful to the point of it harming someone. He would have to have a stern talking to the headmaster after he knew you were treated properly. Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to carry you as he…was small for the average man…but he made sure Trey held you gently, constantly asking how you feel and if there’s anything he can get you to help. As soon as you were in the infirmary being treated, he marched his way straight to the headmasters office. No way was he going to allow this to continue, Crowley must renovate your dorm this instant and he won’t settle for less. In the meantime, he’ll take care of you in his dorm, you were basically a Heartslabyul student already, so it made sense. Don’t worry, prefect, he’ll help you while you're injured, although the extra attention you get from everyone makes him a little jealous.

❥ Leona Kingscholar

He was trying to get some rest when your little pest of a rat came bothering him. He opened one eye to glare, confused as to why Grim would be crying. Leona could barely make out what the creature was blubbering about, snapping at him to speak clearly. So when Grim finally managed to shout that you're critically injured and you're going to die and you need help, Leona didn’t hesitate, grabbing the rat by his scruff and stalking towards your dorm. He’ll be damned if you're hurt, what did you even do to get into that state? He swears you are such a headache. His green eyes scanned your dorm, finally falling upon your form in a heap of wood, your weak cry of his name making his ear twitch. So many emotions pooled into him as he noted every little scratch. Although he grumbled, ears twitching and tail swaying angrily, he held you softly, making sure not to hurt you anymore than you already were. And no, clearly your dorm was falling apart, no way in hell was he letting you go back. You were treated much better that time you both shared his room, so what’s the problem? You’re stuck with him now, herbivore. Don’t worry that silly little head of yours, he’ll make sure he clears things up with Crowley.

❥ Azul Ashengrotto

Poor, poor Grim. As he ran out, tears blurring his vision, he cried out for help to the first shadowy figure he could. Unfortunately that was Floyd and Jade. The two eels grinned toothily, Grim once again being perfect prey…though they paused as Grim mentioned your name. Floyd asked what was wrong with shrimpy, and that’s when Grim cried out about how you're a bloody heap of a mess, dying alone as they speak. Jade quickly pulls his phone out, alerting Azul of the current circumstance as his brother is already making his way towards your dorm. Although the Leech twins can be cruel, you were not only their friend, but their boss’s love, and so when they found you, not in as dire of a situation as Grim made it be (you were clearly hurt, but not dying), they gently pried the wood off of you and carried you to the infirmary. Azul was already there, waiting anxiously, his heart dropping when he saw your state. You gave him a strained smile, and his heart broke, even with your terrible injuries, you’re still trying to comfort him. Don’t worry prefect, he and the twins will watch over you until the last scratch seals and the last bruise fades. Oh, and your dorm? Don’t worry about that, Azul will make sure Crowley pays the price for his negligence towards you. He has his ways, after all.

❥ Jamil Viper

When Jamil spots Grim running towards him, he feels his headache growing worse. Kalim had been worse than usual with his spending, and now he’ll have to deal with another problem. That headache grows ten times worse when Grim manages to sputter about how you’re hurt and need help. Without a second thought, Jamil drops his current task, rushing to your dorm. His heart was pounding, scared of just how hurt you could be, why that was, and if he was too late. You’ve been the only thing keeping him sane lately, and he wasn’t sure what he’d do without you. When he found you dazed with wood surrounding you he dropped to your side, assessing the damage done before doing his best to pick you up. Once you were safe and sound in the infirmary, he tried to stay by your side for as long as he could. He didn’t mind the idea of tending to you, especially not with you in this state. But his duty lied elsewhere, and eventually he had to wrench himself away, but only when you fell asleep peacefully and that it was confirmed that you’d recover well. What surprised him was when Kalim told him to take care of you, that he could take care of himself for the time being (he couldn’t and Jamil knew that)...and now you were a Scarabia student, both Kalim and Jamil refused to allow you back into that decrepit dorm and hurt yourself any further.

❥ Vil Schoenheit

Rook and Vil were actually on their way to see you when they stumbled upon a sniveling, sobbing, Grim. They watched him as he mumbled and muttered, spewing incoherent sentences. Vil stared at him with a sharp look, telling him to get to the point. He felt his heart drop when your name was spouted along with hurt and dying. Without a second thought, Rook took off towards your dorm, Vil not far behind. He cared for you far too much to just sit around when you needed his help. He hadn’t even managed to enter your dorm, Rook already carrying you out. Vil rushed to your side, moving your hair out of your face and inspecting you for anything that was death threatening. His heart continued to break as you complained about the pain on the way to the infirmary. He did his best to comfort you, promising to treat you to whatever you wish once you were fully healed. By the end of the day, he’s already finished giving an ultimatum to Crowley. If he doesn’t repair Ramshackle, then not only will he expose him, but he’ll make sure you're taken into Pomefiore and treated properly. He won’t let such an offense be taken lightly. 

❥ Idia Shroud

Grim was lucky he ran into Ortho. The humanoid android may look small, but he’s got strength. Grim was sobbing to the point of hysteria, unable to properly communicate the dire situation. Thankfully, Ortho doesn’t need any convincing, only following the poor creature scrambling back to Ramshackle dorm. When Ortho saw you collapsed in a heap of rubble his inner alarms blared. An emergency signal was sent to Idia, and when Ortho sent the message of bringing you to the infirmary he felt a rush of panic hit him. Scrambling, he turned on the security camera footage, watching with wide eyes at you in Ortho’s arms. You had blood and bruising, dear seven what happened? His fear of your well being overpowered his fear of everything else, and he quickly ran…walked to the infirmary. He awkwardly stayed by your side as Ortho fetched whatever you needed, his eyes tracing over every scratch and cut. He felt like it was his fault somehow. You looked better with the blood wiped off though, and you weren’t in critical condition. When you jokingly mentioned that even stairs were your enemy here Idia frowned. He anonymously messages Crowley while you sleep, sending clips that could ruin his career. He won’t release them, as long as Crowley rebuilds Ramshackle to be as spick and span as any other dormitory. 

❥ Malleus Draconia

The second Grim stumbles upon Malleus and snaps out of his hysteria. The fear of the powerful being overwhelms him for a second before he pitifully mutters that you need help. Malleus only tilts his head at the tiny creature before nodding, silently asking him to lead the way. At first Malleus didn’t think much of it, only happy that you needed his help. That was until he heard your weak whimper, then saw your frail body mutilated by debris…yeah he’s the most dramatic one. Although you were hurt you definitely weren’t mutilated. He’s also the most gentle, carefully cupping your face as the wood that surrounded you was instantly incinerated. Every wince or whimper as he lifted you up was met with profound apologies, like he was the one who hurt you instead of rotting infrastructure. Instead of taking you to the infirmary, he takes you to his room where he brings only the best healers. Please don’t try to stop him, this is for your well being, and he won’t settle for mediocre. Lilia only encourages him, and his retainers are no help. So you're stuck in the biggest bed with the silkiest sheets…actually it's dangerous that you were brought here because you're not sure you could go back to the itchy thin cotton sheets you’ve been stuck using as blankets. Though, you won’t really have to worry about that because Malleus has already made the decision to keep you with him in his room…well if you’re not comfortable with that then he’ll give you your own room and he’ll make sure it has the best amenities. Just don’t mind that it's right next to his room.

[unconventional-lawnchair]

Status Quo

PadVix; Poly!Marauders + Lily x Animagus!Reader feat. Baby Harry!

Summary: Early mornings and the Status Quo of the Marauder's house hold. {THIS FANFICTION IS INSPIRED- no, actually, basically a tribute to @/ellecdc's PadVix fanfiction. I would be amazed you are reading any of my stuff and not having read theirs but the link is here if you need it.

WC: 2.2k

CW: Reader is a fox Animagus, reader is unhinged, {a more serious one: animals in baby cribs} let me know if I missed anything!

The early morning peace of the bedroom was shattered by a loud, sharp yip.

Remus’s eyes fluttered open, his brow furrowing as he tried to shake off the haze of sleep. For a moment, he thought he’d imagined it- some strange remnant of a dream. But then it came again, louder this time, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of tiny paws skittering across the floorboards downstairs.

He groaned softly, his head falling back against the pillow.

“Not again,” he muttered, his voice rough from sleep.

Lily stirred in his arms, her fingers clutching the front of his shirt as she mumbled something incoherent. Her fiery hair was a mess, spread out over his chest and pillow like a halo, and she showed no sign of waking fully.

Behind him, James snorted in his sleep, his leg draped greedily over Remus’s hip as he murmured something about Quidditch plays. His snores were loud and steady, oblivious to the commotion.

But Remus was wide awake now, his keen ears picking up the unmistakable sounds of chaos downstairs. The fox-like yips grew more frantic, followed by a deep bark and what sounded suspiciously like furniture being knocked over.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” he sighed, carefully untangling himself from Lily’s hold. Her hand slipped from his shirt with a soft grumble, and she rolled over, cuddling into the empty warmth he left behind.

James mumbled something unintelligible, his arm tightening briefly around Remus’s waist before letting go as he rolled onto his back, his snoring resuming almost instantly.

Remus sat up, running a hand through his hair as another loud crash echoed from below. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips despite himself.

“Padfoot,” He muttered under his breath, already knowing exactly who was responsible for the chaos. Shuffling out of the room, as quietly as possible as to not wake his abandoned snuggle partners.

By the time Remus reached the living room, he was greeted with a scene of pure bedlam.

Vix, or rather you, were darting around the room like a bolt of lightning, your little paws skidding across the floor as you yipped and squealed in pure unearned engery. Your fur was ruffled and wild, as though you’d already been caught once but managed to escape.

And there was Padfoot, still half-asleep, stumbling after you. He was enormous in the small space, his paws sliding on the floor as he tried to keep up with your frantic zig-zagging.

Padfoot suddenly barked in false triumph as he lunged forward, his teeth snapping just inches away from your tail.

But you were too quick. With a clever twist, you darted under the coffee table, your sharp little bark echoing triumphantly as you narrowly avoided capture.

Padfoot let out a low growl of frustration, his massive frame bumping into the sofa and nearly toppling a stack of books as he tried to maneuver.

Remus crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe as he watched the spectacle unfold. “Do you two ever stop?” He drawled, his voice laced with amusement.

You skidded to a halt at the sound of his voice, your form turning to look at him with wide, mischievous eyes. For a moment, you looked almost innocent, your head tilting as if to say, Who, me?

Padfoot, however, took the opportunity to strike. With a victorious bark, he lunged forward, his massive jaws gently closing around the scruff of your neck.

You let out an indignant yelp, your little legs kicking as he lifted you off the ground like a wayward pup.

Remus stepped closer, suppressing a grin as Padfoot proudly presented his "catch," holding you aloft like a prize. Your little legs dangled helplessly, and your fur was all ruffled from the commotion.

"Well done, Padfoot," Remus drawled, his tone light and teasing. "You've finally managed to catch the uncatchable Vix. Congratulations on winning this morning.”

Padfoot wagged his tail enthusiastically, his chest puffing out as if to say, Of course I did. He gently deposited you onto the couch, nudging your small fox form with his nose, as if waiting for you to admit defeat.

But instead of surrendering, you went completely limp.

Your head lolled dramatically to the side, your legs flopping over the edge of the cushion as if every bone in your body had vanished. For a moment, neither Padfoot nor Remus moved, both staring at you in stunned silence.

"Vix?" Remus asked cautiously, leaning down to inspect you.

Padfoot nudged you again, this time a little harder, letting out a concerned whine.

Then, suddenly, your head shot back with a sharp, deliberate motion, and the sound that followed was unlike anything Remus had ever heard. A high-pitched, manic fox laugh erupted from your tiny body, the sound ricocheting off the walls and echoing through the room like some kind of unhinged woodland cackle.

Padfoot stumbled back with a startled yelp, his large paws slipping on the floor as he nearly crashed into the coffee table. Remus took a startled step back as well, blinking at you in disbelief.

Your fox form was now rolling on the couch, your small body shaking with uncontrollable laughter. The sheer absurdity of your antics left the room in a state of stunned silence for a moment before Remus finally let out a low chuckle.

"Merlin's beard," he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose, though he couldn’t hide the smile tugging at his lips. "You’re absolutely mad, you know that?"

Padfoot, meanwhile, recovered quickly from his initial shock. His tail wagged furiously as he let out a loud bark, lunging toward you once more.

You squealed, darting off the couch in a flash of fur, your manic laughter trailing behind you as Padfoot gave chase once again.

Remus sighed, dragging a hand down his face. "I should’ve stayed in bed," he muttered under his breath, though his smile betrayed him.

The sharp clatter of your tiny paws against the wooden floor echoed through the house as you darted toward the staircase, your manic fox laughter still trailing behind you. Padfoot was hot on your tail, his massive paws skidding and sliding as he tried to keep up, his bark reverberating off the walls.

Remus stood frozen for a moment, running a hand down his face and letting out a resigned sigh. “This is going to end badly,” he muttered to no one in particular before following the chaos upstairs.

By the time he reached the bedroom, the scene before him was somehow even more ridiculous than he had anticipated.

You had leapt onto the bed with all the grace of a creature too smug for their own good, skittering across the covers and making a direct beeline for Lily. With practiced ease, you slithered your small, warm body into her arms, curling against her like it was your place. As if you hadn't stolen both Lily and sleep from his grasp moments ago.

Lily stirred slightly, blinking blearily at the sudden weight. Her eyes softened with confusion as she registered your furry form snuggling into her chest, your sharp little nose nudging at her hand until she instinctively began scratching behind your ears.

“This again…” She murmured, her voice thick with sleep.

Before she could fully process the scene, Padfoot barreled into the room, his large, clumsy frame nearly toppling over in his haste. He scrambled onto the bed with far less grace, the mattress creaking in protest under his weight as he pawed at the blankets, trying to reach you.

You let out a delighted squeal, burrowing further into Lily’s embrace and tucking your face against her neck as if to hide from your pursuer.

“Padfoot, for Merlin’s sake,” Remus groaned, his voice heavy with exasperation as he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You’re going to break the bed.”

James groaned from his place behind Sirius, finally waking at the commotion. “What’s going on?” he grumbled, his voice muffled by the pillow.

Padfoot let out a low, frustrated bark, his nose nudging at the blanket you’d disappeared under.

“Stop it, you overgrown pup,” Lily said softly, her free hand shoving Padfoot’s head away gently. “She’s with me now.”

Remus stifled a laugh as Padfoot huffed indignantly, his dark eyes narrowing at you as if to say, Coward.

You peeked out from the safety of Lily’s arms, your bright eyes locking with Padfoot’s. With a playful yip, you flicked your tail, as if daring him to try again.

Padfoot barked loudly in response, but Lily pulled the blanket up, covering you protectively. “Enough, Pads,” she scolded, though her lips twitched with a fond smile. “Let her be.”

With an exaggerated groan, Padfoot flopped onto the bed, his massive head resting on Lily’s leg as he glared at you sulkily.

James finally lifted his head, squinting at the scene before him. “What… why is there a fox in our bed?”

“It’s them, James,” Remus said, his tone flat but amused.

James blinked, staring at your curled-up form nestled against Lily. Then, with a groggy laugh, he flopped back onto the pillow. “Of course it is.”

Remus shook his head, climbing back into bed and lying beside James, who threw a lazy arm over him. Padfoot remained sprawled at the foot of the bed, his tail wagging softly despite his dramatic display of defeat.

Lily looked down at you with a sleepy smile, her fingers gently stroking your fur. “You’re trouble,” she murmured, her voice warm with affection.

The soft rise and fall of breaths filled the room as the warmth of the bed lulled everyone back into sleep. Lily’s fingers remained tangled in your fur, absentmindedly stroking as she drifted off, her hold on you loosening. James and Remus had already gone still, their steady heartbeats a quiet lullaby against the morning hush. Even Padfoot had settled, his large form sprawled at the foot of the bed, though one of his ears twitched ever so slightly- perhaps in protest, or perhaps in stubbornness.

You soaked in the comfort of it all, letting your small fox body relax into Lily’s hold, your eyes slipping shut.

But then- you heard it.

A soft gurgle.

It was faint, barely there, but your ears twitched at the sound, your body tensing slightly. Across from you, Padfoot stirred as well, his large, dark eyes cracking open. He had heard it too.

Another gurgle. A quiet coo. The unmistakable sound of a baby stirring just before waking.

You and Padfoot locked eyes.

Without a word- or a sound- the two of you moved in perfect sync, slinking out of bed with practiced ease. You carefully wriggled free from Lily’s grasp, ensuring she didn’t stir as you slipped from her arms and onto the floor. Padfoot followed, stepping lightly, his massive paws barely making a sound as he padded behind you.

The house was still quiet as the two of you made your way down the hall, your small form slipping ahead while Padfoot trailed just behind, his nose twitching at the air.

When you reached Harry’s nursery, the faint glow of morning light filtered through the curtains, bathing the crib in a soft golden hue. Inside, Harry wiggled beneath the blankets, his tiny fists waving lazily in the air, his little mouth forming sleepy coos as he blinked up at the enchanted mobile above him.

You leapt up with ease, landing gracefully inside the crib, making sure not to jostle him too much. Harry let out a quiet noise of curiosity, his green eyes shifting to you as his tiny fingers reached for your tail. You swished it slowly, letting it drape gently over him, covering him like an extra layer of warmth. He made a happy little noise, his hands curling into the soft fur, holding onto it like a beloved plush.

Padfoot, meanwhile, pressed his nose between the crib’s bars, his massive head barely fitting. He let out a slow, warm huff, watching as Harry’s tiny fingers tugged lightly at your tail, his chubby legs kicking under the covers.

You flicked an ear at Padfoot, as if to say, All clear. We’ve got him.

Padfoot let out a deep, satisfied exhale, shifting so he could rest his chin between the bars, his dark eyes still fixed on the baby. His tail gave a slow, lazy wag, his entire presence exuding warmth and protection.

Harry let out another small gurgle, his bright eyes blinking sleepily. His tiny fingers unfurled from your tail, his movements growing sluggish as he sank back into his blankets. You curled around him, your small fox body fitting perfectly against his side, your tail still draped over him like a shield. His little chest rose and fell in even breaths, his hands tucked beneath his cheek as he finally drifted back to sleep.

Padfoot let out another quiet breath, something soft and fond settling in his eyes. He adjusted his weight, still watching as if standing guard. The two of you remained like that- silent, steady, unwavering.

The house remained still. No one stirred.

You and Padfoot exchanged a final glance before settling in for your silent, shared duty.

Baby-watching duty had officially begun.

Repenting for earlier sins.

[leeny-leens]

When I bleed, its not blood but devotion

Pairing: poly!Mattheodore x f!Reader

Summary: You get into a fight and end up in the hospital wing, as is expected. The fight isn’t the problem, it's explaining the reason you decked that moron in the first place to one disappointed Theodore Nott and a gleefully smug Mattheo Riddle.

Warnings: mentions of a fight, description of injuries (not too detailed), cursing, threats of murder and violence, threats of torture, a few sexual innuendos here and there, things get a bit spicy in the last part but nothing much

Content: established poly relationship, Reader is sassy, Theodore being the brain and responsible person in the relationship, Theodore also resorting to Italian because his lovers are dumbasses, Mattheo being am endorser of violence, flustered Theo, fluffy humour, dramatic MattyReader duo

WC: 3.72k

Translations: Bella - beautiful | caro - dear | Porca miseria, perché è sempre così con voi pagliacci? - Holy shit, why is it always like this with you clowns? | stronzi - fuckers | Smettila di iniziare litigi - stop starting fights

AN: took a bit to get this done because its my first time writing a poly relationship but i cant stop thinking about Mattheodore with their girl, lmk what you think 🤍

The hospital wing is quiet, save for the whirring of enchanted apparatuses and Madame Pomfrey’s quiet murmuring. It’s not so bad, you think yourself, having the whole place to yourself. The bed you’re assigned to is right across the window, so you get to watch first years fall off their brooms with glee. Really, you struck gold with being here; everyone else is stuck in their respective classes or studying in the library, enduring the stifling heat and moisture, while you get to laze about in here with the cooling spells keeping the oncoming spring heat out. It’s of course totally irrelevant to mention that you can barely move without the dull thumping of pain in your sides restricting your movements, or breathe without struggling because of your busted nose.

A small price to pay for the luxurious skipping opportunity, you decide, and you already plan what kind of excuses you’ll throw around when you sneak to your table later at dinner. You’d rather not be subjected to your friends’ fussing, or worse, your boyfriends’ lectures and worrisome nature. They simply can’t find out you got into a fight and ended up in the hospital wing, you decide grimly, already scheming who to threaten and silence, lest rumours about your little altercation reach their ears.

Much to your dismay however, your little peaceful hideout is rudely infiltrated by the slam of the big double doors, half startling you off the bed. At the open doors, you spot the disheveled form of Mattheo Riddle, his messy hair half sticking to his sweaty forehead as he frantically surveys the room in search of something, or rather someone. Behind him, you can make out Theodore’s figure running down the hall, presumably in an attempt to catch up to him, and you can almost imagine his frustrated huff when Mattheo spots you and immediately darts off to your bed.

You brace yourself for the inevitable collision with the speed at which Mattheo is running towards you, squeezing your eyes tightly so you at least won’t futilely attempt to escape, but the impact never hits. A strangled noise catches your attention and so you crack one eye open, gasping at the comical sight. Theodore somehow managed to catch up to Mattheo, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck, much like a mother kitten would with its rowdy children, and is now holding him back while he kicks and swats to be freed.

The sight truly is amusing, a flurry of giggles escaping you as you watch Mattheo struggle in his boyfriend’s grasp, kicking and cursing to be let go. The action however, brings you immediate pain and regret, the potions Poppy pumped you full with still not in enough effect to numb the pain.

Your pained whimper immediately has your two boys alarmed, and in his worry, Theo releases Mattheo. The latter is by your side in seconds, his brows furrowed and his pretty brown eyes darkened by the anxiety your state must be causing him.

“What happened?” He asks, hands hovering unsurely by your side. It must take a lot of restraint for him to touch you, because Mattheo never passes up an opportunity to cling to you, whether for his own pleasure or to comfort you. Theo sighs, ruffling the other boy’s hair before yanking him away from you.

“Give her some space,” he quips dryly, completely ignoring Mattheo’s protests. He’s more composed than his other third, and if you didn’t know him so well, he could’ve almost fooled you into thinking he didn’t really care about the whole ordeal. But there are those little telltale signs, like the way his robes are crooked, very obviously haphazardly thrown over, or the way his ears are ever so slightly red from worry. His hands continually twitch with the need for action by his side, and his blue eyes never once leave your injured form on the bed, taking in every single gush and bandage, cataloging them away for when he would help you take care of them, whether you wanted to or not.

He rounds the bed, settling on the other side before gently placing his hand on your knee, his thumb tracing soothing circles in the skin.

“What trouble did you get into now, bella?” He muses exasperated. Mattheo makes a half offended noise, taking his wand out and muttering a spell that has your bed extending to accommodate three people on one bed. Immediately, he props himself on your left side, his fingers ghosting over your forehead. He traces along the uninjured spots of your face, his touch lighter than a feather, dutifully keeping from any places that might hurt. Countless fights have rendered him somewhat a professional in understanding pain, the knowledge now handy in pouring his affection as carefully as possible.

Their sudden appearance is a bit overwhelming, the intensity of their gaze, blue and brown eyes that never stray from your face, rendering you speechless. Even if you wanted to explain the situation —which you really don’t want too—, you couldn’t. The words get stuck in your throat, leaving you to open and close your mouth like a desperate fish out of the water.

Still, they wait with never ending patience, their hands offering soothing comfort as they silently coax you into talking to them, drawing you out of your defensive shell with not a speck of accusation or judgment.

“I got into a fight,” you finally manage to mumble, a failed attempt at sounding casual. It isn’t a big deal, at least to you, but the two of them clearly don’t share the sentiment. Mattheo's posture immediately stiffens, his jaw tensing with hot red anger. “Names,” he almost barks, “give me names right fucking now.” His reaction is dramatic, too much and you turn to the responsible one between you three, hoping Theo might be able to help you talk Mattheo into calming down. Your hopes are cruelly crushed into nothing, because Theo radiates pure bloodlust, on par with Mattheo’s rage, his hand grasping the bed sheets so tightly you can barely tell his knuckles from the white fabric apart.

“It’s no big deal,” you huff, leaning forward to flick the both of them on the forehead. The action seems to snap them out of their murderous thoughts, the both of them throwing you offended looks as they rub the sore spot. “Seriously, Poppy said it looks worse than it actually is.”

On cue, the matron of the ward steps out of her office, her eyes furrowing disapprovingly at the sight of the three of you huddled on the bed, but she is used to this by now from all the times you stuck around when either one of you got hurt. She lets it go ever so graciously, stepping closer and performs spell-work over you that engulfs your body in a silver shimmer. Theodore watches with utmost attention, as if attempting to read the matron’s mind and willing the magic to heal you faster. Mattheo watches you instead, intensely observing any indicators of pain and only relaxes when the magic leaves you visibly more relaxed than before.

“She should be all good to go in a few hours,” Poppy declares, “some bruising and swelling, a busted nose that will heal quickly and two cracked ribs that we fixed earlier.” With a quiet accio she instantly has three vials floating near her, all which she hands to Theodore with such naturalness, not sparing you a second glance, it kind of leaves you baffled.

“Have her take this three times a day,” she points to the vial with acid green liquid, “and apply those on the areas that hurt.” Theodore stows the vials in his pockets, nodding because this isn’t his first rodeo as the caretaker in charge.

With one last disapproving glance, she turns on her heel and disappears back into her office, not before sparing you a theatrical warning. “Behave yourselves and don’t cause a ruckus,” she scolds, the door shutting behind her with a soft clack.

You slump into the bed, pulling your lovers down and manoeuvre your limbs in a way that won’t cause any prolonged numbness. The three of you are experts by now at this, having had adequate time since practically second year, to learn which positions were best for injured cuddles. The knowledge only ran deeper after your tumultuous fifth year, which you spent the better part of the year dating on and off in every combination known to mankind until you came to the conclusion that you could simply just all date each other without having to choose.

With practiced ease, Theo wraps his arms around you, carefully avoiding the injured and bandaged areas. His legs tangle with yours, joined by Mattheo's long limbs as the latter reaches across your stomach to intertwine his fingers with Theo’s. His face nuzzles into your neck, pressing kisses into your skin as he mumbles gibberish strings of sentences you can barley make out, but you're fairly certain it's a detailed rundown of how he plans to torture everyone who contributed to your pain. The warmth of their bodies is comforting and familiar, like coming home after an exhausting day and wrapping yourself in a warm blanket.

Theo is tracing your waist when he finally speaks up, his face schooled into a neutral expression.

“So,” he says casually, “care to explain the details of your adventure?”

You've dreaded this question long before he asked it, probably as soon as you'd actually gotten into the fight. But it's inevitable, and you know there's no escaping Theo, even if you wanted too. If you don't fess up now, he will find a way to get it out of someone else. And Merlin help you and every poor bloke involved in this should Theo actually have to resort to getting his information on his own.

As if equipped with some high grade legilimency, Mattheo nudges you with his face gently. “Speak now or forever hold your peace, princess,” he warns jokingly, though the both of you know what it really means. Being friends with Theodore Nott for seven years and dating him for two of those has unfortunately subjected the both of you to his incredibly stubborn and merciless nature —in a variety of settings, some more well liked than others, if you catch the drift— which unfortunately also means that you know you're not leaving this bed until he gets a satisfactory answer, or until he tortures you enough to get his fill.

Besides, it's hard to deny him anything when his fingers are tracing idle shapes on your skin, the touch both maddening and soothing at once. And it's especially hard to resist becoming putty in his hands when he stares at you with those big blue eyes, dark like the deepest corner of the ocean and filled with unwavering devotion that knows no bounds.

You resign to yourself to your fate, making yourself more comfortable by tangling one hand into Mattheo’s hair for the sake of nervous fidgeting and lean more into Theodore as you begin to explain.

“I was going from my Potions class to Herbeology, minding my own business,” Mattheo snorts, as if the notion of you minding your own business is of great amusement before Theo digs his nails into his palm, giving him a stern look that roughly translates into Shut the fuck up and let her talk.

“As I was saying,” you continue with a huff, “I was minding my own business like I would on any perfectly normal Tuesday, when I came to the belief that my ears must deceive me! In the courtyard, a bunch of Gryffinidiots were huddled together, lounging about as if they owned the world, loudly complaining and boasting about shit no one cares about.”

You hope this would be enough of an explanation, not in the mood to elaborate on the actual reason you fought one of the morons in the courtyard, but alas, Theo does not give in. He stares at you with furrowed eyebrows, clearly attempting to piece together what would warrant a fight just because a few Gryffindor were being annoying. Silently, he beckons you to continue and you groan with a bit more theatrics than needed, giving Mattheo’s curls a few tugs that cause a few noises of bliss.

“Anyways, I was going to ignore them, especially because the moment they saw me they started making comments trying to rile me up,” you stare at Theo, batting your eyes at him innocently when he very clearly questions your bull. “Honest! I was trying to be peaceful because I know you can’t stand it when Matty and I start fights,” you added, choosing to dignify Mattheo’s snort with a jab into his ribs.

A short moment of silence stretches between you, with you trying to think your next words over carefully in order to minimise the lecture potential that will absolutely follow suit. After deciding that really, theres no way to put this without receiving at least a heavy disappointed stare, you sigh and finally confess.

“The whole ignoring thing was going pretty well too, until one of the loud mouths had the absolute audacity to insult Mattheo, calling him a psychotic piece of shit with a filthy soul” the stunned silence lasts for exactly three seconds before Mattheo sits up like he was struck by lightning, the look of bewilderment on his face slowly morphing into a shit eating grin.

“Oh my god,” he says, his voice sounding just a bit maniacal as he speaks. “You got into a fight to defend me?” By the way he says it, you might’ve as well proposed to him, it probably would’ve elicited the same reaction. Theo groans at the his boyfriends display of drama, reaching over to swat his arms.

“Don’t encourage her, caro,” he warns, but Mattheo doesn’t give two shits. He jumps up from the bed, pacing around like a caged animal and turns to look at you with a grin from ear to ear.

“Oh my god I’m so proud of you princess.”

“Don’t be proud of her, this isn't the time to encourage getting into fights for fucks sake!”

“First of all, I’m always proud of our girl,” Mattheo replies, winking at you, “second of all my love, I’ll always encourage getting into fights, that’s sort of my whole thing, no?” You try to stifle your giggles, you really do, but Theo looks like he aged 20 years just by listening to Mattheo talk and really, how can you resist when the boy breaks into an italian tangent about god knows what.

“Porca miseria, perché è sempre così con voi pagliacci?*” he curses, sitting up to run his hands over his face. You’re not exactly sure what he just said, but you think he might be either confessing his love or cursing the both of you.

Mattheo snorts, rounding the bed to stand in front of Theo and cradles his face in his hands with a smirk. “It’s always this way with us because we are, as you stated, clowns,” the words register in your mind and your offence is immediate. You pull yourself to sit up, noting that the pain has lessened from a sharp ache into just a dull echo, and hit Theo’s shoulder with a scandalised gasp.

“Theodore Niccolo Nott , I am not a clown, how dare you?” He glances at you, expression flat save for the twitch in the corner of his mouth and the fucker shrugs, like the insult is a universal fact he stands by.

You and Mattheo exchange looks, an entire conversation between your eyes before you begin to lament your shared woes in sync.

“Oh woe is me, my own boyfriend thinks I’m a clown,” you cry out, clutching your chest like you’d just been stabbed and shot.

“Woe is me indeed,” Mattheo adds, one of his hands to his forehead while the other squished Theo’s face tightly. The Italian tries to swat away Mattheo’s hand, but it doesn’t hold any real vigour. He leans into the touch more than anything, a small content smile on his face that he most definitely will deny should you point it out.

“Well how is it my fault if you two stronzi* are always going around beim morons? Smettila di iniziare litigi,* for fucks sake!”

Mattheo and you make eye contact, the both of you biting your lips as Theodore goes on and on in a mixture between Italian and English, lecturing you for your idiocies and your behaviour. At a certain point, he even stands up and pushes Mattheo to sit beside you, pacing back and forth as he gestures wildly with his hands.

Mattheo and you nod solemnly, not catching a single word he says and instead focusing on how absolutely hot he sounds scolding you like that. Ten minutes into his lecture, he finally realises the both of you aren't pay in attention, too busy staring at his lips and face with a star struck expression.

“Oh, mio dio*, you didn't hear a single thing I said, did you?” He asks, crossing his arms while staring at you like two children that just got caught stealing cookies from a jar. You and Mattheo avoid his gaze expertly, mumbling half assed excuses he definitely won’t believe, before risking a glance in his direction. To your absolute dismay, you’re confronted with his disappointed look, his mouth pressed into a thin line, worry lines deeply etched into his handsome face and eyes darkened by the sheer volume of disappointment.

“Don’t look at me like this,” Mattheo defends weakly, “I’m not the one that landed myself a trip to the hospital wing!” It’ truly marvellous what a man will do when facing the disappointment of his boyfriend, going as far as to sell out his girlfriend to save his own skin like a coward. You shove Mattheo roughly, hissing strings of curses about his betrayal under your breath.

“Yeah, but you’re condoning it and just as bad,” Theo quips back, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the two of you fighting. Immediately, you cease all movement and sit calmly, unable to bear the guilt that washes over you.

“You talk as if you wouldn’t do the same,” you mumble, gaining some confidence in your stance when Mattheo nods eagerly.

“Yeah,” he joins in, “you’d never let it slide if someone talked shit about me or her!”

Theo looks at the two of you like you’re really, really stupid and he can’t decide if he wants to slap you, kiss you or fuck you. You’d take all three, any day any time, in that very order, but that’s beside the point.

“Yeah, but have you ever seen me get in a fight?” He waits for an answer he knows won’t come, because Theodore Nott is above petty fights. Oh no, he doesn’t do barbaric altercations. He schemes in the dark, orchestrates quietly in the shadows to plan a swift and miserable death in every category, be it social, mental, physical or elsewhere.

If Mattheo resorts to violence, you to words and magic, then Theo resorts to dirty schemes that will leave people questioning their actions for the rest of their lives. He wasn’t one for temporary consequences, he likes to leave a mark, in more ways than one.

“Next time, you’ll be more careful, capice*?” He asks, letting out a long and weary sigh at the sight of you taking the scolding with no more protests. You nod dutifully, fully knowing that you will in fact not be more careful if it means you can defend your boys from slander. Theo seems to read your mind, pinching the bridge of his nose with a pained expression, which instantly evaporates when Mattheo pulls him down to his level to press a kiss onto his mouth.

The kiss is sudden and takes both you and Theo by surprise, but unlike him, you instantly acclimate to the display and smirk gleefully when you watch his expression shift as soon as Mattheo pulls away from him. His face is red, eyes blown wide and his lips are slightly bruised from the impact and the rough way he’s handled; just like Mattheo likes him.

Mattheo turns to you, a cheeky grin on his face that spells his intentions clear as day. Still, you’re quick to jump into action, pulling him to you and joining your lips into a fervent kiss. His hands hold the side of your face with such gentleness; a stark contrast to how he bites and nibs at your lips roughly. You meet his passion with an intensity of your own, holding the back of his neck firmly as your other hands tugs and pulls on his hair. Each time, he lets out sounds of pure pleasure that you swallow with your own mouth, taking the chance to slide your tongue into his mouth.

With too much reluctance, you part away, faces flushed and lips swollen. Theodore watches intensely, mouth slightly apart like always when he watches you kiss and touch.

He clears his throat, adjusting his stance as his eyes darts between the two of you and the exit of the hospital wing.

“I’ll go ask Poppy if you can go,” he presses, all but sprinting to the matrons office, leaving you and Mattheo to giggle about the whole ordeal. You let your head fall onto his shoulder, fondly nuzzling against his side and revelling in the soft and careful touches as the quiet conversation from Poppy’s office drifts to the both of you. You close your eyes with a smile, just for a moment, and you think it might not be so bad to bleed, if only those two stick by your side every time.

[i-love-ptv]

Busted and Blue ｡𖦹 ⋆｡

Pairing: Boyfriend!Rafe Cameron x Girlfriend!Reader

It’s the annual kook halloween party, so of course you’re going to let loose with your friends! If only you proceeded with more caution like your boyfriend wanted..

Wc: 3,727

Hurt + comfort, protective Rafe, SUPER creepy guy harasses reader n grabs her :(( soz

An: Hey chat 😈 I would’ve gotten this out sooner if I could, but ofc i’m super sick (i think i have the flu somehow? 😭) But anywho, I hope yall enjoy this cause i lowkkk had this sitting unfinished in the docs since late september..🌚

Not proofread I fear (cause when do I ever guys)

Feedback always appreciated n welcome! Also send halloween/fall requests guys I wanna hear from y’all! :3 <33

“Y’ready, puddin’?” You turn to your boyfriend, Rafe, while adjusting the ears resting upon your freshly styled hair.

Rafe smirks at you, “‘M ready when you are.”

You grab your wallet off of your nightstand, alongside your keys, and stick them into Rafe’s jacket pockets.

Rafe grabs you by your waist, stepping closer to you, making sure he doesn’t accidentally step on your furry boots, and leaving an airy kiss onto your lips. He knows you’ll pout if he messes up your gloss and lip liner.

“Let’s go!” You cheer excitedly, gripping the golden haired boy’s arm and pulling him along. Rafe chuckles at your enthusiasm.

But before the two of you can pass the door’s frame, you abruptly stop walking, and let out a yelp.

“Wait!”

“Jesus Christ! What?” Rafe shouts out, purely in concern.

Due to you stepping into the bathroom, he can barely see you. But he sees you reach for something off of the sink.

You practically skip over to him giggling. “I almost forgot, Ray!”

You wave a container of face paint in front of his nose. You’re bouncing in your spot, making him grip your hips still.

“Y’scared me, sweet girl.”

You pout at this, but your frown quickly turns into a smile when you open the lid of the container.

“Mhmm. Sorry Ray. But your costume’s not complete without it!”

Rafe is sporting a camo fleece jacket, with matching baggy pants, and some dark boots. He’s wearing a camo beanie too, which covers his delicious buzzed hair.

He has a prop gun sitting in his waistband.

And last but not least, Rafe was letting his facial hair grow a bit for this exact day, per your request.

Instead of being cleanly shaven, his scruff was coming in, and the sight nearly made your mouth water.

But that’s besides the point, tonight was the annual Obx Halloween party, thrown by both Kelce and Topper at their shared house alongside a few other kooks as well.

If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought it was a fraternity, but honestly, it wasn’t really far from one. Every day you wonder why their parents decided to fund it, but that’s besides the point.

Every kook attends this party every year, and some pogues would come too.

Did this cause a few problems? Absolutely, but at least it’s a bit more civilized than it was years prior.

With the party, there’s a costume contest, you even went out of your way a few years back to make a cute ballet box. Although, last year you had to make a new one, due to one partygoer accidentally crushing it against the table it rested on during a drunken fight.

You were pissed, to say the least, you spent the rest of the night sulking, and Rafe nearly punched the kid, despite him already suffering from a beating. He hated seeing you upset.

But every year, for 3 years in a row, Rafe and you would win the ‘Best Couples Costumes’ competition.

Last year, it came close, but everybody loves a classic, and you knew two measly pirates weren’t going to beat Flynn Ryder and Rapunzel.

And this year, you knew that you both were going to win again, your deer costume was just the cutest!

You’re holding Rafe’s face, specifically holding his cheeks with your thumb and index finger. You squish his face a few times cheekily, before applying the black face paint onto his cheeks.

You drag the brush down, lightly tickling Rafe’s slightly rosey cheeks, he’s trying not to react, you can tell. You find it cute.

“Okay! Now we’re good to go!” You clap your hands together with a giggle, Rafe swears he falls harder for you every single day.

You intertwine your hands with his, then head to Rafe’s car.

Rafe opens your door before you can even reach for the handle.

“Wowww,” you drag out, “Aren’t you a gentleman?”

He side-eyes you, leaving you cackling as he rounds the car to the driver’s side.

After walking through the front door of Kelce and Topper’s house, you’re immediately greeted by several people, some of your friends, some of Rafe’s.

You’re holding your boyfriend’s hand tightly, tip-toeing in while responding to all of the ‘Hey Dollie!’s and the ‘You look so cute Dollie!’s.

You drag Rafe into the kitchen, blabbering on about how you “need to find a smirnoff or else you’re going to collapse”.

Topper and Kelce spot Rafe, they rush over and start patting him on the back.

“Ayeee, howdy Rafe! Glad you finally showed up!”

They’re both dressed up as cowboys, their forced country accent makes you giggle.

Kelce notices you before Topper does, he instantly grins.

“Howdy there, Miss Dollie! Look at you!” You beam brightly, taking pride in your costume.

“A deer and a hunter? How cute, I think someone’s gone soft.” Topper raises his eyebrows in a teasing manner. He always talks about how “Rafe’s gone soft”, because years ago, if a girl asked if he wanted to wear matching halloween costumes, he would’ve laughed in her face.

“Shut the hell up Topper.” Rafe practically barked at him.

You walk over to the fridge, looking for your beloved smirnoff. Topper coos at Rafe, while Kelce makes kissy faces at him, making you laugh at their antics.

You hear a squeal behind you and you whip your head around.

There in front of you, is none other than your [basically almost] sister-in-law, Sarah Cameron.

“Oh my god, Dollie!! You look so cute!” She barrels into you, and you stumble back.

After you two talk for a bit, she drags you away, telling you how she wants to show you something.

You look back at Rafe, who looks a little apprehensive about letting you roam without him.

It’s not that he didn’t trust you, and he definitely wasn’t one to completely baby you, but he didn’t trust others.

There are some sleazy kooks here, ones that act how he used to, and that nearly sent a shiver up his spine at the thought of you being subjected to being around anyone like that.

He wants to protect you, he needs to.

It’s his job as your boyfriend.

Your future husband.

Anything can happen at a party, especially if you're not in his eyesight.

But you gave him a look of reassurance. Your eyes convey a message, almost as if you’re saying “It’s going to be okay” to him personally.

He holds your gaze for a few seconds longer, he looks uncertain, but eventually, you’re lost in the wave of bodies.

“Dude, you act like she’s gonna disappear or something, she’s only gonna be gone for a little bit.”

Topper’s statement makes Rafe turn back and glare at him.

He says nothing, instead, he goes to the fridge to grab a beer.

He knows he can only drink a few, since he’s going to be driving back home tonight. And you sure as hell aren’t going to let him drive if he’s even a bit tipsy.

…Even if that means you have to drive in the dark, which is hard for you to see in.

That’s one of the things that Rafe loves most about you. You’re so attentive. It’s new for him.

The two of you have been dating for years, coming up on four, to be exact.

But Rafe doesn’t think he’ll ever truly get used to the feeling of your love, and your warmth.

Rafe truly wonders if there’s an off-switch on Topper and Kelce.

They’ve been talking about a whole bunch of nothing and quite frankly, it’s starting to piss him off.

He knows you’d hate it if he was too busy worrying about what you’re doing rather than enjoying his time at a party with his friends.

It’s been an hour of non-stop chirping in his ear, and Rafe’s been nursing his second beer for the past 20 minutes.

“Yo, Rafe. Did your girl ever bring the costume ballot box in?” Kelce asks, touching his beer bottle with Rafe’s, making a sharp ‘clink’ noise.

Rafe groans, “Aw shit man. I'll go get it.” He rubs his hand over his face.

And with that, Rafe is trekking through the house towards his car, but not without pushing a few people out of his way.

Kelce snickers alongside Topper, who is growing agitated by his so-called girlfriend’s pestering, and finishes off his 5th-or-so beer.

Kelce hears a whimper from behind him, and quickly shoots around to see you: wobbling in your shoes, with your legs pressing together slightly. He can tell you’re already drunk.

“What’s up, Dollie? You okay?” Kelce rests his hands on your shoulders, aiming to keep you steady.

Your glossed lips remain in a pout, “Have you seen Rafe? I gotta go to the bathroom ‘n he told me to tell ‘em when I gotta.”

“He jus’ went to his car to get the ballot box. I can take you if you want though.”

“Oh pretty please, Kelce?” You’re speaking so urgently, Kelce can barely understand you.

But that doesn’t matter, cause he makes you hold his arm so you don’t get separated from him while he walks you to the less-crowded bathroom upstairs.

When you get there, you quickly unwrap your arms from Kelce’s bicep and rush out a ‘thank you so so much, Kelcey’. Which makes him chuckle, knowing that Rafe would mope if he heard it.

It’s been 10 minutes, and Kelce grows a bit worried. He’s confused as to why it’s taken you so long.

“Hey uh, Dollie? You alright in there..?” He questions as he knocks his finger on the door.

“Mhm! Jus’ tryna…Button m’damn shorts.” You slur, and Kelce hears your heavy footsteps through the door.

Kelce hears you murmur ‘Dumb fuckin’ nails…Won’t lemme do shit’, before a girl wearing a Tinker Bell costume grabs his attention.

Now if Kelce was in the right state of mind, he would’ve never left you alone. But right now, with quite a bit of alcohol in his system, he’s not thinking clearly.

So after another five minutes when you finally walk out of the bathroom and see a random guy leaned against the wall, smirking at you, instead of Kelce, you panic.

“Wha’s good pretty girl?” He coos, similar to how your boyfriend would, but more sinisterly.

You sort-of sober up at this, despite having 3 shots and 2 of Sarah’s cocktail things. But your mind still remains foggy.

You don’t respond at first, for some reason you think he’s talking to someone behind you, until he grabs your arm when you try to pass him.

“Nothin’? C’mon talk to me doll.”

You don’t like how the nickname sounds coming from his mouth, and you stammer to try and respond.

“Jus’ wanted to use the bathroom..”You whimper meekly.

You’re looking around for Kelce or even Rafe, but you can hardly tell whether or not this guy really is pink.

“Dollie? You up here babe?”

You whip your head back, too quickly unfortunately, and you see Sarah coming up the stairs.

….Not without tripping up the step once or twice, though.

“Oh m’gosh Dollie, I’ve been looking everywhere for you! Listen, I found some more shit, ‘n I could totally make one of those cool Bloody Mary’s—“

The drunk blonde cuts off her rambling once she opens her eyes and looks at you.

You’re grimacing, while trying to pull your arm away from this guy, who seemingly has a painful grip on you. And you can barely stand straight.

Sarah’s eyes widen, and from the looks of it, all of the alcohol from the night has suddenly vanished from her body.

“What the fuck d’you think you’re doing?!” Sarah nearly barks at the boy as she takes a few steps closer, trying to steady herself.

“This doesn’t concern you, bitch,” he sneers, making you inhale the smell of alcohol from his breath due to the close proximity.

Sarah’s practically stomping across the hallway, reaching for your hand.

“It obviously concerns me since you’re gripping my best friend, you cunt.”

When the blonde girl finally reaches you, the drunken kook shoves her straight into the wall, making you shout for Sarah.

You’re pushing against the man, begging him to just let you go, while he’s trying to drag you back into one of the dark rooms of the house.

Meanwhile, Rafe’s freaking the fuck out downstairs, and honestly, he’s about to flip this entire house upside down.

He’s taking large steps, walking with a purpose as he finally spots Topper. He smacks a rough hand on his shoulder, interrupting Topper’s conversation with the girl from earlier.

“Yo, Topper, you seen my sister?”

Topper turns around, nearly snarling due to the mention of his ex girlfriend.

“No, dude, why the fuck would I know where she is?”

Rafe’s nose flares, he’s growing more and more irritated by the minute at the thought of you being out of his line of sight.

“Don’t fucking catch an attitude with me, and I don’t really care where the fuck my sister is, I’m looking for Dollie.”

There’s a beat of silence between them, despite the loud surroundings, then somebody’s rushing to Rafe before Topper can even respond.

It’s some random pogue, which angers Rafe even more, — but he’d never tell you that though.

“Rafe! This guy just shoved Sarah into the wall upstairs,” he rushes out through his panting, since he had sprinted down the stairs moments prior.

“And, and he keeps grabbin’ on Dollie-“ Rafe immediately starts charging upstairs.

His large strides make everyone turn towards him, wondering what made Rafe Cameron furious this time.

Rafe swears that his heart is going to pound out of his chest; this is the exact reason as to why he wanted you at his side tonight.

He knew not to let you drink with Sarah, because everytime the two of you are left alone together with alcohol, it doesn’t end well.

Rafe’s taking two steps at a time, he’s balling his fists so tightly that his knuckles are turning white.

He swings around the banister, then he sees a group of people holding back a guy who’s cursing loudly, and flailing his body.

“She was fucking asking for it, get the fuck off me!”

Then as he’s walking up, he sees Sarah slap him, and reach into her boot.

“You dirty. Fucking. Freak!” Sarah yells, putting emphasis on every word she spits.

And at the end of her shouting, she sprays her mace in the boy’s face. She’s waving her bedazzled pepper spray container wildly, making the boys holding the kook avert their faces.

Rafe whips his sister around, “what the fuck is going on? Where’s Dollie?”

Sarah huffs at the brunette’s harshness. “She locked herself in the bathroom after I managed to get the guy off her.”

Rafe nearly bulldozes through the forming crowd and parks himself right in front of the door.

But he hesitates to knock.

He urgently wants to get to you, to pull you into his arms and take you straight home. He wants to go through the after-party ritual you both have:

First, he’d always set you down in the kitchen as soon as you both got home, so he could get you a glass of water.

Then after you went into your shared room, he’d help you take off your shoes and clothes, so you could eventually get changed into something comfier.

Then, he’d remove whatever makeup you're wearing, and then tie your hair up —however that may be.

Rafe loves taking care of you, you’re always so stubborn when it comes to him pampering you.

You love the princess treatment, really! But you’re afraid of asking for too much, and Rafe vowed to spend the rest of his life proving to you that there’s no such thing as ‘too much��� with him.

Rafe wants to do all that with you right now, but he knows that you’re startled, frightened even. So he needs to calm down before trying to reach you.

His breathing is uneven, borderline ragged. There’s a slight shake in his hand, and quite frankly, Rafe can’t tell if it’s from sheer rage, or it’s because he can’t handle the thought of scaring you further.

He knocks at the door.

•······················•

There’s a knock at the door.

A gasp rips from your throat, breaking you out of the almost trance that you’re in.

You’re sitting in the bathtub, it’s gross, you’re aware of this. But you’re too shaken up and tipsy to even care.

You just want to be as far away from the door as possible.

“Hey, uh, Dollie? You in here?” You hear it come from the other side of the door, it’s muttered softly.

“S’me, baby.” He continues, although he didn’t need to, because you know that voice like the back of your hand.

“Ray….” You croak, you try to speak more than one singular word, but silence grips your throat.

You can’t seem to move, your joints remain still, but your chest is heaving wildly.

You know you need to get up, you need to unlock the door so Rafe can help you, but your buckled knees keep you grounded at the bottom of the tub.

You open your mouth to speak but only a choked sob escapes.

“Okay, okay. I’ll—I’ll be there in a second, baby.”

Your head leans back on the wall, and you take in your surroundings. You’re in Topper’s bathroom, you can tell because he’s the only one with a bathroom that doesn’t connect to his bedroom.

Kelce must’ve brought you here since it was the closest one. You wonder where Kelce is now.

The sound of the doorknob rattling makes you jump—almost out of your skin.

The door swings open, nearly clashing against the wall. You lock eyes with your boyfriend.

He whispers, “oh Dollie,” and rushes towards you.

Rafe picks your body up out of the tub, and lays you in his lap. Your position similar to a baby being held; Rafe couldn’t help it.

You cried in his arms, despite not wanting to cry in front of him, your resolve had slipped.

This wasn’t your first time having an issue like this, but it had never reached this point before.

Everyone in Kildare County knew you were Rafe’s girl, just like how they knew Rafe was your man, so nobody had dared to go past a few flirty remarks, or even a sly glance.

It was Rafe’s fault, he was sure of it. If he had just found you and took you to the car with him, none of this would’ve happened.

“Don’t do that, Rafe,” you murmur through your sniffles, your voice still holding that rasp from earlier.

“..Do what?”

“Blame yourself. I know that’s what you’re doing, Stop it.” You place a soft hand on his cheek, making you cringe due to all of the surfaces you’ve been touching.

Rafe presses a warm kiss to your temple and caresses your back

There’s a pause, but neither of you mind; the bathroom serving as a temporary solace for you.

You’re rubbing circles on Rafe’s arm while he rests his chin on your head. Whispers are exchanged between the two of you, until you decide that it’d be best to just head home.

Before leaving, though, you make sure Sarah at least has a ride home, for whenever she decides to leave.

You asked Rafe if you could talk to Kelce before leaving, but he refused. Simply stating that you could call him tomorrow.

You pouted at this, but you understand his reasoning, well at least you somewhat could through your haze.

While Rafe’s helping you step down the steps, you see John B walking up.

“Rafe.” John B says, acknowledgingly.

Rafe’s eyes slant, “John B.”

You perk up with a smile, “hi John B!!” You exclaimed with a slur, and with a little too much enthusiasm for Rafe’s liking.”

“Hi, Dollie,” John B smiles at you, and gives you a high-five, making you squeal in your drunken state.

After 10 minutes of Rafe trying to guide you, and you tripping over your own feet, you both finally made it to Rafe’s car.

While he’s buckling you in, Rafe can’t help but think about when you gifted him this car for his birthday.

Well, you picked it out, Ward had actually bought it.

He remembers when you first placed the keys in his hand, you were nearly bouncing in place waiting for his reaction.

Now he’s gotten cars before, in fact, that’s all Ward usually gets him every other birthday besides a watch. But this one, was one you picked out. So he knew he was going to cherish this for the rest of his life.

That same night, you told him about how Ward and you were at the car dealership for hours, since you refused to take any of the cars they originally offered you.

- -

“Y’know I would’ve liked any of ‘em, you didn't have to spend so much time on it. You could’ve gotten me a smoothie, and I think I still would’ve loved it.”

“Woww,” you drag out with a hushed whisper. “You think?”

Rafe poked your side, making you giggle.

“I’m kidding! I’m kidding! But I wanted it to be special.

Couldn’t just pick out any ordinary one. I dunno, I’m surprised you like it so much, since you already have a car and a dirt bike.”

- -

If only you truly knew how much he appreciates everything you do for him.

As soon as Rafe reaches his side of the car and enters, he looks over and sees you slumped back, since he lowered your seat back to get you comfortable.

Your hair’s a bit wild, your lipgloss is almost fully gone, probably from the sweet residue being left on every bottle you’ve touched tonight.

Your mouth is open slightly, and Rafe thinks it’s the cutest thing.

If you found out, he knows you’d be beyond mortified. So, Rafe will just keep this moment locked away for himself.

Honestly, he wishes he could keep you locked away for himself, as selfish as it is.

He can’t help it. You make him whole.

He’s a satellite, and he can’t get back without you.

Because you’re his love; his life.

[lubdubology]

Soft Edges

SYNOPSIS: Logan doesn't know how to relax. So you help him.

PAIRING: Worst!Wolverine x fem!reader (Although minus the quick blip mention about the Void, you could imagine any Logan you'd like)

WC: 2K

WARNINGS: sexually suggestive innuendos; non-explicit descriptions of nakedness; playful banter; kissing; mild swearing; feeeeeelings; honestly, just tooth rotting fluff

A/N: I haven't written anything four hundred and eighty years seven years and I'm honestly kind of nervous about this. I thought my writing muse was long dead and buried. But here it is, seemingly revived. The idea for this story kind of just fell out of my head when I should have been napping while my toddler napped. The story won out. I hope you like it! <3

You wake with a jolt to the sound of Logan’s alarm blaring from his phone. From beside you comes Logan’s low, “Ah, fuck,” before silence reclaims the room. 

It’s early, the first rays of morning light just barely peeking above the horizon. You roll over and peer over your pillow to find Logan pulling on a pair of jeans. 

“I thought you were off today,” you mumble sleepily, laying your head back down and admiring the way his muscles move as he slips a shirt over his shoulders. 

He looks back at you with a soft smile. “Didn’t mean to wake you,” he says, continuing to dress. “Picked up an extra shift at the yard.”

Since returning from the Void, Logan had picked up a smattering of odd jobs to earn money. A couple of months working at a quarry. A per diem for a local contracting company. Currently a lumber yard thirty minutes outside of town. Despite notoriety for helping save the entirety of existence, some employers still had qualms about hiring someone from another universe. Not that he cared. You think he was just happy being useful. 

You reach for him and pull him down for a kiss. You can feel the curve of his smile against your lips and it’s these soft moments about him you love the most. “Do you even know how to relax?” you ask, snuggling back down against the rumpled sheets. 

“I relax,” he replies, standing up to grab his boots at the end of the bed. 

You can’t help the snort that escapes from you. “Name one thing you to do relax,” you counter, watching through half lidded eyes as he sits back down on the bed to lace up his boots. 

Logan pretends to think about it and then smirks. “You.”

He chuckles as you whip his pillow at him, your aim off as it sails harmlessly past his head and onto the floor. You hide your smile as he looks down at you, his eyes warm but still tired. “Relaxing really ain’t my style, sweetheart.” 

“You deserve it though,” you say, stifling a yawn. 

Logan looks down at you for a moment, his smirk fading as something softer settles in his expression, but he doesn’t respond to your statement. He stands and shrugs on his jacket, straightening out the collar before leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. 

“Go back to sleep,” he murmurs.

You watch him leave and as you settle down to steal a couple more hours of sleep, you hatch a plan to show him just how nice relaxing can be. 

+++

You hum to yourself as you cook, the aroma of roasted potatoes and chicken filling the apartment. You’re just about to start on the green beans when you hear the jingle of Logan’s keys in the lock and the door swings open with a heavy creak. 

“In here, babe!” you call from the kitchen. 

“I could smell this all the way downstairs,” he comments, tossing his keys on the counter. “What’s this for?”

Logan wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you tight against his frame, nuzzling his nose where your neck and shoulder meet. With a smile, you reach back and lightly scratch your nails through the scruff along his jaw. He smells like sawdust and smoke as you press a light kiss to his cheek. 

You savor these moments with him. When you’d first met him, he was distant and wary, years of trauma causing him to be guarded. He warmed up slowly, his touches lingering longer and his words spilling more freely. But now, moments like this—where he’s soft and affectionate—have become more frequent. Logan craves touch and you are more than willing to reciprocate. 

“I thought you could use a nice dinner,” you say, your hand still tracing the line of his jaw. “Long day?”

Logan lets out a low grunt in response, his forehead resting against your shoulder. “One of those days where every idiot with a hammer thinks he can DIY,” he mutters, his breath warm against your skin. 

You smile and give his head an affectionate pat. “Well, you’re home now and I’ve got everything handled here. Dinner will be ready in just a few minutes.”

He pulls back just enough to look down at you, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. “Sure you don’t need help?”

“You try and help me, and I’ll beat you with this spoon,” you tease. 

Logan laughs and raises his eyebrow. “Promise?”

You smirk, giving him a playful nudge to the ribs with your elbow. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Logan.”

Logan’s eyes crinkle at the corners, the kind of smile that softens all his sharp edges. He gives your waist a gentle squeeze before stepping back, his fingers lingering just a beat longer. “Alright, alright,” he says holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll just go wash up.” 

As Logan retreats to the bathroom, you hear the rustle of him changing out of his work clothes and the thud of his boots as he tosses them to the floor. You finish dinner, resuming your quiet humming as you set the table. You finish plating everything when Logan emerges, work clothes changed for a fresh t-shirt and jeans. 

“Come eat, Lo.”

He joins you at the table and gives you an appreciative look as he sits down. “This smells incredible.”

You sit across from, watching as he takes the first bite, a prickle of anxiety setting along your spine as you wait for his reaction. A low groan of pleasure rumbles in his throat. “Fuck, this is good.”

A grin spreads across your face as he takes several more bites like a man starved. “I experimented with the cast iron skillet,” you comment as you watch him. “Looks like it was a solid impulse purchase.”

The two of you settle into a comfortable rhythm, enjoying the meal and sharing small pieces of conversation. Logan helps himself to seconds and as he finishes, he wipes his mouth with a napkin and sets his gaze on you. “You didn’t have to do this, you know,” he says, his voice low and warm. 

“I wanted to,” you reply simply. “And, like I told you this morning, you deserve it. Let me help you relax, Logan.”

There’s a pause, his expression softening as your words settle over him. You know he’s not one to ask for much and you can tell his savoring this moment. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” His voice is gruff but there’s a tenderness there that makes your chest ache. 

“A good something?”

He smiles. “The best somethin’.”

You finish dinner, swatting him away when he offers to help clean up and banishing him to the living room. Dishwasher loaded and leftovers put away, you join him on the couch. “Care to indulge me once more?”

He quirks his eyebrow. “What did you have in mind?”

+++

Logan stares at you dubiously as you lead him to the bathroom and gesture towards the tub. You flash him a grin as a frown tugs at the corner of his mouth. “It’s just a bath, Logan.”

He eyes the tub as if he’s waiting for it to swallow him whole. He crosses his arms across his chest. “I don’t do baths,” he mutters. 

You roll your eyes and place your hand on his chest, gently pushing him further into the bathroom. “Yeah, and you don’t relax either. Just humor me.”

Logan gives you a look—half amused, half reluctant—as he allows you to continue to nudge him closer. He reaches up and scratches at the back of his neck and blows out a sigh. “Fine,” he grumbles, “but only if you join me.”

You laugh softly, leaning up to press a kiss to his chin. “Tough bargain, but I accept.”

You turn from him and run the faucet, letting the tap run until you find the temperature sweet spot. Satisfied, you toss in some bath salts, the scent of eucalyptus quickly filling the room. The tension in Logan’s posture eases as you finish preparing the bath, but he still eyes you like he’s not entirely sure what comes next. 

Once the tub is filled, you shut off the tap and turn back towards him. “Okay, now strip.”

Logan smirks and raises an eyebrow. “Oh, so this is what you really wanted.”

“You’re not that hard to get naked, Logan,” you say with a laugh. 

He chuckles, but follows your instruction, pulling his shirt over his head. As you join him in undressing, you can’t help but admire his physique, his muscles flexing and gliding beneath his skin. You shimmy your panties down your hips as he kicks off his pants, leaving you both bare. 

You feel his gaze heavy on your skin as you step into the tub and beckon him to join you. He steps in, sitting down so his back is against your chest and he lets out a low groan as the warm water envelopes him.  Wrapping your legs around his hips, you cradle him and feel the tension ease from his muscles. 

“See?” you say, leaning to press a kiss to his temple. “Isn’t this nice?”

Logan peeks up at you and smirks. “The naked woman helps.”

You grab a washcloth and dip into the water to dampen it before running it over his chest. “You don’t have to admit you like it,” you say, rubbing the cloth in gentle circles along his collarbones. “You’re basically a wet noodle in my arms.”

He makes a wordless noise in the back of his throat and closes his eyes as you continue to wash him. A comfortable silence surrounds you, soft drops and splashes of water and the faint background hum of your apartment the only noises interrupting your space. You continue to wash him, gently massaging his shoulders, arms, down to the long fingers that know how to play you so well. A deep groan rumbles through his chest as you rub your fingers across the skin in between his knuckles. 

You eventually let the washcloth sink and wrap your arms Logan’s chest. He molds his arms against yours, lacing your fingers together. “I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. 

You shake your head and hold him just a little tighter. “You do, Logan. Despite your past, you’re a good man and you deserve someone to help shoulder your burdens.” Your voice is sincere as you press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Or least help you relax every once in a while.”

You soak until the water cools just enough to chill your skin. Reluctantly, you untangle yourself from him and nudge him to stand. He’s already got a towel slung low across his hips as you step out and he doesn’t even let you grab your own before pulling you close. 

A yelp dies on your lips as he cradles your face in his hands, thumbs pressing into the corners of your jaw as he tilts your mouth up to him. He inhales deeply through his nose, his lips moving expertly over yours, his tongue seeking the warmth of your kiss. 

You lean into him, your fingers trailing along his ribs and pressing into the damp of his skin. Logan kisses you once more, a gentle press to the corner of your mouth before he lets you go. 

“So,” he starts slowly, “Now that you’ve shown me how you relax, can I return the favor?”

A mischievous gleam dances in his eyes and he doesn’t give you time to answer before slinging you over this shoulder. Your giggles echo down the hallway as he carries you and he kicks open the bedroom door before setting you down on the bed. You scoot back and stare up at him with an expectant glance.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he says with a grin, “My turn.”

[sizzlingcloudmentality]

blessings

old man!Joel Miller x reader | wc 1.1 k | fluff mdni | ao3

summary: Joel's body is aching and so is his soul, but you make it all better or a domestic moment with Joel and you.

warnings: fluff without plot, no y/n, established relationship, unspecified agegap (think reader being around 30), Joel having bad joints but hey, he is 62 and alive, kisses, Joel being a cute grump, so many feelings, so much love, petnames (baby, darlin', angel)

notes: this is my attempt of making us all feel better. Joel will outlive me, thank you very much. a big kiss and thank you to my partner in crime fluff @guiltyasdave for writing with me today and beta'ing and being the best person 💛💛💛

The damp cold has been hard on him. Joel won't say a single word about it, he won't complain. But his face will twist when he moves, he will huff when the pain shoots through him, he will rub his knees and wrists and fingers without even noticing it. He'll seek the warmth a little more, when he can. Because the days on the construction sites are long, even longer when he only sits crouched over his desk. The wintery cold crawls closer every minute he broods over sketches or some tiny, tricky apparatus he wants to repair but can't, because his fingers are stiff and cold and he isn’t 40 anymore.

His whole body aches when he finally gets home. And all Joel wants now is a warm shower, a warm meal and your warm body against his. He feels like a burden, these days more than usual. This isn’t like it was supposed to be, he thinks when he hears you humming in the living room, some tune from 2003, a tune he was too old for even then. You are too young. Too kind.

“Hi baby,” you whisper into his good ear and wrap your arms around him. He grunts, frowning, a fake offended expression pronouncing some wrinkles on his face and smoothing others out. Baby. He likes that, likes being called that, likes being loved. A late blessing in his life.

“Don’t…” he mumbles when you hug him tight and burrow your nose deep into the collar of his flannel. He smells like fresh cut wood, dust, sweat, home. You inhale him deeply, sighing happily against his skin before you kiss him there. “I need a shower. Get off of me, nasty thing.”

Yet Joel stays put, his big paws and your arms make sure you keep on holding him a little longer. A week or a year, a decade if he dares to dream really big. He'd die a happy man today if the Lord decided that his time has come. But that doesn’t mean he wants to go. But if he had to, he’d know that he had another big love in his life. Lucky, that's what he is.

“Take a shower, then. And eat, there's soup.” You nuzzle a trail up his neck until you reach the grey scruff adorning his jaw and cheeks. It’s scratchy but soft, grey but virile, just like Joel himself. You kiss his cheek and hold your lips there until he groans again. It’s all part of the game, a game called Joel is grumpy, no really, he is when he is nothing but a loving man.

“Yes, ma'am,” he grumbles but there is a smile painting his timbre. “Thank you, darlin’,” he adds and gratefulness joins the smiley tone of his voice.

You sit with him, watch him eat because you already ate with Ellie. You serve him a side of the latest gossip, some youngins fooling around, breaking up in the middle of the street. He laughs and shakes his head, says something about how young love makes you do crazy things and when he looks at you – with your chin propped up on your folded hands, smiling at him – he is reminded that you are the same age as these young fools. You are more than grown up and an adult, you are a whole woman, have a whole story and lived a life before Jackson, but still, there are decades between you.

Young love really makes you do crazy things, loving an old man like him for example.

His stiff muscles and cold bones got a little better in the hot shower, and when he joins you on the edge of the bed he can feel the siren call of your warmth.

You can tell that he hurts. He never says a single word about it. But he hisses and grunts when he thinks you don't hear him. He curses his old bones and you spend your days lifting those curses, one by one, with kisses and caresses. You take the towel from him and continue drying his grey curls, knowing each one of them by name. You move behind him and dab his back dry, taking an inventory of his scars and spots and blemishes. Constellations, you think, and draw an invisible line to mark the Big Dipper he carries below his right shoulder blade.

Joel groans and shifts, both impatient for you to stop and not wanting you to ever stop. He shivers, the cold crawls over the hardwood floor and nips on his ankles.

“Need to lay down now, ‘m cold.” He tugs at the covers and you move to lift them for you and him. With a sigh he leans back, slowly – because his back is protesting – until he feels the mattress beneath welcoming him. The dips his body has carved into the worn material are hugging him but there is no warmth, just the promise of simple and plain sleep. But when your arms loop around him and your hands skim across his chest and arms? There is warmth. And he knows he will rest and recharge and recover.

His feet sneak closer to yours and his hands slip between your legs. You muffle your yelp against his shoulder and Joel sighs contently when the soft heat of your thighs starts seeping into his aching joints. When spring comes around, he'll be able to use his fingers on you again, differently, like he knows you're aching for. For now all he can do is soak up your care and love for him.

“You deserve better, darlin’,” he whispers between placing kisses on your temple, “Deserve someone your age, who can make ya happy and–”

“--still has a life to live and who can give me what I need,” you finish his sentence for him. “I know, I know. Ever considered that you are who I need? And want?”

Joel scoffs but he's smiling. Blessed, that’s what he is.

“Stubborn thing.”

“Just matching your energy, Miller.”

Another scoff and he's pulling one of your legs between his. Tangled, intertwined, not planning on letting you go, as long as he can manage to hold you by his side.

With your head tucked under his chin and your hand slowly rubbing his back, right where a scar sits and always makes his muscles knot, you close your eyes. He still smells like wood and musk, like what you've searched for for so long and found in his arms.

“Love you,” you murmur, tongue already heavy from the looming sleep.

“Love you the most, angel,” Joel answers and nuzzles the top of your head. Counting his blessings before he falls asleep. His daughters, his nephew. His brother and Maria. The people he loved along the way and still loves. And with you on his mind, as his last blessing, he drifts off.

I hope this could make you feel a little better on this Monday, please let me know know your thoughts, comments and especially reblogs are welcome! 🫶

general masterlist here

dividers: @/diviniyae

[k9wa]

⟁ SENSITIVE ft. BOOTHILL.

⠀ — “you get all excited for me to fix you up and call you a good boy.”

⠀ OR

⠀ — a sensitive spot during a repair leaves him melting into your callused little hands.

⚠︎ mechanic!reader, so much flirting im kind of sick, he whimpers i have an agenda, this is like 90% dialogue sorry, he wants u sooo bad. wc 1k, from this req.

“y’know darlin,” boothill managed to breathe out through a taut jaw and clenched teeth. “you bein’ this close ain’t exactly helpin’ me focus none.”

your fingers were slow, careful, precise as they pushed a few tiny wires apart, giving view deeper inside the little panel on boothill’s throat.

the position you two stood in was one all too familiar, boothill perched on your workbench with you between his thighs— the only new variables being your face way closer than he’s used to and your fingers proding around in his surprisingly sensitive wires.

it was an…odd sensation, to say the least. a small unpleasant stinging that simultaneously stimulated a rather pleasant shiver up his back with every small poke.

“time and place, cowboy.”

you responded quietly, tone a little flat with your tease from concentration.

“can’t help lettin’ my mind— wander, can i now?” his breath hitched a bit as you nicked a particularly touchy wire.

“if you let me finish this,” you lifted your head enough to meet his eyes, free hand gently smoothing out the crease in his brow. “i’ll let you show me just how wild your imagination can get.”

boothill bit back a scruff chuckle at that. 

“that enough incentive for you to sit still?”

“well, i reckon that’s plent— mmgh!”

a pair of mechanical hands tightly grab onto your hips as his shoulders tense, a knee-jerk result of your tweezers finding the out of place wire you’d been looking around for.

your hands paused, opting to ignore the way he audibly whimpered for raising your gaze a second time to check on him.

“you hangin’ in there?”

boothill’s fingers flexed as they held onto you, relaxing from squeezing your pants to a more gentle cradle of your hips.

“you know,” he swallowed thickly— as if his throat could even dry out, likely just a natural reflex— “you got a way of makin’ fixin’ me up feel real special.”

the slight waver to his voice isn’t lost on your ears— it was quite loud in them, actually.

“i’m hangin’ in fine, don’t worry your pretty head none.”

carefully retracting your tweezers, you stood up straight enough to lightly push his hat up, giving view to his face and cupping your hand over a blue-hued cheek.

“wanna take a break?” 

he nearly had to clutch his chest with the gentle concern that laced your tone.

boothill knew he was flushed, was purposefully avoiding looking you in the eye because a few pokes to some sensitive spots had him sliding his hands to your waist like a lifeline— not that what he could distantly feel of your skin against the synthesised nerves of his palms weren’t doing much to cool him off anyway. but he did…relax, somewhat. 

he always enjoyed when you’d touch his face, getting to feel all the unique little details of you; the gentle drum of your pulse and the little calluses from your tools. it somehow always manages to make the tension in his body ebb away, draining with an exhale that lightly fans against your wrist.

he shook his head with a quiet clear of his throat— another unnecessary function that served more as a tick than anything.

“nah, nah i’m alright.” he assured. it didn’t make him any less embarrassed to be having such a reaction. 

big bad criminal until you get a little too fudgin’ touchy, apparently.

“let’s just get this finished up, yeah? maybe we can move onto somethin’ more pleasant.”

your thumb gave two gentle taps to his cheekbone before it pulled away, reaching for your tweezers for the nth time.

“that’s my boy.”

oh how boothill’s chest bloomed at the simple praise, the endearing ‘my’ that slipped in with it licking up his ribs and curling to rest along where a drumming heart should have been.

“jus’ be gentle with me, will ya sugar plum?”

“you know i've always got ya.”

each plug or untangle of a little yellow or red cable had his systems humming, fingers occasionally curling into your hips every time a little surge left him biting his cheek a little harder.

“we’re almost done,” your voice is icing on an already cavity-inducing cake, though he’ll gladly take a toothache if it’s for you. “just a little longer.”

boothill was going fist to fist and losing with the urge to completely melt under your deft fingers.

“…keep talkin’ to me,” he requested with a murmurmurmur, cautious not to move too much. “helps me stay on t—” he had to bite back another whimper, cheek going between his teeth and eyes going to the ceiling. “—task.”

boothill didn’t miss the little tug of your lips.

“you know, you do this thing when you get shy.” you mused quietly, breath meeting the shell of his ear. “you bite your cheek ‘n look away. it’s cute.”

boothill couldn’t help but let out a breathy chuckle at your deduction. he tried to regain some of his composure, though the colour in his cheeks continued to betray him.

“i don’t know ‘bout shy,” he rumbled, keeping his voice steady as he could. “but i’ll take cute if it means i get to hear you keep sweet talkin’ me. keep this up and i might start enjoyin’ these repairs a lil too much.”

his voice was a little strained, though still held his usual humour.

“like you don’t love em already.” you teased back, gently closing the panel on his neck as it re-sealed with a small hiss. “you get all excited for me to fix you up, call you a good boy and send you on your merry way.”

“i’m still waitin’ on that last bit, y’know?”

you shook your head, popping his hat off his head and placing it on your own.

“good boy,” you pinched his cheek endearingly. “you’re all done. do you want a lolipop too?”

“think i deserve somethin’ a lil sweeter than a lolipop, don’t you sugar?” boothill’s face unknowingly deepens at the sight of you in his hat, brave words betrayed by a nervous tap in his finger and more blue to the apples of his cheeks.

“we’ll save it for when you’ve got a real booboo,” you took his hat off, using the brim to lightly tilt his chin up and give him a tender kiss on the cheek. for such a heavy hunk of metal, he nearly began to float.

“but there’s something to hold your sweet tooth for now.”

…

“boothill?”

“y..yeah, sweet pea?”

“you’re overheating.”

⠀ MASTERLIST / GOT A REQUEST ?

[sweetpascal]

𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 — 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞

gif by @iamasaddie

pairing: perv!stepdad!joel x fem!reader

summary: it's the first day under your stepdad's care, and boredom hasn't crept in at all. you suggest having a movie night, and to your surprise, he agrees immediately.

warnings: MINORS DNI. age gap [18/52], pervy thoughts, joel is condescending, sweet nicknames (sweetheart, babydoll), joel calls himself 'daddy', overprotective joel (in a bad way), innocence kink, DUB-CON, NON-CON, sloppy thigh fucking, somnophilia, we're starting out soft

wc: 2.9k

notes: DON'T LOOK AT ME.

series masterlist | next chapter

Waving at your mom from atop the porch, you couldn't help but feel the giddiness bubbling up inside. At last, the house would be peaceful without her snide remarks about what you're, how you're speaking, how you're sitting, and so on. The comfort of relaxing in your own sanctuary was something you've eagerly anticipated since she announced her week-long departure. Although it meant seven days of serenity, your stepdad, Joel, would still be around, which was fine by you. Compared to your mom, Joel was the cool, calm, and collected one, making him the favored parent in your eyes.

As her car disappeared around the corner, you dashed back inside and inadvertently slammed the door with too much force. You winced and clenched your jaw, hastily covering your mouth with your hands as Joel stomped around the corner, his deep frown evident, and large hands planted on his hips in a wide stance.

"What have I told you about slamming doors in this house?" he asks, eyebrows raised, head tilted, waiting for your response. He gestures impatiently when you hesitate. His tone is stern, and his expression suggests he is not in the mood for games.

"Sorry, Joel," you say meekly, your lips curving into a small pout, your heart pounding in your chest while his stern expression remains unchanged. Tears begin to fall before you can hold them back. With a soft sniffle, you turn away, embarrassed, to wipe them off.

You hear him let out a deep sigh from as you try to hold in your little cries. You hear his slow, heavy footsteps as he approaches. Then, you feel his big hands rubbing up and down your arms before turning you around to pull you into his chest. He hushes you softly, tutting quietly when your cries turn into whimpers.

"Oh, sweetheart," he murmurs, bending down to kiss your head softly. "No need for tears. I ain't mad at you, silly girl." With a curled forefinger, he gently lifts your chin. He dabs at your tears and plants another kiss on your forehead, the sensation of his scruff against your skin causing you to close your eyes.

"You're not?" you ask shyly, sniffling quietly as you begin to calm down. "But you seemed angry at me, Joel. It was very scary." Fidgeting with the buttons on his flannel shirt, you remain too nervous to meet his gaze, especially given the close proximity.

Joel's lips form into a grin as he realizes the storm of emotions that you're feeling. Now that the two of you will be alone for one whole week, he finally has enough time on his hands to break you down and put you back together repeatedly. He's finally going to be able to mold you into his perfect little dream girl.

"What can Daddy do to help you feel better?" Hm? Tell me," he says softly, urging you to gaze into his eyes, which you did. Hearing what he called himself made you laugh, which made his grin grow wider. "What's so funny, huh?" Poking you in your side, he laughs when you squirm.

"Mom said I shouldn't call you that," you say, releasing a soft sigh and returning to your button fidgeting. "She says that I'm old enough to use your name, and she thinks it's weird." Your voice carries a touch of sadness that Joel picks up on. He clenches his jaw at the thought of your mother's judgment over something so inconsequential to her.

Joel lifts your head gently, placing his finger under your chin. He gazes into your shining eyes, your eyelashes stuck together from the heavy tears that are beginning to dry. His other hand grips your hip, causing you to make a small noise. Being this close to him, looking up like this, felt so wrong. It was an uncomfortable closeness, especially from an outsider's perspective.

"Alright," Joel says with a playful sigh, bringing a smile to your face. "Fortunately, we have the entire house to ourselves for a whole week. I might not be as young as I used to be, but I'll do my best to keep up with whatever you want to do. Does that sound good?"

You hum loudly, swaying your hips from side to side in Joel's embrace while resting your chin on his head and jutting your backside out to gaze up at him more comfortably. He swallows hard, stifling a strained groan. You remain unaware, preoccupied with thoughts about how to kick off your week. Suddenly, as if an invisible light bulb shined brightly atop your head, your expression lights up.

"Movie night! With snacks! Oh, please, Daddy? Pleeeaaase," you whine, stretching out the last word as you pout and make puppy-like noises. Joel rolls his eyes and gives your backside a gentle pat, a familiar gesture from your private moments together. Now, he can express his affection openly, without hiding it from your mother in the same house.

"Get your butt upstairs and get ready," he motions with his head, signaling you to hurry. With a delighted squeal, you leap up, press a kiss on his stubbled cheek, and scamper up the stairs, slamming your bedroom door shut. A muffled apology comes through the door, and he chuckles, shaking his head.

The market was unexpectedly bustling. Each cash register featured a lengthy queue of customers eager to check out. Amidst the commotion, you found yourself drawing nearer to Joel, clutching the back of his shirt as you attempted to match his brisk pace.

"Make sure to stay close to me, sweetheart. We don't want you to get lost, okay?" Joel had repeatedly told you during the drive and now.

You nearly regret wearing such a pretty outfit on a hectic day. Dressed in a simple summer dress with delicate straps, sheer thigh-highs, and petite wedges, you find yourself wishing you had planned more wisely. But Joel's constant compliments, calling you pretty and ain't you a peach made it worth it.

As minutes passed, you inadvertently drifted away from Joel. You had both wandered through the candy aisle when the array of lollipops, gummy bears, and jellybeans captured your gaze. Standing there, like a child in a candy store, you were practically quivering with excitement at the thought of your stepdad purchasing anything you desired. While reaching for a small bag of gummy worms, you were jostled by someone, prompting a gasp to escape your lips as the bag slipped from your grasp.

A hand reaches down, picks it up, and extends towards you, presenting the bag. You tentatively accept it from the man, turning to face him and feeling a wave of discomfort at his unkempt appearance. He gives you a once-over as he licks his bottom lip. The sight of his thinning hair and prominent belly does little to ease your unease.

"I apologize for that, sweetheart," the term makes you recoil as it feels off when he utters it. When Joel says it, it elicits a sensation of floating and tingling. "I wasn't paying attention where I was going, but you certainly are a pretty sight. Are you here by yourself?" His unsettling stare compels you to want to shield your skin and escape to a distant place.

You sweep the aisle with your eyes, searching desperately for Joel's familiar broad form. Your heart and thoughts are calling out to him, wishing he could sense your distress telepathically and come to your aid against this nasty man. Gripping the candy bag closer to your chest, you watch as he edges nearer, feigning interest in a label just over your shoulder.

"My, uh, my stepdad... he... he, uh..." You couldn't bring yourself to form words as the man's fingers adjusted the fallen strap of your dress. Whimpering quietly, you pressed yourself harder into the shelf, closing your eyes tightly and silently hoping that this man would just go away.

Before the man could approach further, a large shadow loomed over your closed eyelids. As you opened your eyes, you were confronted with Joel's broad back, his masculine scent overwhelming your senses. His hands were balled into fists. Peering around him, you caught sight of the man's eyes, wide with fear, his expression betraying his predatory intentions. As your gazes locked, Joel once again shielded you with his frame.

"I suggest you walk away right now before you find yourself picking up your teeth from the ground," Joel warns in a low, menacing tone that you've never heard before—not even with your mother or step-uncle. It's terrifying to hear him like this, yet there's comfort in knowing he can protect you should things turn violent.

The man dashes out of the aisle, abandoning his basket of groceries without hesitation. Joel remains in front of you briefly, ensuring the man doesn't come back to check if you're alone again. As he turns to face you, the anger in his eyes and the scowl on his face grow more pronounced. He presses you against the shelf, invading your space in an intimidating manner.

"What the hell did I just tell you before we came here?!" he exclaims, almost shouting, his brows furrowed and his voice booming. "I ain't the one you should be playin' games with, little girl." He points a finger at your face, leaning in until his breath skims across your skin. "Repeat it," he commands in a deep, rough voice.

"I… I…" Overwhelmed by the situation, you burst into tears and cling to Joel, burying your face in his chest once more, sobbing uncontrollably. "I'm so sorry, Daddy! I didn't mean to get distracted! And then that man, he wouldn't leave me alone!" Joel struggles to understand you through your sobs, but he hushes you gently, enveloping you in his strong arms and softly patting your back.

Joel pinches the bridge of his nose, a gesture of exasperation at your naivety, so oblivious and innocent to the world around you. As your cries subside to hiccups and faint squeaks, he gently eases you away from his chest, indifferent to the tear stains on his shirt.

"Listen to me, and listen well," he says, his tone stern yet his large palms gently cupping your cheeks. "Men like that are the ones that wanna take you away from me. They wanna keep you locked away and keep you for their own. You're not smart enough to be left alone, sweetheart, because you get put into these situations and you don't know how to act. That's why when Daddy tells you to do something, you do it. Is that understood? Nod your head." He notices your eyes glazing over as you listen to him speak. Mimicking a nod, you snap out of your trance and return the gesture.

"I don't want anyone to take me away from you, Daddy," you whisper, the thought of being separated from Joel filling you with terror, and tears swiftly gather at the edge of your eyes once more. "It's scary."

Joel tuts at you, lowering his head to kiss your tear-stained cheeks. The salty taste of your tears on his tongue had a warmth spreading throughout his lower half. "I know, babydoll. I know," he murmurs, giving your butt a series of gentle pats as he kisses your forehead. "Daddy's here now. Get your snacks so we can leave."

That evening, you change into your sheep-patterned sleep shorts, a light white camisole, and cozy thigh-high socks. As you spin in front of the mirror, Joel's voice faintly calls you downstairs to start the movie. Laughing with excitement at the prospect of a movie night free from your mother's watchful eye, you clutch your beloved stuffed plushie and head out of your room.

Joel lounges on the couch, clad in sweatpants and a casual t-shirt. A bowl of buttered popcorn and assorted snacks are spread out on the coffee table. Beside him, a beer for himself and, thoughtfully, your preferred strawberry kiwi juice. The sound of your footsteps hurrying down the stairs reaches him. He contemplates reprimanding you, yet as you appear, the words dissipate unspoken.

The cool air made your nipples turn into peaks that poke through your thin top. The thigh-highs squeeze your thighs and makes them look extra plushy and grabbable. He takes a deep swallow and sips his beer, his gaze fixed on your appearance. You extend your hands, silently inquiring about your look. Joel scans you from head to toe once more, giving a nod of approval as his jaw tightens.

"You look very pretty, baby doll," he tells you in a strained voice, motioning for you to come closer as he lays out across the couch, his back against it. "Come cuddle so we can start the movie."

Approaching, he could detect the uncertainty in your body language and facial expressions. "Are… Are you sure we should cuddle? Will my mom be upset?" The naive inquiry prompted a rough chuckle from Joel. Your embarrassment was palpable as he laughed openly at your question.

"Oh, honey," he mocks sympathy and stares at you from his sprawled position on the couch. "You seem to keep forgetting in that little head of yours that I'm in charge of this house, and whatever I say, goes. Now, when I tell you to come over here, I expect you to do it without questioning me."

The commanding tone of his voice brooked no argument. To enjoy the week with Joel, you had to push your doubts and hesitations away, instead of fretting over your mother's opinion on the closeness between you two. Joel seemed to understand better; he knew what was best for you, and as he put it, his word was final.

As you approached where he lay, you could just make out him whispering, "That's my girl." The praise made you blush, cherishing the moments when you're told you're doing well and being a good girl for it. Joel consistently offered such verbal reassurance, never hesitating, even in your mother's presence. She, however, often showed her irritation with his way of praising you.

For god's sake, Joel. She's a woman, not a little girl anymore.

You eagerly lay beside him, your back pressed against his chest, as Joel draped a blanket over both of you and started the movie, "The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent." It was a moment you had anticipated ever since you mentioned to Joel how much the character Javi resembled him. Trembling with excitement, you snuggled closer to Joel, your smile buried in the stuffed animal you held, while his arm drew you in even tighter. A pleasant hum vibrated from his chest against your back.

Only thirty minutes into the movie, Joel heard a soft snore beside him. With furrowed brows, he leaned over and saw your closed eyes and parted lips, your arms clutching your stuffed animal to your chest as you hummed sleepily. Shaking his head, he lay back and pulled you closer, smiling to himself as you unconsciously snuggled into him. When Joel makes sure that you're fully asleep, he inches hips back and lowers the blanket off your body. Your sleep shorts had ridden up your thighs, further exposing your lower cheeks and giving him a glimpse of your panties.

"Fuck," he breathes out, feeling his cock beginning to harden and thicken in his sweatpants. With one hand holding onto your hip to keep you steady, Joel begins to grind his cock against your ass, slotting his covered thickness between your cheeks and breathing heavily into the back of your neck. "Goddamn."

You never once stir as you're so deep in your slumber, unaware of the world around you and what Joel is doing to your unconscious body. He can practically feel his tip leaking in his sweats, the gray color darkening as precum stains the fabric. Erratically, but careful enough to not wake you, he lowers his sweatpants and guides his thick cock between your thighs, the tightness of them closed creating a delicious friction that had his mouth dropping. Joel hikes your shorts higher up your waist, forcing the fabric tighter against the shape of your virgin pussy.

He fucks his hips forward and back, sliding his cock deeper between your thighs and further against your covered cunt. Sweat dots at his hairline and the back of his neck as the warmth in his gut coils tighter and tighter. He hears the distinct slick of his precum staining your inner thighs as he abuses them without your knowledge.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he grunts low in his throat, his hand tightening on your hip to position your body in a better way for him to fuck your thighs. "Daddy is such a dirty man, ain't he?" He fucks your thighs faster and faster, his thighs slapping against the back of your own gently. Surprisingly, the movement and noise doesn't wake you.

As he continues muttering to himself, Joel doesn't realize just how close he was. His balls were heavy with cum, waiting to be exploded onto your unexpected skin. The tip of his cock was throbbing with need and dribbling with more precum. His abdomen tightens when you shift and arch your back in your sleep, briefly tightening your thighs and rubbing them together.

The sudden friction had Joel choking on air before he hunches over your body and watches his cum shoot out of his engorged tip and onto the couch. He's biting down on the pillow as his thighs shake. He just won't stop cumming.

"Holy shit," he grunts quietly, falling back against the couch and swiping a hand down his sweaty face. He breathes heavily, wincing and tucking himself back into his sweatpants. He glances over at the tv, and Javi comes onto screen. He scoffs and shakes his head to himself. He doesn't see the resemblance.

taglist:

@yesjazzywazzylove-blog @blueberrypancakesworld @heyhihello-4771 @codenamekitten @chamepagnessimo @idioticcatss @takochansugoi @zjasminelouvre3

!! let me know if you wanna be added to the next chapter !!

[puck-luck]

patchwork hearts | nico hischier

warnings: unprotected p in v, chatgpt-level swiss german (since google translate doesn’t have swiss german. only regular german. f u google translate), angst i guess (argument), make-up sex, pretty vanilla all in all, oral f!receiving, fingering.

pairing: nico hischier x fem!reader

request: Reader and Nico get into a fight before we leaves for away from away games in the west coast and they make up when he comes back (or while he is away). Request by @hockeygirl1328. thanks queen! sorry it took so long!!

wc: 3,345

The memory of the argument flashes through your mind when Nico’s face appears on your screen. It’s the cuddliest photo you’ve ever taken of him, scruff in full form and hair messy, but that still doesn’t improve your mood. Just before he left for this road trip, you’d gotten into a massive fight about his constant travel. You love Nico, so much, but he’s always gone. It’s your first season together and the adjustment from Summer Nico to Season Nico has been really difficult.

Maybe you were being selfish, but you didn’t want to miss Nico for another week. He comes home for a few days, then leaves for a few more. The cycle repeats over and over again and there’s not enough time for you and Nico to establish a routine. There’s not enough time for you to even see Nico some days, which is just disheartening. Your boyfriend is basically a half-version of himself and, most of the time, it feels like his only priority in life is hockey. You don’t even rank.

Nico’s words had hurt, even though you know in your heart that he was right. It was just excessive, the way he’d dug his claws into you with only a few words. 

As the phone rings out, you hear the echo of what he said. “You knew what this life was when we got together. I don’t have time for a constant guilt trip every time I leave!”

“I didn’t sign up to be an afterthought,” you’d fought back.

“Not everything is about you, you know,” Nico snapped. “The world doesn’t revolve around you– my world doesn’t revolve around you.”

His eyes had grown immediately wide and his jaw had dropped, like he couldn’t believe he just said that. You couldn’t believe he’d said that. The argument ended immediately– only because there was nothing you could muster up in reply. 

You hadn’t broken up with Nico for the mere statement, although you’ll admit that it crossed your mind. Instead, you’d sat in place as Nico’s many apologies fell on deaf ears. You felt almost catatonic as he’d kenlt down in front of you and tried to gauge your reaction, touching your knee with a gentle nudge. He’d wiped away the tears that leaked from your eyes, even though you’d tried to turn away from his touch. 

You’d slept over that night because you hadn’t felt you were able to move. The shock kept you in place. Nico had tucked you into his bed and relegated himself to the couch. When you woke up and you’d finally felt able to move, ready to face the boy, he was gone. There was a note on the door and a message left on your phone, both of which said roughly the same thing: that Nico was sorry he had to go, but he couldn’t stay. You knew why, of course. It was time for his California roadie. As much as you felt like an afterthought at times, you aren’t unreasonable. You know that he has to travel for his job. 

You’re still hurt, to be fair. No matter how many times Nico apologized after dropping that bomb, it continues to cut at you and pop up in your mind whenever he calls. You’ve answered twice over the duration of the roadie, but the conversations had felt stilted and forced. After the last call, just over a day ago, Nico had asked if he could come over to your apartment and see you when he got back. 

You think that he was calling a moment ago because he made it back to the Prudential Center and would be driving to your place soon. Your palms are a bit sweaty knowing that Nico is on the way. You don’t want to fight with him again and you have a feeling that he doesn’t want to fight either, but you know it’s not resolved.

You take the time before Nico arrives to calm yourself. You get a glass of water, you grab a handful of your favorite snack, and you sit on the couch to watch a bit of TV.

He calls again a few minutes later. This time, you answer.

“Hi, Nico,” you greet, voice quiet.

“Hi, I’m downstairs,” Nico says. “Just wanted to let you know I’m here before I come up.”

“Okay, Nee. I’ll see you soon.” You pull the phone away fom your ear and end the call, standing up to unlock your front door. You return to the couch and when he knocks, you call out to tell him that it’s open.

Nico comes through the door and toes off his shoes. “How was your day?” Nico asks, coming over to the couch to join you. 

“Not bad. I went to work and the gym and then I came home,” you reply. You attempt a smile at Nico when he sits on the couch and circles his fingers around your ankle, rubbing his thumb against your skin. “How was California?”

“I missed you,” Nico says. “It was hard to focus on the games when I was thinking about you. I’m sorry I left after the fight. I wish I hadn’t needed to go. I wanted to stay and make things better.”

The breath leaves your chest in a deep sigh. “It was unfortunate timing.”

“I know,” Nico agrees, nodding. “It gave me a little time to think about what to say to you, which is nice. I know I can’t really make up for what happened last week, but–” Nico takes your hand and grasps it. “I’m sorry I said you weren’t a priority for me. You are. You’re a huge part of my life and I wouldn’t be anywhere without you, supporting me and cheering me on and being there for me every day. I’m sorry I wasn’t more considerate of your feelings.”

You almost want to cry again after hearing him spout this heartfelt apology. Nico sits in front of you and waits, blinking patiently and chewing on his lower lip while you take in his words. The lines under his eyes are deep and you can tell that he lost sleep over something this past week, likely this incident if his words have any truth to them. You nod and reach forward, cradling Nico’s face in your hands. “I’m sorry for not giving you the benefit of the doubt,” you tell Nico. “I know you can’t help that hockey is such a big part of your life. I know you don’t mean to put me on the backburner. I just felt a little neglected and I’m sorry that I accused you of making me an afterthought.”

“You shouldn’t have to apologize because of how you feel,” Nico says. He slides his arm down to your waist. “I was caught up in everything else in my life and didn’t give you the attention you deserve. I never want to make you feel that way again.”

“You won’t,” you say. “I know you won’t.” You lean in and press a chaste kiss to Nico’s lips. After kissing him, you shuffle forward and tuck yourself against his chest. 

Nico pulls you onto his lap and cradles you there, kissing the top and side of your head. He touches as much of your body as he can, rubbing your back and your arms, your waist and your thighs. You breathe together, leaning against each other, and taking in the presence of the other person.

“Please let me show you how much I love you,” Nico requests after a few minutes, caressing your sides and looking at you with his big, brown eyes. “And how sorry I am for acting like I don’t care. I care, babe, I care so much.” He drops a kiss on your forehead, then your cheek. “Please.”

You don’t reply, but you turn your head and find his lips. You touch the scuff on Nico’s face, which he seems to have shaved over his roadie, but it’s starting to grow back. His hair is at risk of being deemed “too long” in his own opinion, so you touch the strands reverently, knowing that they’ll be gone sooner than later. 

“Let me take care of you,” Nico murmurs, dipping down to brush a kiss over your jawline. 

“Okay,” you whisper back, touching the side of Nico’s neck and the curve of his bicep. 

He fits his strong palms under your thighs, lifting you. You wrap your legs around his waist and do your best to distract Nico on his walk to the bedroom. You might still be a little sad about what Nico said a week ago, but the apology worked well enough that you’re trying to let it go. 

Nico lays you on the bed, kissing down your body and undressing you as he goes. His touch is loving, almost overwhelmingly so. He removes his shirt and settles between your legs, kissing from your calf to the inside of your knee, up your thigh and all the way to your hip bone. 

The only sound that fills the room is the shared sigh of relief when Nico connects with your core. As his tongue flattens and licks a stripe up your slit, Nico’s eyes flutter shut and his hands fix on your hips to pull you closer. 

Ninety percent of the time, Nico gets ravenous when he’s eating you out. Today is different. 

His tongue trails through your folds. The tip of the muscle traces every inch of your cunt before he even considers pressing closer. Nico takes his time– he savors the taste of your slick. “Mm, liebste,” Nico groans. “You taste so good.” 

He works his tongue against your cunt, licking around the rim of your entrance before flicking further inside. One of his hands comes to your front, thumb contacting your clit and rubbing soothing circles over it. His other hand travels underneath your body and you let out a startled gasp when his fingers dig into the flesh of your ass, dragging you even closer.

He’s systematic and precise, kitten licking at your insides. He focuses on one part of your body, then another– in this case, he goes from your hole to wrapping his all-consuming lips around your clit and suckling. 

His index finger finds your entrance and soothes the smooth ring, drawing circles over the outline of your most intimate area before you lift your hips into his touch. You’re silently asking for more and Nico understands that, gently pushing his finger inside. Just like with his mouthwork, he’s slow and attentive. 

The pad of Nico’s fingertip feels out your inner walls, welcoming the hug of your cunt around his digit eagerly and repaying you by trying to find that spot inside of you, the one that always makes you see stars. 

His hair has started to fall messily over his forehead, brushing his eyebrows. You find the strands with your hands, clutching at them and moving his head where you need it to be– for all intents and purposes, you keep him mostly aligned with your clit, but the movement of his head provides a friction that pure suction could not offer.

As you do this, his middle finger pokes at your entrance. The first knuckle disappears inside you with little resistance, then Nico starts to work on opening you up. His fingers scissor inside of you, spearing against the gummy ridges of your muscle, preparing you for his cock. 

You clench down a bit at the thought of his member, pleas for the length on the tip of your tongue. You know Nico is thinking about fucking you too, just based on the way he rolls his hips against the mattress and hums. 

He releases your clit from between his lips, which draws a whine of protest from you. Nico chuckles quietly and turns his head, planting a kiss on your inner thigh. Then, he dips his head and twists his wrist so that his palm faces upward. Nico licks between his two fingers, his eyelids open just enough that you can see how he looks up at you and takes you in. 

Nico draws away from your pussy only to ask, “Chunsch du, schatz?” 

He’s teasing you, plucking at an inside joke from when you felt you were brave enough to try to learn Swiss German. Thinking it would be sweet, you’d tried your hand at talking Nico’s native tongue in bed, but your words had just seemed too formal. Still, it’s something you can laugh over. Nico loves to parrot your effort at “Are you coming?” back at you, always smiling fondly when he does.

He’s worked his tongue back between his fingers, looking up at you with raised eyebrows. He waits for you to answer his question, sure to bump his nose against your clit when you open your mouth, so that you produce a moan instead of a sentence. Nico giggles at his little joke, cheeks dimpling and eyes crinkling. He brings his mouth to your clit and kisses over the bud, steadily pumping his fingers to really bring you to orgasm.

You whimper when he works a third thick finger into your entrance, stuffing you full. You know it’s necessary since his cock is also thick, but there’s a dull ache at the first stretch that has you writhing on the bed. 

“I know, I know,” Nico soothes, lathing kiss after kiss to your sensitive center. “But I have to get you all open for me, baby. So you feel good later, hm?” He bends his knuckles and comes into contact with your sweet spot, the rush of pleasure making your back arch involuntarily. Nico notices this and grins, eyes determined and set on continuing this feeling for you.

Your noises grow more slurred with each touch of his fingertips to your walls, especially when he flicks his tongue rapidly over your clit. He’s still teasing you, dangling the climax just out of reach with the way he’ll overwhelm your clit with his tongue and then slow down, licking flat stripes along the parts of your slit that he can reach. 

“Nico,” you lament with a frown when he pulls away again, just as you were about to come.

“Sorry,” Nico apologizes with a crinkle-eyed smile. He captures your clit and keeps his mouth there, beckoning his fingers and creating a vacuum around the bundle of nerves at the apex of your vagina. This time, he doesn’t let up– he goes and goes and goes until your hands have found their way back to his hair and pull so hard that there’s a stinging sensation along Nico’s scalp.

He allows his eyes to drift shut again, free hand dancing up your body until he finds your tits, finally giving them the attention that he feels they deserve. With a few harsh gropes, a pinch or two to your nipple, and even a tug at your chest, you’re unraveling over Nico’s digits and making your situation very well known to your neighbors.

“Bravo, süsse,” Nico praises over the heaving of your chest. He stays in contact with your center, but slows his movements to something that keeps you teetering on the precipice of pleasure rather than in the throws of it. “Do you think you’re ready for my cock?”

“Yes,” you rasp out, reaching for Nico and catching him by his biceps. You coax him forward, palms sliding up to his jawline. You lick over the seam of Nico’s lips and taste yourself already, the flavor of your cum only growing stronger when Nico parts his lips and slides his tongue against yours. “Fuck me, Nico.”

“Mm, hase, I’m not going to fuck you,” Nico corrects. “I’m going to take care of you. And you’re going to take care of me.”

While you were ready to protest the first part of his statement, your mouth quickly snaps shut when he finishes speaking. You lay back against the pillows, propping your head up, and you bring Nico with you. His body blankets yours, shifting atop you as he tries to remove his bottoms with one hand. His other roams on your torso, stroking the curves of your sides and stomach.

“So schön,” Nico murmurs.

“So beautiful,” you repeat, thumbing over his cheekbone. 

Nico reaches between your bodies and lines himself up with your entrance. Just like before, he moves slowly. He moves with purpose. You can feel every inch of Nico’s length as it sinks into you. 

When you roll your head back to let out a soft moan, Nico seizes the opportunity to paint a series of open-mouthed kisses on your neck. “I love you so much,” he mumbles against your skin. He rolls his hips, filling you further. “So much.”

“I love you too,” you reply, hands scrambling for purchase on the expanse of his back when Nico’s tip brushes against the cartilaginous wall of your cervix. He knocks against that wall again on his next thrust forward, only drawing out about halfway before snapping forward suddenly. 

Regardless of how he fills you, his movements are still tinged with reverence and tenderness. Nico holds you like something that will break under the pressure of his fingertips, but he’s still desperate to keep you close. He’ll let his hips fall flush with yours and remain there sometimes, then other times he’ll roll and snap his hips like your lives depend on it. 

You know that there was once an argument between you, but all that matters is the fact that Nico is here and he’s doing exactly what he promised he’d do: take care of you.

His hand finds your arm, then trails up to your wrist. He presses your wrist into the cushion above your head, but doesn’t stop there. He brings his fingers up to your palm, tracing over the lines that represent your love and your life. He slots his fingers between yours and intertwines your fingers, holding your hand tight as he continues to thrust into you. He repeats the same process on the other side, until both of your hands are wrapped in his. He pins you to the bed, but you feel only safe and secure, not trapped in the slightest. 

“You’re so tight around me, baby,” Nico says, ending his statement with a kiss. His voice is low and rough, breathless and nearly spent due to the tango you’re performing now. “Gonna fill you up, fill you ‘til all of my love is dripping out of you.”

You were already overwhelmed, but when he said that– and then nibbled your bottom lip after– you feel a dam break inside of you. You come suddenly and without warning, jaw dropping. A high keen falls from your mouth, only to be met with a coo from Nico and a deep grunt as he continues to fuck into your even tighter entrance. 

The squeeze of your cunt around Nico’s cock is enough to make him come too, the white spurts of cum filling your hole just like he’d promised. You can feel Nico trembling a bit from the aftershocks, your chest meeting his as you arch up into his touch and he deflates from exhaustion. He covers you just like a warm comforter and kisses you lazily, both of you wanting to stay connected after such an intense reunion.

You feel satiated, calm and happy that Nico came to you when he returned instead of going home and basking in the misery of the argument from a week prior. You certainly feel better now, after having gone through the throes of that low point in your relationship.

“Mm,” Nico hums, like he remembered something suddenly. His head tilts and he kisses along the crook of your neck. “During the break in February, I thought you’d like to come home with me. We can have a little couples vacation at home, just you and me. How does that sound?”

“Amazing, Nico,” you tell him, smoothing his hair beneath your fingertips. “That sounds amazing.”

note: read a stoner!nico fic recently that Cece reblogged and I tweaked. thinking of y'all! i think you'll see nico a lot sooner on this blog than you expect... perhaps a little "nico x ____ x reader".....